#also going out of my way for more minor tags instead of main ones

[chiprewington]

Did you know? Perry's wings aren't natural.

[fangswbenefits]

For Science

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: There has been a rumour circulating in regards to Miguel’s venom. It has to be too far-fetched, right?

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

𓂅 𓄹 Warnings: 18+. Fangs. Biting. Venom!play (is that a thing?).

You eyed Jessica Drew with utmost interest as she worked her way around Miguel’s surveillance station, easily dragging files in and out of the multiple screens.

“Why do you get access to his stuff and I don’t?” you asked as sudden jealousy crept in.

“We go way back,” she started, pulling some information to her watch. “You’ll get there in time…”

Your ego soared.

“… if you don’t keep annoying him.”

It immediately plummeted.

“He’s easy to piss off,” you beamed. “And I’m easily entertained. What can I say? Match made in heaven.”

She chuckled at your antics. “Just don’t get yourself expelled.”

You nodded and waved your hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. So have you heard that rumour about him?”

Jessica finished setting up her watch and mission logs and threw you a suspicious look.

“Well… the one that says his venom does more than causing paralysis,” you wiggled your eyebrows, letting the not so subtle implication dangle.

“You know what? One day Miguel is going to kick you out and I won’t do anything about it.”

“What? I didn’t come up with this!”

It was absolutely true. You hard heard it from some spiders one night while strolling throught the lobby. Rumours came and went. No one thought much of them and these were just harmless fun.

“Well, I’m not commenting on this.”

“Fine! But it’s fascinating.”

Jessica sighed, rotated on her feet and went down the stairs. “You can go ask Miguel, then.”

“Ask Miguel what?”

You froze in place as spider-man 2099 entered the dark room, eying both of you.

“Oh, I’m out,” Jessica snorted, heading towards the exit. “You two have fun.”

Miguel kept his gaze on your and you waved a hand at him.

He frowned.

“Lyla, reroute all the main sectors to earth-1610,” he said, pressing on his dimensional travel watch. “Any possibility of a canon event being disrupted must be reported to Jessica.”

The AI appeared next to him and adjusted her heart-shaped glassed up the bridge of her nose. “Is she tagging along, too?” she pointed at you.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. She’s more useful here.”

“Hey!” you were about to protest, but decided against it.

You knew there was a compliment in there somewhere. Your past missions had not gone without some minor bumps, which was why it had been decided the previous day that you’d tag along Miguel for a couple of weeks to hone your off-field abilities.

“Anything major must be reported to me.”

Jessica nodded but Lyla was not so easily dismissed. “I didn’t hear you say iiit.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your services as always, Lyla.”

She took a dramatic bow and vanished.

He took large steps towards the platform, greeting you with a curt nod.

How would you describe your relationship with Miguel O’Hara? Tense? On the verse of collapse each time you teased him? Friendly? But only when you didn’t have to spend more than one hour together.

“Morning to you, too, boss,” you saluted.

He let out an exasperated sigh as he checked the screens in front of him.

Maybe you should go easy on him. You were already on thin ice, but just adored pushing him. There was something about teasing him that just did wonders to you.

“Did you sleep well? Did you get some food?”

“Don’t start getting on my nerves.”

You raised both hands, feigning a look of innocence. “I did nothing. You’re paranoid.”

His head turned to you.

“You do have an issue obeying the chain of command. Your last mission was a disaster, because you got into an argument with Peter instead of focusing on the anomaly — don’t interrupt me!” he said pinching the bridge of his nose as you were about to defend yourself. “You have much to offer, but you’re also all over the place and lack discipline. I don’t think you—”

You gave him a jaw-popping yawn which effectively cut him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You do know that I was pressured by others to let go of you.”

A long pause stretched out.

“Then why didn’t you?”

In your mind, you had hoped your growing friendship with him had played a part, but…

“You have potential,” he said with a sigh. “One day you might even be better than me.”

Well, that was a high praise and your spine snapped straight instantly. “Really?”

“Maybe… probably not,” he concluded. “But if you keep your focus and work hard, you will be a very skilled spider.”

You rolled your eyes. “Woah, thanks a bunch!”

In truth, you knew Miguel was trying his best to smooth over your bruised ego, but your pride got the best of you.

“Any questions you have, just let me know,” he said reassuringly while glancing at the screens in front of him.

“I can ask anything?”

“Yes.”

“Sooo… have you heard that rumour about your venom?”

It was too early in the day to be so serious, so you genuinely saw no harm in lightening the mood.

He threw you a side glance. “Be specific.”

“Well… that it can cause extreme pleasure,” you blurted out. “Oh, besides the paralysis thingy,” you quickly added.

Miguel turned to fully face you. “I don’t even want to know where that came from.”

Deep down, you felt a pang of disappointment. It would be such an interesting finding.

“Ah, so it’s not true.”

“Probably not.”

That piqued your interest. “Probably? So there’s a chance? It’s just so fascinating, because you’re already so different from the rest of us,” you started rambling not able to hold back your enthusiasm. “Now this is just an added layer!”

You were a scientist at heart and Miguel was pretty much an outlier when it came to being a spider-man. For months you had been trying to let him agree to you running some tests, but to no avail.

In all honesty, Miguel knew his way around science and the inner workings of biology better than you could ever, so he had no reason to indulge your curiosity.

“How do you do it? Is it the same venom or a different one?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Science, remember?”

It was a half truth, though. Yes, this would be mind-blowing science-wise, but this was also about Miguel O’Hara. The very man who had been guiding you through spider society for months. The same men who whose genius and dedication had built the foundations of the spider society.

He now had both hands on his hips and you figured you were already pushing it too far, but enjoyed doing it too much to stop now.

“Can you just tell me how it works? Please?” You clasped your hands together into a beg, hoping it would be enough to bait him for information.

But Miguel remained unfazed.

“No.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you offered expectantly.

He didn’t budge.

“Please, pretty please?” you tried once again.

Nothing.

“I’ll bring you empanadas every single day from now on,” you enthused. “On demand! Whenever you have those cravings. Two in the morning? Check! Canon event disrupted and universes imploding? Check!”

Miguel quirked an eyebrow. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“Just show me how it works,” you sounded desperate by now. Arguing with Miguel ranked high up with the likes of trying to move a boulder with a wooden fork. “How did you get it to work?”

His eyes to widened slightly. “Show you?” he started out. “Are you asking me to pleasure you?”

Now that was probably on your top three of ‘Things you never expect Miguel O’Hara to say’.

“Oh — I mean… well… what?” you stammered, caught by surprise. “I didn’t — you know… huh…”

He only glared at your babbling self.

“Are you… offering?”

Miguel extended his arm to you. “Give me your hand.”

You panicked. “What? Now?”

“For science, right?”

Point taken.

You hesitated momentarily. “You’re not going to paralyse me, right?”

“Do you want me to?”

You offered your hand for him to grip, flipping it palm up. “No.”

“Then I won’t.”

Miguel’s voice was so flat he could just be reading items off a grocery list.

His gloved fingers traced the heel of your palm and his eyes darted down. You held your breath at the sight of him lowering his head. “This might sting.”

And just like that, you watched in complete awe as Miguel O’hara bared his fangs, slowly raking them across your skin before digging into the flesh.

“Ouch!”

Your stomach turned and your heart fluttered as his warm lips grazed the spot he had just bitten. Two circular and symmetrical openings pooled with a tiny amount if blood.

“So? Do you feel a wave of intense carnal bliss?” Miguel asked, straightening up and brushing the droplets away with his thumb.

You merely stood there, waiting for something — anything — to kick in. But as tense seconds ticked by, it was evident nothing was happening.

“No…”

He shrugged, letting go of your hand to tap his watch. “Ah, well. My pleasuring abilities must be below par this morning.”

You scowled at him and considered smashing his arm with a fist. “You could have just said it was all a lie!” you grunted in sheer annoyance, feeling like an idiot. “Now I’m bleeding to death.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“You’re annoying,” you huffed as you checked the bite marks.

“It’s not a lie. I can indeed inject an innocuous version of my venom that can be quite pleasurable,” he said.

“Then do it!” you said, your temper flaring.

Miguel wasn’t one to take orders. He was much more into being the one to call the shots, but your curiosity was eating you alive now that he had revealed that this rumour had some truth to it.

He was now looming over you, his impressive height adding to the tension. “It depends on where I inject the venom. Certain places are more effective,” his voice was uncharacteristicly low as his eyes landed on your neck. “This is just scientific curiosity, right?”

Your mouth had gone too dry to reply, so you just shrugged. Miguel had you taking a few steps back until your lower back hit the railing that lined the platform, causing your hands to clasp around it reflexively.

“Tilt your head.”

You did as you were told and felt his fingers tracing along your jaw, angling you just the way he wanted.

“Hold on tight,” he said, breath now fanning the prickling skin of your neck. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Feeling your face heat up from the sudden close proximity, you closed your eyes as if embracing for impact. He pressed his lips to your pulse point before digging his fangs slowly into you.

Your mouth dropped open, aghast, and you finally felt it. His venom poured from the fangs and into your bloodstream, spreading through your veins like wildfire. At first, it was just merely a pleasant sensation, like the one you’d get as you finally drank water after a hot day in the sun.

But it soon turned into something else, and unlike water, the new overwhelming feeling was leaving you thirstier with each thump of your racing heart.

Miguel had his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you in place. He moaned first — no, he grunted —, and you felt a jolt of almost painful pleasure shot down your spine and spread between your thighs.

Your grip on the metal surface wavered momentarily and you feared you might fall, but were firmly grounded by his other hand on your waist. It didn’t take long until your clit started throbbing in unison with your heartbeat.

“Miguel… this… this…”

Suddenly, your suit felt too tight and in the way, especially once he pressed lightly into you.

The venom was no longer being injected, but the remnants of it were enough to wreak havoc throughout your body.

“It’s just for science…” he growled, pulling his fangs away from you. “Does it feel good?”

You didn’t dare open your eyes and could only gasp when you felt him push his erection into you.

“Yeah… science… or whatever…” you gasped, feeling yourself being pushed over the edge with each second that passed.

Just when you thought your orgasm would hit you slowly, Miguel tilted your head to the side, exposing the intact skin.

You gripped his wrist as if holding on for dear life, fearing you’d explode. “Again?”

“Your body is neutralising my venom too fast,” he rumbled, lips hovering a sensitive spot. “I need to inject more.”

“Miguel…” you nearly cried out at the thought of your heart no being able to handle the intense pleasure.

“Look at me.”

Your breathing evened briefly as you did as commanded, his red eyes fixed on yours, pupils fully blown.

“Think you can do this?”

You blinked.

“I know you can take more.”

Your clit was now throbbing at an alarming rate at the promise of more of him.

Miguel flashed you his blood-tipped fangs before sinking them into you once again.

The liquid traveled through your body so fast, you felt like someone had punched the air out of your lungs. You vaguely wondered if you would die from this, and concluded that there were worse ways to go.

Being on the receiving end of Miguel’ dry humps would be enough to make anyone tip over the edge, let alone with the added layer of venom engulfing you into an explosive orgasm.

Your vision blurred in an instant as spams and contractions swept through your body. The friction of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit had you arch your back into him, feeling the bittersweet realisation that you were clamping around nothing. You weren’t sure if this was his venom’s doing, but you felt an overwhelming part of you wishing he had been inside you.

It hurt.

It hurt so good and lasted for so long, you like crying from the overwhelming tide of pleasure.

Miguel gave you time to ride out your orgasm, pressing a bloodied kiss to your lips, swallowing your cries.

Metallic taste filled your mouth and you broke away from him, gasping for air.

Your eyes landed on his crotch.

He was hard. Painfully hard. A faint stain of precum seeping through the material of his suit.

“You okay?”

You bent over, hands on your knees and laboured breaths.

“Are you?” you managed in between gasps.

Miguel crouched to eye-level with you. “I think you owe me one.”

“Yeah…” you nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks for the… scientific… huh… demonstration.”

Masterlist

[dollymoon]

🍄Mushroom Oasis - Mychael Facts Compilation🍄

A facts compilation of Mychael from Mushroom Oasis by @deerspherestudios.

All of these come from what they’ve replied in their tumblr! I write these down as the creator, Cheea, has stated them with a few changes/summarizing in some for easier reading.

There may be some light minor spoilers a tiny bit here and there!

The 1st half will be general Mychael information and then the 2nd half with be more Mychael & MC information.

-------------------------🍄🍄🍄

💚Here’s a NARRATIVE PLAYLIST [by Cheea] based off Day 1 of Mushroom Oasis and a MYCHAEL PLAYLIST [also by Cheea], if you wish to listen to them while reading~💚

💛What made you want to write such an empathetic and slow burn kind of Yandere? [Source 1 & 2] initially it was gonna be a snail monsterman who steals crops out of your back garden and you go out to bonk him on the head only to invite him into your home. Maybe in the future i'll work on the snailboy dating sim </3

But I think I’ve always wanted a cryptid-like yandere for the gamejam when it all started. It was a very barebones concept about a lonely mushroom man who sets up spore traps in order to ensnare and kidnap company. It was supposed to be way creepier and invasive as a oneshot thing, and was never meant to have multiple days in the story. I’m glad I didn’t go in that direction, though. I’m having more fun fleshing out Mychael’s character.

So when I started Mushroom Oasis, I wanted to go for a strangers-to-lovers scenario, instead of starting out with the yandere already smitten with the MC. That way, he gets to know you at the same time as you getting to know him. Hence, the attempt at slow burn haha. I just thought it’d be interesting to try and express it differently. I don’t know if I’m able to execute my intentions well but I’m doing my best! it's gonna be fun writing him as he starts to spiral :-3c Laddie doesn't know what attraction/attachment feels like. Woe be upon ye

💛Was Mychael always going to be named Mychael, or did he have other names upon his initial creation? And does he have a last name? [Source 1 & 2] Always been Mychael! Lorewise he has a different name but MC wouldn’t be able to pronounce it, so he goes by Mychael. And he doesn’t have a last name :-] He’s just Mychael!

💛What species is Mychael? Is he a faerie? [Source] As much as everyone calls him faefolk, he isn't! He's more… monster-oriented I suppose? Creature or cryptid-like. I'm not sure what to categorize him tbh hahaha.

💛Is Mychael over 18? [Source 1 & 2] Oh he’s WAY over 18. He’s way older than he looks.

💛What’s Mychael’s Height? (Dolly’s note🌹): So initially, Mychael’s height was 5'8 but then Cheea said “Mychael is 5'8 (172cm) in the demo! I just wonder if I should've made him a big boi since the beginning but i held myself back 😔” But they didn’t want to make the decision just themselves; thus they made a poll to keep Mychael as is, or to make him taller, taking into account the fan’s wishes as well. The one that won was making Mychael taller. (54.5% vs 45.5%).

And thus Cheea decided his new height would be 6'2. Cheea also added “I think it’s a fair balance since taller Mychael won the majority vote, but a vocal few really liked his original height, so I decided to go in the middle <3”

So yeah his current height is 6’2 (187cm approximately).

💛His sexuality and gender Identity? [Source] He identifies as male with he/him pronouns. And I’ve decided panromantic asexual fits him best! I just don't find him being too sexual tbh. Graysexual at best. Feel free to interpret it differently.

💛Are you okay with NSFW art of Mychael? [Source] 50/50? I’m an adult and so is he as a character. I’d say I wouldn’t mind as long as it’s properly tagged and only the right people have access to it 👍I will not share it on my main blog though but tag it as ‘mushroom oasis nsfw’ or something so people can blacklist it.

💛Mychael’s Headcanon voice? [Source] Jonathan Groff! Particularly his role as Kristoff in Frozen.

💛Can he sing like how Kristoff does in frozen? [Source] I’d imagine he could! He’s not much for singing though, he’s more likely to hum random tunes throughout the day.

💛Are Mychael's scleras just black or is it like a void/empty socket? [Source] He just has black scleras!

💛Does Mychael have tear ducts in his lower eyes? [Source] They do!! The lower eyes basically work like regular eyes, just smaller below his main ones. They can blink independently of each other too.

💛How does Mychael see if he leaves only one pair of his eyes open? It forms a blind spot but depends on which pair he closes! He sees 90% out of his upper eyes and 10% out of his bottom half. His ability also relies on eye contact, so by having both sets locked onto someone else's gaze the influence is stronger. And here’s an illustrated example!

💛Can Mychael see in the dark? [Source] Yes he can see in the dark; his eyes have that tapetum lucidum layer that reflects light in the dark, so they also glow :-)

💛What's Mychael's skin texture like? [Source] Almost human but you can tell something’s different. Eerily smooth, despite his rough palms. If you pinch his cheeks or poke his sides enough times (if he doesn’t get mad at you for it) you’d be able to tell his skin’s a bit thicker than yours. Also like fungi I imagine his skin has chitin. So a bit tougher maybe.

💛Are Mychael's horns and tail soft and fragile like an actual mushroom? [Source] If you mean the shroom-like caps on his head and tip of his tail; soft but definitely not fragile. Think of those cheap squishies with some give but bounce back pretty quick! They’re susceptible to bruising too. 

💛Is Mychael’s tail poisonous? If not, how would Mychael react if someone bit it? [Source 1 & 2] Nop it isn’t poisonous. And like… a straight up bite out of it?? Or a nibble??? If you bit him so hard it takes a piece of his tail it’d hurt and bleed a lot. It’s full of nerve endings but will heal over and regenerate eventually.

If it’s just a nibble you’d just taste dirt and bitterness I think haha. And depending on how close you are to him, he’d either be flustered beyond belief or just downright very uncomfortable hahaha.

💛Is Mychael’s blood blue because some irl creatures have blue blood due to their blood having copper instead of iron or was it for aesthetic reasons? [Source] It was definitely for aesthetic purposes more than anything, since I wanted him to blush a non-human color. One of the earlier concept sketches had him blushing bright magenta haha.

💛What does Mychael smell like? [Source] I’d describe it as freshly cut grass with a hint of log fires. Like camping in summer if that makes sense.

💛Does Mychael purr? [Source] Since im honestly a sucker for the purring trope i'll say hell yea tbh hahaha. His would be a really low rumble I'd imagine. He can also occasionally let out a low trill or those ‘mrrp’ sounds when he’s caught off guard or surprised but it's rare since he's real embarrassed when he does it.

💛Is Michael ticklish? [Source] Considering he’s never been tickled before,,, I think he’d go into shock if you did that to him💀 But to answer your question yeah I think he’d be the most ticklish person you’ve ever met haha. He’s either gonna accept his fate or go down fighting😔

💛Does Mychael snore in his sleep? [Source] He’d be a pretty quiet sleeper I think!

💛Does Mychael get sick? Since he’s not human, he doesn’t get sick like we do:

He’s aware we call it being sick, but his term is ‘feeling withered/wilted.’

He doesn’t have a temperature, but his skin turns pale and blemished like a diseased plant, and gets kinda slimy and cold like a frog’s. Here's a visual of how he looks like sick.

No energy, no appetite, barely talks. Very zombie-ish.

He gets real drowsy and dazed and the only thing to motivate him is seeking out warmth.

He just needs sunshine and sleep to get better so you’d find him laying out in the sun during the day and hiding away in blankets at night, sleeping it off. He only eats once a day, since his body needs rest rather than sustenance.

He gets sick like... once every few years that's how rare it is but when it happens it knocks him out for like a week </3

💛Does Mychael fear metal? What phobias does he have? [Source 1 & 2] No, he doesn’t fear metal and iron wouldn't hurt him! His phobias/fears are: snowstorms, thunder/lightning and water wells. In no particular order :-) (Oh, and trains/train whistles.)

💛Does Michael have any food that he hates? [Source] Anything spicy! He can handle some spice, but anything that gives heat on your tongue he’d definitely be put off since it makes him physically ill.

💛Mychael's life cycle: [Source] His life cycle is very different from a human’s.

💛Does Mychael have his own languge? If so, what does it sound like? [Source 1 & 2] He actually has his own language, but speaks in English (or your own language if you’d prefer!)

His language sounds very animalistic; a lot of growls, hisses and clicks. It’s like hearing a cat verbally communicate with those sounds. If you guys are familiar with Toki Pona, (here’s a video for reference.) the simplicity is very similar in terms of vocab and sentence structure. Considering the limitations of those same growls, hisses and clicks, plus how little he communicates in his own language, it’s not a complex system but he speaks it regardless. He wont be speaking it in-game hence why im okay answering the question.

💛Can Mychael read? [Source] Yep, he can read! He talks about it some more in Day 2.

💛Can Mychael swim? [Source] He’d be able to swim, yeah.

💛How much does Mychael know of human customs/cooking/inventions? And does he like/dislike some of them? [Source] He knows enough to make a living for himself. He’s really into DIY and crafting, but if anything gets more complex to the point it goes over his head- he’d just abandon it. As for human customs he knows even less; it’s kinda touch and go what he does and doesn’t know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ For example, he's seen cars and phones but doesn't understand how they work. Traditional stuff like crafting/cooking/gardening is easier for him to grasp.

💛Does Mychael have any religion/belief? [Source] I’ve played around with this concept in my head! I did want to explore a unique kind of religion/belief Mychael has but,,, eventually I kinda settled on the idea that Mychael broke off from that way of thinking? Or something like that. It can be accepted that he used to have a religion- or never had one to begin with. it's a tricky subject for me anyway </3 But feel free to have your own interpretation!

