#man this particular tag game has been around for so long

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: friday, my day, am i right?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You turn your legs over the bench, feet dangling over the floor as you look at the king, dumbfounded and dozy. He sits in the chair by the table, toying with a grab between his fingers as he watches you. Your heart hammers behind your ears as your breath licks like flames in your lungs. You daren’t ask it aloud but what is he doing there? 

“I only meant to look in upon you,” King Geralt says as if he can hear your thoughts. “I fathomed the night was long tending to my wife and I would make sure you are well-rested.” 

“Your highness,” you stand and smooth the front of your shift, realising you wear nothing more. No dress, no apron. You feel vulnerable to his golden eyes as they follow your hands. The fabric pulls taut on your chest before you can right yourself. “I... Apologies, I am unkempt.” 

You search around and go to take your cap from where you hung it. You cover your shorn locks and tie it tight above your nape. The king’s eyes narrow at you. 

“What is the purpose of keeping your hair short?” He wonders as he drops the grape back to the plate. 

You look at him, shuddering, “I do not... it is only as I’ve been bid, your highness. In Debray, all the maids do so.” 

“You are not in Debray now,” he muses. 

You’re quiet. You’re not sure how to answer that. You gulp and grab the clean dress from the pile and throw it over your head. It hangs loose, not like Jazlene’s carefully cut and laced gowns. You reach for your apron and the king clears his throat. You stop and look at him. 

“Your highness?” You blink, still dazed by his unexpected appearance. 

“I did go to see the lady of Debray,” he intones, “she was in a poor state. She would not permit me in her chambers for her condition.” 

“Oh my, your highness, I am sorry to hear. Shall I go look in--” 

“She has maids a plenty,” he insists, “I hoped...” he leans forward and reaches to his belt. You notice the top of his slate grey tunic is untied and shows the trim of his chest hair, “to share a pastime with her. I hoped perhaps we might see past our differences at last and start our progress towards the kingdom. Alas, despite my warnings, she overindulged and has left herself incapacitated.” 

You stare at him, clutching the apron. He flicks his fingers dismissively as his other hand brings forth a pouch, “leave that. Come, sit.” 

You can only obey. You put the apron down and cross the chamber. As you near the table, he pushes the tray of dishes out of the way. You lower yourself onto a stool as he opens the mouth of the pouch. He pours out the rattling contents. Carved diced in varying shapes, symbols painted on each side, and man longer pieces that look like bone. 

“It is a game,” he explains as the contents roll out, “I’d like to teach you.” 

You look down as he sorts out the many pieces into sets. He is lithe in his arrangement. When he is down, he presses his hands flat to frame the assortment. 

“You don’t mind?” He wonders, “if you are tired still...” 

“Your highness, I am awake,” you rub your eyes and drop your hands to your lap. “A game? How do you play it?” 

You lean forward and he seems pleased by your intent. He curls his fingers and takes a breath. 

“It is like bartering at a market, or the like,” he begins, “you see how the pieces differ,” he points to the longer ones, “there are tick marks here,” he shows you how one has an ex, another a line this way and the next that way, and a circle in another. “We each have our dice,” he divides those up and pushes a set towards you, “it is a matter of trade and cost.” 

“Hmm,” you push your lip out, concentrating. 

He continues to explain the balancing and leveraging of each roll. How once you have collected all the pieces with a particular mark, you may wield a greater demand. You tilt your head thoughtfully, your own fingers drawing lines in the air as you make sense of his instruction. You think you understand but remain uncertain. 

“We may begin simple,” he intones. 

So suddenly are you swept up in the intricacy of the game, that your shock at his appearance dissipates. You can only think of the pieces as he rolls a die. Then the next. You follow his lead and when at last the first trade comes, you hear his offer but have no response. 

“You have a question?” He prompts. 

“I am thinking, your highness,” you squint as your forehead lines. 

“I can tell,” he says brightly. 

You peer up at him and smooth your expression. His cheek twitches as he leans back. You counter his offer and he clucks. 

“Mm, I see,” he rests his chin on his knuckles. 

He hands over his pieces and you bite the inside of your lip. You gather them to your side of the table and frown. You toy with the dice and wait. 

“Your turn,” he urges, “unless you are not having fun.” 

