#consensual but not safe or sane ceRTAINLY--

[victo1re]

between her reaction to raphael and this shit, i could very well buy victoria going to shadowheart in the night seeking penance. confessing the full picture of her sins - her crimes of thought and act, i killed the bard, i think i have killed countless others, maybe it is better that my past stays lost to me -- asking, in her capacity as a cleric of shar, that she deliver the clarity of pain and punishment like abdi.rak could not.

[thegreenerartist]

i like how i dont see much saw ship discourse like in other fandoms i think it's because everyone collectively agrees that most of the ships r fucked

[charliemwrites]

Part 1

Finally finished this! I think I put way too much pressure on myself to get this just right and it gave me some major writer's block. Anyway, please enjoy!

Content: Wet dreams, Somnophilia (sort of), Identity Porn, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy (through dreams), Uncomfortable Situation, Pushy/Predatory behavior (brief)

“Bad dreams again?”

Drowsy and sluggish, you blink at your aunt. She’s as sleek and coiffed as always, pressed business attire and shiny hair. Shoulders back, spine straight. A woman people respect and heed without question.

Your mother’s voice whispers in your ear, that lovingly patronizing tone. See how professional she looks, dear? Isn’t that nice?

It’s not Aunt Katie’s fault though. She does look professional, and it is nice. It suits her.

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “They’re not bad, really. Just… intense.”

She hums, elegant fingers tracing the edge of your borrowed desk. “They can’t be very good if they’re keeping you up.”

You’re tired enough that you almost correct her a second time. The problem is that the dreams are too good. You wake up panting, sweating, halfway to – well. You’re not about to discuss the finer points of a kinky wet dream with your CIA aunt. Besides, it’s silly to get so defensive of something that affects you seemingly negatively.

“Maybe,” you reply, rubbing at your heavy eyes. It feels like you’re trying to look through clear jelly.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Aunt Kate suggests.

You frown, a pang of guilt striking your empty tummy. “No… no, I’m okay. It’s not even lunch yet.”

She smiles at you. The same fond smile she’s always graced you with, on holidays and birthdays, whenever she could escape the secretive walls and red tape to be with family.

“You’re already ahead on paperwork. You’re not a bad employee for getting a little sun.”

Your eyes flick longingly to the door.

Apparently, the government doesn’t believe in things like windows or sunlight. Your little desk is at the very end of a long, half-empty hallway in the middle of a concrete cube and drowning in awful blue fluorescence. You can’t even bring yourself to drag a plant to this crappy little island because you’d feel too guilty putting it through this.

“Okay… maybe just for a few minutes,” you allow.

Her smile widens as she nods for you to follow. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. I think the dogs will be free for some enrichment.”

Well, that certainly gets you out of your squeaky office chair.

Honey sunlight drizzles over your neck and shoulders, dripping syrupy-slow down your spine. It diffuses through your chest, chasing away the artificial chill of the office. The sleepy haze retreats like frost melting from glass.

You sigh into the fresh air, ignoring the tang of gunpowder lingering on the breeze, and turn your face to the sun. Summer is coming to an end, the heat broken into mellower warmth. There won’t be many days like this left before autumn bites down and shakes the leaves from the trees. A shame you’ll likely waste most of them in your administrative prison. 

The dogs stretch out in the grass around you, tongues lolling and eyes bright, keeping you company. A furry bouquet of black and tan in the manicured grass, their ears and tails like stalks to strange plants.

You bury your fingers in Zeus’s coat and get a fuzzy white tummy for your efforts. He’s a young and handsome thing, the newest addition to the K-9 unit, still a bit fluffy around the ears. You try not to think of how that will fade and harden, just like the older dogs in the unit, just like his human counterparts. Just scratch at that itchy spot by his ribs and smile when his hindleg kicks.

Friga stands and stretches on your right side, leaning her shoulder into yours. Then picks her way around the others to sniff at Zeus. Offended by her interruption, he flails onto his stomach and nips at her, one big forepaw thumping the ground.

She goads him into playtime, and you watch with the older pack members as they begin to romp. They tumble and grumble around you, heedless of bumping into any of the others. You laugh, bright and loud—

The back of your neck tingles.

You glance around, not even sure why. Until you see a figure across the field. He’s standing by the track where about two dozen men are jogging. Recruits, you guess. But he’s not observing them or barking orders. No, he’s clearly turned to face you. It’s too far to make out any features, apart from what seems to be an unusual haircut.

You quickly glance away, surreptitiously trying to determine if the man’s attention was on something else that happened to be in your direction. But there’s little else but you and the dogs in this field, the kennels noticeably off to the left.

Then again, someone sitting in the grass with half the K-9 unit is a bit unusual. He’s probably trying to decide if it’s something that needs investigation. You hope it’s not.

Still, you can’t shake the discomfiting sense that he’s looking at you.

You ignore him until it’s time for the dogs to go back - but that prickly feeling of being watched never subsides.

That night, in the guest room of your aunts’ house, the dreams take on new life.

It starts as it always does. A dark room. A lush bed. Silky sheets. Moonlight seeping through blinds like smoke. And him.

He’s behind you. A broad body so solid you’d think he was a wall if not for the heat. It’s so intense this time, like a wildfire raging out of control, crawling from his skin beneath yours. You sense more than feel the big hand around your jaw. Rough fingers clutch at the plush of your thigh. Hot breath fans across the back of your neck, rippling shivers down your spine.

There’s a voice in your ear. No words you can discern, just a thunder-deep rumble with smoky edges. Stubble scrapes the delicate skin of your neck and catches in your hair.

A thick, heavy cock is buried deep inside you, kissing the entrance to your womb. Your pussy twinges a sweet-sharp ache with each deliberate grind of his hips. He’s spreading you open to get as deep as he can, throbbing balls pressed up tight to your sopping entrance.

Your own hands are all but useless. One twists desperately in the sheets, the other clutches at the meaty swell of his ass. Pleasure upends anything like sense or thought, even hazy dream logic. There is just this man fucking you like he owns you, two of his fingers in your drooling mouth, petting your tongue. A ring clicks against your teeth.

“Found you,” he whispers.

You jolt, eyes flying open. The powder blue ceiling of your borrowed room greets you. You’ve kicked the cotton sheets into a tangled mess around your ankles, tiny shirt ridden up your chest. Your panties are soaked.

The taste of metal lingers behind your incisors.

It’s a busy day. For once, you’re free from the confines of your sad little nook. Aunt Kate must have taken pity on your sorry state the day before and has procured busy work. Files that need hand delivery, or physical reports for you to gather. You don’t care if it’s just something to get you out of the office, you relish the stolen moments outside between buildings.

If there’s a downside, it’s the glances you attract. Everything about you projects civilian, despite the access card prominently pinned to the lapel of your blazer. It draws curious once-overs at best and suspicious scans at worst – or speculative appreciation at the very worst. Every time a fresh-faced recruit or overly decorated middle-aged man lingers as you pass, you hear your mother’s voice again.

Don’t you know what those military men are like? Practically animals. I couldn’t possibly let you be exposed to them.

It’s long ingrained to keep your eyes forward, head level, and try to keep your hips from swaying as much as possible. You’re grateful for whatever bit of paperwork you can clutch to your chest, just to hide your figure and have something to do with your hands.

You’re picking up some personnel files from the infirmary, smile brightly at the receptionist as she passes them over. Mallory is only a couple years older than you, and she’s been working here a year already.

“Lunch in the mess today?” she asks, spinning a pen between her fingers.

“As if you even need to ask,” you tease. “Noon?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

She blows you a kiss as you leave, counting the number of files to be sure you have them all. Your eyes skim over one of the names, a white label on the folder fin. “MacTavish, J.” in blocky typewriter font. You shuffle them back into a neat stack and pivot for Aunt Kate’s office.

You’re not in the moonlit bedroom this time. A half-moon grins down from a starry sky, wearing smoky nebulas for lipstick. Beneath you lays cool grass and soft earth, rich and loamy in your heaving lungs. Petals blooming in the dark kiss your overheated skin, little relief for the burn in your veins.

The change in scenery is almost as dizzying as the man between your thighs. Almost.

But it’s not the dew-saturated breeze that muddles your bewildered thoughts. It’s the hot, wet, clever tongue lavishing your drenched pussy. He licks in broad stripes from your aching hole to your throbbing clit, only ever pausing to indulge a slow suck to the bundle of nerves, before resuming that hypnotic circuit.

One thigh is hooked over a wide shoulder, your heel dug into the flexing muscles of a broad back. The other is spread by a big, calloused hand, giving him unfettered access to the softest, neediest parts of you.

You mewl desperately, hand darting down to his bobbing head. Your nails scrape shorn stubble, eliciting a gravelly groan that sends electricity up your tingling spine. It’s nothing compared to the growl you earn when your fingers twist into the longer, soft strands at the top.

For the first time, you’re able to voice more than helpless moans and wanton whimpers.

“Please,” you sob softly, “please.”

You feel him smirking, a wicked curl against your fluttering cunt. Then he focuses the tip of that awful, dexterous tongue on your clit, flicking in purposeful little strokes.

M-A-

“S-so close,” you whine, hips twitching. He pins you flat, pace never faltering.

V-I-

You shudder as your pussy clenches and spasms, finally, finally—

You wake with a sharp sound, head spinning. Your orgasm washes away like the tide, leaving disappointment and exhaustion behind. You nearly scream into your pillow as you press your thighs together. Still half asleep, it even feels like you have beard-burn.

You’re in line at the mess with Mallory, listening to her complain about some rude colonel that just had to share his opinion about her acrylics. She does the best impressions, and you’re grinning and laughing as the two of you shuffle through the options. You’re reaching for a scoop of rice when the conversation behind you catches your attention.

“—came in a couple days ago.”

“The whole squad?”

“With Braveheart himself.”

A snort. “You better not let MacTavish hear you say that. He’ll—”

“Helloooo?” You blink at Mallory, who arches her brows and waves a bagel at you. “Want one?”

“Oh, uh… sure, why not,” you answer.

“Atta girl!” she cheers, tossing it in the toaster. “Carbs for days.”

You giggle but can’t help glancing behind you. The two men have already moved on though. Not that it was any of your business – or anything interesting. You’re not sure why that caught your attention. Men are just loud, you suppose, snatching a couple to-go packets of cream cheese.