💛Does Mychael have any superstitions? [Source] His biggest superstition is respecting the forest and whatever happens in the forest, stays in the forest. (That is until you came along and made him break his own rule. Whoops.)

💛What's Mychael’s wardrobe like? [Source] He’s not much for fashion; as long as he thinks it’s practical and comfortable he’d wear it. He wouldn’t be a fan of clothes that’re less weather-resistent though, since he clearly needs stuff that could stand the wilderness.

He doesn’t accessorize much either, preferring to keep simple and be as drab as possible to attract less attention. But I think he’d love to try nail polish :-)) He has a lot of hats and scarves though.

💛Would Mychael be willing to wear a dress? [Source] I’d like to think he’s tried em before! He kinda had to scrap by when it came to clothes so he wouldn’t be picky in his early days.

Nowadays, he probably thinks they’re nice to wear but impractical for his daily chores, so he mostly sticks to tops and bottoms. But he won’t be opposed to it.

💛When did Mychael start knitting and why? [Source] He’s been knitting for a few years, so he’s kinda advanced. As for why, he finds it relaxing especially after a long day, and usually does it before bedtime. Plus he just loves being bundled up in warm things in general.

💛What is Mychael's favorite thing to knit? [Source] His favorite thing to knit are beanies!! :-D

💛What are other craftsmanship does Mychael do? [Source 1 & 2] He’s tried out woodworking, sculpting, candle-making, pottery etc. Knitting just happens to be his favorite of all the things he’s tried haha. Assume Mychaels an expert at gardening too!

💛Does Mychael ever overwork himself to the point of almost passing out? [Source] He definitely used to! It’s not easy making a living out in the wilderness; especially when he only had himself to rely on. Thankfully he doesn’t need to go through that anymore; he’s made a pretty nice home for himself since then. He's been thru a lot. Sopping wet cat energy.

💛How long has Mychael been in his home/cabin for? [Source] Previously he’d wander around like a nomad before finding himself a home. He’s only settled down into his cabin in the woods for a few years, it’s still a work in progress by his standards.

💛Does Mychael like stargazing? [Source] He’s more of a daytime person tbh! At night he’d prefer to stay cozy indoors. When you spend half your life sleeping outside in the cold. You don't miss it much despite the pretty lights in the sky.

💛What kind of music does Mychael listen to? [Source] Hm! He rarely listens to music, so he doesn’t have a preference tbh. If he had to choose- Perhaps something more upbeat and dancey since it’s a nice change from the quiet, but only for short periods. He’d probably enjoy whatever you’re listening to if you give him the chance :-)! Lyrics don't matter as much to him. He'd just enjoy it based off the sound.

💛What are some of Mychael's favorite scents? [Source] Top 3 would be the smell of old books, honey and (strangely enough) gasoline??? But the last one is soso rare for him he finds it exciting when he happens to catch a whiff, even if he has no idea what it is haha.

If you happen to be the type to wear perfumes/scents, he’d quickly associate the smell with you and have it be another one of his favorites :-)

💛How would Mychael react if he found a lost child in the woods? [Source] He’d be surprised for sure. His part of the woods is pretty untouched by humans, so to find one wandering this far is definitely a shock to him. If the kid was too scared to let him approach, he’d have to use a tiny fraction of his ability to calm them down, so as not to leave any side effects (younger minds are more vulnerable to it). If the kid wasn’t scared and asked if he was some sort of woodland fae/goblin creature, he’d go along with it and say he’s come to rescue them.

After making sure the kid is alright, he’d either try to find the parents straight away or bring them home if they needed food or rest. He wouldn’t dare adopt a child willy nilly, and if there was no other way, he’d probably drop them somewhere like a police or fire station (he can’t really differentiate between them, just that they respond to emergencies).

Overall he’s not opposed to being around children, just not used to it.

💛I see Mychael as a very docile and friendly creature- but in the 3rd ending of the game "Playing Pretend" left me with a doubt... Would he really be a bad guy? [Source] You’re not wrong! Mychael’s not the most violent, even if he is capable of it. In Ending 3 he just… panicked. Though don’t underestimate the things he’d resort to when he realizes how attached he’s getting to you :-)

He’s calm and composed… until he isn’t.

💛How many creatures/people has Mychael found "affected" by those mushrooms that the MC came across? [Source] You’re not the first, that’s for sure! He definitely knows about them, but finds it unnecessary to tell you (at least for now). He was quick to dismiss your doubts on how you lost consciousness, giving you an easy explanation even if he had to lie.

Most of the time he lets the incapacitated creatures be; “it’s the will of the forest,” after all. Although he does break that rule when he finds humans that’re still alive (in this case, you!) in his forest, but that’s very very rare.

💛How would Mychael act if MC introduced him to their friend? MC told their friend that Mychael wouldn't hurt them but the friend is still a little scared and weary of him. [Source] Definitely wary of them too. He kinda trusts you, but can he trust them? He’s met his fair share of humans; not a lot of them were as accepting as you. He can try to lower his guard but your friend would need to convince him themself.

💛Mychael & MC in Day 1 of the game. [Source] Mychael, as a person, is quite solitary in nature; he likes being alone and you’ll find out why. He does however desire company and he’s only realized just how pleasant having someone around can be (hence his reaction for the Bad Endings in Day 1 if you wish to leave/run away).

You grow closer to Mychael as you hang out with him and do little things that he appreciates. Example: The first thing that boosts you to immediate friend status is your willingness to accept his physical looks, something that’s never happened to him before. Little things like that mean a lot to him and motivates him to prolong your stay.

If Mychael met a more grouchy/mean MC on Day 1 he’d probably not be as attached. He’d just save you, feed you and send you home when you ask hahaha. Of course, this will change as he gets to know you better, at that stage he’ll be willing to overlook your flaws like any upstanding yandere.

💛How would Mychael react if the player character was already in a relationship with someone else? [Source] At his current attachment in Day 1 [Friend status], he’d be respectful about it! A little overprotective but mostly curious what dating and marriage is all about. He’s not familiar with it outside of whatever knowledge he happened to pick up.

Now if he’s grown obsessed developed feelings and found out afterwards though…

💛Can you date Mychael in this game? Or not? [Source] I mean that's the goal! ¯_(ツ)_/¯ If his responses in asks currently give off a platonic vibe, that's because they are.

As of Day 1, Mychael's feelings towards you are positive but mostly platonic [Here's a visual affection level chart]. His bad endings show his desperation for company rather than you reciprocating any romantic feelings.

As I update the game, his responses will most likely be more romantically-driven. The game is a slow burn after all :-) He's a yandere- but a yandere who hasn't fallen in love yet. Though I do plan on adding a platonic ending bc sometimes u just wanna kiss a bestie without any romantic feelings attached.

💛What made you think of the pet name ‘Firefly’ for MC? [Source] It honestly just came to me as I was concepting the game ;v;! Other pet names Mychael would’ve used were: turtledove, poppet and sweetpea. He would switch it up in the initial draft but sticking to one makes it more special I think.

💛What does Mychael think about femboys? [Source] He doesn’t really mind nor care how you present yourself :-0! In fact he’d find it strange you asked that at all after you explain what it means dhfjsjf

💛Does Mychael have a gender preference? [Source] Not at all! His favorite genre of human is you :-) Plus gender talk goes way over his head. He's too busy thinking about survival to mind that stuff. Anything you identify with he's absolutely okay with <3

💛How would Mychael feel about someone a lot shorter than him? [Source] He had to admit he forgot adult humans come in your size,,, he wouldn’t think much of it though! He’s just excited to make a friend :-)

💛What would Mychael's "ideal type" be? [Source] I think he’d be more attracted to gentleness, I think. Someone who is kind despite a harsh reality; willing to understand a creature like him and someone he trusts he can drop his guard around.

But even if you don’t fit that criteria, he’d still like you as long as you accept him for who he is! There’s no need to worry about changing yourself to fit his preference <3

💛How did the player get to Mychael’s home? [Source] I always imagined it as piggyback to be honest! But bridal carry, a fireman’s carry, over-the-shoulder, whatever you guys are comfortable with he’s definitely capable of <3 He may be shorter than most (Dolly’s note🌹: His height changed since this ask so maybe not anymore lol so let's change it to 'He may seem weak') but he's strong.

💛Is MC permanently affected by the mushroom ring they stepped in? How much power does Mychael hold against it? [Source] No, MC is not permanently affected by the mushroom ring they stepped in. In one of the bad endings, the influence of it over you is stronger than what Mychael can fight against, hence he releases you as he sees it as the forest already claiming you fully. He can do nothing else to save you.

That’s why he insists on you staying for dinner, and is surprised when you say yes, as he really thought he lost you already for a moment there :-) Past that choice, the mysterious ‘purple’ influence no longer affects you, as Mychael had successfully distracted you long enough for the mind-altering effects to wear off. He just needed the right thing to say to keep you grounded. Lest you wander off and end up in the ground </3

💛If we asked, would he talk to us in his own language? [Source] If he were to talk in it you wouldn’t be able to differentiate one word to another, they all sound the same hahaha.

💛Can we research what type of fae creature Mychael is? Will he be okay with it? [Source] He might be apprehensive at first, but if you ask the right questions he’d probably answer just enough to satiate your curiosity. Don’t be surprised if he leaves out certain things though, he doesn’t want you to think he’s a freak. 💔 He doubts you'd find anything in research though but who knows

💛Do you think Mychael would be a good teacher, when it comes to knitting? [Source] He’s never taught anyone before but he’d be happy to! (He’d probably be a very hands-on teacher cuz he’s bad at explaining–)

💛What if you knitted something for Mychael? [Source] If you knitted something for him he’d probably wear it/look at it multiple times throughout the day getting butterflies in his stomach.

💛If MC brought him to a secret river as a gift would he go? [Source] The thing I’d correct is Mychael would bring MC to a river instead of the other way around hahaha. MC is the poor meowmeow who got lost in the woods on Day 1. Their ass would not!! know any secret rivers

💛How would Mychael react if MC threw him a surprise party, to celebrate his birthday or to celebrate the day they both met? [Source] I think he’d love it a lot!! He’s not one to celebrate much if anything, but he’d be so happy if you threw a little surprise just for him :-) Especially knowing he gets to spend time with his favorite person in the world for such a special occasion <3

💛Is there any fun activities that Mychael would drag MC to? [Source] Oh for sure! He’d probably take you outdoors a lot and show you all his favorite spots in the forest :-)!! He’d probably bring you along to do his daily errands if you’d allow it haha

💛What would Mychael say if I were to take two slices of bread, put his head in between and sweetly ask: "what are you?" The answer lol

💛What would Mychael’s reaction be if MC tried giving him spicy food? [Source] If you try to give him a spicy dish, he’d definitely smell it first before he even tastes it. He’d just politely decline in that scenario.

💛What is his opinion if MC is the type to snore? [Source] He's definitely the kind of person to have the TV on in the room even if their not watching- just to have some noise around the house. So if MC were the type to snore… he’d probably find the sound strangely comforting? He’d find it jarring at first but grow used to it quickly.

It’s nice to hear you and know that someone is around after being alone for so long, especially when he’s up during late nights <3

💛How would Mychael feel about an MC who steals and wears his sweaters? [Source] He’d find it strange why you’d wanna steal when you can just ask– he’d also find it very endearing. Should he be concerned that you're a potential thief?? Or just worry about how cute you look?? a moral dilemma

💛Is there any type of clothing that Mychael likes to see on MC? [Source] I’d imagine he’d like clothes on MC that are more earth-toned perhaps, greens and browns that remind him of his forest and such. :-) Loose clothes are a bonus too cuz it makes you look comfy around him! i think he'd be a fan of animal-themed clothes too; pawprint socks or a fox cap or a rabbit hoodie- something like that.

💛What is Mychael’s love language? [Source] This is assuming MC and Mychael have been friends/lovers for a while; When you’re on the receiving end: Offering Gifts 🎁💖

He’s never had anyone be around as long as you have; he’s kinda new to the gifting thing but does so with a lot of enthusiasm!!

Whether it’s something he made or found, knowing he chose it for you is what makes it soso special.

He just loves the idea of being able to give something that was a part of himself and insert it into your life if that makes sense.

He also loves doing it because he believes you deserve to have nice things with all his heart :-)!

If he’s not sure what to gift you he’d rely on pretty little knickknacks he thinks you’d like but still be on the safe side; flowers, jewelry, decorations and accessories.

But if he does figure out your interests he’d do his best to accommodate! Books, toys, tools and clothes… he has his means of getting stuff he can’t make himself.

The idea of you keeping his gifts as a sign of friendship/love makes him really happy!!

Lowkey if he sees you using/wearing/displaying a gift he gave in the past he’d be purring non-stop.

When he’s on the receiving end; Words of Affirmation 💬💕

We know how he feels about his physical appearance so this is a no-brainer. His self-esteem isn’t the best :’-)

Being alone/isolated as he is, he might confuse physical affection but nothing is more clear to him than words straight from your mouth about how much you mean to him <3

At first he wonders if you truly mean what you say when you talk so positively about him, but then he slowly starts to believe it.

Do not underestimate the impact of one (1) compliment as simple as “You look good today, Mychael.” He’d remember it for at least a week.

It’s a bit of a guessing game to figure out what gets him the best. If you praise his skill at something his response would be, “Oh I guess I got good at it. Thanks, firefly :-)” but if you praise his looks and mannerisms you’ve hit the jackpot.

Blushing, stuttering, avoiding your gaze level of embarrassment.

If you’re really close friends or basically dating, he will absolutely ask for your opinion on how you feel about him from time to time, just to get reassurance from you.

Overall nothing gets him better than just hearing positive remarks from a loving source aka you :-) <3

💛How would Mychael react if we made him some lunch while he was knitting and feed it to him? The cute illustrated answer

💛How would he react to a very clingy MC? [Source] If you mean very clingy, he’d be pretty tense about it, to be honest. He’s not used to physical touch but doesn’t mind it; if you take it easy and ask permission (so he doesn’t get overwhelmed) he’d be more okay with it! Just respect him when he asks you for space every once in a while <3

(Dolly’s note🌹: I can only guess but I think this answer is if you're still in the friend status because if this applies even in the obsessed status, the below Q&A would so funny in comparison)

💛But is Mychael clingy? This guy? Clingy? Nahhh. Nothing to worry about, anon :-)/s Here's a visual of his clinginess, he's very clingy yes lol.

💛Is Mychael the jealous type? [Source] It’s rare for him to feel jealous, but I’d imagine when it does happen he’d feel it very intensely on the inside. But you’d probably be none the wiser 💔

💛How would Mychael react if we confess our feelings to him? [Source] Bold of you to assume he won’t be the one to confess first 🤨

💛Does Mychael like to be kissed? [Source] His kind arent accustomed to physical affection. Does he even know what kissing is??? Thats for me to decide and you to figure out 👀 BUT He’d love getting kisses! On the cheeks especially :-) But careful not to overstimulate him; he’s kinda like a cat when you pet ‘em too much and they get all frazzled. Kisses on the lips he's less inclined but doesn't mind em time to time. Maybe like a peck or two. And here's a gif of pampering Mychael's face with kisses &lt;3

💛Does Mychael know about marriage customs in human civilization? [Source] He’s familiar with human marriage the same way a young kid would be; involves inviting people, dressing up and wearing rings for some reason?? How strange to go to such lengths when you could just be around that same person the rest of your life and still be the same??

He doesn’t put much significance on it personally. Unless…? 👀 💛What would Mychael do if MC took care of him while he was sick? [Source] He’s not used to asking someone to care for him, but in this state if MC offered to help he’d honestly just ask you to keep him warm too with zero assumption as to what you might think. He’s just a little too out of it to be embarrassed about it. Example of providing him warmth.

💛Would Mychael let us hug him when he’s sick or would he push us away? Although, would this make us sick? [Source] He would! I’d say he’s the most physically clingiest when he’s sick. He’s basically sleepy all the time and other than seeking warmth, he doesn’t communicate much.

And no, we can’t get sick from him and vice versa, since our bodies are different from his. So no worries about getting yourself sick when you’re around him!

💛What would Mychael do if the MC got ill? [Source] Oh he’d be worried beyond belief! He wouldn’t leave you alone for a second.

He’s not familiar with human sickness, but he’d do his best to provide whatever it is you need. Hot soup, warm blankets, he’d even risk going to get medicine for you if you ask.

-------------------------🍄🍄🍄

Some facts I didn’t add as Cheea didn’t give a direct answer to some questions, like Mychael’s family, since they’ll eventually be answered in the game <3

But I hope you enjoy this and that it may be useful to you all!

[iamasaddie]

hangry

paring: Tim Rockford x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 3k~ summary: You and Tim get stuck in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere with only one bed to share.

warnings: one bed trope kinda but it's not the center of the fic; explicit sexual content (don't wanna ruin the surprise with too descriptive tags); talk of food, mentions of eating; age gap (Tim is twice the age of the reader, but reader's age is not specified); no use of y/n.

a/n: an absolute gem @beefrobeefcal once (last fucking year but i'm as fast as a snail in a coma) suggested to write fics using the prompt "Wait, why didn't you tell me you had a bag of those?" and I rolled with it. Here's the result! also it wouldn't have been as pretty as it is without the help of the loveliest @noxturnalpascal who helped me correct all of my silly mistakes!

MY MAIN MASTERLIST

“This is some fucking bullshit.” Detective Tim Rockford threw his case to the floor, still catching his breath from climbing four floors up. 

“Don’t be so negative, Detective Rockford, at least we have a bed.” You chuckled, looking around the poorly furnished room. Wallpaper that was yellow from time, and not because of a designer’s choice; two uncomfortable looking armchairs with a small coffee table straight from the 70s between them; a TV with a “not working” sign attached to it with a sticky tape; and the bed, that caused most of the controversy between you and your new partner. The bedspread was a tacky shade of orange, causing you to scrunch your nose and pray that it was at least changed once this week.

Apparently, a small town in the middle of nowhere couldn’t keep a cafe open in the middle of the night even if it was a crime scene, and yet it had a fully booked motel straight from Lovecraft’s novels. The yellow glow of the bedside lamp cast a sickly light over the room, adding to the stark feeling of isolation. You did suspect that the bookings were a total lie and the tired looking owner just didn’t want to clean two rooms after your inevitable check out in the morning. You didn’t tell Tim about your suspicions, though.

The man was still standing next to the front door, both of his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. 

“No fucking cars in the parking lot, and yet they’re fully booked. They think I’m that stupid. Fucking lazy ass people.”

You just groaned in response and kicked the armchair before throwing yourself on the bed. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Rockford, stop being such a wuss. If you’re so scared about your virtue I can sleep on the floor.” You pointed at the raggedy carpet, but hoped he wouldn’t accept your offer. After spending 6 hours in a car you wanted nothing more than to take a shower and slip into bed. In some ways, you were even glad you had to postpone your crime scene investigation until the next day. 

Tim just huffed and shook his head. He picked up his case where he’d thrown it and placed it on one of the armchairs instead, disposing his trench coat on top.

“You wanna head to the shower first?” The man asked, easing his tie with one hand and pointing to the only other door with his head. 

“No, you go,” your stomach grumbled and you remembered something that made you curse inwardly with annoyance. “I forgot something in the car, gonna run down and back.”

“Poor thing,” he said plainly, his intonation not showing an ounce of care, “I would leave it there, if I were you.”

“Of course you would,” you looked him up and down, his broad shoulders tightly bound in the gun holster, following lower where his white shirt was straining along his soft, slightly protruding belly, and lower still to his thighs in his usual black slacks. Tim cursed every living and dead being on his way up, and when you heard his knees pop you felt genuinely sorry for him, even though you felt your mouth fill with saliva as his buttocks flexed right in front of your face. 

Tim coughed, and as your eyes came back to his face you saw one of his eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline.  His raised brow revealed his bemusement, making you realize that your  hunger, that went beyond just food, had been so consuming that you had become lost in your thoughts and your lingering. He shook his head and disappeared behind the creaking door that led to the bathroom. 

The only thing that rained on your parade as you ran to the car Tim drove was exactly that - rain. You tugged your thin jacket tighter around yourself, feeling the cold wetness already seeping through it. 

“Bingo! Here you are.” You drew two celebratory fists in the air and then tugged the crinkling bag from under the car’s backseat. It must’ve fallen while you were on the road and for a moment you had a scare that you just imagined taking the thing with you. You pressed your treasure to your chest as you quickly returned to the room you left moments ago. 

Rockford was nowhere to be seen when you sat on the edge of the bed, your soaked through jacket and jeans disposed of on the vacant armchair. Your much less formal attire that you wore to work finally did you good, and you tugged your oversized t-shirt a bit lower as you rummaged the plastic bag you brought for the thing you wanted most. A brightly colored pack of mini-waffles warmed your heart almost as much as the memory of your first kiss with your high school crush. Anticipating the sweetness on your tongue, you opened the pack in a hurry, fully tuning out everything else. You didn’t hear the water in the shower stop, or the wet sound of Rockfords bare feet closing in on you. A sudden wave of relaxation washed over you as you bit into the soft, buttery waffle, indulging in its delightful sweetness. Just as the flavor exploded in your mouth, a voice startled you from behind. 