“It is an interesting game but I don’t want to be let to win,” you mutter. 

“I am not letting you win. It is the first turn and it is a long game,” he chides. 

“Mm, yes,” you pick through the dice, “your highness.” 

He exhales and leans on the armrest, “take your time. I am no hurry to be away.” 

You peer up at him and find his gaze set on you. You return your attention to the dice and toss them. He’s a king, should he have better things to do? 

⚔️

“It appears you have bested me,” King Geralt sighs and puts his dice down, pressing his hand flat over them, “you have the mind of a councilour.” 

“Your highness,” you bring your hands back to wring in your lap.  

“Truly, you’ve taken well to it,” he remarks, “it has been some time since I had harrying competition.” 

You offer a slight curve of your lips and look away. The window is dulled as the sunlight descends. You blanch and slip forward on the chair. 

“Your highness,” you stand, “it is late. I should--” 

“You may remain,” he assures you as he shows his palm kindly, “no hurry, little maid.” 

“But... shouldn’t you--” you keep yourself from asking after his duty. That is not for you to mind, “the queen will need dinner.” 

“As I said before, this place is ripe with servants,” he says coolly, “you should sit and bask in the time you have off your feet.” 

You face him and slowly sit. He drags his fingers along the wooden armrest as his expression tightens. He watches you as his square jaw clenches, “unless you would rather be away from me?” 

You twist around to look at the door, then to him. 

“I will go wherever you command, your highness.” 

“Yes, yes,” his hand balls to a fist, “that is not what I...” he sighs with exasperation, “I want to know what you desire. What do you want? What do you need?” 

There’s a stirring in your chest as he leans slightly forward, his eyes alight. You peer into the golden pools and your lips part. He is a king and yet speaks as if he would serve you. 

“I...” you wisp and clamp your lips tight, measuring your words, “I want to serve you and the queen, your highness. I want to serve the realm.” 

He huffs again and grimaces, “for yourself. Not the queen, not me, not the people.” 

“Hmmm,” you look down and shrug. You shake your head. You can’t think of anything. “I have a new dress and a hot bath and good food. I can think of nothing. What of you, your highness? What do you want?” You lift your chin slowly, “just for you?” 

Your question seems to startle him. He winces and for a moment, seems breathless. He stands suddenly and takes a step forward. He’s close and you think he might lunge at you. You shy away, expecting the same wrath you inspire in the queen. He falters and backs away. 

“I want...” he grits and turns his back to you. 

He walks to the window and looks out onto the lawns. He hangs his head and grips the window’s edge. He lets out a gravelly sigh. 

“I want you...” he utters, “...to come walk with me in the gardens. I would like to do so before we must depart.” 

You rise again, “yes, your highness, I will put my shoes on then.” 

He puffs out into the deepening dusk. You can feel his frustration roiling from his figure. You grab the stockings and the shoes and return to the chair. You roll the stocking onto your foot and pull it up your leg, rumpling up one side of the skirt as you do. As you hike up the next, the king faces you, surprising you before you can drop the fabric back down to your toes. You sheepishly bend to put your shoes on, embarrassed. 

“Thank you, little maid,” he approaches and offers his hand, “for keeping a miserable king company.” 

You look at his hand. It’s big and calloused and lined like a map. The invitation seems overly friendly. You accept it, not so bold as to turn him away. 

“Your highness,” You murmur as he squeezes your hand then lets his arm fall straight, tugging you away from the table. 

Silently, he lets his grip brush from your hand and instead hooks his arm through yours. It is an overly familiar gesture but you allow it. What more can a maid do? As you near the door, he stops and untangles from you completely, stepping away as if struck by the oddity of his actions. He reaches for the door handle and inhales. 

He opens the door and steps into the corridor, you follow him, just a pace back. He looks over his shoulder at you then turns ahead. You scurry to keep up with his long strides. He stops at the end of the hallway and you nearly collide with his elbow. 

“I am not miserable because of you,” he angles his head towards you as he keeps his voice low, “if you worried...” he shakes his head at himself, “come, little maid.” 

You do as he says and trail him through the corridors. It is late and while soldiers remain on watch, most of the lords and ladies have tucked away for their evening meals. The king continues his unstoppable advance with you at his heels. Down a flight of stairs and across the great hall. 