As you’re leaving the mess, you happen to glance over your shoulder. A pair of sharp blue eyes catch yours from one of the tables. A group of men, just about to sit. Mallory tugs your shirt to keep you from clipping the doorjamb and you hurry after her.

There’s heat at your back. Not from a body this time, but a fire burning low and hot in a hearth. No, the body is in front of you this time, filling up your watery field of vision. Peachy skin and coarse dark hair, an old scar slashing across a sharp hip, miles of lean muscle.

Not that you have much opportunity to ogle with tears blurring your sight. The fat cock bullying the back of your throat makes it hard to do anything but choke. You dig your nails into a thick thigh and pull back, writhing your tongue along a puffy vein as you go. The leaking head rests on your drenched tongue as you catch your breath. Smoke and leather and musk saturate your lungs, cloud your empty head.

He smells so good; you don’t even like cigars.

A rough thumb caresses your cheek, a silent request for you to continue. You can practically feel the lust-drunk moans vibrating in his chest – so deep, they’re barely audible over the crackling fire.

You hiccup as deep a breath as you can manage and swallow him down again. He’s silky on your tongue, you sigh softly through your nose as the blunt head flirts with your gag reflex. You slacken your jaw despite the ache already crawling into the joint. Even then, your teeth scrape the base a bit, but that only makes him twitch against your soft palate.

“Look here, love.”

Your lashes flutter as you try to focus your gaze, scrolling your eyes up his body. Most of the details are lost either in the haze of desire or the vagary of dreams, but the blue eyes that greet you are sharper than real life.

You jolt back to consciousness with a dry cough, the scent of him still haunting your senses. You stumble to the restroom for water. Don’t even realize that you’re glancing in the mirror over your shoulder, expecting someone to be there, until you realize you’re alone.

Oddly bereft, you trudge back to bed and try to focus on the clean soap smell of your aunts’ detergent.

In moments like this, it’s hard not to blame yourself.

Not because you’ve done anything wrong, or even feel like you have. It’s because the situation is so frustratingly out of your control that it’s almost easier to tell yourself that one decision or another would have avoided this outcome. A sharper response, a frown instead of a smile, a different walking route.

(There’s also your mother’s voice, always. Saying to be smart, to pay attention, to not “put yourself” in a vulnerable position. You silence that voice viciously this time.)

Still, the fact of the matter is, there’s no personal choice you could have made to keep Corporal Callahan from cornering you in this supply closet. You just wanted a box of tissues.

“Look, I know you’re Agent Laswell’s niece, but I don’t see why we can’t go out because of it,” he reasons. As if that’s the reason you’ve been trying to gently dissuade his attempts.

“It’s not that—” you begin, shifting. He’s standing too close, but you refuse to back yourself any deeper into this tiny space. The doorway is right there, he’s just taking up all of it.

“Then just say yes,” he chuckles. His tone is all smooth and easy, meant to be charming maybe? “Just one date, that’s all I’m asking.”

Except you’re not asking, you think with helpless frustration. The sharp words get trapped behind your teeth, cutting up the roof of your mouth. Your heart is beating so hard and loud you can barely hear his “romantic” overtures.

“I’m not really…” You’re not even sure what to say this time; you’ve already told him you’re not looking to date. He’d said some vaguely predatory line about changing your mind.

In the absence of a finished statement, Callahan takes the opportunity to continue cajoling.

“C’mon,” he sing-songs, “I’m not letting you out of there until you say yes.”

You pry your jaw open, about to agree to it just for the sake of getting free. Deal with the fallout later.

There’s a rush of air and suddenly the doorway is empty. You briefly see Callahan against the opposite wall, face blank in unpleasant surprise. Then a big body blocks your view of him. Broad, bunched shoulders and thick thighs. A shock of brunet hair shaved close at the sides and long at the top. Your entire body locks up.

“You come near her again, they won’ stop findin’ pieces of ya, aye?” A growl, low and rough, Scottish accent thick. You shiver.

Callahan stutters something, a few garbled syllables through a strained and winded voice. You think you might hear “captain” in there somewhere. The bigger man shifts, you hear a muffled thump – Callahan hitting the wall again, you think. Then, with seemingly no effort, your savior tosses Callahan to the side like trash. He stumbles, catches himself.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid.”

Callahan flicks one last frightened glance your way then hurries off, proverbial tail tucked between his scrawny legs. You don’t even watch him go, eyes glued to the stranger’s muscular back. He rolls his wide shoulders, cracks his neck, and finally turns.

Familiar blue eyes pin you in place as he steps closer. The scent of cigar smoke and leather teases your nose.

A voice you’ve known for months rumbles in his chest. “Found you.”

[kittenintheden]

how to train your brat

oh fuck it you gremlins have this mess of a scene lol. consider it a sneak preview for a far future chapter of NYS. you can skip it if you want to save it for later.

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion/Ori (f!OC) Word Count: 2.2k Content: 18+, Ori bratting, (unascended) Astarion brat-taming, light BDSM elements, blowjob, teasing, dirty talk, light spanking, orgasm denial, PIV sex, established relationship, safe sane consensual, future NYS content

The moment the door swings shut, Astarion throws the bolt and stalks up behind Ori, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her flush against him so that she can feel his arousal against her arse. She hums and pushes back into it, thinking she knows what he has planned, so he gives her a little shake.

He puts his mouth to her ear and growls, “Oh, darling, you think you’ve earned this? My little scoundrel. You’ve been nothing short of a complete brat all damned day.”

“You liked it,” she teases, attempting to tilt her head back so she can nip at his ear. He doesn’t let her move.

“She thinks she’s so very clever, leaving me aching for hours,” he whispers, giving her one more light shake to drive the point home that she’s not to move. He releases one of her arms and reaches straight down the front of her leggings, seeking the slick he knows waits there. She groans and grinds into his touch, trying to get a draw across her clit, but he intentionally pulls back.

“No, no,” he says, removing his hand and bringing his fingers, shining with wet, to his mouth so he can lick his tongue along them. “You don’t get rewarded for this behavior. Don’t think I haven’t been able to tell that you’ve been soaking through your smallclothes all day. This was all for you. Filthy girl.”

She hums again, the flush across her cheeks belying her nonchalance. “And what, pray tell, are we going to do about that?”

“We aren’t doing anything,” he says, spinning her around so he can put a hand under her jaw and make her look him in the face. “You’re the brat. Do you know what happens to brats?”

“What’s that?” she breathes, her smile seductive and easy. She peeks out her tongue to curl toward his mouth.

“Brats have to beg,” he whispers, holding her in place. “So get on your knees and ask sweetly. And if you’re a very good girl and I’m feeling very generous, I might let your needy cunt take the cock it so desperately wants.”

She pouts, then, sticking out her lower lip and giving him her biggest, saddest eyes. “Even though I could soothe your ache? It must be so much to bear by now.” 

His grin spreads over his face and he shakes his head. “You’ve no idea how long I can wait, my love,” he says. “Your move.”

Ori gives him several slow blinks, judging his resolve. When he doesn’t waver, she smirks and turns her head just enough to place a tiny lick along his thumb.

Then she goes down.

His breath catches. Part of him hadn’t expected her to do it. Thought she’d tap out. But she doesn’t. She’s on her knees before him, looking up doe-eyed and waiting for whatever’s next. Waiting for him to tell her what’s next.

Astarion’s pupils blow out and he exhales.

“Hands behind your back,” he says, voice pitched low.

Ori puts her hands behind her back.

He rotates his shoulders and his spine goes straight as he looks down at her, a calm settling over him. A confidence. It’s like pulling on a persona, but it’s more than that, because he wants to do it. He wants to be this version of himself right now, and he can take it off again if he chooses.

Astarion puts a knuckle under her chin and sharpens the tilt of her head, making it so she has no choice but to look him directly in the eye.

“Are you going to be good for me, Orianna?” he says in a voice like honey.

She licks along her lips and leaves them parted a moment before she answers, “Yes, dearest. I’ll be so good for you.”

A shiver runs up his spine and he huffs a laugh, rolling his neck before he looks down at her again. “You certainly will.” His fingers go to his laces, undoing his stays without any particular hurry as Ori’s eyes trace the action. He reaches inside and strokes along his cock, throwing his head back with a sigh at the temporary relief. His head tips forward again and he continues to work himself.

Ori bites her lip and slowly lets it go as she watches the movement.

He’s breathy as he says, “If I were a cruel man, I’d do it myself while you watch and then leave you wanting after how you’ve behaved.” Stroke. Stroke. “But I’ll be generous. I’ll give you a chance to convince me.”

She shudders her breath out and flicks her eyes back up to his face.

Stroke.

“If you’d like to come tonight,” he purrs. “Then beg for what you want, brat.”

Ori swallows and he watches her face go soft and pleading, lip quivering. He knows it’s an act, just like his, but gods is it convincing.

“I’m so sorry, love,” she says tearfully. “I’ve been just awful. I’m desperate for you. Empty. I need you, beloved. Your touch. Your mouth. Your cock. Please let me do better. Please, may I? May I be good for you?”

The rush of arousal makes him lightheaded, swaying on his feet for a second before he rights himself. “Show me how good,” he breathes, pulling his cock free for her. “Slowly, now.”

She holds his eye as she leans forward, arms clasped tightly behind her back, and licks the flat of her tongue along the underside of the head of his cock, working extra carefully around the sensitive bit where his foreskin connects.

His right knee buckles the tiniest bit before he catches himself.

Ori maintains eye contact as she kisses down the shaft and runs her tongue along the seam between his balls and all the way back up again.

He swallows thickly and raises a brow at her. “You can do better, darling.”

Rising to the challenge, Ori takes him fully in her mouth, bobbing down halfway the first time and then a little deeper with each successive try. She hollows her cheeks and her mouth is hot and soft and her tongue is rolling in waves along his length. He struggles not to simply melt into the sensation. 

As directed, she keeps an agonizing pace, sucking him slowly so he can feel every bit of it. He breathes in deep through his nose and exhales through his mouth as he watches her pleasuring him at his direction, leaving herself untouched. It stokes the fire in his belly and he can’t stop the moan in his throat as the tension of the day catches up with him.

Gently, he cants his hips to meet her, beginning to lose himself in the relief her sweet mouth provides. His eyes fall closed and he cards his fingers through her hair on one side, thumb instinctively rubbing small circles against her ear. She moans around him and Astarion feels his cock harden further.

“Oh, good girl,” he whispers. “Ah, such a good girl.”

The deliciously slow build begins to develop a sharper edge, his pleasure mounting.