“Wait - why didn’t you tell me you had a bag of those?” 

Your head snapped in the direction from where the voice was coming, and you almost choked on the sweet delight. Tim was wearing a big towel wrapped around his hips, letting the water droplets fall from the curled strands of his hair and travel down his chest. You followed one drop that slowed down on the slope of his belly, and then went even faster over the soft curve, hiding into the soft fabric. 

You weren’t sure if you already forgot what Tim asked or you didn’t hear it from the beginning, so you just made an uncertain sound between ‘huh’ and ‘why’, still chewing on your waffle.

“I asked you if you had anything to snack on, and you said ‘yeah, there are some mini waffles left in the bag.’” Your partner looked way angrier than the situation called for, confusing you even further.

“So?”

Tim looked at you like you had grown out a second head. His eyebrows couldn’t decide whether to frown or to jump up, making him look funny. “So I did the gentlemanly thing and left those for you because I thought you’d get hungry again pretty soon!”

“Aww, you’re so sweet when you want to be, Detective.” You didn’t think a grumpy old man like Tim Rockford would be so attentive to small details like that. You felt your cheeks warm up, teasing him was only a way to not embarrass yourself, because you knew that you were two or three sentences away from making a lovesick fool out of yourself. Well, you didn’t love love him, but it was hard not to develop a crush on the man.

“I was fucking starving and you had a full bag of snacks that you didn’t tell me about?” He stepped closer to the bed, his eyes dropping to where your naked thighs were pressed together.

“Uhh… I just didn’t think?” You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the wave of fresh warm smell coming from Tim. Was he still hot after the shower or was it his normal body temperature? It was definitely higher than a normal human’s. You felt the urge to stretch your hand and place it where his tummy moved with his breathing until you heard stern muttering.

“You never fucking do.”

“Hey!” Your hand dropped to the mattress, pushing you out of your trance. “That’s not true!”

“Give it here,” it was Tim’s turn to stretch out his hand, pointing towards the opened bag of waffles clutched in your left hand.

“Not until you say you’re sorry and that you were wrong.” You didn’t actually need him to apologize, you knew he was tired and you were quite used to him being mildly rude and snappy when he was in a bad mood (which was 95% of the time you spent together). But having something that he so desperately wanted - even though it was something as ridiculous as a half-empty bag of mini waffles - made you giddy with power. 

“Not in a million years, now give me the mini waffles.” His knees bumped into the edge of the bed, his hand almost gripping your arm, but you were quick enough to pull the snack away. “Stop being a child.”

“Stop being a dick,” you said nonchalantly and shrugged your shoulders. “That's all you did for the last seven hours.”

“Give me the goddamn waffles!” He surged forward, miscalculating his movements and his size and ending up falling on top of you with his whole body, pressing you into the bed with his chest and stomach while his hand traveled up, finding the waffle that spilled out of the opened bag on top of the bedspread. He shoved the tiny snack in his mouth, moaning in satisfaction as the sweetness hit his tongue. You could barely stop yourself from accompanying him with your tiny whimper. 

“Oh, so you were just hungry,” you whispered, breathless. Your eyes watched as his jaws clenched and unclenched savoring the food before he swallowed soundly. You were very aware of his curious eyes searching for something on your face and you hoped he would find it. The heavy weight of him on top of you was pleasant, and you moved your hips up, your already moist panties crushing into the stiffness beneath the towel with the motel’s initials on it. Apparently it was the only thing Tim needed, the sweet smell of waffle that still lingered on his lips and tongue becoming more apparent as he brought his face closer to yours.

“Yeah, and I’m not full yet.”

His lips crashed into yours before you could even process it. The gentle vanilla flavor of the waffles made Tim’s taste sweeter than you could ever imagine. Your tongue as if having a mind of its own found a way between Tim’s lips, collecting every bit of sweet taste mixed with something very Tim. Your lips fought for dominance, as he squeezed both of your hands in one of his above your head. Your kiss was akin to a science project, the chemical reaction when both of your tastes mixed caused your brain to shut down. It wasn’t something you dreamed about every night, but as soon as you got it you knew you wouldn’t be able to leave. 

Tim’s lips freed yours, hasty kisses covering your jaw and neck as he hiked up your t-shirt, leaving you in a sports bra that didn’t match your panties neither in color nor in style. He didn’t seem to care, eyeing your tits with hunger.

“Up,” he growled, and you didn’t need to be told twice. You awkwardly slid up until your head hit the pillow. You waited for Tim to join you, but he had other plans. His hands grabbed your ankles, almost throwing your legs apart as he laid between them, getting comfortable with his face right in front of your pussy. You knew he could feel the hotness exuding from you, he didn’t take his eyes from the wet spot between your legs as he let his thick thumb travel up and down your slip, teasing you through the damp material.

“Never knew I had such a sweet tooth,” he grinned, before replacing his finger with his nose, the tip pushing into you harder and eliciting a moan from somewhere deep inside of you. Tim moaned in response, inhaling lungs full of your smell. He swiped his nose up and down a few more times before you couldn’t handle the teasing anymore, deciding to get rid of your panties yourself. 

When your hands traveled to do just that, Tim noticed it, biting your thigh and humming in disapproval. “You need to learn how to be patient, sweetheart.”

“You’re the one to talk,” you huffed out of breath, still remembering the fit he threw over the waffles. Tim’s head lifted up and he looked into your eyes, for a moment you were ready to apologize, unsure if you said something wrong. However, that night detective was full of surprises. He nodded, giving you a little smirk.

“You’re right,” his eyes never left yours as his hands made quick work of ripping the simple cotton of your panties apart and throwing what was left of them somewhere to the floor, “I am quite impatient.”

Instead of reply, a ragged moan dripped from your lips as his tongue licked a fat stripe along your slick pussy. Tim’s movements were confident, and didn’t lack the hungry passion that you saw in his eyes a moment ago. His tongue concentrated on your clit, flying around it in tight circles. You felt like the warmth of his mouth on your pussy made even your bones feel like red-hot iron. With trembling hands you gripped still damp strands of his hair, unsure if you wanted to press him harder into yourself or push him away with the amount of unfiltered pleasure he gave you. When the tip of his tongue played with the hood of your clit, exposing the throbbing bud to the pleasurable torture, your legs clasped together, thighs crashing Tim’s head between them. Though the man devouring your pussy was clearly happy with it, his hands quickly pushed your thighs apart. As he lifted his head up for a moment, you saw that the lower part of his face was drenched with his saliva and your arousal, and your thighs twitched again when he licked his lips with a pornographic moan. 

With his left hand still squeezing your right thigh and pressing it into the mattress, his right gave your burning pussy a slap, that ripped a choking breath out of you.

“Keep ‘em open, you don’t want me to tie you up, do you?”

You weren’t sure because there wasn’t an immediate ‘no’ in your head, instead, you felt a new gush of arousal seeping from your pulsing hole. Noticing your visible reaction, Tim raised an eyebrow, “interesting. But not tonight.”

He dived back into your pussy without any other comments, his fingers pushed your pussy lips apart and his mouth found your clit once again. His tongue slid further down without letting the pressure off your clit when the tip found your entrance. 

You wailed shamelessly when the thumb that was helping keeping your pussy spread open replaced Tim’s tongue on your nub as the wet muscle fucked into your hole. He lapped and licked into your welcoming cunt, the more of your arousal seeped on his tongue the deeper and more animalistic were the sounds he made.

In your desperate attempt to reach pleasure you didn’t notice Rockford’s hips rut into the mattress beneath him with cruel abandon. He moved his hips in perfect sync with the push of his tongue and the circling motion of his fingers. The pressure on his cock wasn’t ideal, but with the accompaniment of your taste and smell enslaving his senses it was enough to drive him further and further down the road to his own orgasm. You threw your hands to your face, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your fist under the relentless abuse of Tim’s mouth and fingers. Every grunt he made resulted in vibrations that started at the soft skin of your pussy and traveled straight to your brain, spreading the pleasure all over your body in shocking impulses. You felt possessed as your body thrashed with upcoming orgasm, every lick to your core was akin to an electrical charge. Your hands fell apart, hitting the mattress as a cry left you hoarse and breathless when one of the most powerful orgasms you’ve ever felt hit you. You were half out of your mind to stop Tim from continuing grinding his face into your pussy and licking up your release without the previous finesse as his body started shaking as well. When the grunts stopped shaking the room, his head fell limp between your legs, hairs tickling the naked skin of your sensitive pussy. 

“I need to take a shower again,” he murmured, before placing a wet kiss on your sweaty thigh.

“So, when am I getting my treat?” You laid together in bed, now on the same face level. Your body was still recovering from your orgasm, but your mind was greedy for more. Your hand lightly caressed Tim’s soft belly on the way down. The fresh towel was hiding his cock that wasn’t fully hard yet. Tim shuddered with oversensitivity when you gently squeezed the promisingly fat shaft. 

“Give me a few moments, darlin’. You’re undeniably sexy, but my body’s twice as old as yours.”

You kissed his shoulder, placing your head on the same spot afterwards and letting your finger trace patterns on his skin. You were satisfied, and happier than you’ve been in a while, you didn’t care how long it took him to recover as long as he’d still want to fuck when it happened.

“Maybe we’ll both wake up for a midnight snack,” you murmured in Tim’s neck, biting the soft spot a little.

Tim’s voice was a bit out of breath, and he tried to keep it even-pitched as he spoke. You felt his hand travel to your buttock and squeeze the meat. “I always crave something sweet in the middle of the night,” he half-whispered, placing a kiss on top of your head.

please leave a comment and reblog if you liked this fic!

[alexis-royce]

Y'know thanks to you I've seen probably a hundred Fallen London tagged posts and it's the one fandom(?) that I've gleaned absolutely nothing about. Just no idea even what the premise is or what's going on.

Just every once in awhile I see a post like "Going to the Wonder Emporium to spend 500 golden candelabras in order to convert my 52 cursed weasels into 51 Slightly Less Cursed Weasels and 51 Minor Weasel Curses before my elegant masquerade dinner with Mr. Rodents and Mrs. Phantasmal Goop" and it's always tagged Fallen London. I understand nothing but I also sorta feel like that's the point.

I think the main thing that's stuck with me is "Ex-disgraced Academic" is just such a good character name/title(?). Like there's so much intrigue baked in there, I wanna know more about that funny lil guy

To start: That is a better encapsulation of FL writing than I would ever be capable of, I cannot possibly express to you how much I love that center paragraph.

To sum up: In February 1862, the city of London fell beneath the surface of the earth, stolen by bats. In our current year of 1902, folks have adjusted to the horrors of living amongst devils, talking rats, and other chthonic entities.

Fallen London is a comedy gothic horror browser game. It ranks high in both comedy and horror, and it’s been running for fourteen years, so the world and mechanics have matured like a gorgeous scotch. You can play for free, but it is not meant to be binged! You can only do a very little every few hours. This bothers the hell out of plenty of folks, but for me, the slow pace is positively sumptuous. It gives the world time to breathe, and me time to ponder an abundance of esoteric and haunting mysteries. A lot of the characters in FL have appellations instead of names: “The Jovial Contrarian,” “The Loquacious Vicar,” “Jack-of-Smiles,” or “The Implacable Detective.”

Speaking of! Thank you for the compliments on The Academic’s title! Often I wish I had something less clunky for them, but I am pleased with the way it effectively communicates their fall from grace and return to prominence. I need to update it and ought to make a better write-up, but their toyhouse page is over here, and their introductory comic and stories are over here!

[andastartosteerherby]

SVSSS Fic Rec

I'm updating it everyday, because time crunch.

(Mostly Bingqiu/Bingyuan, Unless Tagged)

*Different Endless Abyss

Guess I'll Die - Shen Qingqiu goes to the Endless Abyss.

Speak No Evil - SQQ gives up his voice to stop Endless Abyss. It happens anyway.

*Amnesia

Night of Yearning - Luo Binghe forgets Shen Qingqiu.

*Jinlan City Goes Differently/Different Reunion/Different Rebirth

High Mountains, How I long

Dew Over - Shen Qingqiu is reborn in the mushroom body and tries to live as Peerless Cucumber.

Honesty is Such a Lonely Word - Shen Qinqiu faces the trial, and Old Palace Master uses a truth-finding artefact.

*Time Loop/Time Travel

Just Like A Monkey (I've Been Dancing My Whole Life) - Instead of being reborn after self-destructing, Shen Qingqiu keeps coming back on the Stairs of the Brothel in Jinlan City.

Master of Dual Cultivation Series - Shen Yuan reboots his time in PIDW. He is traumatised and less happy-go-lucky. This one is multi, with Liu Qingge and Yue Qingyuan getting more focus uptill now (in the first two stories) but Luo Binghe is important too.

*Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan

Deluxe System 2.0: Co-op Mode!

Found Brother Shen brothers.

A-Yuan Has at Least Three Friends - Shen Qingqiu turns into a kid with both Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu's memory. They are the same person.

Replacement Head Disciple Shen Yuan - Set after the Abyss, before Binghe's return. Shen Brothers.

*Epic (These fics are longer and plot-heavy, and won a special place in my heart)

You Reap What You Sow - Luo Binghe is the transmigrator. I thought it would be so-so, but turned out to be one of the best ones I've ever read. Also has Shen brothers.

Xiangyang - When you are born as the daughter of your murderer, what do you do? A question for the ages. No active pairing, original LBH and his harem is present.

Uprooted - Shen Yuan transmigrates as a minor villain in PIDW. Except he's not.

To Stem the Coming Tide - Shen Qingqiu learns about Shang Qinghua a bit earlier, and they plot to avoid their fate. No Endless Abyss.

*IWYWMH & Its AUs

I Wish You Were My Husband - The epickest of epics. It produced a number of spin-offs of it's own. Maybe I should put them under separate sub-headings when I have time. Bingqiu main pair, but has past yuejiu and hints of one-sided liushen.

A Wish to Change Fate - A great fanfic to IWYWMH. Shen Yuan is actually Shen Jiu's reincarnation. This fic touched my heart in all the right ways, gave me things I didn't even know I craved. Someday I should write about it in details. Hings of Bingjiu/Bingyuan (since both are the same).

No Wish for the Wicked - Shen Yuan wasn't around to take the place of Shen Jiu. Sad.

*Bingge

to love another (and to learn yourself) - Bingge tries to get his own Shizun and brings a Shen Yuan. Even without his cultivation power, Shen Yuan is not a pushover. Binggeyuan.

How to Train Your Shen Qingqiu - Another piece I ignored for a long time, but turned out to be very good. I need to reread it.

*WIP

I usually avoid wips, but here are some of the best ones I read:

I Was Transmigrated as a Sword (Gen up till now)

Lotus Seeds - Shen Yuan runs away to save himself from the horrible fate of the Scum Villain - to the realm of the Lotus Eaters.

Scum Villain's Book of Prophecy - Shen jiu reads PIDW and learns the future. Original Luo Binghe/Original Shen Qingqiu. Almost finished, epic length.

[annasinterests]

don't look at me like that unless you mean it

run in the shadows ♫ damn your love, damn your lies

|| series masterlist || main masterlist ||

a/n: hey hey heyyyyy my loves! been a minute but i'm super pumped (and scared) to be putting out this chapter, at first i really struggled in deciding which direction i wanted it to go, but am pretty content with how it turned out! this is also my first time ever writing smut so i am apologizing in advance for.. everything . also, i imagine joel smelling like tommy bahama maritime deep blue and 1 million cologne by paco rabanne, so that's referenced in here cuz honestly they're just soooo 🥵🤤 alright, enough outta me- love y'all, enjoy! <3

a/n update: y'all i'm so dumb i put this out like an hour ago and was wondering why it was so dead and then i saw i didn't put FUCKING. TAGS. bruv.

word count: 6.1k (woo baby!)

pairings: joel miller x f!reader

warnings & tags: minors dni, implied hangover, reflection of bad decisions on readers part, cursing, denial is a river in egypt, mutual pining, smut!!!, fingering, lil sweet talk n' pet names, p in v, the slowburn is slowly burning folks — please tell me if i missed anything!

It wouldn’t be wrong to say that you were feeling some resentment towards the younger Miller for the recent days, and he certainly wasn’t making it any better by deliberately scheduling you two together on your first day back on.

Your name was scribbled in shitty writing next to his instead of.. well, you know who. You puffed out a frustrated sigh, biting your lip as you closed your eyes to quell the irritation that was already simmering during the early hour.

It was like a series of blows, one right after the other.

When you opened your eyes after Joel kissed you the other night, he was gone without a word. And if you hadn’t heard the click of his door closing again, you’d almost believe that the entire encounter was a product of your alcohol-laden imagination.

But it was real.

It was real in the way that it’d been the last thing you remembered before flopping into bed and the first regret you thought of the morning after. Throughout the hours that followed, the room seemed to stretch into eternity, spinning around you as you lay there, caught in a daze induced by alcohol, or maybe Joel, or perhaps the potent combination of both.

Morning found you sprawled atop the bed covers in the same clothes from the night before with a headache pounding at your temples, making you claw for a pillow to shield your face from the harsh sunlight filtering through the blinds. Even long after Joel’s awakening and departure for his shift, you remained ensconced in bed. The stillness of the house had been interrupted by the resonating thuds of his footsteps on the creaky wooden floors as he executed his routine; shuffling in his room for a bit, then descending downstairs to clank around some glasses and dishes, and then the forceful closure of the front door, ushering in silence once more.

Hours passed before you eventually emerged from your room, trudging downstairs to scrounge up sustenance from whatever you could find. The meager offerings weren’t the two proper meals that the day should’ve already seen, but they sufficed as something.

To say you felt like trash was an understatement, it plagued your body and mind. Playing Samson against Joel had been a risky move, one that was initially successful but terribly backfired into a mess, your moral compass lost in the haze of it all. Despite you drunkenly flirting, kissing, and saying misleading things, sober you knew none of it held true. You wouldn’t actually give any man the chance, unless it was him. Nonetheless, your actions tarnished your conscience, for you knew it probably meant something to someone.

Joel had remained an enigma. He was the one you saw first, he started it. He had the chance to leave with that woman, yet he didn’t, even after her provoking comment that made it sound like he was interested in doing so. No, instead, he glared at you like an enemy. And then after all the pointless arguing, he fucking kissed you, and then left you.

So, yeah, the entirety of the day was spent feeling dirty and wallowing in the aftermath of your own destruction.

And today wasn’t going much better by any means. So far, at least.

Brisk in your steps, you walked to the stables and gathered up your gear for the day, dread wrapping its tendrils around every aspect of your impending shift. Leading your horse to the gate, you impatiently awaited the arrival of the rest of the patrol group. You occupied yourself by tending to your horse’s coat and securing every strap and cord visible, performing thorough inspections on your packs to ensure supplies and ample ammunition for all your weapons.

Little by little, people started to show up, which somehow only triggered you to be even more impatient. You threw glances that served enough as a greeting to those that turned up, finding it best to just keep to yourself. Your veneer of detachment wavered momentarily as Samson arrived and gave you a smile that felt more obligatory than genuine as it failed to reach his eyes, and you quickly averted your attention back to your horse, cheeks burning as snippets from the night looped through your mind at the most inconvenient moment.

You’d been resolutely keeping your eyes lowered, so much so that you failed to register Joel’s arrival alongside Tommy. Only when Tommy’s voice sliced through the small talk did you raise your head, finally paying attention.

“Alright now, y’all know the drill. Eyes up, be safe. Don’t take no unnecessary risks an’ watch each other’s backs.”

His raised a finger and flicked his wrist, prompting the guards to swing open the gate, “Let’s go.”

Swiftly mounting your horse, you joined the procession, observing as they paired up and set off. You had only seen the back of Joel’s figure as he rode off with his partner, holding your gaze on them for a beat longer before steering off to your assigned route, gently guiding the reins as the steed surged to catch up. While you were definitely still annoyed with Tommy, you still maintained a civil demeanor, offering him a subtle nod when he smiled at you.

The well-trodden path stretched before you, one you’d traversed countless times. Your horse seemed to intuitively know the way, leaving you to drift into a distant reverie. Your gaze roved into the distance, resting on nothing in particular– a void for your thoughts to nestle within as the ambient sounds consumed your consciousness. Words remained dormant; your lips scarcely parted, your eyes keen yet affixed to the intangible.

From the moment Tommy laid eyes on you, he sensed something was amiss. His glances shifted from fleeting to lingering as he realized your mind journeyed elsewhere while being right next to him. It was as if you operated on autopilot, a description that aptly captured how you looked and felt. Uncharacteristically unsure of how to connect, he found himself at a loss.

Either way, there was a consequence to this. Conversation was inevitable, the topic destined to surface sooner or later, and in all likelihood, it would culminate in you reproaching him for not minding his business.

“Sure is quiet out here today. Not even a single bird chirpin’.”

A mumbled agreement left your mouth in response. A couple of minutes drifted by before he ventured forth again.

“Y’know, the other night, I-”

Your attention snapped into focus, and you shot him a pointed look, “I don’t want to talk about the other night.”

“Well then you don’t have to talk, just listen, then.”

Annoyance prickled at your nerves. You motioned toward him, your hand landing flat on your thigh while the other clenched around the leather reins, nails digging into the material. You didn’t care for what he had to say, but you recognized your protests would only be a futile endeavor as he’d find a way to voice his thoughts regardless.

“Look, I’m sorry about Samson-”

“Oh yeah? The part where he was the secret set up or..?”

A hand raked through his hair at your interjection, knowing where your line of questioning was heading. “All of it, okay? I didn’t know that you and Joel-”

“There is no me and Joel!” Your words were intensely curt.

Tommy may have been drunk, but there was no denying what he saw in those unguarded moments when you believed the other wasn’t looking. More importantly, what he saw when you did see each other.

Even in his inebriated state, he sought to mend his error by removing Samson from the overall equation with some bullshit excuse, hoping that somehow, someway, a connection would’ve rekindled between you both. However, his brother had a different course in mind, storming home and grumbling under his breath, justifying his abrupt exit to himself with the lateness of the hour and his imminent work commitments the following morning.

Your horses maintained a steady pace, the silence between you pronounced.

“If you say so.” Your words barely had a chance to emerge before he seized the opening, raising a hand to signal he wasn’t done.

“Listen, I know you and Joel got a history– a long one at that– and while I ain’t privy to all the particulars, I’ve got enough sense to know there’s somethin’ goin’ on.”

You shook your head, “Tommy-”

“It ain’t no secret that my brother ain’t the feely type,” he interrupted with a soft chuckle, “hell, m’sure you know that already, but when it comes to you, he’s just..”

His voice trailed as he looked straight on, leaving you to hang on every last word as your heart hammered in your chest. He’s just what?

It was like Tommy had heard your thoughts when he met your gaze again.

“It’s you, or it’s nobody.”

The sentiment left his mouth with ease, like it was just that simple, and you struggled to believe him.

Your mind casted back to the other night– the unhurried, gentle yet unwavering contact you shared just outside his bedroom door. His soft lips pressed against yours in a moment that felt far too short. The slight prickle of his beard against your skin, his fingers nestled in all the right nooks and contours and calloused hands cradling your face with a blend of care and intimacy that only comes from years of knowing.

It’s you, or it’s nobody.

Shaking your head slightly, you dismissed the memory in favor of the present.

“It’s.. not like that.”

You knew your counter was implausible, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to continue arguing. And either he’d gotten out all he wanted to say, or he saw the profound effect his words had on you and decided it was enough, because he didn’t say anything else regarding it.

He cleared his throat in a manner that was clear he was changing the topic, “Once we get up here to the post, I gotta have you switch off with Eugene, alright?”

You arched a brow at him, “Why? Afraid to be my partner for a whole shift?”

“Oh, real funny.” He rolled his eyes before setting them on you again with a more serious undertone, “Maybe.”

A smile appeared on your face for the first time today, though it was small, and he immediately grinned, taking pride in the small victory.

“No– Eugene’s got a lead on that one group, needa’ talk to him about it.”

Fuck.

Your small smile dropped slightly, masking it as an acknowledging reaction. Those documents demanded your attention as soon as possible.

“Fair enough.” You conceded, a hint of your customary demeanor returning to your voice.

The rest of the time getting to Mountain View Lodge passed relatively quickly. The rest of your patrol with Tommy was marked by a lull in conversation, as if a point of equilibrium had been reached after your earlier confrontation. Tethering your horse to its usual discreet and out-of-view spot, you both entered the lodge.

The interior sprawled expansively, its focal point a series of broad windows along a wall– a perfect vantage point for overseeing the valley below, which saw its fair share of infected and raiders. But when it was quiet, it transformed into an ideal haven for relaxation outside of Jackson, its timeworn leather booths circled around fireplaces that proved a comforting companion during the harsh winter months.

Eugene’s greeting garnered a nod and smile from you, and once he and Tommy dove into their own conversation, you dismissed it as unimportant background noise. Directing your attention to the log book, you flipped through its pages and skimmed the entries; straightforward accounts of patrols, punctuated occasionally by Joel or Tommy’s scrawls, often laced with lighthearted banter or aimed at other patrol members, most frequently Mike.

Hooking your thumb under the straps of your pack and sauntering over to the window, you gazed out at the ever-captivating landscape. The prospect of watching over the area for the remainder of the shift didn’t sound too bad. No need to engage in conversation, no pressure to keep an eye on anyone but yourself, and one big ole’ place all to yourself.

“Hey Joel, Tommy’s here, I’m about to head out!”

You spun around to face the two men. Eugene looked in the direction which he called out to, while Tommy’s attention seemed magnetically drawn to the floor, a practiced evasion that didn’t go unnoticed by you. His tendency to omit information from you had become an increasingly noticeable pattern.

Your initially piercing gaze softened into something resembling discomfort as Joel rounded the corner, his eyes locking onto yours. His brisk stride slowed, his posture straightening, and his mouth gaped though no words came out. His eyes remained fixed on you, an unanticipated presence that caught him off guard as much as it did you. His gaze lingered a beat longer before tearing away to address the others in the room who were silently observing the wordless interaction between you both.

Tommy had, once again, displayed his shrewdness; his strategic move to involve a third party designed to preempt your opposition. His plan worked as intended, leaving you limited to a dismissive wave as he and Eugene left, a collective wish for safety in the air. Notably, you caught Tommy’s apologetic smile directed at Joel.

The moment they were out the door, you slung your bag into the open booth and sank down heavily beside it, your back turned to Joel. You paid no mind to his heavy footsteps as you picked through your bag to extract a rag and withdrew your pistol from its holster, rubbing the cloth along the barrel to rid it of dirt and grime and using your fingernails for precision. This would only take so long, and you had a long fucking shift to get through.

The hours passed and not a word was shared. You found yourself cleaning your guns and knife twice over, the repetitive task barely doing anything to take your mind off the only other person in the room. You hadn’t moved from the booth, and he remained rooted wherever he’d taken position, the exact location unknown since you didn’t even look at him. An ache burned into your neck and lower back, and you could feel the blood clotting in your legs from the prolonged sitting. Between the pain, humidity, and his presence, the room felt suffocating, and you needed to get out.

“I’m gonna go take a lap.” Your voice monotone as you stowed your gear into their rightful places, leaving your pack in the booth as you stood and strode towards the door.

“Ain’t much out there.” Joel’s gaze tracked your movements, though you sidestepped looking directly at him, gliding past his seated form.

“Should be a quick one, then.” You countered.

“You know the rules, no roaming– especially alone.” His voice bore a note of warning.

You brushed his caution aside, your steps carrying you closer to the door. “You can keep an eye on me from up here, it’ll be–”

A large hand enclosed around your arm, effectively halting your stride. Your narked expression mirrored his own as you pivoted to face him, his hold firmly asserting itself.

“M’not gonna repeat myself.” His drawl low.

“Then don’t.” You threw the attitude right back in his face, yanking your arm free from his grasp and spinning around to grab the door handle. It had barely opened an inch before he slammed it shut with his palm, gluing his hand to the spot and standing over you.

“Move, Joel.”

“There ain’t no need to go-”

“Oh, fuck off, would you? Gonna fucking trap me in here with you and not say anything to me the whole goddamn time?” Your agitation flared as you stalked off, scanning around for any other opening to leave from– contemplating even heading upstairs just to put the distance between you two.

“Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?” He goaded as his hand slid down the door and took a few steps in your direction.

“Yeah, like last time? Cause that worked like a real fuckin’ treat.” You scoffed, incredulity lacing your tone. You expected him to shake his head or be dismissive, but he just looked at you intently.

“I-”

“You kissed me, and then left me out to dry!” Your anger evolved into a sardonic grin, his guilt evident as he lowered his eyes. “So, unless that was your way of breaking my heart, then..”

Your voice died on the last word, reiterating the plea you shouted from the other side of the door that night before it happened, your hands falling heavy on your thighs after their emphatic gestures. Where your train of thought was going, you weren’t quite sure, but a palpable ache stirred in your chest and seeped through your entire being as his silence loomed, fearing that you just hit the nail on its head.

Maybe if you walked quick enough, you could slip out the door.

In a split-second decision, you decided to take the chance, the handle just in your reach before his hand wrapped around your arm again.

“Leave me al-”

He caged your body against the door with his own, his hands planted on each side of your head as his large frame towered over you, ducking his head down to capture your lips with own.

When he pulled back, his brown eyes were wide and lust-blown in supplication. His chest heaved with unsteady breaths, a telltale sign that he was teetering on the edge of control and moments away from losing it all. Your eyes raked over every facet that rendered him complete; every wrinkle, scar, and freckle that covered his skin that were once observed from a distance, now before you in sharp focus and transformed into a mosaic of perfection. His plump lips bore a fervent shade of pink, an irresistible invitation to meld your mouth against his once more. An intoxicating scent enveloped your senses, a harmonious dance of notes and undertones of woods and herbs, woven together with astonishing finesse that unveiled a new layer with every passing second.

You closed the distance with desperation to feel him everywhere, kisses becoming more aggressive and invasive, tongues swiping over lips and against each other in begging for more permission. Your fingers tangled in his hair to bring his face impossibly closer to yours, noses pressing into cheeks, and his hands trailing down to your ass and giving you a firm squeeze. You moaned into his mouth when his hard-on brushed your thigh through both your jeans, rolling your hips into him.

Your action pulled a pleasurable groan from his throat, making him cup your thighs and hoist you up to move you elsewhere, your legs wrapping around him instinctively. He placed you both behind the bar and sat you on the counter, moving his mouth down your neck to suck spots and soothe them with his tongue. His hands splayed across your thighs, fingers mere centimeters away from your burning core that you needed him to touch.

His fingers dug into the hips of your jeans as you were pressed chest-to-chest, hands still lost in his hair. Your mouths were hot on another again, teeth clanking and saliva trailing wherever his mouth was on you, “Joel, I-”

Your short sentence was cut even shorter by his thumb brushing just above your sensitive spot, making your body shutter from the sudden contact, a reaction he became acutely aware of. A smirk spread on his face when he pressed his thumb against your jeans and you rocked forward immediately.

Gently, he dragged up and down along the seam, pressing kisses to your jaw up to your ear as you squirmed under his touch, teasing you with his voice, “Y’like that, huh?”

You moaned at every touch, all of it more than you could have ever expected. It’d been years since being even remotely physical with someone, and now you had Joel, the last person you ever imagined to be with, all over you. It felt like a dream, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

His fingers undid your jeans and he pulled them down enough to get access to where you both wanted him, swiping his thumb over the dampness of your panties and letting out a shaky breath at just how wet you were for him. He wrapped a strong arm around your waist and slid you closer as he leaned you backwards with hot kisses, sneakily diverting your attention while he pulled your panties to the side and sunk a finger into you, your sounds of pleasure muffled against his mouth and your hands gripping his shoulders.

You writhed until you were on the edge, pressing your body into him and his one arm stabilizing you while the other was between your legs, pumping one finger, then two. Shamelessly, you rocked into his hand, bucking your hips when his thumb rubbed circles against your clit and letting out soft gasps.

“That’s it, c’mon– use me, use my fingers,” he coaxed as he watched you ascend to seventh heaven with your eyes screwed shut and your mouth agape, “cum for me, darlin’.”

You rocked faster into his hand as he did a blissful combination of pumping, curling, and rubbing, feeling the fiery tightness in your stomach about to snap. You dug your fingers into his back as you clung around him, his arm holding you steady as he finger-fucked you. Burying your face in his neck, you were met with the warm and rich aromatic spices that flooded your sense of smell again, making your lungs and head feel lighter; rosemary and juniper mingling seamlessly with hints of musk and leather. He felt and watched as you came undone by his doing, your body constricting and your pussy tightening around his fingers, wishing he could see your face as you came. He muttered sweet praises as you rode out your high, but you were barely able to hear them from the white noise that exploded in your ears.

You whimpered at his fingers leaving you, opening your eyes just in time as he brought you down and faced you the other way. A lazy grin spread across your face as you heard the sound of his belt coming off, knowing what was next.

He pressed his pelvis against your backside, his warmth a heavenly feeling on your bare skin. His head brushed at your bundle of nerves as he guided himself along your folds, slicking himself with your heat, the contact making you putty in his hands.

“F-fuck,” the hot, soft skin of his cock on your pussy drove you up a wall, “n-need to see it– see you.”

He nuzzled his nose just behind your ear, “One of us s’gotta keep watch.”

Fuck if he thought that you would be the one watching, how could you possibly focus on anything else but him right now?

And as if anyone or anything would be around. But if they did, man did they have a sight to stumble upon.

He lined himself up and cupped the base of your neck, using it to hold you in place and as leverage to sink into you. You both let out mangled moans as he pushed in, his grip tightening on the back of your neck as he went deeper. Breathy gasps and muddled curses left your mouth as your pussy stretched to his girth, overstimulated by his sheer size and how fucking good he felt inside you.

“God– You’re so- agh-” he grunted, “so fuckin’ tight.”

He pressed himself into your back and buried his face into your shoulder as he bottomed out, his mind spinning from simply sheathing his cock into you. His hands fell to your hips, the pads of his fingers digging into the plushness of them. And once he started off in agonizingly slow thrusts, you soon recognized it as a sweet pleasure that you’d never felt before, the sensation incredibly gratifying and making your nerves pleasantly hyperesthetic. It made you weak in the knees, yet you pressed your ass against him to greedily beg for more.

He gradually picked up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh. You arched your back to give him better access, his body attuned to yours and adjusting accordingly. With every thrust, you jolted forward with airy breaths leaving you slackened jaw, feeling high off his touch, but you wanted more. Being that you were standing and he was behind you, it gave you barely any power to move how you wanted to, the pace and power solely in his hands.

“F-faster, Joel.” You managed to stammer out.

He purposely slowed down, craning his head to press lips against your ear, “What’s that, darlin?”

You whined at the stillness, trying to keep the motion going but miserably failing. His low chuckle made you want to cry, your whole body flushing in a frazzled hot sweat from the game he was trying to play.

“Use ‘em words, tell me what y’need.” He could get you to come from speaking to you like that, period. You whined even more when he teased his head in and out of your hole. “C’mon sweetheart–”

“You! Need you! Fa-” You cried out as he buried himself deep in you to the point his cock was vibrating from straining so hard, making you clench down on him and hearing a satisfied grunt from behind you.

“Good girl.”

He had you mewling as he drilled into you, fucking you into oblivion with his nasty acts. The sound of your skin wetly smacking had been the loudest in the room, followed by your blended grunts and gasps, his ragged breaths the most delicious sound you’d ever heard. Your heat was dripping down your thigh and pooling at the base of his cock, a divine sight that further fueled his sin. He snaked one hand down to your clit and rubbed fast circles, the tightness in your stomach rapidly coiling up again and forcing you to grip the edge of the counter.

“Such a good girl f’me.. to me.”

The sound of his praises and the squelching of fluids was quickly bringing you to your second high. You lacked the ability to turn over your shoulder to look at him, “Joel, I’m gonna-ah!– Gonna-”

Your mouth hung open as you threw your head back, his thrusts growing erratic and free hand hurrying up and under your bra to take your hardened nipple into his thumb and forefinger, pinching and rolling it between his fingers. In a matter of seconds, you were crumbling under his touch all over again by all the different and pleasurable sensations, your vision blurring and hot white ripping through your body. Your voice was lost in Joel’s, his pumps sloppy but still snapping hard into you.

“Fuck, darlin’, so fuckin’ pretty like this,” his head buried into your neck and shoulders, “got you– hah– got you all over my cock, givin’ you what he couldn’t.” Even through riding out your high a second time, your eyes widened at the subtle confession of jealousy. “Mine– always been–”

Quickly, he pulled out and spent himself away from you, leaning into your body and wrapping an arm around your waist as he shuddered through his orgasm with husky grunts. Your head hung as you braced yourself against the counter to act as a pillar for him, the adrenaline draining from your body as clarity took the place of it. He tucked himself away before retracting entirely from you to lean against the opposing counter, but not without pulling your panties and jeans up in a lazily swift motion first.

The room settled into a hushed stillness, interrupted by the labored breaths that punctuated the space as you both sought to regain your composure. You could feel your shirt sticking to your back, surely a trail of dappled sweat soaked through and down your spine that Joel could see as your back was still turned to him. The lack of light in the room indicated that nightfall was on your heels, meaning that it was past due the time you should’ve left to start back to Jackson, but you couldn’t find it in you to care about that right now.

Just two days ago, he kissed you and left without any kind of closure. And now, he’d just fucked you, twice.

With a gentle touch, he pivoted you around by your hip until you faced him, looking at each other with half-lidded eyes, yet it seemed that he had already bounced back quicker than you had. Even without proper lighting, the sheen of sweat visibly glistened on his forehead, tiny droplets matting down strands of hair around the frame of his face.

“Should get goin’.” He didn’t look at you as he delicately zipped up and buttoned your jeans, a task you were gathering the energy to accomplish on your own.

You nodded, silently acknowledging him, but more stunned by the act. Without further exchange, he retreated from you to grab his bag and headed outside.

Again, you were left alone with no kind of explanation of what the hell just happened, albeit in a much bigger, quieter, and darker space this time.

Your head was fucked. On and off. Hot and cold. Moments of potential followed by abrupt deflation.

What is happening?

Through the expanse of windows, the moon’s emergence over a distant peak caught your eye, a silent reminder of the advancing hour, urging you to gather your own things to get a move on.

You were definitely late now.

The walk home from the stables was quiet aside from the buzzing of insects. Walking in tandem, you barely looked in the other’s direction, though your thoughts were screaming about him. Every house you passed had their lights out and curtains drawn, a clear sign of the curfew set in place that you both were breaking right now, and how suspicious it’d look to anyone if they caught you. If you were lucky, Tommy would sweep it under the rug– maybe– but a greater concern lay in Maria finding out.

The glow of your own house’s lights struck you only upon crossing the threshold, a worried Ellie instantly appearing in the foyer– another person you forgot to consider answering to for your poor punctuality.

“Where have you guys been?”

You never thought you’d be on the receiving end of this situation, an unforseen shift that left you feeling unusually juvenile.

“We-uh..”

“..Had some stuff-”

“Had to go and-”

“Took care of it.”

Your faltering excuses had Ellie looking more confused than ever, her brows furrowing and scrunching in rapid succession as she attempted to parse both your disjointed words. It probably didn’t help that you were both disheveled and sticky with sweat while you muttered out words, though you could’ve played that off for the heat.

“Got caught up with some infected,” Joel looked over at you for the first time since the lodge, and you noticed the faintest blush gracing his cheeks, “threw us off on the way back, that’s all.”

You held your breath as Ellie continued to look at you funny even as you nodded to Joel’s lie. She was still skeptical, but ultimately let it go. “Well, I’m glad you guys made it back safe,” she eased her stance, “I was about to go knocking at Uncle Tommy’s.”

What a shitshow that would’ve been.

“Sorry to keep you waitin’, kiddo,” Joel crouched down, deftly undoing the laces of his boots and slipping them off, “why don’t you go get some rest now?”

“Read my mind.” A yawn accompanied her acknowledgement of the suggestion. She shifted her weight back on her heel, briefly looking you both up and down, “I’d give you guys a hug, but you seem kinda..”

“Goodnight, kiddo!”

“Go to bed already!”

Chuckles rippled through the room in the light moment, relief settling over you that your appearance was received how you were hoping it was. A small, contented smile remained on your lips even after she left, always having the ability to leave the room just a little bit brighter than before.

You reached down to grab your boots only to find them gone as if they vanished into thin air, then noticing how they swayed in Joel’s grasp as he placed them in the cubby-hole in the laundry room. You stared at him, the act registering more than just the simple one it was– no, there was something underneath it.

Because first it was your jeans and underwear, and now it was your shoes.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, staring down at the first step and then towards you. He looked.. exhausted.. to say the least. Like he was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Silence wrapped around the room, a palpable avoidance of it, though so much needed to be said.

“Did you wanna..”

Your eyebrows slightly raised. Is he about to..?

“Take a shower before bed?”

Oh. Right. Because you share a bathroom, and he probably wants to take one.

“Uh- yeah,” you blinked out of thought, “probably be good to do.”

He pursed his lips and gave an awkward nod as you brushed past him, skipping every other step to grab clothes from your room and rushed to clean yourself so that you weren’t imposing too much on his sleep.

It would’ve taken you less time if you hadn’t had such a mess to clean up between your legs, making a mental note to maybe have something on you next time, if there even was a next time.

While you dried your hair, you bunched up your dirty clothes into the shirt you’d worn, having planned to drop it in your own laundry basket. But when you saw his sitting in the space behind the door, something compelled you to drop yours in. He probably wouldn’t have noticed once he threw his clothes on top of yours, and it all had to get cleaned anyway, right?

When you opened the door, a lamp had been turned on and Joel sat in the chair closest to his turntable, though no music played. How long he’d been sitting there, you didn’t know, but after all, it was his room.

You leaned against the doorway while running your thumb over the towel in your hands, “Hope I didn’t take too long.”

He shook his head, but it was infused with a genuine sincereness, like you could’ve been in there for an hour and he wouldn’t have minded.

Things felt.. different, now.

Your attention shifted to an album positioned atop his pile and a small white square in his hands, and if you squinted, you were almost certain that it was the one you were thinking of. You gently inquired about the item you were sure to have seen before, “What’s that?”