But oh, he’s not done with her yet.

With an absolutely monumental effort, Astarion claws the shredded strings of his thoughts back together long enough to use his hand to stop her movement. He draws back from her and she peers up at him, waiting, a strand of her saliva still connecting them. She blinks her wide eyes at him like an innocent.

“Up,” he grunts, holding out a hand for her. She accepts it and allows him to pull her to standing.

He can see that she’s gone glassy-eyed at this point, and the briefest brush over the tadpole connection reveals that she’s almost as mad with lust as he is, all from pleasing him so thoroughly.

And just like that, he feels the rush of having the upper hand again. He kisses her hard, both hands on either side of her head, and backs her toward the bed. Though their bodies are crushed together, he manages to run his hands down to her leggings, shoving them roughly over her hips just before her knees hit the bed and she goes onto her back. She lifts her legs to help him get her bottoms all the way off and sits up on the edge of the mattress, legs spread and a triumphant smile on her face, chest heaving in anticipation.

Astarion bends at the waist with a fist pressed to either side of her thighs on the bed, leaning in as if for a kiss. When she tilts her face forward, he stops just short of her mouth.

Ori’s brow furrows the tiniest bit in confusion.

“Did you think you’d earned cock, just for that?” he whispers against her lips. “Silly thing.”

She gives a surprised huff of a laugh. “I… what?”

He reaches up a thumb to draw across her lower lip, watching as it goes. “You vastly underestimate the amount of bollock-ache you left me with today.”

“Astarion,” she sighs in frustration.

“What happens to brats, Ori?” he teases.

She squeezes her eyes shut and blows a curl out of her face. The intensity in her gaze when she opens them again is off the charts. “Brats have to beg,” she says.

“I’m listening,” he says with a smirk.

“Gods damn it,” she huffs, throwing her head back. She rights herself and says, “Touch me. Please. Now. Anything, just touch me, for fucksake, I’m losing my mind.”

He clicks his tongue. “Terrible. Let me help you find your focus.” With nimble fingers, he reaches down between her legs. “What was it you said? My touch.” He presses his finger lightly to the seam of her and strokes along it, enough to give her a shiver but nowhere near enough for relief. She twists her hips toward his hand with a whine, desperate for more, but he’s already gone.

“My mouth,” he adds, bending down and preening at the sound of her sucking in her breath as he places an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh before righting himself.

“Or my cock,” he finishes, tilting his head to look her in the face as he takes himself in his own hand.

She gives her head a little shake, not understanding.

He grins wide. “You only get one. Ask for it.”

“Cock,” she says immediately. “Cock, please.”

Astarion can’t help the laugh that spills out of him at her eagerness. He takes her by the waist and pulls her up, spinning her around and nudging her back onto the mattress on her hands and knees. A shudder flows down her back and she arches deep, ready to take him. The pearl of her arousal is so swollen at this point that he can see it peeking from between her folds. Everything between her legs is flushed and shining with want, begging to be touched.

His mouth waters and he swallows it back before coming in close to stand just behind her, taking his cock in hand and barely, barely running the head over her clit.

“Please,” Ori blurts, almost a sob, and this time it sounds genuine. “I need you so badly, sweetheart, please. Wanted your cock all day. Gods, I’ll be good, please fuck me, please.”

“That’s my girl,” he growls as he lines himself up and pushes inside all the way to the hilt.

Ori’s hands slide over the sheets and she deepens her arch even further, crying out her relief and pressing herself back against him as hard as she can, rocking. His mind blanks in pure bliss, eyes rolling, and his body takes over, fucking firmly into her with abandon.

“Gonna be so good,” Ori cries out as she meets him thrust for thrust, fists bunched. “So good for you, promise, I… please, yes.”

“Beautiful brat,” he pants, giving her an open-handed swat on the arse.

Ori yelps and fucks back harder, grinding her clit against him. “Hells, again.”

He swats again and she goes hot and fluttering around him.

“Astarion,” she cries. “Astarion, gods.”

She comes in a languid wave over the length of him and he grunts and curls his body over hers, knee on the mattress as he rides through it.

“Again,” he huffs. He angles his hips to hit her sensitive spot and she howls at the sensation.

“Fucking hells,” she groans. “I don’t…”

Astarion reaches up a hand to cup her chin and lift it so he can put his mouth against her ear. “Good girls come on my cock twice. Again.”

She sounds out the building pressure in bleating little sobs, tears of pleasure forming at the corners of her eyes as he rolls deep inside her, his own end spiraling closer with every passing second.

“Again,” he whispers. “Again.”

Her second orgasm hits twice as hard, a supernova burst that leaves her voiceless, mouth round in a silent scream. An entire day’s worth of tension releases at once, the rush of it dripping from her.

Astarion closes his eyes and lets her pull the pleasure from him. He comes so hard his ears ring from it, tipping gloriously over to the other side and filling her still further until the place where they meet is a complete mess.

He stands there a long moment, listing to one side with his chest heaving, one foot flat on the floor and the other leg bent at the knee on the mattress.

They teeter.

And fall onto the bed in a tangle.

A long moment later, Astarion groans and mumbles, “Hope you learned your lesson.”

“Gonna do it again,” Ori mumbles in response. “So much.”

He wheezes out a laugh.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

TL;DR I purposefully viewed my roommate's messages on their laptop out of concern for their welfare and discovered that they are being catfished, and now I don't know how to tell them. Bit of BG: I (M27) formed a close bond with RM (NB20) by being a mentor for them since they were like 8 or 9 (I was friends with their older brother). I won't go into great detail because it isn't my place to tell, but they're alive because of me providing for them emotionally and later physically with housing and food. This is the second time they've lived with me, and they've gotten a job this time to help pay. There were issues with employment for awhile, and I don't want to get into the details here because the important part is that until very recently, they couldn't contribute anything to the household whatsoever, so I had to foot the bill. I don't resent them for it. but it makes the next part grind my gears more. They are single and looking for casual or serious companionship, and I never cared what they did as long as they were being safe, sane, and consensual. Having basically raised them from teen to adulthood, I have my convictions, but I've always taught them to have safe and risk-aware sex, so a casual fling isn't of concern. They left their laptop open when I got back from taking them to work and it was playing music, so I woke the screen to turn it off so it would stop making noise and not drain the battery (their settings let sound stay on after the lid is closed). I found them in conversation with a woman, and the way she spoke to RM was very suspicious ("babe" tacked onto every sentence was the first red flag), and it only got moreso after I scrolled up. Before I really processed that I was doing it, I had already seen more than I care to have seen, but in doing so, I uncovered that this other person was convincing RM to spend money on her (multiple occasions of asking for $15-25) and meet up for sex. I wouldn't really care if I knew this was a real person and that RM was able to pay their portion of rent, but the latter is certainly not true, and the former is dubious at best, given that a quick reverse image search returns someone from out of state with an OF in their Twitter linktree. I'm not saying it's impossible for RM to pull a girl that looks like that, but the more likely explanation is that the other person is stealing that girl's pictures and catfishing RM. I'm mad that some online rando is getting money that my household needs, but the only way I know that is because (and I won't mince words here) I violated RM's privacy by looking through their messages instead of just leaving it alone and turning their music off. I'm understandably conflicted here, but I don't know how best to handle this situation. I certainly don't want a catfish to effectively steal from RM by lying to them when that's gas and grocery money that's getting funneled to her instead of our household, but more than that? I really don't want RM to get taken advantage of by a liar on the internet when they don't even have the funds to spare in the first place to make a mistake like that consequence-free. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

Do you have any shuggy fanfic recommendations? I already read and rearead (and reread) yours one piece ff…

i can certainly give you some recs!

everything's hosted on ao3 and set in the one piece universe; i do read modern/mundane AUs but i'm always really picky about how an author adapts a ship's canon history into an AU, so i've yet to find one that really grabs me except that one college AU i forgot to save a link to… i hope i'll find you again someday…

for all my life i’ve watched from afar, i’m too afraid to try by Badopportunities - complete, 18k

this is probably my favorite shuggy fic i've read so far. a canon divergence in which shanks hunts down ace instead of whitebeard to warn him off the blackbeard hunt directly, and just so happens to find ace while he's hanging out with buggy's crew. love the outside POVs on shanks & buggy before their history was common knowledge, love their dynamic while trying to keep that history secret, love the optimistic way the story ends.

uncharted waters by vestigialmoods - complete, 41k

a long, multi-POV sorta kinda get-together—this one written after we knew the warlord system was being dissolved but before we learned about cross guild. buggy tries to figure out what to do now that he's lost government protection; shanks is encouraged to go for what he wants for once, instead of passively letting fate decide his path. features very fun characterization for both crews, and a really well-crafted scene that deals with phantom limb pain and sexual tension simultaneously.

in the deepest depths i lost myself, i see myself through someone else by Badopportunities - WIP, 36k

it may be gauche to rec multiple fics by the same author but Badopportunities has yet to steer me wrong! this is set during the timeskip, while buggy is searching for an island to claim as his warlord base of operations and shanks is trying to look after former whitebeard territories. they clash. uses one of my favorite lines for a childhood friends-to-lovers ship: one of them says he's single because he's having trouble finding a partner with “similar life experiences.” iykyk

currently incomplete at 4/5 chapters, last updated in 2022… but they just posted a new chapter of their other shuggy wip (which i also recommend, buggy time travels and saves ace & uta) this week, so it feels like anything's possible!

I'll See You in My Dreams by doublejoint - complete, 4k

shanks keeps dreaming of being older, on a ship with only buggy for company, wearing matching rings and sailing for who knows where. i love how efficiently and effectively this fic explores his thoughts on these dreams over the years—are they visions of the future, his secret desires, bad gas? the ending is very sweet.

We Are Never Ever Ever Getting Back Together (and other lies Buggy tells himself) by Transformatron - complete, 11k, explicit

i am not much for smut (being ♠️🏳️‍🌈 and all), but occasionally one gets in the mood, and this fic has some intense emotions to go along with the intense, kinda kinky smut. shanks has found out about cross guild and comes to see buggy, not convinced that this is a safe, sane, and consensual situation buggy's found himself in. they fight about it, and then… 😳

there is background established buggy/crocodile/mihawk, but crocodile and mihawk aren't present for the explicit portion of the fic.

i like lipstick on my neck by kiriya - complete, 20k, explicit

if i'm recommending smut-with-feelings, i have to rec this fic. genderbent butch/femme shanks and buggy run into each other in east blue, post-roguetown and pre-canon, and spend three chapters bickering, drinking, and… you know. absolutely fantastic characterization, buggy is an awful little gremlin and shanks likes her very much despite herself.

i don't know if the fic was inspired by this art or if the art was inspired by this fic, but either way… if you read the fic you should look at the art. that butch shanks is just. absolutely inspired.