His eyes peered up at you, registering a hint of surprise, “Uh.. picture Ellie took ‘while ago.”

“You keep a lot in there?” Joel’s movements stilled as he slid the polaroid back into the album sleeve.

Shit, too much.

“No, just this one.” He answered with candor as he placed the sleeve with the rest, “Haven’t found the right frame for it, yet.”

Now, you knew that it was definitely Joel in the picture, because why else would he have kept it? You now also garnered two more pieces of information: It was taken by Ellie, and it had to have been taken in Jackson. It was likely that he had divulged more than he probably wanted or intended to, so you didn’t press any further.

“Well,” you steered the conversation away from the subject, “thanks for letting me get a shower in.”

He nodded with his gaze trained on the floor as he turned to rummage through his drawers for clothes, taking it as your cue to finally get out. With meek steps, you crossed the room, getting one foot out the door before he called your name softly, catching yourself on the frame to look back at him.

“Just.. wanted to say goodnight.”

He seemed to wrestle with his emotions, and though his eyes struggled meeting yours directly, the attempt to connect was clear. The tension that held your expression in what felt like all day finally softened, but a familiar ache rested deep within you.

You wanted.. sleep, for one, but also answers– or was it closure?

Who even fucking knew? Because you surely didn’t, and Joel probably didn’t either. And trying to figure it all out in the span of the current moment was pointless, especially while you were still lingering in his doorway.

Whatever was happening, it wasn’t easy, and it was far from being over.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

[schrijverr]

A Behind the Scenes of: Corroded Coffin

Jonathan gives an insight into the life of Corroded Coffin in the early days during their rise to fame.

On AO3.

Ships: Steddie

Warnings: period typical homophobic attitudes mentioned (minor)

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi, I’m Jonathan Byers, the main photographer and editor of A Collection of Queer Photography. Today I’m giving you a behind the scene look of some of the Corroded Coffin photos that are in the book,” Jonathan starts out the video, sounding a little awkward, but trying not to show.

“Corroded Coffin has kind of blown up again, so a lot of people tagged me on twitter to talk more about some of the photos I took of them, which has been a little overwhelming,” Jonathan tells the camera, his voice indeed a little shrill. “So, this video is to meet that demand.”

He grabs the book, which has little tabs sticking out, so he can find the right pages easier and flips it open on the first one.

On screen appears a photo of Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Chris. They all have their arms slung over each other, Gareth giving Eddie bunny ears. Their clothes are classic 80s punk, heavily inspired by the queer scene as both Eddie and Gareth had influenced the other two.

“This is Corroded Coffin back in School,” Jonathan says. “I took this in ‘86. It’s not a very fancy or hard to take photo, just a group photo. It’s an old one, so I was also at the start of my photography career. I had not training yet, so it isn’t very dynamic photo.”

“However,” he goes on. “We put it in here, because went with the theme and because shows their youth and playfulness. It’s very much them before they took off.”

“I don’t want to imply that fame changed them or anything. They’re a few of the most down to earth people I know, but I’ve been taking Corroded Coffin photos for a long time. Most of them have been in circulation since the 90s, save those in here and few that didn’t make the cut,” Jonathan says. “But the longer you spend in front of a camera, the more you get used to it. So of course the way they come across has changed.”

“Here for example,” he points to the bunny ears. “It’s very silly and it’s teen behavior. They would still do that in the 90s, but they would have thought about it. If it fit the vibe of the photo or if they intentionally didn’t want to take a moment seriously.”

“They’re pose is also very basic,” Jonathan says. “I’ve had a lot of fun directing shoots with them for album covers etcetera. But it’s clear here they haven’t gotten used to posing as a group and I’m not used to shooting groups yet either.”

He flips the page to another book mark as the photo changes to Corroded Coffin performing at the Hideout. All the band members dressed extravagantly. Eddie has eyeliner tears streaming down his face alongside the sweat. He is mid-head bang, sharing a microphone with Jeff. Gareth has his arms raised high in the background, about to slam down on the drums. Chris is pouring water from a bottle over his face.

“This is Corroded Coffin Live at the Hideout back in ‘88,” Jonathan says. “If you’re a fan, you probably have heard them mention the place, since that is where they first performed.”

“I really like the photo, because it truly shows that they’re too small for the stage, the presence they had and the potential,” Jonathan says. “It’s a little rough around the edges, but the show is already there.”

“There is no audience, but they’re still playing as if they’re in a stadium,” Jonathan goes on. “I still had to get used to shooting the band and over time I learned it’s sometimes better to focus on one member instead of trying to wait for that perfect moment wherein they all are going to look good, because that just doesn’t happen.”

“Like here,” he turns to the photograph. “You can barely see Eddie’s face with how his hair is in front of his face and the splash of water isn’t the best either. This photo made the cut, since it’s the best I took that evening, which says a lot.”

Jonathan flips the page again and nods: “Ah, yes, if you compare it to this one, you can see the evolution. It’s Corroded Coffin’s First Show in Boston, which I took a year later in ‘89.”

The band is playing in a dingy little club in Boston. However, they have an audience, silhouettes of heads and arms in the foreground as they play. Eddie is shirtless, wearing only leather pants, his boots and suspenders. He isn’t playing the guitar, instead clapping his hands above his head with a manic grin, his armpit hair on display. Gareth and Jeff are still playing, but Chris is helping hype up the audience.

“This is a better picture, since it’s a moment they interact with the audience, thus are aware that they’re being seen,” Jonathan explains. “So, it’s a much better moment to photograph, though it’s never going to be perfect.”

“You can also see how they’ve changed here,” Jonathan says. “They’ve always been too big for their stage, but the difference in their face between having a crowd here and the empty Hideout is huge.”

“One of the things I enjoy most is shooting the same subject over time, because you can really capture how much they change and what things are important to them at the time,” Jonathan says with a smile.

Jonathan flips to the next page with a little tab, then checks what the next one after that is, before flipping to the after that, which is Eddie Munson and his Sweetheart. In the photo Eddie is on his knees, leaning back and playing the guitar. He is in a cropped, hand-painted Corroded Coffin shirt, sweat soaking it. He is playing his heart out, seemingly lost in the music. His right eye is still bruised to all hell.

“This is Eddie Munson and his Sweetheart and when I learned to take solo photos of them instead of trying to get them all in there,” Jonathan smiles. “I took this in 1990, right before they were taking off.”

“What I really like about this photo is how private it is,” Jonathan says. “He is on that stage in front of a lot of people, but he’s just alone with the music for a second. You can see it in the expression on his face and how he holds the guitar.”

“I had to fight my way through to get the angle for this photo, nearly broke my camera, but it was so worth it. Because you’re kind of looking up to him. He might be kneeling, but he is still looming over you, his presence bigger than you. That really makes this photo special and so very Eddie-like,” Jonathan explains.

Then he flips to the next marked page and Personal Makeup Artist appears on screen. It’s of Steve and Eddie in the bathroom. Eddie is sitting on the counter with his eyes closed, he is gripping the side of the counter tightly. Between his legs is Steve, holding eyeliner in his one hand, Eddie’s chin with the other as he delicately applies it. He is going for dramatic this night.

“This is before their first big-big gig back in ‘91,” Jonathan says. “Eddie was so nervous, all of them were, but not trying to show it. He spend the whole time telling Steve how bad it would all go. What I really like is the soft quiet moment that you can see here.”

“Eddie will never admit it, but he’s scared of eyeliner. He can’t do it himself,” Jonathan reveals. “Later makeup artists did it for him, but before they made it big, Steve was always the one to do it for him. It was their little ritual before shows.”

He moves on to the other photo on the page. Taken behind the scenes of Corroded Coffin’s first big gig. They’re standing to the sides, peaking at the audience, but not yet on stage. Gareth is anxiously spinning his drumstick and biting his lip. Next to him, squatted on the ground, is Chris, breathing into a bag. In the foreground is Eddie, who is looking into the camera with wide, scared eyes. Behind him is Jeff grinning widely

“We wanted to contrast that quiet moment with what they were about to do,” Jonathan says. “This photo is named More than 10,000 People and it was their genuine reaction to having to go on stage in front of so many people. It’s quite funny when you realize how much bigger their crowds got over time, but that makes it such a nice photo.”

“They had to get used to all that fame, the amount of eyes on them. Jeff has always been the least anxious about it out of all of them, which you can see here,” Jonathan points to Jeff. “I remember this moment quite well. Corroded Coffin nearly didn’t make it, because Chris walked out and Eddie was ready to follow him. But they did just fine for themselves and killed it.”

Jonathan flips to the next page and Eddie Munson on Stage, 1991 appears on screen. It is of Eddie on stage at their first big gig. His hair is thrown back as he sings, thrusting his hips on which the guitar rests forward. He’s wearing big boots and tight pants. He is shirtless save for a leather harness, he looks alive and sweaty, handkerchief hanging out of his pocket. The lights reflect on his slick skin, the scars standing out between the tattoos.

“Again, me knowing to photograph only one member at the time,” Jonathan laughs. “No, but this one is different than Eddie Munson and his Sweetheart that I showed you earlier. This is called Eddie Munson on Stage, 1991. Which is a pretty utilitarian title, but that is what it is. This is Eddie on stage; funny, engaged and in performer mode. It’s not him alone with his guitar despite the crowd, this time he knows he’s being seen. So it’s a different photo.”

“It’s also very much a performance photo. He is on stage, looking very much like a rockstar and we wanted to contrast that with his normal, human side,” Jonathan goes on. “So, of course we had to put Post Gig Dinner right next to it.”

The photo appears. In it, the entirety of Corroded Coffin is stuffed into a booth along with Robin and Steve. Everyone is grinning. The members of the band are all sweaty and stuffing their face with fries, while trying to laugh for the camera. Robin is throwing up devil horns along with Jeff, Chris has two fries as fangs, while Gareth is mid-chew. Eddie has Steve in his lap, who stands out like a sore thumb between the alternatively dressed people around him in his jeans and polo. Though Eddie is wearing a jacket over his harness that can’t be anyone’s except Steve’s.

“It’s a very silly photo, which is really like,” Jonathan says. “They always used to eat at this diner after gigs, before they got too recognizable to do so.”

“What I especially like about this photo, is how Robin and Steve fit into it,” Jonathan tells the camera. “They’re in some aspects such an opposites attract friendship and this photo really shows that.”

“Robin has always been a little more alternative and a dyke to the heart, while Steve has always been a little more mainstream,” Jonathan explains. “Neither of these are better than the others, but seated next to a metal band, one is going to stand out more. Robin could easily be a part of the band.”

“But I think that makes Steve’s position all the more interesting,” Jonathan goes on. “Because Robin is part of the group, she blends in. Steve stands out. But out here in the world, he’s someone you’d walk by without a glance while all the others would usually turn heads. By virtue of the crowd, the script gets flipped.”

“And that makes the detail of his jacket all the more fun,” Jonathan says, “because Eddie is wearing it. He is connecting himself to Eddie, pulling him a little into his world as Eddie pulls him into his by holding him. They’re the point the lines blur in this photo and that tells a lovely story about how they connect.”

With that he flips to the next tab and states: “Page 96 and 97 are the pages with A Collection Of Early Corroded Coffin Photos. I’m going to pick a few out of here that I find interesting or that I have something to say about.”

“Of course the first one is kind of funny and says a lot about what back stage looks like,” Jonathan says as it appears on screen.

It is of Eddie and Steve making out on top of one of the equipment boxes backstage, in the foreground is Jeff looking into the camera with an exhausted look.

“Steve and Eddie are, for a lack of better words, very clingy and a little gross about it,” Jonathan admits. “And back here they still saw each other daily, it got worse when they were apart more often. I have one photo where they’re on the brink of fucking right back stage, but that didn’t make the cut.”

“I think what really sells this photo is Jeff,” Jonathan decides. “He looks tired, which tells people that this happens often. I pity them during the time they shared a tour bus whenever Steve came to visit them on tour.”

The next image comes on screen. It’s of Jeff and Chris tuning their guitars on stage, the huge venue they’re in is still empty and it’s just the two of them and the instruments on stage.

“Here, this one of Chris and Jeff is very evocative, because they look very small on their big stage. I think it really shows the small human artist behind every rock legend,” Jonathan says. “Sometimes you have to work with empty space to say what you want and this is an example of it.”

“Oehh, this one is great,” Jonathan exclaims as the image changes to Robin and Steve are holding hands, their bodies silhouetted from the back by the light coming from the stage. From in between them you can see Eddie hopping on one leg as he plays the guitar.

“I love this photo, because it shows their dynamic through these years,” Jonathan says. “Robin has been Steve’s support system whenever Eddie was away, while Steve kept Eddie going. Here the two of them are supporting Eddie, but Robin is holding Steve’s hand, supporting him too.”

“A lot of people don’t realize how hard it is to date a rockstar, especially before there was social media and face time,” Jonathan explains. “Steve will never fully admit how hard those years were. Eddie too. They’re strong about it, but they wouldn’t have made it through without people like Robin there. This photo really shows that.”

“Next one,” Jonathan takes a look then nods. “This one here is a better example of a full band photo, because sometimes you just have to accept that not all will be the focus, because that’s just not how it works.”

The photograph is of the entire band. Chris and Jeff are going wild, leaning over the first row with people going wild. Eddie is standing by Gareth, head banging as both of them play.

It gets replaced by a set of photographs as Jonathan moves on. The first is of Eddie holding a bra that has been thrown at him, from the look in his eyes, he has no idea what to do with it. The second one is taken right after of Eddie still holding the bra, but grinning wolf-ishly into the audience. After seeing so many photographs of him genuinely grinning it is clear he quickly plastered it on.

“This set, I love this set,” Jonathan comments, looking up in the camera again. He’s been mostly looking down to the book, seeming more comfortable like that.

“It’s that slight crack in the performer that is Eddie Munson that is captured so beautifully,” he smiles almost lovingly at the photos. “Eddie has always been such a presence, even before he was famous or I even knew him. He’d be out on cafeteria tables monologuing in front of the entire school.”

“He has always wanted to be a star and had dreams about it and this is the moment he realizes what the reality of it will look like. And he goes through it like a champ, because he is meant for this and he worked too hard to get there not to,” Jonathan says. “It’s a funny series, but it has something tragic that really speaks to me.”

The series gets replaces with an image that is taken behind the venue of the band smoking. You can’t make out their faces all the best, however, you can see the embers of their cigarettes glow and what those reveal.

“This is a calmer photo that kind of shows the showbiz life outside the gigs,” Jonathan moves on. “I like the calm moment that offsets the more crazy ones on here. I also quite like the metaphor of the light only showing part of them, the rest being left in the dark. That might seem like reaching, but that’s the beauty of photography, you’re allowed to be a little pretentious about it.”

He laughs a little self-depreciating, before flipping to the next tab.

The image that comes on screen is of Corroded Coffin in the Munson apartment, they’re all cheering, screaming, going nuts. Gareth is jumping on the couch, Robin next to him as Jeff fist pumps next to them. Chris is tugging Argyle into a bone crushing hug. Nancy is still seated, but smiling with her teeth. In the foreground is Eddie screaming as if he’s about to run or break something, behind him is Steve diving for the phone Eddie has just dropped.

Jonathan snorts, before he introduces: “This is Signed Their First Album and Tour that I took in ‘91. It’s- it is quite a dynamic moment. Chaotic if you want to be more accurate.”

“I remember this moment so well, we all came around to wait on the call and Eddie just heard the news and started to cheer without any regard for the person on the other line,” Jonathan shakes his head with a fond smile. “I think Steve was the one to accept it for them. He’s my favorite part of this photo.”

“Taking these almost baroque style photos of something happening is a mix between skill, luck and just snapping a thousand photos and hoping one will turn out okay,” Jonathan says. “I’ve had to tear up so many of these types of photos. It’s a hazard of the job. Don’t be afraid to take a shitty photo, because the next one might be great.”

With that he flips to the next page, before looking up to someone behind the camera with a questioning gaze.

There is a cut, then Jonathan is saying: “There are quite a lot of them still to go and this one is already longer than other ones, so I can’t talk about all of them. Now I’ve kind of gone through the early days, but I can do the others ones too if anyone’s interested.”

He signs off: “So, yeah, that is a behind the scene of early Corroded Coffin photos. Hopefully that was interesting. Bye.”

~~

A/N:

In case you’re wondering that is a question to y’all if there is interest for more bts of Corrded Coffin xp

[femininemenon]

Is it just me that's strange? I don't get how anyone can support Conrad or ship him with Belly I feel like I'm in the minority in my ship BellyJere is more developed and intimate as well I made a mistake going into the tag and seeing so much hate on Jeremiah.

it's not strange as they are the endgame ship, and nowadays a lot of people do not even give the other ship(s) a chance or simply want to win. they don't consider the quality of their ship or their characters, all that matters is that the ship is endgame.

there is also the fact that they write the the show in a way where jeremiah is clearly just a second choice, and belly's "true love" is mister sadboi. and fiction is fiction and you know, let people have their fun i guess. i personally would never choose that over jeremiah but like i said, personal taste.

also, please don't believe jenny han's baiting for one second. belly and conrad are endgame. i don't understand why the love triangle was even left in there, it's not 2010 anymore. the story could have been full without it. all we can do is appreciate the jelly content that we do get.

as for the jeremiah hate... this fandom is one of the most bigoted ones i've ever seen and i know people put hate in his main tags instead of the anti tag (plus tumblr's awful search engine) so i would suggest blocking anyone that you see hating on jeremiah. they are insecure for a reason (terrible actor for one) even though they are endgame. they know their ship sucks and have to take that energy out somewhere.

[little-pup-pip]

hihi! srry if youve answers this but mobile isnt making it easy to search. what's your general process for making moodboards? it's weird bc I have nooo problem making stim boards! but mbs are rly difficult for my brain evn though I wanna. how do you do it?

Hello hello! I haven't answered this before, but it's a great question!!

I usually start with either an original idea or a request that I feel like doing (sorry people who've been waiting a long time), and at that point I usually have some idea in my head of the color scheme or vibes that I want it to have and set out to Pinterest!

I gave my list of go-to items to search in a previous ask, which can be found here!

Once I've found at least 9 pictures (sometimes more than 9 for extra options) I crop them all to a 1:1 ratio so they appear as a grid of squares instead of rectangles, and sometimes make minor alterations to the color temperature (warm or cool tones) so the pictures all look coherent!

After that I play around with the composition of the picture, which can take a while depending on how many colors I'm working with. Here are 2 examples of what I mean!

This one has 2 main focus colors (as most of my moodboards do), green and brown, so the composition of it alternates between the two colors the whole time! I would also do this if it had 3 main colors. This just makes it look more even overall; to me, at least.

This one, on the other hand, is just 1 focus color, which is grey! So I didn't worry as much about the composition of it. I could move anything here to any other place, and it would be approximately the same! I treat moodboards with more than 3 focus colors the same way as moodboards with just 1, so those are less deliberately structured.

After all of that, I choose which dni banner I think fits best with what I made, write my tags out, and I'm done!! This process usually takes 20 minutes to an hour and a half, depending on how long it takes me to find the right pictures!

I hope this walkthrough of my process was helpful, and obviously there's no singular correct way to make moodboards!! Good luck Anon!

[13eyond13]

Hi I have a question was there any deathnote ship wars (misalight vs lawlight or something) when the anime came out?

Hmm! I was not in the fandom early enough to see the very earliest stuff going on. I got into it close to 2008, and by then the anime was already out (though the English dub was not available to me to watch yet); the volume 13 behind-the-scenes book was out, the two novels L: Change the WorLd and Death Note: Another Note were out, and the first two Japanese live action movies were also out, too.

HOWEVER from what I recall the same main ships that are popular now were the most popular ones back then (Lawlight and M²/MattxMello), and the "wars" were usually more around whether or not people liked characters or even wanted to see them shipped at all, or even included at all in stuff? Misa was probably the one who got the most hate and most pointed exclusion from fan content, followed shortly by Near. People often said they didn't like Misa or didn't want to see her included in fan content because she was annoying and got in the way of Lawlight. It was almost like you were just asking to be flamed by even daring to put her in a fic – you didn't even have to be shipping her with one of the guys in it. And many didn't like Near because they thought he was a more boring version of L, or not hot enough to ship.

I guess M² was probably at odds with Meronia even more back then than it sometimes is now, too – Meronia content was very rare to find in comparison to M² content back then. And I distinctly remember an email from my first fandom friend in 2008, who had been in the fandom a while longer than me and was explaining some of that drama to me – both of us were mostly into Lawlight and not that interested in the successor arc, but even she told me she secretly found M² and Matt's immense popularity in the fandom a bit stupid, because she thought Matt was too irrelevant of a character for all the fuss he gets, and that Meronia at least seemed more interesting to her based on how the story goes. I would say I see the most "shipping war" type behaviour over whether people like shipping Mello with Matt more or with Near more still even now.