[quinloki]

Positively Victorian

Fem Reader x Sabo

One-Shot - 2,450 words

CW: Language, sexual themes, light BDSM, sexual roleplay, rough oral sex, safe sane and consensual, 18+ only.

-:- Table of Consent -:-

Dating Sabo had been a lesson in whiplash. The bright smile and beautiful blue-eyed man had won your heart with clumsy courting, rumpled flowers, and a sense of fashion that was unique and exceptionally well-suited to him. Sometimes he would walk and talk like an aristocrat, and when you found out he did in fact come from money, you weren't surprised. Sometimes he would move with fury and almost animalistic instinct, and when you met his brothers, well, again you weren't surprised.

He could speak in poetry, and with enough alcohol he could also be convinced to belch his ABCs.

The more you got to know him, the more you loved him. The more you wanted him, and the more you wanted to sink deeper into him, and over the last couple of years you had gone from acquaintances, to friends, to lovers.

Now, here you were, sinking deeper into one another.

The tight dress with its hand-stitched flowers smelled lightly of lilac and dried fennel. It felt like cotton and shifted like silk, and the lacy details were thankfully against the dress and not your skin. It had taken nearly an hour to get into the monstrosity, and Sabo had needed a break afterward to clean up from the sweat he'd broken into after man-handling you into layer upon layer of under garments, corset, and skirts.

Though, half-way through getting some of the undergarments in place, you had both opted to skip them. So, you sat at the table, wet between your thighs for lack of anything else down there, and hoping you wouldn't accidentally ruin the dress from your own horniness while quietly sharing a meal with Sabo.

You had been learning etiquette specifically for this little session, the two of you exploring your need to be dominated, and Sabo's desire to turn his aristocratic knowledge into something positive for himself, but the few days of lecture prior to this hadn't been quite enough. Which, admittedly, had been kind of the point.

Finishing the first part of the meal, Sabo regards you with an even smile. He carefully trades the plates out, setting the new course before you before seating himself. Leaning back you can feel his eyes on you and the heat rising in your face.

After a moment of him not moving you look over and meet the unexpectedly devious smirk of his with a nervous smile. "Is there... an issue?" You ask uncertainly.

Sabo's hands are folded in his lap and the smile he gives you is cheerful. "You waited until I began to eat the last time, before you chose what cutlery to use." He points out, and you can feel your stomach drop a bit. "I'm simply waiting for you to pick up the correct items on your own, love."

Ah.

Looking down at the options before you, you take a moment to consider which ones are correct. You tried to remember the lessons for this, but there were ten pieces of cutlery in front of you, and you had barely paid any mind to how to set a place setting, never mind how to utilize one.

Sabo stood up and came over to you while you took time to ponder. Standing behind you his gloved hands slip over your bare shoulders, squeezing gently as he leans down a little. The action nearly shatters your brain, and certainly dashes away the memory of your lessons.

"Struggling a bit, are we?" His voice is low, polite, gentle, and deadly all at the same time. You can feel your skin prickle from it.

"Not at all," you reply, doing your best to sound confident. "I was simply taking a moment to admire the chef's hard work, is all." You assure him, with a smile and a turn of your shoulders, before reaching down and picking up what you hoped were the right items.

Sabo's fingers tense against your shoulders after you've made your choice and his voice holds you in place more than his hands.

"Oh dear, you've picked the wrong fork." He says, his hands sliding down your arms, his taller frame allowing him to cover your hands with his own as he leans against your back. "Whatever shall we do about your manners?"

"For-forgiveness is divine," you manage the words evenly, but you can already feel yourself falling into him.

"Are we forgiving your incorrect choice?" He muses, breath hot against your ear. "Or the insult of not having taken your teacher's lessons to heart?" His tongue is hot against the curve of your ear, but you can't shiver or cry out. To do so would be another breach of etiquette.

"... The choice." You say, your voice is steady but quiet, well aware of the fuel you have provided him. "We are forgiving the incorrect c-choice." Your words falter as he removes the cutlery from your hands and sets it on the table, his lips and teeth grazing the skin of your neck as he moves to do so.

"Then, as your teacher, I will take your punishment to heart, my love." He promises you, gently but firmly helping you stand.

"We... haven't finished eating, isn't it rude to leave now?" You're not escaping the inevitable, but it would be nice to have a meal beforehand.

"I rather think it'd be best for you to not have a full stomach for this." He assures you, as a new delicious shiver runs down your spine.

He moves you almost like he means to dance, fluidly waltzing lazily through the dining room, spinning you around like one of the dances he's taught you. The lack of music gives the whole experience a manic edge, but you let him lead you as best as you're able. After a few lazy movements, he pulls you in close, kissing you sweetly at first, and then deeply and roughly as your back is pressed against the wall.

Sabo had treated you like glass when you had first started going out, and it had taken some time for him to be assured that you weren't so fragile. You're mindful of the snakebite piercings as you return the passionate kiss, his hands holding your wrists against the wall as his tongue pushes deep into your mouth, stealing all manner of sense and air from you. The dizzying sensation causes you heart to race and you're panting heavily when he finally allows you to draw breath.

"You seem out of breath, my love," he muses, a manic edge in his voice as he pushes you down onto your knees. "It's good then, that your punishment requires you to kneel before me."

You reach to help Sabo undo his pants when he takes a step back from you. "Ah-ah-ah, hands in your lap. Just because you're on your knees for punishment, doesn't mean you get to sit like some commoner. Sit properly."

"Yes sir." You say as you straighten your back and place your hands in your lap.

"Good." The praise is simple, but you're happy to hear it. Sabo frees his cock from the confines of pants, gripping it with one gloved hand as he steps onto the excess of your skirts, pinning you to the floor as he draws closer. "Open your mouth and stick out your tongue."

You do as commanded, and look up at Sabo as he's looking down at you. He smiles approvingly as he begins to rub the tip along your tongue. The salty taste of precum mixes with your saliva as he wets his stiff flesh against your tongue before pushing in deeper.

"Keep looking at me as I ravage that pretty little mouth of yours." He commands. One hand is braced against the wall as his hips push his dick into your mouth. You flex your tongue against his shaft and catch the soft appreciative gasp.

You start to press your lips against him, ready and willing to provide all the pleasure you can, when a strong grip on your hair pulls your head back a little. There's a soft chuckle from him that nearly steals your breath.

"No, love. This isn't you pleasuring me, this is me punishing you." He smiles darkly as he pushes his cock deep down your throat. "Do try to maintain your etiquette during this."

You have to grip the fabric of your skirts to stop from reaching up and holding onto him as he begins to fuck your mouth as he pleases. You suck in shaky gulps of air when the opportunity presents itself, and do your best to be quiet. You try not to groan or gag audibly, though the rough pace of his cock down your throat has watered your eyes and run your makeup.

"That's a good girl, look at you, trying so hard." His voice is shaky, but the praise makes you want to try harder. "When your – hgnh! – throat twitches it's hard to, haah, keep my composure."

Your face was a mess as Sabo fucks your mouth. You can feel drool slipping along your chin and dripping onto your chest. Tears cut lines down your face and snot from gagging was making it harder to breathe. Just as you felt you were going to have to end things in order to avoid passing out he releases you, pulling himself out of your mouth and using his gloved hand to urge his cum onto your face, chest, and dress.

You move enough to clean your face so you can see and breath again, but you don't wipe away the semen he's covered you in. When you're done you put your hands back in your lap as Sabo takes a moment to catch his breath, and put his pants back in order.

He kneels down, legs on either side of yours, and slides a finger up the front of your neck, curling it a little as he tilts your chin up slightly. "You look so beautiful when I make a mess of you," he muses, leaning forward and licking some of the mess from your cheek. "I should think I'd like to do so more often." His gaze holds yours for a moment before he leans in and kisses you.

You touch his face gently, letting your fingers twist among the loose curls of his golden blonde hair. As he leans back you smile and kiss the tip of his nose. "As often as you like. The corset aside, this getup isn't too terribly uncomfortable."

"Mm, how easy was it to breathe?" He asks, looking over the mess of the rumpled dress with a few errant stains drying on it.

"Not bad. It just feels weird to be so inflexible."

Sabo smiles. "Perhaps next time I should endeavor to tighten it more thoroughly. We don't want anyone thinking you're attempting to 'bandy about naked', after all." The way he says the words makes it seem like he's quoting someone, and you imagine it's his mother, given the tone he takes.

You smirk, draping your arms over his shoulders. "Why, good gentleman Sabo, did you leave my corset loose to take advantage of me on this fine day?" You ask, in mock horror, practically giggling even as you make an exaggerated motion of nearly fainting.

"Oh, most assuredly miss," he replies as he begins to lay you flat on the floor. "But even better would be for you to lay back and allow me to acquaint myself with your skirts."

"With my skirts?" You start to ask as Sabo hands you his hat before lifting your skirts and disappearing under them. "Sabo what're you- Hhnngnhaahhh... hnnf...fuck." Before you can even catch up to his intentions his mouth is buried between your thighs.

His tongue and lips lap against and suck your sensitive clit and his fingers slip into your dripping cunt with ease. You had been soaking wet since the meal had begun, and you were gasping into Sabo's hat as he went to work, devouring you like a man starved for his favorite meal.

"S-Sabo! M-Mercy!" You cry as the pleasure coils in you faster than any time before. You're going to cum before you can even begin to beg for it. You don't know if he heard you from under the layers of skirts, but an extra finger pushes into you as he sucks on your clit with renewed vigor and the rush of pleasure tenses your body like you've been electrified.

Your hips buck as your back arches and your toes are curling so hard you can feel the muscles in your thighs clench, forcing Sabo to push your legs open as he helps you ride out the hard orgasm by abusing your tender clit. By the time you're coming down from the high your whole body is shaking and twitching from the violent rush of pleasure.

Sabo comes back up from under your skirts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied smile on his face as he lazily crawls on the floor until he's by your side, pulling you into his chest as he kisses the top of your head. "That was a beautiful little song," he hums, petting your hair and giving you a chance to catch your breath.

"You... say that... often." You pant, your head still swimming with pleasure.

"Mm, that's because you make the most beautiful sounds, little song bird." He assures you leaning down and kissing you quickly so you can continue to catch your breath. "And as beautiful as you sound, you are twice as lovely."

You put his hat over your face as you feel yourself go red. "... that's just cruel." You pout.

"Eh? Ehhh?! I – I meant it-!" You move the hat aside and pull him down into a kiss interrupting him as the concerned look on his face turns to one of surprise.

"Embarrassing me is cruel, Sabo." You clarify, giving him a kind smile. "I don't know what to do when you call me beautiful."

He smiles, and it's just as beautiful as you're sure he sees you. "Then, shall I tell you every day until you figure out what to do?"

"... It could take me a long time," you point out as he leans down and kisses you softly.

"Days?" He questions with another gentle kiss.

"More."

"Weeks?" he prompts, kissing you again.

"Far longer, dear Sabo."

"Be it months, or years, I shall stay by your side until you sort it out." He promises, kissing you yet again.

"And beyond that?"

"By then there'll be many more things for us to sort out, and so I shall stay beside you and puzzle this love for years."

partish 2ish?

[halliescomut]

I'm coming over here to complain only because I don't want to have these conversations with strangers on TikTok.....but I am so frustrated with people watching My Personal Weatherman and going on and on about how problematic and full of red flags Mizuki is. Like I get that having a full understanding of D/s relationships is not the norm, but at this point it almost comes down a little bit to media literacy and cultural awareness. It is so common in a lot of East Asian BL, but very specifically in Japanese BL to see D/s dynamics, that it's worth it to have an understanding of the dynamic beyond what the D and s stand for. But I think one of the most frustrating things about it is the fact that of all of the BLs I have seen that include a D/s dynamic, the one in MPW is the most accurate and least problematic. I see so many people be so excited and rave about other shows that clearly display D/s dynamics without any of the underlying support structures that make that lifestyle safe, but in MPW, where we know there was actual discussions occurring, there's no acknowledgement of that. And that's even setting aside the fact that so many people that I see comment on D/s dynamics in BL shows use the fact that it's a D/s dynamic as an example of why it's problematic. I just find it really frustrating, and even though I've made multiple videos on tiktok about how MPW portrays that dynamic, I'm a very small account. It's not surprising they haven't seen them, especially since it's been over a month since the show ended. And I just don't really want to be the person going into their comments saying "the problem is you just don't understand", because so often that ends in an argument and I don't have the bandwidth. But in the end I guess my point is just that I wish people took the time to infuse a little bit of cultural context into the media that they're watching. Doing so really does help you enjoy what you watch more, understand it better, and enable it to have a greater impact on you.

Now I'm fully aware that there are occasions and instances in MPW that are less than ideal, and the vast majority of those stem from the fact that this is an organic dynamic that developed between those characters. This was not a specifically sought after lifestyle choice and decision, which means that there is a learning curve. We see that learning happen through the story of the show. But those problems also directly stem from the characters themselves refusal to fully acknowledge their own feelings and desires. Again, that's the story of the show itself. You cannot have safe, sane, and consensual without honesty, both with your partner AND yourself. But the show is also entertainment and not instructional, so some creative liberties can be allowed, and while I would certainly be happy to watch an entire episode about them sitting down and fully listing out their expectations and desires for their relationship, that's not something the average viewer wants to see.

I will also admit the fact that this person adored My Beautiful Man, which I almost could not finish because I was so uncomfortable with the interactions of the characters in that series and the treatment of Hira by Kiyoi, is probably coloring my opinions. By the time you get to Eternal (the movie) where their relationship is more settled, I felt a lot more comfortable, but if we're talking about red flag Doms season 1 Kiyoi is definitely on that list.

[celestialvexation]

More fun things: sex

Whether William's rough or gentle with Mike, I can see him wanting to be *thorough* with it. Like I can see him wanting to figure out exactly what Mike likes, watch all of his reactions, see what gets the biggest reaction out of him...and wanting to be able to make Mike like it, lose his mind, break him down completely. Where he's pretending to be nice guy, it'd make Mike feel like he really cares, really wants to make it good for him, is really paying attention to him...and knowing it might make Mike a little dependent on him, how good it is, and he can ALWAYS suddenly drop the truth about who he is and Garrett, and watch Mike's horror, I think that might be quite appealing to William on its own. In a situation where he's just out-and-out a bad guy to Mike, I think he'd just love the control of it.

And edging, I feel like, would be a huge thing...denying Mike an orgasm, controlling when he gets it, getting him to the point of mindlessness, begging...and building it up to a mind-blowing orgasm that blows Mike's brains out. With Will knowing that that's probably the most relaxation and stress relief Mike gets in a week...which will probably keep him coming back.

Praise kink, I feel like would be a thing too...maybe William has to wait until Mike's already a little out of it for him to accept it, but...Mike's already tormented by the idea he let his little brother down, clearly doesn't think much of himself as a caretaker for Abby. And who knows how his parents reacted, even just in grief in the heat of the moment, after Garrett got taken...I feel like being told he's good, that he CAN do what he's told, he's doing well, would probably be something that really got to Mike.

In a world where William is paying Mike for sex, especially, I feel like Mike would have a safeword - not because William really cares about safe, sane or consensual, but because Mike's going to fight. Of course he is - 'insubordination', and all that. They both need to know whether he's just fighting, or ACTUALLY means 'I don't want to do this, I can't go through with it'...with William knowing he'll almost certainly never use it.

Sex toys. With William being an engineer, I feel like he'd enjoy using toys on Mike. Something merciless and unrelenting, where William can kind of take a step back and just watch the impact :) Maybe with Mike's hands tied or held down, so he can't do anything about it himself.

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Not me thinking about Kara gently hooking her thumb in Lena’s open mouth, both gasping against each other’s lips as kara makes love to her 😭😭 yeah I’m all in favor of you writing this one first 🥹

I'll be perfectly honest, I can't remember the exact scenario that this ask is referring to, but this visual has been stuck in my head for weeks, so I had to do something with it! This is also in the spirit of some of the more . . . shall we say . . . salacious prompts and headcanons I've received, I hope it lives up to expectation!

FRIENDLY REMINDER that sexy times should always be safe, sane, and consensual! And you should also only have the kind of sex described here with someone you trust and who wouldn't actually hurt you or abuse you. Sex can be like a really vulnerable thing, and Kara and Lena have had plenty of previous discussions about hard and soft limits, and even thought they are VERY angry at one another, neither of them are in any real danger and they both know it. Also, AFTERCARE doesn't take place in the text of the story, but it is EXTREMELY important and does happen with Kara and Lena in this particular setting . . . eventually.

Anyways, I feel like this one needed a disclaimer lol.

Fragile

If the ride up the elevator to the penthouse takes forever, then the biometric scanner at the door somehow takes even longer.

When she built the damn thing, she built it for protection, not for speed, but as she waits on the iris scanner to process through the one million specific data points that make it practically unhackable - even by Lena herself - she finds herself rethinking her priorities.

Because right now she needs nothing more than to be inside her apartment, locked away from the world.

The penthouse was her one solace.

Her one impenetrable place.

Everywhere else had been invaded.

By the media, the DEO, Lex, Cadmus, you name it.

But here, here was safe.

Luckily, Kara will be held up at the DEO debriefing that Lena had run out on for at least another hour or two. By then, Lena will have had time to scrub Kara's biometrics from the apartment entry software and fully lock herself in her apartment.

Her own little fortress of solitude.

She almost laughs at the irony.

She's too angry to laugh, too hurt - too angry at being hurt.

How dare Kara - how dare Supergirl, for that matter- call her out for her 'reckless behavior' in front of Alex and the other DEO agents.

Her plan was well calculated, and she was very aware of the risks she was taking by going through with it.

Besides, she made it out with barely a few bruises.

Only because Kara rescued you. the traitorous part of her brain unhelpfully adds.

The locks on the door finally click open, and she lets herself in, fully re-engaging the security protocol behind her.

Lena is well and truly pissed.

She doesn't remember being this pissed in a long fucking time; and she's certainly never been this pissed at Kara.

How dare she?

Really!

Of all the nerve!

To try and publicly admonish Lena for something she herself would have done - has done - time and time over.

Just because she's Supergirl, she thinks she can be all self righteous and holier-than-thou and you know what?

Fuck her.

Fuck her and her stupid cape, and her stupid heat vision and her stupid flying and her stupid fucking hair and . , ,

"Yeahhughh!" Lena shouts, slamming the control panel of her security system closed. There, let Kara try to get in now.

Good fucking luck.

Unless she just decided to use brute strength and force her way in.

But Lena had just had to listen to a thirty minute lecture about how perfect fucking superheroes never do anything "unethical", so that would be a little out of character, now wouldn't it?

With a few quick switches, she brings down the bulletproof shades down over the floor to ceiling windows looking out over National City. After only a moment's hesitation, she also brings down the lead shades she'd installed.

Let Kara wonder what she's up to and worry about her.

Serves her right.

With one final look over everything to make sure she's locked in tight, Lena heads to to the kitchen. There's a bottle of Scotch with her name on it, and she thinks it's high time she indulges. She even goes for one of those fancy circle ice cubes that her chef insists make everything a 'designer cocktail'; but after she pours a couple of fingers into her favorite glass, something stops her.

It's Kara's voice in her head - because of fucking course it is - asking tentatively if maybe she should talk about her problems instead of trying to drink them away.

And you know what?

Fuck that, because the memory of Kara is quickly ushered along by one of her therapist - and she is not in any sort of mood to be thinking about therapy of all things. Without giving herself time for second thoughts, she pours the amber liquid down the drain with a scowl.

Damn it, if Kara can ruin a good glass of Scotch, then she can ruin just about anything

With a huff, she heads to her master suite, because if she can't self harm with alcohol then she can at least take a scalding hot shower. And maybe that's not exactly healthy either; but Kara's voice in her head is silent at least, and besides, she needs a shower. She knows that her hair is a mess and she's pretty sure Alex was crinkling her nose in disgust whenever Lena stepped upwind of her at the debriefing.

Guess entering the alien ship through the trash chute wasn't her most hygienic option; but hey, it got the job done at least.

She turns the shower nozzle on as hot as it will go, and then waits for steam to fill up the bathroom before she sheds her clothes and steps in.