People also liked to argue a lot over whether or not they saw the characters in gay ships as tops or bottoms (though they'd usually say "seme" or "uke" back then instead) - in the 2000s you didn't have catch-all ship nicknames like Lawlight, and you had to tag the top/bottom very carefully in fics by the order you tagged the names in the ship (eg. "LxLight" if L is the top, and "LightxL" if Light is the top - they were treated almost like separate ships, and I don't think there was an easy way to talk about the ship without making a statement about their position preferences when you did). You can probably see what I mean in the older fics in the fandom that are still available on fanfiction.net (as this fandom pre-dates AO3 by quite a bit, so many of the fics from the height of its popularity in the 2000s were posted on fanfiction.net or LiveJournal and other such sites instead).

Overall I'd say though many things now are still vaguely similar in the fandom to how they were back then, people have gotten a little less dramatic and more "to each their own" about not telling other people off for being into DN characters or ships that they personally don't enjoy. And I feel now there's a lot more rare pair appreciation and appreciation of the female characters and more minor characters, and of ships that are interesting to explore more because of the writing possibilities than just because they make for the hottest stereotypical yaoi, if that makes sense. 😆

[tarabyte3]

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 1/? (5.2k words)

Chapter 2 ->

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship

A/N: Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from the poem "Saint Joan" by Louise Glück, The Seven Ages

(There's a more indepth note below the cut)

A/N pt 2: I know those warnings seem like a lot! I try to tag everything, no matter how small, because I want to make sure no one is blindsided by anything in my fics.

But remember, David Robey is not a good man. He's a murderous psychopath, he's cruel, and he feels no remorse (though I do REALLY flex the boundaries of all that because this is fantasy and fanfiction after all.) This reader character is also NOT a good person, just to a lesser extent than he is. Therefore this is going to get quite dark on occasion. Though if you're here because you want David Robey smut, I suspect you're well aware of what you're in for. Still! Heed all tags and warnings. I will continue to expand them as they come up in the story and try to point them out as I add them, but always check the end of the list for anything new.

If you're worried, know that I have personal boundaries I will not cross in my fics. No gratuitous descriptions of violence, murder, gore, or torture in my smut fics unless specifically and clearly warned. No noncon or SA. No physical or domestic abuse. And though it is a smut fic about a fictional serial killer, any mental or emotional manipulation will be in line with what exists in canon, so no wild cards there either.

Pregnancy scares, worrying about or fear of getting pregnant, taking steps to avoid pregnancy through the use of contraception or other means, or having my reader character get pregnant—all as the result of unprotected sex between the characters—will also never come up in anything I write. They won't even think about it. I want my fics to be a fun escape for myself and for you all so I say no thank you.

Finally, there is some shame from the main character and problematic language used about sex work in this and I want to be clear: We respect sex workers in this house 👏😤 Sex work is work. Anything that suggests otherwise in this fic is because the characters are assholes.

Chapter 1 - I heard a dark prediction rising in my own body

You're always very careful not to show your face on camera. It's not what's for sale. Certainly not for fifteen pounds per monthly subscription. These men watching aren't paying you enough to risk your career.

Or worse, to risk your mother finding out.

She's always harping on you to settle down, get married, and have children. You don't have the stomach to tell her how absolutely horrible all of that sounds. Most men bore you with their undeserved egos, horrible ties, and inane chatter about sports clubs. Or the way they smother the spark that drew them to you in the first place because afterwards they want a good little wife instead. And you definitely don't want children.

So no, you don't want to marry any of them. Instead you'll gladly take advantage of their desperation to escape their dull lives and their tired, jaded spouses. Likely women who thought marriage would be different, only to find out what you already know: most men can never give you what you truly need.

Now you've been doing this for over a year. For an hour a night, you sit in front of your webcam in low cut blouses and secretary skirts and undress down to your lingerie and panties. You run your fingers between your breasts and whisper lies into your microphone.

At first it was out of desperation.

Your flatmate had moved out with little warning and left you scrambling to make rent. Your job didn't pay enough for you to afford the entire sum by yourself until you found someone else to take her place. Sure, you could have moved or downsized, but you didn't want to. The location was perfect and to get the same rate, you'd have to move further to the edge of the city. Your morning commute would be longer, and you didn't want to spend so much time on the tube with the smell of sweat, crying babies, and creeps brushing up against you.

It was a pop-up ad that gave you the idea. "Live women on camera. Watch now! Get your first month at a reduced rate!" It declared over a scantily clad young woman who was pushing her cleavage together with her arms and fluttering her eyelashes.

If only it were that easy, you had scoffed.

Then you opened your laptop and did some research. Because what if it was? Which is how you ended up making an account on a smaller camgirl website and sitting uncomfortably with your webcam pointed at your torso and nothing but a white wall behind you.

After a few days of no activity, you unbuttoned your blouse a bit, wore a push-up bra, and finally got your first viewer. So you unbuttoned it further and further, and, as your numbers rose, your top came off completely.

You learned to tease them after that.

And degrade them.

"BigDaddy47 wants to know if I'm wearing panties. Mmm, what do you all think? Should I take off my skirt and let you find out? If you were all very good, I could show you what's underneath, but you don't deserve it, do you? I know how filthy you all are, asking me to take my clothes off. You disgust me."

Oh, but then you apologize and beg for forgiveness for being so mean to those poor, overworked men that no one else appreciates while bashfully covering your body with your hands and telling them you're just a little shy. That's what really boosted your numbers. They ate it up. Because more than seeing a pair of tits, they love being told exactly what they want to hear. And they especially love believing it.

That's why they're really there. To forget. To pretend.

You made enough extra money to keep your flat. Barely at first, and it completely wiped your savings, but with each new paycheck there was more leftover. Eventually you also bought better lingerie. More strappy numbers to hide under your office girl persona. More ways to hint at your bare breasts without showing them. Because you will never get naked on camera. Ever. The thought of all those men seeing your full body repulses you. They repulse you. That part, at least, is never a lie.

Then the empty second bedroom became your recording studio. You put a feminine, silky comforter and fancy pillows on the bed so you could pose in different, carefully pre-selected positions. You draped a blanket over the back of the chair so you could cover yourself while you pretended to be shy and repentant, and they all begged you to take it back off.

It was almost too easy. It took less than seven months for your stream to be featured on the front page of the site as a hot new account, and another two for you to make the top fifty. Now you're making as much in seven hours of streaming a week as you do in a week and a half of full-time work at your day job. And you keep nudging your way closer to the top twenty.

So you could say things are going well.

At least, they were.

The first time you got a strange text message from a number you didn't recognize, you shrugged it off. All it said was: How are you doing? Which could be anything. A wrong number, a phishing attempt, or an old friend you deleted the contact information for ages ago. Of course you ignored it.

But a few days later you got another one from the same number.

You don't want to chat?

That one had made you a little uncomfortable, but you could still tell yourself it was a mistake. Maybe even a guy you gave your number to for a hookup during a rare night out that you never followed through on. You set your phone down, went about your day, and managed to forget about it quickly.

Then today it buzzs again.

You're not even this shy on camera.

As you read it—and reread it to be sure you're not seeing things—your heart leaps to your throat with your first rush of fear. How had they gotten your number? You never entered a phone number into the website. You've been so careful. You even set up a separate bank account.

"Who is this?" You finally text back.

A fan.

You quickly fumble with your phone to block them, but a new message appears on the screen before your trembling thumbs can manage to tap the correct buttons.

I wouldn't do that.

And then there's a video.

You hesitate.

You know you should just block them anyway, but something about the blurry still of the preview seems familiar. Naggingly familiar. So you tap play.

There's a figure standing right in front of the camera. They're so close, all you can see at first is a plain black shirt and a bare arm. Then they move away, further into the room. It's your spare room, you quickly realize with horror. You can see the familiar layout and the blush colored comforter on the bed. After a few more seconds, you also realize the person in the video is you. You're folding the blanket you use during your stream and setting it on the chair. Except it wasn't taken from your stream because there's daylight coming through the lacy drapes covering the window. You only stream at night. And your face is visible as you bend over to pick up a pillow from the floor.

It's you in your pajamas, tidying up the room the morning after a stream. When your camera isn't supposed to be on. When you aren't being careful.

You feel sick.

Now would you like to chat?

"What do you want?" You type out with shaking hands.

I want a private show.

"If you don't stop harassing me, I'll call the police."

Now now. No need for that.

Because if you do, I'll have to send a few videos to your mum. This is her contact information, isn't it?

Then you're staring down at your mother's phone number and home address. You let out a sob.

"Why are you doing this?"

I told you. I want a private show.

"I don't have a private stream."

Your phone buzzes with another notification, but this time for a new email. In your personal inbox.

You have fifteen minutes.

You reluctantly open the message. It's an invite with a link to a private chat room.

Wear the black nightie with the same bra and panties you wore two nights ago.

You don't respond. Instead you throw your phone down onto the couch and you pace.

What do you do? Do you block the number and call the police anyway? Do you call your mother and tell her not to check her messages or answer the door? But then she'll ask why. And what do you tell her? That you have a stalker? That they're threatening her, too? God, she's so stubborn and nosey! She'd look at her phone anyway to tell them off and then it'll be over. She'll see. You were raised Catholic! She'll disown you.

You stop pacing.

Would that be such a terrible thing? You're very much an adult. You're not dependent on her for anything. You have every right to do what you want. It's not like you're doing anything that bad! Not really. You're just trying to survive! If she can't handle that, then that's her problem. You're doing just fine. You can live without her nagging and berating you all the time. Making you feel small or as though you're wasting your life by not doing what she expects. Asking you, "What will people think?" after everything you do. Plus, it's her religion, not yours. It stopped being yours when you were very young, even though the guilt still rears its ugly head every once in a while. Usually because of her forcing it on you. No more.

With renewed determination, you pick your phone back up and go to block the number.

The buzzing of a new message startles you.

Did I mention that I also have the contact information for your boss and the passwords to all of your social media accounts?

Fuck.

Ten minutes left.

You start to cry. Because you feel truly helpless now. You think for a brief moment that maybe this person is bluffing. Surely he's just counting on you to obey immediately and doesn't plan on doing anything. But he filmed you without your knowledge and he had your mother's personal information. Finding where you work would be even easier than that. Plus, are you willing to risk your whole life and your career to find out?

No, you realize. You aren't.

With tears streaming down your face, you run to your bedroom. You have to upend your hamper to find the specific bra and panties he requested since you hadn't washed them yet, but you manage to get changed faster than you ever have before.

Are you supposed to put on make-up? He didn't say. You check your phone for the time. Four minutes. And you still have to boot up your laptop. So you grab your eyeliner and a tinted lip gloss off of your vanity and sprint towards the other bedroom.

While your computer is starting, you use your reflection in the screen to hastily put on the eyeliner. It probably looks horrible and uneven thanks to your puffy eyelids and lack of mirror, but if he wanted something better, then he should have been more specific or given you more time. Or not harassed you at all. So fuck him.

You click over to your inbox with one hand and dab the rouge color onto your lips with the other. Then you're staring at the link with a minute left. No use stalling, you think. It won't make this go away.

You take a deep breath and click it.

The chat window pops up and then, after a brief second of loading while your heart pounds in your chest, your own scantily clad breasts and lace covered torso are displayed onto the screen. In the corner, there's a black square icon. Both the video and audio indicators have Xs through them.

He's here, then. Of course he is.

There's a chat window along the side, and, as you're looking at it, a message pops up from the username YourBiggestFan.

Fix your camera. There's no reason to hide your face any longer. Not from me.

You swallow and reach forward to tilt the camera a little higher. The video is shaky for a moment, and then you're staring at your own image on the screen. Your full image. It's unnerving.

There's your lovely face.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Your voice waivers. "There are millions of women on the internet. Thousands that do what I do."

They aren't you.

"I'm not that special."

You don't do nudity on your stream. Why is that?

"Because…" You hesitate. You really don't want to talk to this man, but not doing so feels risky, too. He does have all the power here, after all. "Because I don't need to."

You would make more money if you did. Or if you moved to a better site.

"I'm getting by just fine." You glance up to glare into the camera.

You could quit your job.

"I don't want to quit my job."

You want to be a glorified secretary for the rest of your life?

"Fuck you," you hiss. 

Answer the question.

"Of course I don't! But I don't want hundreds of men seeing my tits every night, either! So if that's the trade off, I'd rather keep being a glorified secretary, as you so kindly put it." You start to roll your eyes, but stop yourself from reacting this time. You may already be pushing your luck as it is and there's no need to piss him off. "I don't do either of them because I enjoy it. I do what I have to so I don't have to worry about money."

You certainly seem like you're enjoying yourself every night.

"It's called pretending," you sigh irritably. "Surely you've heard of it. Do you think all of those men would tune in otherwise? Tell me, would you? You're one of them, after all."

I'm not one of them.

"Aren't you? Mr. Your Biggest Fan," you scoff. "Sure you aren't."

No. Because I see you.

"That is rather the point."

You're very clever. You know exactly how to manipulate all of them into staying without giving them what they want.

"I have to be. All of the women that do this learn how to keep the audience interested."

But yours comes from a place of hatred.

You blink in mild surprise, but quickly school your features. You don't want him to know he's caught you off guard.

Your stream is the only one in the top 50 that doesn't show their face and the top 100 that doesn't include nudity. Did you know that?

You shift in your seat. "I…I didn't, actually. I knew I was the only one with my numbers, but not that many."

You're an anomaly.

"I'm good at my job," you correct him.

Yes, you are. You know how to manipulate all of them because you find them rather predictable, don't you? Predictable. Pathetic. Dull. Beneath you. They make it easy for you.

You aren't able to hide the shock on your face this time as you stare at the chat. He doesn't wait for you to respond.

You don't take your underwear off because you and I both know that's beneath you, too. And you're right, you don't have to. It's quite impressive.

"Is that so?" You don't sound as dismissive as you hoped.

I told you. I see you. And you intrigue me.

"Fine, you can see through my bullshit. And?" You cross your arms. "Am I supposed to be impressed? What's the point of all this?"

I wanted you to show me the real you.

"And me angry at you is the real me, is it?"

Yes. Because you aren't lying to me.

He has a point there. This is arguably the most honest you've ever been sitting in this chair. Sure, you're being guarded considering the circumstances, but otherwise you haven't lied to him.

Tell me, have I gotten anything wrong?

You bite at your lip as you consider whether or not to continue being honest. But if you change tactics now, he'll sense it. You know, instinctively, that he will. Because you would in his place. So you finally look into the camera and say, "No. You haven't."

More honesty. There's a good girl.

Your heart skips a beat while there's a brief flutter of interest in your stomach, and you're disgusted with yourself for your body's reaction to that. He's a creep just like the rest of them, you tell yourself. Worse because at least the rest of them are harmless. To you, anyway.

He doesn't type anything else and his silence feels almost smug. Like he knows exactly the inner turmoil he's caused you and he wants you to stew in it. The flutter spreads lower.

"Now it's your turn to tell me how you guessed at any of that since I don't even show my face," you blurt out, desperate to think of anything else and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he's won somehow.

It wasn't a guess. I can hear the difference in your voice. The only time you mean what you say is when you berate them.

You think back to all the times you've snarled into the microphone and called them despicable. Disgusting. Useless. The one slip in your act.

You enjoy it. You enjoy getting to tell them exactly what you think of them while you take their money. You enjoy it so much, you have to stop yourself from pushing it one step further. But you want to. I can hear how much you want to. It feels good, doesn't it? To not have to hide, even for a moment. To treat them the way they deserve.

"Yes," you breathe out before you can stop yourself. Because it does. It feels incredible. The fluttering between your legs has grown into a slick heat now from his words alone.

How could he know that, though? How could he know that you've dreamed of telling them their only worth to you was their wallets because there at least they had a use. That having to read every horrible thing they said through the veil of anonymity made your skin crawl. That they're the reason their own lives are so miserable. Sexless bedrooms. Loveless marriages. Endless failed relationships. The inability to find someone to look twice at them. And you're glad they came slithering to you rather than have the self-awareness or brain cells to look in a goddamned mirror. Pathetic.

You've never even admitted that out loud to yourself. Only in your darkest thoughts. Now this man is typing out those inner thoughts as though they were written plainly on your face.

"You enjoy it."

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

Like he understands.

You both sit in silence for a minute that stretches out for far too long while you read his message over and over again, until your sex starts to ache.

You should feel ashamed, you realize. This is the moment you should feel horrible for thinking those things. And for being turned on by the way he told you that you enjoyed it. Only you don't.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," you whisper.

You've said enough. That was all I needed.

He knows, you think. You've given this man too much. "So what now? You still haven't said where all of this goes."

Yes I have.

"Right. A private show. How could I forget?" You mean for it to sound sarcastic, but it comes out confused because you're a little dazed from all of this. "You really still want me to flutter my eyelashes at you, push my cleavage at the camera, and say some insipid bullshit, even though it's all lies?"

No. I want to see ALL of you.

Your face flushes in embarrassment and anger, and you have to squeeze your thighs together to quell the want that is continuing to build in your core. "You're blackmailing me just to see my tits?"

You're going to talk to me as well.

"And say what?"

More of how you really feel. I want to hear more of the truth from your lips. As I said, I want to see all of you.

"Well, right now I'm feeling quite pissed off."

And as you're talking, you're going to touch yourself for me.

There's a swell of panic in your chest and it's as though you've been dunked in ice water because you've gone from hot to bone chilled. "Fuck you. I'm not doing that."

Why not?

"Because it's a violation! I'm not consenting to any of this. You're not giving me a choice."

You have a choice.

"Oh, choosing between masturbating on camera for you or you ruining my life? My mistake! Nothing dubious about that."

You're beautiful when you're angry.

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to stop yourself from throwing your laptop across the room. You will still need it after this, after all.

When you open your eyes, you look up into the camera with a serious, pleading expression on your face. "I don't want to do that. Please don't make me. I'll get undressed for you. I'll let you see all of me. But don't make me do that."

You shift your attention to watch the text box. There's a pause.

A long pause.

You start to think maybe you've finally angered him by saying no and he's in the process of messaging your mom and your boss. Just when you begin nervously shifting in your seat, a new message pops up.

What if you wanted to touch yourself for me? Then would you?

You stare at the message in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Answer the question.

"If I wanted to, then…" You hesitate as you consider how to tell the truth. "I guess, yes I would. But that's different. I don't want to."

You don't want to yet.

"So you won't make me?"

No. I won't make you.

You exhale in relief. "Thank you," you whimper.

But I will make you want to touch yourself for me, that I promise.

"I highly doubt that. You've given me plenty of reasons to want literally anything else, the most important of which is that I'm still here because you're blackmailing me."

There is that.

I could delete all of it. If you ask nicely.

You furrow your brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I could delete it. Then there would be nothing forcing you to stay.

"And I'm supposed to just trust you?"

Yes.

You scoff. "Yeah, right. Besides, if you delete it, I'll just leave."

And go back to lying on camera?

"Surprisingly, I do still have to pay my rent after this."

What if you didn't have to?

"Didn't have to pay rent?"

No. Go back on camera or back to that laughable firm you work for. What if you didn't need the money?

"I already said I'm not doing either of those things because I enjoy them. Of course I wouldn't go back if I didn't have to."

Check your bank account.

The OTHER bank account.

You sit there and stare at your screen in horror. Because you've only just now realized that, in your panic, you'd been thinking too small before. You were worried about phone numbers and addresses. Such little things to keep you distracted and focused so you didn't have clarity of mind to stop to wonder at what else he could find and hold hostage.

"Why?" You whisper.

Just look. No reason to be afraid.

You frantically pick up your phone and swipe until you find the banking app. The last time you checked, you had over eight thousand pounds in that account after paying rent. Nothing extravagant. But it's reassuring knowing the savings is there if you need it. That you're relatively safe and comfortable. Because it's yours. You earned it.

The balance reads £308,218.72.

Three hundred thousand pounds more than should be in there. It's more money than you've ever seen in your life. It's more than you could ever hope to have at one time in your life.

"What is this?" Your voice sounds small from the shock.

A gift.

"I can't accept this." You look up into the camera. "I won't accept this."

Why not?

"Because I'm not a whore!" You snap at the lense. "And I refuse to be beholden to you. I won't let you own me."

No strings. You can take the money and run if you like. But we both know you're not going to.

"Won't I?"

No.

"And why not? Are you going to say something ridiculous like, 'There's more where that came from?'"

No.

"Why then?"

Because whatever you run off to do will bore you just as much as what you're doing now since the money doesn't change what's making you miserable. But you're starting to understand that I could offer you so much more. And I don't mean the money.

You clench your jaw in frustration and rage. You want to yell. To protest and deny it. You wish you could. But deep down you know he's right. Your world has been upended and laid bare in the span of, what, half an hour? From the moment he forced his way into your life, it has been many things, but boring is not one of them. Because, you realize, he does see you.

"I still…" you start helplessly. "I don't understand."

I told you. You intrigue me. No one intrigues me.

"For some reason that doesn't feel like a compliment."

I know I intrigue you, now, too.

"What do you really want from me?" You say quietly. "I know this isn't about getting a private show. It never was, was it?"

You.

I want you.

"Then why the money?"

I don't want you distracted.

You know nothing about this man. You don't know what he looks like and you can't hear his voice. But there's something about the way he referred to your entire life as a distraction that sends a shiver of fear up your spine. And something else rekindling inside of you that you now refuse to acknowledge.

"So I'm not giving you a show."

Oh, you'll give me one. Eventually. And I'm going to enjoy myself knowing I'm the only one who's ever seen you like that.