It's only a few minutes before her skin is red from the heat but she feels marginally better; the smell of lavender and mint permeating the bathroom.

When she eventually becomes numb to the sting of the water, she turns the knobs in the other direction until she's being blasted with water so cold that it almost feels like she's doing one of Alex's ridiculous ice water plunges.

She washes her hair twice before she's satisfied enough to move on to conditioner, and she alternates the water temperature between the two extremes at least four times; that and the extra attention from her loofah leaving her skin feeling tingly and raw.

As she stands in front of the mirror drying her hair with a towel, she has to admit that the shower was definitely more productive than the drinking. Plus she still has a clear head and all of her faculties.

Faculties that she can use to plot petty revenge on her girlfriend.

The thought gives her pause.

Was Kara still her girlfriend?

They hadn't exactly broken up, but they hadn't exactly talked either.

Well, besides Kara having the audacity to call her attempt to save the world 'hare-brained' and 'borderline stupid'. But now Lena has effectively taken away Kara's keys to her apartment, and it's not like Kara has bothered to try and come by anyways.

Maybe they were over.

Good riddance, in Lena's book.

She didn't need Supergirl, or Kara Danvers. Or friends for that matter. Or the DEO, or game night, or Kara eating ice cream with her at three in the morning when she can't sleep or -

She doesn't need any of it.

She was doing just fine on her own.

Just like she was doing just fine on that alien ship before Kara came to 'rescue' her.

Angrily, she yanks a hairbrush through any tangles the conditioner left behind, and throws on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt.

But damn it if it isn't one of Kara's t-shirts that she accidentally pulls out of the drawer.

She doesn't realize it's Kara's until after she's pulled it over her head ,and even though tears sting her eyes at the realization, she doesn't take it off.

It's one of the plain white v-necks that Kara likes to hang around the apartment in, and it's slightly too big for Lena. Muscles and aggressive lounging have stretched it out, and it's soft almost to the point of threadbare.

Fuck it.

It's her shirt now.

She's claiming it.

Not in a 'steal it from your girlfriend to be cute' way, but in a petty theft kind of way.

Hows that for 'unethical'?

She'll just tell Kara to add that to her long list of crimes against humanity.

She pads into the living room, frowning when she sees the blinking light on her security camera monitor. Who could possibly be bothering her now?

A quick look shows that it's not the lobby camera but the balcony camera, and she flicks the feed over to see Kara - Supergirl - hovering outside.

She should have guessed, really.

Of all of Kara's annoying qualities, tenacity was certainly one of the top five.

Kara's gaze shoots to the camera, almost as if she senses Lena watching her.

"Lena, I know you're in there." Kara's voice is pleading, but Lena makes no move to answer; instead shifting her attention to her cuticles. She could really use a manicure, and she makes a mental note to text Jess later.

It's a long moment before the camera's speaker sounds again.

"You took my biometrics off of the balcony door lock."

. . .

"I'm going to assume that you took them off of the inside door as well, because you're nothing if not thorough." Kara spits the word out like it's derogatory, and Lena can't help but feel a spike of sinful pride.

The silence lasts a good five minutes this time before Kara speaks.

"Damn it, Lena! Let me in!"

There it is.

The anger Lena's been waiting for.

Normally Supergirl stays so calm and proper, but occasionally, occasionally, she lets that Kryptonian temper fly.

Lena allows a hint of an evil grin before she shuts the camera monitor off and walks to the refrigerator. Just because she can't use her fancy ice cubes for whiskey, doesn't mean she can't use them in a sparkling water; because nothing says 'gloating super villain' like a bottle of water that costs more than Kara makes in an hour.

So, she fixes another glass with ice and pours the water in until the bubbles almost spill over the top. Then she takes a long, refreshing sip - letting the hint of lemon-lime in the effervescence tickle her nose.

You're not a super villain. You're not a villain at all. the voice in her head reminds her.

The thought should bring her peace, but instead it only infuriates her more. Just because she chooses to do things differently than Supergirl doesn't mean that Kara gets to guilt trip her about it.

She does a lot of good for this world.

A whole hell of a lot more good than anyone in her family has ever done bad; despite Lex and Lillian's best efforts. She's more than made up for her family name, and she's more than proved herself an ally to Supergirl, and how dare Kara try to make her feel like anything less.

She drains the glass before slamming it down with a little more force than necessary.

Fuck.

Fuckity, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

She braces herself against the kitchen counter, staring blankly past the glass doors of the cabinets at the cups and bowls meticulously stacked inside.

She's not sure how long she stands there before a loud crack from living room snaps her attention away. She turns to see Kara standing just inside, the remnants of Lena's door lock dangling from her fingertips.

Lena clucks her tongue.

"Well, well, well; Supergirl breaking and entering, aren't you just the little deviant."

Kara's eyes are flaming with anger, and Lena's half surprised that she hasn't been melted into the floor with heat vision.

After a long staring contest, Kara walks towards Lena's work bench in the corner and tosses the pieces of door lock on it.

"Right, cause I'm just Miss goody-two-shoes."

"If the shoe fits." Lena smirks at the cleverness of her own pun, but Kara's scowl only deepens as she stalks into the kitchen.

Her gaze darts around before settling on the empty glass on the counter and then the still open bottle of Scotch. She gives Lena a hard glare.

"Really, Lena? You leave me outside so you can what? Get drunk and ignore your feelings?"

Kara's voice raises as she speaks, and the end of the question comes out in a bellow; Kara's face red and angry as she reaches for the bottle of Scotch and pitches it across the kitchen.

It shatters against the countertop, and once again Lena's finds herself grateful that she always invests in durable building supplies.

Normally, Kara would look petulant after any sort of outburst, but in this case it's seemed only to fan the flames of her ire. Her entire body is shaking so much that she's practically vibrating.

Years of dealing with the Luthor family drama is the only thing that lets Lena look unbothered, despite the discontent in her chest.

"I was drinking water, actually, but thank you for getting rid of the rest of the bottle, I'm trying to cut back."

Kara almost has the decency to look scolded, but it fades quickly.

"You are . . ."

"What?" Lena snaps.

"Completely infuriating."

"You just can't stand it that I can fix things without your help, can you? It really gets under your skin that I can do just as much good as you without parading myself as some sort of paragon of honor and justice."

Kara barks a laugh.

"That's what you think this is? You think I'm upset because you're trying to do good? Every time you go off on one of your hare-brained schemes -"

"There's that word again, you know you'd think for an ace reporter you'd have a broader vocabulary." Lena can tell by Kara's shift in posture that her words hit home, and she allows herself a moment to gloat before Kara's steely blue eyes settle heavily on her and she feels the breath seep out of her chest.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to make me angry." Kara's voice is dangerous and low, igniting something in Lena - a feeling she can't quite place.

In an odd sort of way, It feels good, to have Kara angry at her.

To have Kara expressing something instead of that stone cold facade she'd held at the DEO. Lena craves it, needs it.

Needs something to distract her from the aftermath of delayed panic and guilt that's starting to overtake her.

"Maybe I am."

Lena knows what she's doing is basically like dangling raw meat in front of a bear and daring it to chase after her.

Kara studies her for a long moment before lifting her gaze away. The silence floats around them like a fog as Kara stares off in the distance - her stare fixated on something that isn't really there. Her fingers drumroll heavy on the counter and the durability of the quartz counter top is tested for a second time that night.

Lena can see the muscles of her jaw clenching and unclenching, teeth grinding together so harshly that she briefly wonders if the creation of diamonds would be possible under such conditions.

After a few long, tense minutes, Kara's gaze settles back on Lena and she shifts under the weight of it.

"Do you think," Kara takes a slow step forward before repeating herself. "Do you think I do it for you? Do you think that when you recklessly throw yourself into danger that I just drop everything and rescue you, for you? Do you think you're so important that I just risk everything for you?" She's close enough now that her breathy laugh ghosts over Lena's face.

"I'm a very . . . selfish woman, Lena. All those times that I threw caution to the wind, that I risked the very fate of the universe in order to save you - I did it for me."

Kara's gaze is threatening to burn a, (quite literal), hole in Lena's skull and she can't help but take a step back. Only, Kara follows, and now Lena's boxed in between her and the counter. The exact definition of a rock and a hard place.

"Do you know why, I always rescue you, Lena?" Both her tone and the fingers tracing Lena's cheekbone are overtly tender, but right below the surface is an edge of sharpened steel.

"Because I have lost everything , and I will not lose you." Kara's hand drops to Lena's neck, thumb pressing harshly into her bottom lip.

It's some sort of animal instinct that has Lena tilting her head to the side, exposing her neck like a dog to its alpha.

Kara's eyes study her face for a long while, as if she's cataloguing every detail for her sketchbook later.

Lena uses the opportunity to analyze Kara.

Her blonde hair has been washed of the grease that had been streaking it earlier. and she smells faintly of ozone and unfallen rain, and Lena wonders how much time she spent circling in the atmosphere before she decided to stop by for a visit.

Long enough to get pissed, by the look of barely concealed rage on her face.

That's ok, Lena's pissed too; and she's never been one to back away from a fight.

"If you would just listen to me -" Kara starts but Lena's already heard enough.

"You mean if I would just shut up and do what you tell me."

"That's not what I said."

"But that's what you meant, isn't it? That your life would be easier if I would just fall in line and do things the Supergirl way. Spoiler alert, Kara; the Supergirl way isn't always the best way."

With one last, defiant meeting of their eyes, Lena sidesteps out of Kara's reach and uses a broom to start sweeping at the remnants of the broken Scotch bottle on the floor.

She can feel Kara's eyes on her, but she very pointedly ignores her, choosing instead to keep her back positioned to the superhero.

When the majority of the glass is scooped up and deposited in the trash, she reaches for a washcloth, wetting it in the sink before turning her attention to the shards of glass on the countertop, carefully wiping them onto the dustpan.

"Lena."

The plea in Kara's voice is evident, but Lena still ignores it, forcing herself to stay focused on the task at hand.

"Lena."

This time Kara is more insistent, and her hand reaches out to rest on Lena's shoulder, but Lena shrugs it off with grunt.

Before can even process what's happening, Kara is spinning her around; pressing Lena's hips hard into the counter with her own, bending her backwards until her head is trapped against the cabinets.

Kara's laugh is dark.

"Do you even realize how fragile you are?"

Lena can't deny that Kara's aura is a little frightening, and her hands scramble for purchase on the counter, looking for anything to give her leverage. She feels the fragment of glass under her finger like crumb a split second before she registers the prick of pain.

"Shit." she jerks her hand up, trying to examine the wound, but Kara intercepts it, closing her fingers around Lena's wrist in a bruising grip. Lena's tries unsuccessfully to snatch her hand back, but Kara doesn't relent; her tone mocking as she smirks.

"See? Fragile."

"Stop that, I'm bleeding."

"What, you don't want me to clean up your mess this time?"

Lena just thought she was mad before.

If looks could kill, then Kara would certainly be dead from the daggers that Lena is shooting into her skull.

Before she can voice a come back, Kara's lips close around the tip of her finger, sucking away the dark red droplet of blood so she can get an unobstructed view of the wound. It irritates Lena to know that Kara can hear the uptick in her heart rate just like she can hear the way Lena's breath catches in her throat at the intimate action.

Kara's eyes narrow as she examines Lena's finger, and Lena knows that she's using her x-ray vision to check for hidden injuries.

Hidden injuries.

On practically a fucking paper cut for gods sake.

She uses Kara's distraction to successfully jerk her hand away, but in less than a split second, she's been recaptured and whisked to the sink. The water is cold as Kara holds the offended finger under the stream, and Lena can't help but roll her eyes.

Just like Kara to be over protective and smothering - a fact that's even more evident when Lena feels the rush of wind as Kara super speeds to the hall closet where the first aid kit is kept and returns with a bandaid and antiseptic in hand.

Kara's look dares Lena to argue with her, and Lena chooses to pick her battles.

So Lena holds still as Kara cleans and dresses her wound, minor as it may be, green eyes attempting to bore a hole from one side of Kara's head to the other. Finally, the job is finished, and Lena turns her glare to the bright yellow bandage around her finger.

She huffs angrily.

"Kara this is fucking ridiculous, I'm more than capable of - "

The sound of a fist connecting with the wall startles her, and she looks up to see Kara hulking over her - eyes dark and cheeks red.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Kara glowers, and once again her hand settles on Lena's neck. This time, her thumb gently massages at Lena's pulse point.

Lena knows, knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Kara would never hurt her; but her point is loud and clear -

If she wanted to, she could.

The realization sends a shiver down Lena's spine as her eyes shutter closed. She swallows against the pressure on her throat; and when her eyes reopen, Kara is closer than before - blue eyes harsh and glinting as she dares Lena to resist.

Lena doesn't exactly fight her, but she doesn't back down either. For a few long, tense moments, their breath mixes in the air between until Lena isn't quite sure if it's Kara's imposing presence thats leaving her weak in the knees or if it's too much carbon dioxide from their shared air.

"Do it." she dares Kara in a whisper.

"What?"

"Don't play stupid." Lena's voice is raw and broken with emotion, and again she swallows pointedly against Kara's grip; never breaking eye contact.

"We both know you want to hurt me."

Kara doesn't respond verbally, but her fingers flex against Lena's neck.

The tension between them is tight, like a bungee cord about to break; and Lena isn't sure if the resulting snap will bring them crashing together or send them falling apart.

"Do it. Show me you're the only one who gets to break me apart, Supergirl."

Kara's reaction this time is instantaneous.

She lifts Lena effortlessly onto the countertop, stepping between her legs as Lena's head and back slam into the cabinet.

"Fuck." The word is barely spoken before Kara swallows it - teeth clashing against Lena's as her tongue lays claim to Lena's mouth.

The kiss is hot and heavy and possessive, and if Lena thought she was low on oxygen before, she's running on fumes now; her breath panting at every split second of relief she's given from onslaught of Kara's lips. The hand on her hip is bruising, and the hand on her throat moves to fist in her hair. It's too much and not enough; and her own hands are against Kara chest - pushing her away or pulling her in, she isn't really sure which.

Before she can process what's happening, her sweatpants and underwear are yanked off and thrown across the room, and she's hissing as the coldness of the countertop meets her bare ass. Kara makes quick work of her stolen shirt, Lena's negligence at putting on a bra after her shower leaving her nipples peaked and aching as they're exposed to the air.

Then Kara is pressed against her, the material of the super suit rubbing against Lena's still tender skin. But, Kara is warm, so warm, the heat radiating off of her like a furnace; and Lena tugs her impossibly closer, ankles locking around her waist. She shivers as er cunt rubs agains Kara's pelvis, the one place of connection where Lena is hotter than Kara.

"Fuck." Lena repeats, only this time it comes out half slurred, Kara's tongue thick in her mouth.

She should really be careful what she wishes for, because Kara shifts and the hand that was on her waist is now inside her - three of the fingers, anyway, judging by the stretch. It hurts, but she wants more, something inside of her needing to feel Kara's raw power. Kara may need to see that she's the only one with the power to destroy Lena; but so does Lena. Whether she admits it or not, today's close call has left her frightened and vulnerable, and she needs reassurance that Kara will always be there to save her.

So she clutches at Kara, one hand gripping her cape and one on the elbow of the hand that's inside of her, the seam of material that loops over Kara's palm chaffing at her sensitive skin while Kara thumbs her clit. Kara's fingers slip almost completely out before they piston back in, knuckles slamming in so hard that Lena feels her pelvic bone jar with the force.

She's losing all aspects of higher brain function; the only sounds she's capable of making are keening half syllables of desperation. The hand in Lena's hair applies a steady pressure, pulling her back until Kara has easy access to her neck. Lena know as soon as those warm lips give way to teeth on her collarbone that she going to be relegated to high collars for a least a week to hide the bruising.

Kara leads a wet trail down Lena's chest, her fingers never slowing their violent rhythm. As her lips close around Lena's nipple, encasing it in a warm, wet heat, Lena feels her brain short circuit. There's nothing but white hot heat behind her eyes and down her chest, exploding out of her center.

She can feel the wave of orgasm cresting already, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Kara must feel her start to tighten because she pulls her head back from Lena's chest and releases her vice grip on Lena's hair. That hand moves instead back to Lena's neck, and this time the pressure isn't merely suggested - it's real - leaving Lena gasping helplessly for air as she chases her release. Her eyes roll back in her head and the rollercoaster is just about to come crashing down the hill when Kara's hand moves again to, (almost gently), cup her chin before her thumb hooks into Lena's panting mouth and pulls their foreheads together.

"Look at me when you cum." Kara growls, and Lena has no choice but to obey. Their eyes meet in a storm of blue and green, pupils wide with lust and fury. The sight is enough to send Lena past the point of no return and her body shakes uncontrollably as her cunt spasms around Kara's still thrusting fingers, her slick spilling into Kara's hand.

She might black out, she's not entirely sure; but when she comes back to her senses Kara's forehead is resting on her shoulder, and her fingers are still thrusting inside Lena - albeit at a much gentler pace.

"Kara." she chokes out in a strangled cry, her body shuddering with the aftershocks of her release.

"I've got you, I've got you." Kara promises fervently as she slowly withdraws her hand from its ministrations and scoops Lena up into a bridal carry.

It takes all of Lena's strength to wrap her arms around Kara's neck; but then Kara's lips are on hers, soft and gentle this time. It's easy to lose herself in the kiss, the emotion, the perfect bliss of Kara's embrace. At least until she feels Kara's lips curl in a smirk and she pulls back to see her girlfriend sporting a very self satisfied smile.

Something is triggered in Lena at the almost gloating expression on Kara's face.

Despite the emotional and physical high she just experienced, she can't help but feel a sense of wounded pride at the fact that Kara, in essence, won.

Yet again, Kara gets to play the hero, swooping in and 'rescuing' Lena at the last minute; carrying her distressing damsel off into the sunset.

Lena levels her gaze at the superhero.

Kara coming away from this feeling like the victor?

That, that simply won't do.

Luthors may lose, but Lena - Lena never does.

Whew! We all need cold holy water showers now! There will most likely be a part two to this if reception is good.

[the-good-smut]

“I - I don’t want to have to want,” you say, trying to find the words for the monstrous beast that has darkened your heart, bound your chest. You want something bad: the sweetening of a moment of fear and hopelessness, the embrace of knowing you truly have no choices left to make. “I don’t want you to feel that you have to ask. I want you to - to take everything from me and I want to just - “ A shaky breath rattles through you.

“Surrender,” Astarion finishes. You nod gratefully, but then another word begins to appear within your mind like forming smoke, the tendril of the monster, and then there is the heart of it, the signaling fire. The finality you crave.

“I want to fight. And then - to lose. I want to lose,” you breathe.

—

This fic explores consensual non-consent between two deeply hurt, but healing characters several months after the events of Baldur’s Gate III. It is imperfect, and certainly not for everyone, but the characters engage with each other in a safe, sane, and consensual way. The word “rape” is used. Please look at the tags before reading and take care of yourselves!

[that-disabled-princess]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @bazzybelle for the tag!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently, eighty-three! There are a couple more I've orphaned, though.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

83,430. Damn, seeing a big number and my name in the same sentence is weird xD

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Dragon Prince, Carry On, and Nimona! I've also written for Starkid and She-Ra in the past.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The top three are Nimona haha. I jumped on the Nimona train pretty early, so I'm not surprised.

These scars that never fade [Nimona, G, 300] - 320 kudos

Bad Days [Nimona, T, 500] - 295 kudos

A Second Chance [Nimona, T, 1.6k] - 235 kudos

Kiss It Better [Carry On, T, 2.1k] - 186 kudos

Sexualities and Crises [Carry On, T, 1.5k] - 181 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I love interacting with my readers, especially because a good majority of them are also friends and people I've talked to before.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ohoho, so I have been Living It Up in angst land over here! The first one that popped into my mind was a personal fic, so here's another very angsty hurt no comfort:

Lavender hearts [Carry On, M, 3.4k]

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I joked with @that-one-dingus last night that I write three kinds of fics: stupidly cute, horrifically angsty, and amazingly chaotic. In other words, I have posted lots of stupidly cute fics! 😂 This is one of my favorites with a happy/hopeful ending!

Hurting, Healing (Loving, Forgiving) [The Dragon Prince, T, 2.1k]

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yuuup. I've gotten quite a bit of arophobia on my aro Baz fic. (I believe this is when I turned off guest commenting.) I've absolutely loved stepping into writing for The Dragon Prince because people took one look at this baby aplatonic writing aplatonic Ethari and jumped right on the train. I adore y'all <3

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes! I'll write almost anything as long as it's safe, sane, and consensual. My favorite kinds of smut to write is anything using non-human parts--which is basically all my snowbaz and ruthari smut! I love getting to use the wings and tail and horns.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not yet, but I do have one in the works... and I'd say it's pretty chaotic. Lamb (Simon Snow)/Aaravos (The Dragon Prince) smutfic. The most top4top struggle to ever top4top struggle.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

...does translating my own fic count? I translated Worst seats known to musician-kind into Spanish!