"How do you know I've never stripped on camera for anyone else before?"

It's beneath you. Because there's never been anyone on the other end deserving of it.

"You think you are?"

Am I?

"You seem like the kind of man that thinks he is."

That's not an answer.

You mentally curse because he's so damn perceptive. Your usual tactics don't work on him and that throws you off balance.

Am I?

"I don't know yet," you finally admit.

You really are so beautiful without the mask. Honesty suits you much more than the lie.

"My honesty suits you, you mean."

I'll never deny that I'm enjoying it. But you deserve to know that what's underneath isn't hideous like you fear. You can always take it off in front of me.

"And you'll enjoy it whenever I do," you murmur, almost entranced by the thought.

I will. Immensely.

"How do I know you're not just some creepy slob in a basement somewhere that's really good at hacking?"

You would have seen through me if I were.

He's right. Something about him seems sophisticated, but effortlessly so. Too effortless to be an act. Which leaves, what, bored rich guy? Well, at least you have one thing in common.

"Who are you then? And don't just say a fan. The only way you'll get me to even consider not running the second I close this window is by giving me something that isn't money or text on a screen."

I'm a man that knows what it's like to live with the mask. How do you think I saw through yours? I also know how good it feels to take it off. But even better than that is to be seen and embraced for what's underneath.

Does that satisfy you?

"Not nearly enough."

You'll learn more next time. The link will stay active. When you come back here, I'll know.

"When," you huff in disbelief under your breath.

When.

"We'll see, won't we?"

Before I go, is there something you're forgetting? Something to ask me maybe?

"Something to ask…?" You trail off in thought because you have no idea what he's talking about. But as you replay parts of the conversation in your head, you remember that he said he would delete everything if you asked. Nicely.

You clench your fists and take a deep breath to prepare yourself. Because you know he added the "nicely" specifically to see you squirm and you refuse to give it to him. Then you look up into the webcam, and, with all the sincerity you can muster, you ask. Nicely.

"Please delete it. All of it. I want you to. I won't promise you anything in return because I don't know if I'll come back, and I won't lie to you or myself with a false promise. But it would prove to me that you mean what you say. That you want me. Because if you have all of that to hold over me, if I can't make this choice on my own, you'll never truly have me, will you? There will always be parts of myself that I keep back and I'll never look at you or talk to you as a man. Only as my captor. So please, I am begging you. Delete it."

You look down to the text box and wait.

His video comes to life then, surprising you and splitting the screen in half. But what's there isn't his face. It's a computer screen with a desktop so basic, it almost looks unused. There's also an open folder, and it's full of video, image, and text files—far more of them than you would have guessed. He's been observing you for a while and you had no idea he was there. You can see your own face and your lingerie in a couple of the video and photo thumbnails. Then you watch as he highlights all of it and, without fanfare or hesitation, deletes it. The folder—which you now realize is titled after you—sits empty.

You open your mouth to protest because you aren't an idiot, but as though he anticipated that, he shifts over to the trash can and empties that as well.

It's done.

"How do I know there aren't backups?"

I guess you'll just have to trust me, won't you?

Then he leaves the chat and you're left staring at your own face on the screen.

Before you close the window, you have to wonder if you aren't truly seeing yourself for the very first time.

Chapter 2 ->

A/N: I hope you enjoyed and are now properly buckled in for this trainwreck of a gratuitously smutty and fucked up romance. Please keep your arms inside the vehicle at all times because I have already lost complete control of this. But I promise it's gonna be a lot of fun. 😌😏

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 24 - Sy

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 23 -- Part 25

Pairing: Sy x trans!ofc (Alicia)

Summary: The guys throw a New Years Eve party at 179th Crescent Street...

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, oral (m and f receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), an interesting case (if I do say so myself) of phone-moaning (look it up if you have to). Brief mention of transphobic parents and mention of (child) abuse.

ETA: PLEASE, if I missed any tags/warnings, let me know. (Always let me know, but let me know for this one in particular. It's way more likely I accidentally missed something that can be triggering for someone here.)

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: I'm on the verge of having a panic attack over posting this. Not because I think it's bad - I personally love this chapter - but because Sy is such a crowd favorite and I'm a little nervous about how this will be received. Also: Liz is the first trans character I've written at this point. So much research went into this, which is part of why I struggled with writing this so much. We're still horny on main, though, as always.

It's obviously a first for Sy, too, and he says some stupid shit - he also really likes this girl, which doesn't help with foot-in-mouth-disease, obviously. Bear with him, please.

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos

Charles punched a guy. We’d all love to get through a night out - or in, apparently - without something like that happening, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards for us. That said, I think he was right to do it, and if I’d been within arms reach of the guy, he’d have had me to deal with, too. Harassing Dani was wrong, but to do it right in front of our eyes… That’s just plain stupid. When everyone’s back to their business, I turn back to Alicia and watch her as she takes a sip of her beer. 

“What?” she asks. 

“Nothing,” I say. I huff quietly when I hear myself speak. Little too much emphasis on that ‘g’ at the end. I’m hiding my accent. I like this girl. 

I first noticed it when I talked to Mike after the chaotic house meeting from a few days ago. I say ‘chaotic’, but it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for us. It’s not our fault! Who puts eight guys our age in a house and calls it a day? Anyway, he told me one of Dani’s roommates wanted to find out if Dani had been lying about my… Let’s go with ‘skills’. Apparently, the review was pretty good. Now, I’ve seen Sloane. She’s on the hockey team, and I normally wouldn’t dream of passing up an opportunity like that, but I just… Couldn’t care less, to be honest. And then Liz texted me and Mike caught me grinning at my phone like an idiot. Which he pointed out while also grinning like an idiot. And now here we are. 

“Say that again,” she teases. Fuck, I’m busted. How about I don’t answer her, and just shake my head instead? Will that work? “I like the way you talk, Sy.” 

There’s a hint of a drawl to her voice. It’s definitely subtle, but it’s there. At first I wonder if she’s messing with me, but when she asks where I’m from, I have my answer. She’s not mocking me, she’s from Georgia. Which my stepfather would say is even worse, but I stopped listening to him right around the time I turned six. The longer we talk, the clearer her accent becomes. Makes me wonder when she lost it. And why. Takes me a while longer than I care to admit to ask her that… 

“My aunt from New York took me in when I was twelve,” she answers. “Parents kicked me out for… You know… What about you? What made you move away?” It doesn’t bother me that she doesn’t finish her sentence, because I have a perfectly good idea of what she would have said if she had. I feel like everybody would have known. When Mikey found out Liz and I were texting, he asked me if I knew. I told him I did. Then he asked me if I cared, and I told him I didn’t. I meant what I said. 

“The short version is that I tried to hit ma’s scumbag boyfriend back, hit ma instead. Can’t come home unless I apologize to him. Which I ain’t gonna do.”

“Ouch, you win. More beer?” She’s on her way to the kitchen before I can even answer. 

Now that I’ve got nothing else to do, I look around the room. Charles has disappeared - probably with Sloane - and Leon is still chatting up Ariel, Dani’s other roommate. They seem to know each other, which means she might be the same Ariel he always competes with to be first in his class. Marshall is up to something that involves Vivienne Chase. I know the type. We all do. I know Marshall has referred to her as a ‘puck bunny’ before. He seemed pretty annoyed by her at the time. Guess that’s over now. I don’t know what’s been bugging him, but it can’t be good. I reckon there’s an eighty percent chance that this ain’t the way to solve it, either, but it’s none of my business, and I’m gonna treat it that way. 

Alicia and I play a few more rounds of horrible childhood bingo, until people around us start counting down. It’s a countdown to a first kiss I’m shockingly nervous about. Luckily, she’s braver than I am, putting her bottle down while reaching for mine. Then, when that’s put to the side as well, pulling me closer to her by hooking her fingers into the pockets of my jeans. I expected to not have to lower my head: she’s nearly six feet tall. What I didn’t expect was that I’d be looking up slightly. She’s wearing heels, too, fucking hell. It takes everything I’ve got to keep with a certain level of decency. Yes, practically everyone in this room is doing the same thing I am, but that don’t mean… Alright, she doesn't seem to care about propriety half as much as I do. 

“I’ve got a perfectly nice room upstairs, with a lot less prying eyes.” Why am I not surprised she’s coming with me?

Goddamn, this girl can kiss. I’m already dizzy, and something just tells me I ain’t seen nothing yet. The way she’s clawing at my back makes me think she likes it rough. I don’t mind it one bit: I ain’t exactly built to be gentle. She moans loudly when I pin her against the door. Her dress was already creeping up her thighs when I walked her upstairs, but is now only inches away from exposing that gorgeous ass completely - I didn’t let her go first on the stairs for no goddamn reason, and now that we’re in private, whatever fabric stands between me and that ass is frustrating me to no end. 

“Hm, eager,” she chuckles as my hands push her dress up further. I groan as she makes a point of grinding her hips against mine. 

“Well, you’re a hot piece of ass, so…” She laughs when I pull her away from the door, towards my bed. 

That dress comes off easily, but not before she pulls my shirt over my head. That look in her eyes as they glide over my chest, the way she takes her bottom lip in between her teeth… This chick is driving me fucking nuts. I enjoy the way she looks at me for a while too long, apparently, because she reaches behind her back to undo her bra and tosses it aside. Now it’s my turn to stare and her turn to revel in the attention. ‘Great tits.’ That’s it. That’s the only thought I have. Anything else, my brain just refuses to process - like the ringing of her phone, which I hear faintly in the background somewhere. The only reason I know I’m not making it up, is because I watch her pull it out of the purse she dropped next to my bed, and hang up on whoever is on the other end. Other than that faint notion, that rack is really my whole world right now. Fucking magnetic. I mean it. It’s as if gravity in this room has somehow shifted, and everything is now pulled towards her chest. Alright, maybe not everything, but God knows I am, for sure. 

The few quick kisses on her neck are out of a kind of twisted courtesy - pure pretense, to separate myself from a fucking caveman by a hair or two. As much as I hate to admit it, all I really want right now is to get more closely acquainted with these boobs. They’re far from the biggest I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t say they’re the nicest, either - although they’re definitely up there. But, damn, I’d be lying if I said there had ever been a pair I’d been more curious about. I have a strong feeling she won’t appreciate it if I say something about that, but unfortunately there just ain’t enough blood going to my brain right now for me to think straight…

“Can’t believe these are fake.” Once I realize what I’ve said, I look up at her like a deer in headlights. 

“No worries, you’re good,” Alicia laughs when she sees my face. “I mean… They are fake.”

“How ‘bout I just try ‘n’ keep quiet from now on?” It’s gonna be tough, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I accidentally say something really stupid and ruin this.

“Oh no. They say you’ve got a dirty mouth. I wanna hear it.” That’s all good ‘n' well, but I’m gonna keep my mouth otherwise occupied for the time being. I sincerely hope she won’t mind.

My nerves about saying something stupid end up on the back burner when her phone rings again. I fucking hope it's a protective friend or something.

"Jesus, who keeps callin' ya?" This is the third time in ten minutes. I gave it a pass the first two, but now… Why doesn’t she turn the damn thing off?

"My ex," she groans. Not what a man wants to hear, honestly. The phone stops buzzing for a minute, and then it picks up right where it left off with call number four. The good news is that she seems as annoyed as I am. The bad news is that continuous phone calls from the ex of the girl you're trying to nail are a really effective boner killer. Liz sighs and hangs up again, while I give up on trying to ignore this issue. 

"Bad breakup?" I ask lightly, barely taking my lips off her skin. I'm fixing to get as much quality time with these tits as I possibly can, ex be damned. 

"The worst," she groans. "She cheated." There's two words in that sentence, and I have no clue which one confuses me more. 

"Cheated? On you? Now that's just stupid." She laughs in reply - a sound that turns into a moan when I bite down on her nipple. 

I’m a little disappointed when one of her hands reaches for my chin and pulls me back up. I was having a great time! Must’ve looked sad, too, because she laughs and looks at me with feigned pity in her eyes before kissing me. I wonder if that’s the only great way she has to cheer me up… My hands continue their exploration. It’s almost impossible to move on from her boobs, but I eventually make it further down, and my hand finds its way between her legs. Hm. 

"Sy," Liz has clearly picked up on my… surprise? Is that the right word? It's a good thing there’s a hint of a chuckle to her voice, because I'm just confused at this point. 

"Yeah?"

"This vagina was brought to you by the wonders of modern medicine. Doesn't get as wet as you’re probably used to." That actually explains a lot - and nowhere near enough. It sounds like lube would fix most of that problem, and I have some, so we’re good there. Thing is: it tastes horrible. Luckily, Liz manages to solve my dilemma before my indecisiveness really gets to me. 

“I’ve heard too many good things about that allegedly incredible head game of yours,” she says coyly. I chuckle as a grin spreads on my face. Knowing her expectations are high should probably make me more nervous than I already am, but it doesn’t. I know what the girls I’ve been with say about me, and I take pride in that particular skill. Does that make me a cocky jerk sometimes? Absolutely. They don’t seem to care when they’re screaming my name, so why should I?

I kiss my way down Alicia’s body. Slowly. I may be impatient but I enjoy teasing ‘em a little too much to skip that part… She clearly disagrees, trying everything in her power to push me down faster. It’s cute, and it makes me laugh. 

“Ain’t gonna work, sugar,” I say in between kisses pressed to her stomach. “The more you try, the longer I’m gonna drag this out. Be good for me, okay?” She agrees - reluctantly - meaning I can continue my journey south. 

Not being able to use my hands is going to be a challenge. One I’ll gladly accept, that’s for sure, but a challenge nonetheless. It takes me a minute to find something she likes. Thank God she’s not shy! Actually, she’s pretty loud, which is fantastic. I love a woman who just offers up the intel on what she likes unprompted. Makes me look like I know what I’m doing, because… well… I’ll know what I’m doing. She’s all moans and whimpers and ‘right there’-s and breaths hitching as my fingertips dig into her hips. Her hand is on the back of my head, pulling me closer to her… I can’t wipe this smug grin off my face - she’s gonna cum in no time.

Fuck! That goddamn phone again! I stop what I’m doing, raise myself up on my elbows and look at Liz. 

“Pick up the phone,” I growl. I’m done with this bullshit. 

“What?” Liz asks me, slightly dazed. I understand her confusion, but I’m seriously over this. 

“Pick up the goddamn phone,” I repeat. My grin widens as I watch Alicia accept the call and put the phone to her ear. 

“Kelly. Hi," she says. She’s clearly not happy to even speak to her. Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna try my best to make this the best phone call they ever had. I can’t help but chuckle as my mouth finds its way back to where it was a minute ago, and goes right back to doing exactly what it was doing before we were so rudely interrupted. When I look up, Alicia stares back at me, eyes wide with shock, begging me… to keep going. 

“Eh, no. I - ah - I’m not home.” She’s trying hard to keep her voice steady, I’m trying hard to break her. Neither of us have it easy right now. And ultimately we’re both still playing for the same side. 

“Why do you even give a - fuck!” Honestly? Nice timing. Kelly’s voice - which I can barely make out from where I am - starts to sound more agitated. Apparently, the answer to that question is a long one, because Kelly keeps talking for a while. That gives me just the right amount of time to really drive Liz nuts. 

“It’s literally - hng - none of your business - hmm - what I’m doing,” Liz suddenly snaps. “Or who I’m doing.” I almost choke on my own spit when she adds that last bit. 

“Because we broke up, remember? Jesus.” There’s no way she can last long now. 

“Kelly, seriously, stop bothering m-oh my god, Sy!” It’s a good thing she can’t see my face, because I’m grinning like crazy.  

“That was fun,” I tease when I lie down next to her again. “Turn that thing off.”

“I doubt she’ll be calling back,” Alicia says, but she turns her phone off anyway before turning to me. “You really are as good as they say.” 

It’s a reputation I never asked for, but I can’t say I mind having it. And I certainly don’t mind honing my craft, so to speak. Besides… most girls are willing to trade good head for good head - in my personal experience, at least. I can't complain about that. 

Her fingers leave goosebumps on my skin wherever they move - and they move absolutely everywhere but the place I actually want them in, while she kisses me fiercely. It’s far too easy to lose myself in her touch, especially when she finally does go where I need her most. 

I’m prepared for the soft gasp I hear when she wraps her fingers around my cock - anything else there is to notice gets lost in the sensation of her lips all over my chest and abs as she makes her way down. Her tongue feels amazing as she slowly swirls it around the tip of my cock before taking me all the way down with no issues. 

I'm staring. I know I am, and I don't give a damn. It's been a while since I've been this impressed with a girl's skills. Fuck me, she's good. Her eyes are on me the whole time she's down there, slobbering all over my dick - pardon my French - and I'm in absolute heaven. Until… 

"Whoa!" Those fingers are headed directly where no man - or woman, for that matter - has gone before. Not on me, at least. 

"What's the problem, Sy?"

I curse softly under my breath and pray Geralt isn't listening in. "I'd say somethin' along the lines of me not bein' used to a girl tryin'a stick a finger up my ass," I mumble. Judging from the grin on her face, she heard perfectly. She slowly climbs up until she's lying next to me again. 

"I strongly recommend that you give it a try," she says in a sultry tone, with eyes that put 98 percent of pornstars to shame. 

"Normally I'd ask ya why I should trust a girl on this," I sigh, "but I reckon you would know…" 

"First-hand experience," she replies. I don't know what it is, but something about this is intriguing. 

"Is it good?" I ask carefully. I'm not saying I will… just that… I might.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she purrs in my ear. That's it, I'm blaming her. It's her. She is impossible to resist. 

"Alright, I'll bite," I say, and I can't believe my own ears. "I'll try it." She's made me fucking curious. Dammit. Oh well. If I don't like it, I don't ever gotta do it again, right?

"Told ya," she grins. I'm still dizzy. That was hands down the best fucking orgasm of my entire life. Fucking hell. And there she is: smug smirk firm on her face, and soft lips torturing my earlobe.

"Gimme a break, sugar," I moan softly as I gently pull her head away from my face by her hair. She seems to like that. 

"That good, huh?" Yeah, yeah, missy, you're awfully proud of yourself. Well… she's not wrong. It really was that good. 

"Yeah," I sigh. "But why not go for the… more traditional…" What I want to know is why she didn't…

"You want to know why I didn't let you stick me." That would be one way of putting it, yes. 

She takes a deep breath and looks at me.

“Cards on the table, Sy: There’s no way you’re gonna fit,” she says. Are my eyes deceiving me or does she look embarrassed by that? 

“Alright, that explains that,” I say, pulling her into a hug. 

“You’re not disappointed?” she asks, her voice as full of disbelief as the expression on her face. I shrug. Of course not! Why would I be? 

“Nah.” It’s the truth, however hard that may be for her to believe. It’s not even the first time this has happened. You never know what the reaction is going to be when girls first find out what you’re blessed with. At this point, I’ve seen everything from nerves to sheer terror to excitement - sometimes on the same face, within the same minute. This ain’t nothing new to me. But it bothers her. And it bothers me that it bothers her. 

“Hey,” I say as I put a finger under her chin and make her look at me, “I’m okay with it if we don’t have sex.” That’s not what I should have said, but I hope she doesn’t jump on it…

“We are having sex,” she says, one eyebrow raised. Fuck. 

“Yeah… I know that. Sherlock pointed that out a few days ago, I’m just… I’m still… adjusting my vocabulary.” The grin on her face spreads slowly while I scramble for words, and I glare at her. 

“I’m sorry, Sy, I shouldn’t be teasing you like this,” she laughs. 

“No,” I reply, “you shouldn’t. You’ll have to make it up to me.”

“Well, there’s always anal,” she says. There’s no way she doesn’t actually hear the record-scratch in my brain. That whole thing came out a little too point-blank for her to be joking. I think. At the same time, I’m not even sure she said what I think she said. I have to have made that up, right? There’s no way… 

“What?” I blurt out. And lo and behold: She repeats herself. There it is again. ‘There’s always anal.’ She really said that. Alright.

“Hold on… Your pussy can’t handle me, but your ass can?” I don’t mean to sound as surprised - or crude - as I do, but I can’t help it. This is very… counterintuitive to me. To say the least. 

“The downside of designer pussy is that it doesn’t really… stretch easily,” she says softly. I can’t stop myself from letting out a chuckle when she says ‘designer pussy’ - two words I’d probably never expected to hear that close to one another. 

“Hey, I’m not opposed to the idea,” I say. It would be another first for me. Definitely something I wouldn’t mind crossing off the list. But not tonight. Not after that blowjob - that's what we're gonna call it for now, I'm still getting comfortable with that other thing that happened. Not after that orgasm. Not after all those beers. She seems to understand perfectly.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks. I look at her, completely confused.

"Literally not even one bit, darlin'. You're stayin' right here." 

[ticklystuff]

Profile Tag Game~

Hello - Why, hello there! I apologize for the disturbance; my fanbase (@lovelynim, @ticklygiggles, @xsezzie, @keru0, @mythiczer0) can be quite noisy at times. Hopefully playing this little game can quell their enthusiasm for the time being.

Chat: Tickling - Don’t.

Chat: Health - Eat well, sleep well, poop well~ Three easy steps to bettering one’s health! You only have one body; it’s important to take care of it.