Other than that, no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. I don't really want to, honestly. Knowing me, it won't be a good idea unless I trust the person I'm writing with really well.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Well okay then, this question went for the throat. Snowbaz is great and all, but ruthari... I adore ruthari. They're murder husbands and fantastic parents. I just... adore them. *holds gently*

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My disabled Baz fic. The passive--and explicit--ableism in these books is... certainly something. I really want to write a fic where Baz is disabled and has chronic leg pain, but it's just too personal. I don't know if I can continue.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I write short fics really well! I've been told I can hit people right in the feels in just a couple hundred words. I'm also good at flow and poetry-like writing.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing longfics, I guess. My writing is an escape, so I don't tend to look at weaknesses a lot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Sure! I love reading it when authors write other languages into their fics.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, I think.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Mmm how about one from each fandom I'm active in? I love my writing, and rules are more like guidelines anyway.

Hurting, Healing (Loving, Forgiving) [The Dragon Prince, T, 2.1k] - Hurt/comfort, so much communication, aplatonic Ethari, and disabled Runaan! This one was supposed to be something much shorter and fluffier, but it turned into a longer fic with more feels. (Who gave you permission to have feelings, Runaan?) But that's fine because it was so much fun to write!

Mark of the Beast [Carry On, E, 1.5k] - Speaking of monsterfucking... I am so fucking proud of this lambden fic. It was sooo much fun to write.

Wave your flag high [Nimona, G, 300] - Supportive Ambrosius! Goldenheart doing menial household chores together! Bal gets a disability pride flag! This is one of my favorite things I've ever written. What I wouldn't give for my own disability pride flag...

Tagging @iamamythologicalcreature @hoothalcyon @legend-of-the-fandoms @youarenevertooold @stitchyqueer @cutestkilla @artsyunderstudy @yeonjunenby 💖💖

[moonrisecoeur]

let’s have a chat real quick!! cw: mentions of noncon/dubcon, cnc, use of the r-word.

hey btw it’s midnight and i have no braincells but i wanted to say something. i know that not everyone likes dark content. that’s okay. you don’t have to like it, no one (and certainly not me) is gonna force you to.

but if you don’t like dark content, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong for people to write about it. people have been writing about and romanticizing terrible, awful things happening to characters since the beginning of fiction. so long as you’re not doing something with questionable legality (aka writing smut about minors because that is child pornography) then write whatever you want.

sure, could we talk about how it’s wrong to romanticize certain things? especially when it’s of a reader doing bad things to characters? sure. we could. but that’s not my point. we are all adults here (hopefully pls if you’re a child GO AWAY) and i expect everyone who reads my dark content to be able to distinguish between their kinks and their morals.

i’m saying this bc in my recent poll a majority of people voiced that they want more dark content, but i’ve been hesitant to do so because i’m nervous about how people react, whether they’ll think i’m wrong or a bad person, etc. i get nervous thinking about stuff i already have written, including the noncon/dubcon blurbs i’ve posted. writing noncon is where some people draw the line, and i accept that. i respect them for knowing and voicing their boundaries.

i just happen to really like writing it bc cnc is a big, big kink of mine, but i’m a huge proponent of ssc (safe sane consensual) and i really want to make that clear before i get back to more dark content.

i am in no way encouraging or promoting the behaviors depicted in my dark content writings. i fantasize about doing these things in a safe, consensual environment, where the people i would be doing these things with will have agreed and consented beforehand. sexual assault and rape are never okay in any context. what i write in fictional scenarios does not change my beliefs about this.

[minorisato]

there's no point running from rusted chains

slashers, dead by daylight / ghostmyers / wc: 355 / warnings: NSFT, impact play, consensual but not safe or sane / notes: they're so.

Danny's behaviour didn't reflect a man desperate for punishment.

Or maybe it did. Michael wasn't sure. Danny- apparently- used to agonize over not getting caught, used to dedicate a large amount of time and brainpower to covering his tracks. Michael, certainly had never put that much thought into getting caught or not. It seemed, to Michael, that Danny didn't want to be punished.

Which made his actions now kind of... confusing.

"Please," Danny begged, "please hit me. I want it, Michael. I want you to hit me."

Michael, of course, did not intend to disappoint him. Without their masks, though, he wasn't as confident in his actions. Danny would tend to take a leading role, so suddenly being the one in control was... new. Kind of frightening, kind of exciting, mostly just new and weird. Lightly, with the palm of his hand, he smacked Danny's cheek.

Danny let out a small hiss before chuckling. "Good, good," he started, "just- almost there, Mikey. Hit me harder, you can do it, c'mon."

Michael's eyes narrowed at the nickname, and he reeled back a bit further, slapping Danny harder. Don't call me that.

Danny groaned, head snapping to the side from the force. He ground his crotch down- he's into this. He's getting off on me hitting him. He likes being abused.- into the floor, panting, gasping. "That's it," Danny told him, "harder. C'mon, please, I know you can hit me harder."

Michael tilted his head to the side. Really?

"If you can't do it," Danny hissed out, between gasps, gritting his teeth, "then I can always go find someone who can. I'm sure- I'm sure Frank, or Pyramid Head, or- or someone, would be willing-"

Slap.

Michael reeled back for that one, backhanding Danny. The force of which was enough to actually knock the shorter backwards, off his knees, onto his ass, propping himself up on his elbows. I can do it, it conveyed, don't you fucking get someone else. Danny moaned loudly, such an embarrassing noise to make.

"So good," Danny told Michael, causing the taller to inhale sharply. "So good, Michael. Do it again, please."

[cinamun]

Is it really the dick? It feels like Mercy is punishing herself for something; she sabotages progress at every opportunity. It's true that Bishop ain't worth shit, and is an intimidating, manipulative fucker, but I'm getting the feeling that their relationship is a mutually beneficial one, and good sex is just a byproduct. He's made a hobby out of being creepy and controlling and she's made a hobby out of feeling like shit, at a fucking loss, and like she's on the verge of losing everything.

I agree with what a number of other people have said about a person's physical and mental ability to extricate themselves from an abusive situation not being as simple as just getting up and being gone. And I do believe Mercy is suffering from that affliction, but my thoughts are tethered to when you said that this is what Mercy believes she deserves.

Why? Why does she believe that she deserves this?

Because the why would explain why she was ripe for the picking from the easy target tree that Bishop was scoping. I mean, she was LOVED. How do you go from being so loved to feeling like the diametric opposite state of being is what you're worthy of? What does she believe she did to deserve Bishop? And not just Bishop, but what he represents? Because I have a feeling that he is simply a delivery system for the struggle and turmoil; and it only helps that he looks the way he does.

Bishop truly has nothing to offer her except for a perpetually fucked up sense of self and the dick, I guess, but let's not even compare it to her short-lived fuck off Bishop era and what could have come from that taking hold. Let's talk about what happens after she loses everything.

Will Bishop still even be interested? He may love the pussy, but I'm pretty sure he loves the control more. And what appeal will Mercy have for him when she has nothing competing for her attention? How will he satisfy his desire to conquer once he wins? They don't have a relationship of substance, so it's not like she'll be able to console herself with him if she gets disowned.

Mercy has got problems and this is not a bootstrap situation; someone needs to save her so she can then start saving herself (fake it til you make it). But none of that will matter if they don't get to the bottom of how she got there in the first place. Indya can take her to the club, make way for alternative dick, and help Mercy remind herself of what safe, sane, and consensual interactions are like, but those are only replacements, things to occupy the time she would otherwise be surrendering to Bishop (and her--assumed--guilt). It's time for some therapy, and not the good doctor; no offense to him, of course, but she needs to schedule some time with a Professional Black Woman™ that also happens to be a psychiatrist. I really want that for her.

I know here be drama, so the road is long, made longer by detours and double-backs (and arched backs), but good grief, I know I will weep if when Mercy reaches that day.

WE ARE BACK IN SESSION!!!!

Okay first paragraph:

You are ABSOLUTELY correct. When Mercy was first introduced, and as we learned more about this mysterious mother of the man Hope would marry, we learned that she feels an extraordinary amount of guilt for the passing of her husband. She has internalized that guilt, she cut off her friends, she thought if she had maybe taken him to different specialists, fought harder on his behalf, that Jackson Carruthers, Jazz Pianist would still be alive. Part of her feels deserving of the punishment and I agree that sex is the byproduct. Keeping in mind that Bishop is a narcissist, a literal walking diagnosis, sex is not only a byproduct, but a tool.

The parts after the first paragraph:

The podcast was a very key moment in Mercy's part of this saga. Yes, he is attractive and dominant, older and wiser. Its the fact that all she's really known is a strict upbringing, her late husband and the jazz scene. She is absolutely naieve and was most certainly ripe. Maybe she thinks that Bishop is the way men are. Maybe her father was a control freak narcissist POS. I can't call it.

As far as when its over, its over when Bishop says its over. And if he decides that its over, maybe this is the part where she unzips her skinsuit and dances around evilene's headquarters, you feel me?

*IF* she were to lose everything, she might snap and that's what the folks mean when they say they can't wait for pixie haircut Mercy to arrive.

I, too, want healthy arched backs for Mercy and a good dose of that healthy healing that can only come from The Professional Black Woman™. As you know, we'll stay tuned to see if she gets that. In the meantime, we have Indya who is at least one example of what a real loving relationship can be.

[abrahamvanhelsings]

yes dracula is full of benevolent misogynism because it was written in the 19th century. yes no sane man would let a woman come with them on a quest to assault a vampire because the general consensus is that women are sweet and caring but frail and must be protected. yes to every man involved this would seem like the most chivalrous thing to do. you carry her bags, you stand up for her in public transport, you hold open the door for her, you keep her safe and don't let her get anywhere near the vampire - not even in her thoughts. does that make it better? perhaps not, and certainly not in this case! but when reading a book like dracula you need to keep in mind how the era it's written in and its social conventions work bc they are, inevitably, going to be different from our own conceptions of the world and the people in it, and it does not do a book justice to judge it by modern day standards