When It Rains - Perfect timing! I’ve been blessed with the minor inconvenience needed to cancel today’s obligations~

When It Snows - Yes, I’m perfectly fine wearing shorts in the snow. No, I’m not cold. Please stop staring at my legs..

When the Sun is Out - Ugh, too bright..

Good Morning - … … ………

Good Afternoon - Mind keeping it down? My nap time requires absolute silence.

Good Evening - Ah, I’m just going for one of my nighttime strolls. … Err, I suppose you can tag along, but I really prefer my alone time… Just keep talking to a minimum, okay?

Good Night - Hm? Can’t sleep? Well, I have the perfect advice for you, ehehe. Wanna sleep like the dead? Try a shot before bed! Cheers!~

About Me: Color - The term “colorblind” is a misleading one, as it perpetuates the belief that individuals, such as myself, possess the inability to see color, but that is simply not true. Instead, I often mistake certain colors for others. Red and green are the usual cases, but blue and purple are tricky for me to differentiate as well. Most people view this as a disadvantage, but personally, I disagree. Being colorblind just means that all stoplights are green to me, ehe~

Something to Share: Jobs - If you had all the money, time, and skills in the world, but still needed to work, which career would you choose? This is a question I often enjoy asking people because not only are the answers creative, but they can really give you insight into the person that’s answering. As for myself, I’d personally enjoy being a judge for a cooking show. I’d get to enjoy so many tasty foods, without having to actually be the center of attention. Also, people would have to serve me under my scrutiny, ohohoho~ Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Anyway, since I’ve shared mine, it’s only fair you share yours, no?

My Hobbies - Sleeping is great because I don’t have to talk to anyone while unconscious, mhm~

My Troubles - Ah, I’m sorry, but I can’t hang out today. I already visited another friend last week and I’m still burnt out.. We’ll see how I’m feeling in the next week or two, yeah?

Favorite Food - Rice due to its unmatched versatility. It can be enjoyed as a side dish, a main dish, a dessert, even a beverage, and can be presented in many flavors. Tofu, likewise, is of similar caliber.

Least Favorite Food - I’m not a picky person and enjoy most foods. However, my intolerance to lactose does create some…. potential problems when consuming dairy products. This does not stop me from enjoying them, though, as these issues are for future me to address.

About @fuwahua - Not only is she a fellow ChiLi enthusiast, but a fantastic writer as well! I was so happy when she agreed to doing a collab with me and I can only hope we find another chance in the future~

About @otomiyaa - I still remember reading her fics all the way back in 2016 and, despite not being familiar with most of the fandoms, I still enjoyed them all the same. Oh, and we can’t forget to thank her for all fun games she’s created, including this one!

Birthday - Happy birthday! Your present this year is a shopping trip on my dime~ I know, I know, so generous! … Wait, what do you mean “no thank you”? Ugh, accepting the offer won’t make you greedy or selfish, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Likewise, turning it down doesn’t make you any more humble and if anything, I personally think it’s quite foolish. Now, come on and get dressed; a long day of food and gifts await you!

—

thanks for reading lol that was fun~ most of my mutuals have already been tagged or did the game so my victim list will be @fuwahua @ppystkposts @skayleay but feel free to say i tagged you if you feel like playing!

[neallo]

28 | she/they | follows from @blondiest

hi there! this is a compiled list of all my deathnote writing. this is a sideblog (i follow from @blondiest) and is also sometimes explicit. minors - please do not follow this blog or interact w/ explicit posts.

ships i write for in practice: mello/near, matt/mello/near, matt/halle

ships i write for in theory: matt/light, halle/naomi, halle/takada

below is a list of fics i have posted, separated by completion status. i also sometimes share excerpts/snippets of my writing, which can be found under the my writing tag; answered asks can be found under asks; original posts can be found under neallopost. i am not always that good at tagging things unfortunately :-) but i am. trying <3

complete:

hot soup on a cold day

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 5/5 | words: 15.6k | series [1/2]

“Roger,” Near says urgently, tapping the old man’s shoulder. “Roger, Mello needs another pillow.” Roger gives Near a questioning look, slight disapproval in his eyes “He’s not making me get him one,” Near clarifies. “Mello is asleep right now. He just doesn’t look comfortable, that’s all.” Roger looks like he’s about to protest, so Near adds— “And I have my mask, so I won’t get sick.” The headmaster sighs, pointing down the hallway towards the linen closet. Near retrieves the perfect pillow— not so old as to be sagging, but not so new as to be overly stiff. Once he props Mello’s head up better, gingerly moving the older boy’s head as he sleeps, he finds Roger again. “I think Mello’s room is too cold. Do you have a space heater I could use?” Roger massages his temples. “Ms. Peterson may have one in her classroom,” he replies / “Very well, I’ll ask her. Thank you, Roger.” The white-haired boy shuffles away, determined. He’s distantly aware that he's being a pest to Roger, but it's all in aid of a good cause. Mello is sick. Mello almost never gets sick, and Near is the expert on being sick, so Near is going to make sure Mello is as comfortable as possible.

hot tea on a cold night

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 800 | series [2/2]

Mello is half-asleep when it happens. He’s half-asleep, and he thinks Near is totally asleep, but then the younger boy wriggles in his arms, burrowing closer under the covers, and murmurs: “I love you.”

Minutes to Midnight (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

[part 2 of Time Together]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 3/3 | words: 14.8k

This is the only issue Near has with letting Mello do all their debriefings: it’s easy for Near to stare, undetected and uninterrupted, for a long, long time. In New York, he mitigates this by spreading out on the floor and surrounding himself with toys or cards or dice. Whatever he needs to do to occupy himself. When they’ve travelled for cases before – which isn’t common by any stretch of the imagination – Near has relied on the movements and sounds of their colleagues to pull his attention away instead. The squeak of Rester’s chair, the tapping of Gevanni’s polished shoe, the sound of Lidner shuffling through papers. He uses whatever he can to keep his eyes off Mello. Out of sight, out of mind. Right now, he’s out of luck.

it’s you and me, that’s my whole world

[part 1 of together (always)]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.5k

Once she reaches the first floor and steps out of the elevator, Near hears a voice floating down the hall. It’s a woman’s voice, so it must be Lidner, but the pitch of it and the cadence of speech seems painfully similar to the way Mello talked, even without being able to hear the actual words. The closer she gets, the more it sounds like her dead lover, and Near curses how cruel her mind’s tricks are. She has to grit her teeth and breathe in deep to get herself to push through the door into the main office, feeling almost nauseous with grief again already. A blonde woman in a red winter jacket stands with her back to Near, but she turns when the toy in Near’s hand clatters to the ground. Mello’s eyes are tired, underlined by dark circles, but she grins. “Hey, Near.”

i know i’m gonna lose you (but god, i don’t want to)

[part 2 of together (always)]

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.5k

Near’s bedroom— her tidy little suite in her untidy little makeshift headquarters in a high-rise hotel in Tokyo— is lit only by the shine of the city and the glow of the moon. Because the moon is full and because the city is bright, Mello can see her perfectly. Every little hair on her arms and legs catch the light as she sheds her soft, simple bra. The only thing Mello has taken off so far are her gloves. -- In which Mello rings in 2010 with some good old-fashioned lesbian sex and a minor emotional crisis. prequel to it's you and me, that's my whole world.

there's nothing i want but you

[part 1 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.5k

Though Near doesn’t really mind Mello’s tendency towards jealousy, he also doesn’t understand it. There’s no one in the world Near wants the way he wants Mello, no one who matters the way Mello does— he’s everything to Near. There’s no reason for him to feel jealous of anyone else. Near doesn’t get jealous of anyone else. Until, one day, he does.

nothing hurts like you do

[part 2 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.8k

Mello shoves him against the wall, his free hand moving from Near’s hair to the center of his chest as he holds the gun just inches from his forehead. He gives Near a once-over, quick, and at first Near thinks he hasn’t noticed anything amiss, but then an unkind smile unfurls on his face. “Hands up,” Mello says, grinning manically.

i want to hold you (hostage)

[part 3 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 4/4 | words: 21.7k

Rico asks, casual, what Mello will want next, what he’ll aim for after he gets the notebook, and suddenly it’s like the ground has dropped out from underneath him, because the first thing that comes to mind is Near. His stomach sinks as he tries to regain some semblance of composure, fighting off imaginings both tender and cruel, furious with himself for being so weak-minded. Near, he thinks forcefully, is in the past. He isn’t an option for what’s to come— and even if he was, Mello wouldn’t want him. (He wouldn’t.) (He wouldn’t.) (God. He can’t even convince himself anymore.)

my only one, my smoking gun

[part 1 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 4/4 | words: 3.3k

For as long as he can recall, he’s ached over Near. It wasn’t always like this, though; he didn’t realize he wanted Near until it was too late to actually have him. He should be grateful, really, because he’s been able to linger here after death, and that’s more than he deserves, but God, Mello would give anything to kiss him just once.

heaven is a place on earth with you

[part 2 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

There is no blood or body of Christ, no priest and no pews, but it’s here and now that Mello finally rediscovers a long-lost sliver of faith. Hands on Near’s hips, Mello lowers his face and presses his mouth to Near’s soft abdomen. “I love you,” he murmurs, head bowed and eyes shut as if in prayer.

replication in reverse

[part 3 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

Mello mumbles something into his neck, something to the effect of waiting until Near is ready for him to move, but Near only halfway registers it. Golden hair tickles his nose, and he pictures mitosis— prophase, metaphase, anaphase, telophase— then imagines cytokinesis in reverse. Two cells pushed together until, somehow, their membranes connect, two phospholipid bilayers self-arranging into one continuous structure, cytoplasms mingling. He swallows thickly and longs for something impossible.

starry eyes sparking up my darkest nights

[part 1 of you got your eyes from the stars]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 930

Near has a nightmare on the flight back to New York after the end of the Kira case; Mello, still tipsy off of the red wine they served in first class, is unexpectedly tender.

fireworks somewhere far away

[part 2 of you got your eyes from the stars]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2k

It’s the fourth of July. Or, rather, it’s still the fourth of July in the United States, which is where they live, but they’re in Madrid at the moment, so technically where they are it’s the fifth. It’s not hard math to figure out what time it is back home— it’s a little before six in the morning here, so it’ll be a little before midnight in New York. Somewhere on the West Coast or in the Rocky Mountains, though, there are fireworks going off. That’s what Near is thinking when Mello kisses her for the first time.

engaged

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

“So, like, I suddenly realized… Near is into me. Like, Near wants me.” He pauses as if to allow this to sink in, looking at Matt like this is still a groundbreaking revelation the second time around when it in fact was not even groundbreaking the first. Near’s crush has been obvious to literally everyone but Mello for the past ten years. “Yes. This surprised you. And also me, because I definitely did not know that Near was into you before you told me fifteen minutes ago.” Mello nods, satisfied, entirely missing Matt’s sarcasm, which might be for the best. “So, naturally, I slept with him.” “Naturally,” Matt says. Mello does not miss the sarcasm this time. “If you’re just going to be a judgmental bitch the whole time, I’m not going to explain it again. You should be smart enough to remember what I fucking said the first time anyway.” “No, yeah, I actually think most well-adjusted people would sleep with their sworn enemies the moment they find out they’re into them.” Matt smiles tightly. “It wasn’t the moment I found out,” Mello says petulantly. “I waited like, four hours.”

it’s friday, i’m in love

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.7k

Mello abandons a night out in favor of seeing (and holding and kissing and sleeping beside) Near.

early arrival

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.5k

It’s one in the morning and Near is wide awake, talking to Mello in hushed tones as the other passengers sleep soundly around them. According to the small screen on the back of the seat in front of him, they’re more than halfway through the flight, but it’s far from almost-over— it will be another three hours before they touch down in London.

Distraction (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.9k

The small pout Near offers in response would, under normal circumstances, result in the rapid undoing of Mello’s resolve. Worse still is that Near has begun writhing in his lap; not quite grinding on him, but shifting his weight in a way that’s troublesome nonetheless. Mello huffs. Near is fully aware of what he’s doing. He knows the effect he has on Mello. He’s teasing him. If that’s how this is going to be, then perhaps Mello will do a little teasing of his own.

wedding doves & leather gloves

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1k

“Don’t tell me,” Near says, derisive tone tainted by her words wavering. “You want to hear that I’m yours.” Exquisite pain blossoms across her scalp as Mello yanks on her hair. “Don’t be a fucking brat,” Mello hisses. “Answer me. What are you, Near?” “I’m a detective,” she replies flatly. “Just like you are.”

unknown caller

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.3k

“What are you wearing?” Near’s brow furrows in confusion. “What I always have worn.” “Mm. It’s summer, so— linen, right?” “Correct.” She wonders, then, if Mello asked the question to prompt Near to ask the same in return. Sometimes people do that. This is something she has learned since Mello left. “What are you wearing?” Near asks politely. “I am wearing,” Mello says, breathy, “black lace. It’s this— this fucking expensive set, you know— nice lingerie. I look good in it.” The description is extremely vague. Near does not know what nice lingerie looks like— she wears the same kind of cotton boyshort underwear every single day and a soft, thin bra. She also does not, honestly, know what Mello’s aim is in telling her this. It seems unlikely that she would call for the first time in five years to gloat about her finery, so there must be some kind of purpose to it, she just— “I’m touching myself,” Mello announces. Near drops the phone.

shot in the dark (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 8.2k

Mello’s posture changes, abrupt but liquid-smooth, shoulders squaring and spine straightening as he raises the gun until Near is staring down the barrel of it. Blood rushes in his ears, loud. Mello licks his lips. “Get up.”

something stronger than the drinks in the bar (matt/halle)

rating: M | category: F/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.3k

A former CIA agent and an exonerated felon walk into a hotel. There’s no punchline. They just fuck.

crying only because i’m happy

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 575

In which Mello lovingly overwhelms her good girl.

there’s an ache in you put there by the ache in me

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 975

The snow angels are, in all honesty, an excuse, a shameless attempt to get Near alone, to talk with him away from all these fucking people. He didn’t expect so many of their classmates to come back to Wammy’s for the holidays, but maybe he should have— after all, he hates this place, and yet here he is, half-drunk and dragging his ex-rival-turned-ex-something-else out into the cold.

works in progress:

there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 6/7 | words: 21.6k

“Ah, good morning,” Near says, and solely from the look on his face Mello knows he is missing some key fucking information. “I thought maybe you had left.” Mello shakes his head. He’s somewhat distracted by the fact that he still can’t tell if Near is naked; he’s shirtless, though, and that’s already ten times more of Near’s skin than Mello has ever seen before. Or, it’s more than he can recall seeing, anyways. And now Mello can’t stop staring at his chest. It’s so stupid, because Near is thin and scrawny and all pasty but Mello cannot tear his eyes away anyways— “So—” Mello’s voice fucking cracks as he finally manages to start speaking, a clear sign that some higher power is out to get him. He presses onwards anyways. “So, last night was…” He trails off, not even sure how he wants to finish the sentence, or if he wants to finish it at all. Near brings a pale hand to his hair and idly twirls a strand “Surprising,” Near completes the thought before glancing away. “But… not entirely unpleasant.” — In which Mello wakes up in Near’s bed after a night out and arrives at a wildly incorrect conclusion regarding the events that landed him there.

bury us both

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 5/? | words: 7.2k

Mello is demonstrably capable of killing, and has perhaps more reason to want Near dead than anyone else on the face of the earth. They were once rivals, and Near knows a fragment of that resentment lingers even now. She is also likely the only person who could successfully bring Mello to justice, so her very existence is a threat to Mello’s, in a sense. If that weren’t enough, there is the fact that Mello could make a fortune, too, were she to kill Near. There are no shortage of people who would pay a handsome sum to see L’s head on a platter. And it would be so simple for her to do it, so easy. She’s had countless opportunities— the two of them alone, Near in all kinds of vulnerable positions, any number of potentially deadly weapons within reach— but she’s never taken one. Despite having every possible motive and every possible chance, Mello has not killed her. On more than one occasion, she’s even protected Near. This is how she knows Mello loves her in her way, even if she has not said it aloud. Even if it isn’t enough to make her stay. -- Mello and Near through the years, in love and in agony.

what doesn't kill me makes me want you more

rating: M | category: F/F | chapters: 3/? | words: 6.3k

“Poor Near,” Mello says, stepping closer and pulling Near’s head back further, tilting her face up as Mello cages her against the wall. “How long have you liked me?” Near’s heart is kicking against her ribcage so hard it almost hurts, and her ears are burning with embarrassment. She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to hold the blonde’s gaze. “Mello, I...” she tries to speak, hoarse. “Has it been months?” Mello asks, her voice getting closer as Near feels her lean down. She braves a glimpse through her lashes and watches as Mello bends her head to brush her cheek against Near’s, putting her lips next to Near’s ear. “Years, maybe?” The older girl teases. Near finds it in herself to squeak out a “yes,” and almost jumps at Mello’s sharp intake of breath. “Years,” Mello marvels.

all’s fair in love and war (and this is both)

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 3/4 | words: 15.1k

Near has Mello under siege, dragging him into a battle of wits, strategy, and stealth, one that has him in a state of constant vigilance, ever-ready for an attack. With his dignity and his ego on the line, Mello throws himself head-first into psychological warfare against his longtime rival, trying any tactic he can to help him turn the tide in his favor. The game is as complex and mind-bending as four-dimensional chess, and Mello has to think twenty moves ahead just to keep up, but he’ll be damned before losing to Near at this. Or: Near accidentally gaslights Mello into being his boyfriend, and Mello does Olympic-level mental gymnastics in order to read Near’s actions as sinister.

an unusual proposal

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/? | words: 2k

“So,” Mello says. “What do you think?” Near scrutinizes his rival. Mello fidgets with the chain attached to his pants, seemingly anxious but still gravely serious. The proposal is… unconventional, to say the least, and logistically rather complicated— there are at least four-dozen things that could go wrong, and that’s just off the top of his head. It won’t be easy. His decision, though, is easy. He does not want Mello to die, and this, strange as it may be, seems like the best way to protect him. “Yes,” Near says. “I’ll do it.”

faded to oblivion

rating: E | category: F/M | chapters: 2/? | words: 3.6k

When Near phoned and asked to see him, he had a few vague guesses as to what she might need from him. This was not on the list.

[anthroparis]

I'm going to continue this bit because honestly the way people are interacting with me is getting significantly more and more annoying.

thinking about tti occupies like, half an hour of my total day, and I didn't even think about it at all when there were no updates.

this blog represents a very tiny, insignificant part of my life and making judgments based off of how I post here is extremely weird. even making assumptions about me based on my main is weird!

I once had a complete stranger reblog one of my joke posts and literally tag it as "no offense op but I have learned everything I need to know about you as a person" like you guys realize why that mindset is extremely creepy and weird, right?

would you say those kinds of things in a conversation with a classmate? a cashier? a new coworker? a distant relative? no! you wouldn't, because that would come off as extremely invasive and stalker-y!

so when you send this blog weird jokes on anon, I can only assume they're jokes, because again, you might joke around with your friends about being homophobic but I don't with mine. so I can only guess that you're kidding and referencing an internet humor thing I don't understand because I'm an adult and don't really use social media anymore.

and what happens in these parasocial relationships you build with internet personas is that you put someone on a pedestal as this untouchable force, you start believing that you are entitled to their time and kindness when these people don't owe you anything. you crave their attention so badly you start sending them dumbass asks either kissing their ass or trying to provoke them because it makes you feel better about yourself, I guess?

but then when the person in question does something that catches you off guard, or that offends you, or that you just don't like, you feel betrayed and hurt, and you turn to attacking them or vagueing them or whatever it is.

this kind of behavior is what leads to these incredibly uncomfortable situations like what happened with mod courtney.

like when I was around 16 years old on an old personal account, I started receiving some pretty inflammatory comments getting mad about the way I was criticizing a piece of media I didn't like. eventually, over private message, a mutual IN HER 20'S admitted to sending them because she felt personally hurt that I was criticizing something she liked. this grown ass woman, who I had never had a conversation with before, had grown such an attachment to me that she took me not liking one of her interests as a personal attack. I was 16 years old and expected to be responsible for the emotions of an adult woman because I made her feel rejected.

this also goes the other way around btw like I have been idolized by minors and it makes me so uncomfortable. PLEASE be safer online, you have no idea who's going to turn out to be a terrible person.

anyway. just because someone is online does not mean it's okay to act like an asshole? I'm so sick of you freaks thinking it's all fine and good to be dickheads because it's words on a screen. you understand that you're talking to real people, right? they're probably reading your asks while taking a fat dump on their grandma's toilet. they have faces. people faces. and lives outside of the internet. and it's disturbing watching you treat other people like entertainment just because they post sometimes.

there's a certain threshold of time between following someone and becoming friends that you need to learn to be respectful during. it's perfectly okay to mess up sometimes and it's okay to feel upset when someone sets a boundary because of you. rejection sensitivity is hard, but expecting everyone else to cater to you instead of working on your internal reactions to perceived rejection and social slights is manipulative.

also purposefully sending people annoying asks to get a rise out of them really isn't funny. are you my five year old little brother now. are you going to sign off each anon with "problem, officer?" can you just call me fat like the good old days. can we just bring back rickrolling instead.

no tldr you read the post or you don't.