Outside, several soldiers bow their heads at his passing and another nears. He dismisses them without a word. You carry on, sensing how his mood darkens with the sky. You’re uncertain of his demeanour, so suddenly shifting from affable to affronted. You didn’t say what he wanted and now he is unhappy. He can be rather like his wife. 

He stalks onward to the archway that marks the green gardens of the capital castle. He passes between the leafy pillars and stops to look this way then that, then opts to walk along the middle row. You flit between the hedges behind him as the sky ripples with the looming night and a cool breeze stirs around your skirts. 

He is silent as he walks, almost as if he’s forgotten you. You wonder if you fall out of step, if you are lost behind him, would he even notice? Finally, he slows before a pond dug into the center of the gardens, amid lilies and daisies and blue bells. The moon shines down and reflects off the tepid pool. 

He treads around the edge of the pond as you stand by the bushes. He circles around to a wooden bench and sits. His shoulders slouch and he leans his head back. The silver light limns his strong features. When he opens his eyes, they glow as they did in your dream. 

“I have come this far, I have conquered as I vowed to, I have vanquished the old king,” he speaks to the sky, “I have done all I sought to and yet I am wanting.” 

You dip your head, sad for him. You might assume a king would be happy for all his gold and power. That a crown would bring delight as much as glory. All you see is a man in mourning. For all he’s won, he’s lost just as much. Loyal men and many months. 

“I have a wife who is petulant, I have an ally who is cowardice, and I have nothing left here to claim,” he continues, “should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.” 

He hangs his head and leans forward, gripping the edge of the bench. He sits in silence as he watches the water. A frog hops onto a large stone protruding from the shallows and steals your attention. You watch it leap again and again until it meets the other side. 

“Little maid...” the sultry purr crawls over you and you glance over to find the king observing you, “sit with me.” 

You shiver and cautiously make your way around the pond. You near him and sit at the end of the bench opposite him. You fixate on the moonlit water. He leans to grab your wrist and hauls you closer. You sidle down until you are almost against him. He slips his hand around yours, covering it in his grasp. He pulls it onto his thigh and rests it there. 

He clings to you just like that. You feel a pluck in your chest for him. He has a wife who should share in his troubles but she is too buried in the anguish she made for herself. Yet, she is not there, and you are; a paltry substitute for what he truly needs. 

Silence pervades the night but for the chirping of insects and the sweet singing of birds. The king’s grasp on you tightens, then lessens, and tightens again. He eases his hold entirely and pets your hand. 

“Will you play another game with me?” His timbre is silty as he looks over at you. 

“A game, your highness?” You babble. 

He hums and nods, “a child’s game,” he explains, “it is simple.” He sits straight and pushes back his hair, “you will run and I will catch you.” 

Your heart lurches. Your lashes flutter. You played the game before, when you were young, with the queen even. But that was years ago and you were smaller and faster. You look at the king. 

“Your highness,” you utter. 

“It’s my command,” he says, “run.” 

[mochasenby]

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚄𝚜

Valeria x F! Reader She’s your obsessive ex. You broke up with her after a harsh realization that she would literally kill for you. She’s been sending you flowers for months to win you back over. She won’t stop till she has you in her arms or beneath her.

Tags: face-sitting, cunnilingus, strap-on use

"You fucker!" Y/n snapped as the men roughly dragged her into the warehouse. Her body ached from the rough rope that wrapped around her limbs, immobilizing her from running away. Cold metal jammed harshly against her spine, making her wince.

"Watch your tone, bitch." A man snapped at her, forcing the gun to drag against her skin. Y/n yelped in pain, looking over her shoulder to glare at him. How did it end up like this?

Hours ago, Y/n stood alone in her kitchen, glaring at the bouquet on her counter—another bundle of red roses. She knew who sent them; she didn't even have to glance at the notecard. They were beautiful, in full bloom despite the harsh winter storm that brewed outside.

She grabbed the stems, noticing that each thorn had been meticulously twisted off except for one.

She quickly drew her hand back, cursing as a thorn pricked her palm. "Fuck." She hissed, snatching the bouquet and tossing it into the trash along with the rest. She grabbed the notecard, preparing to toss it, but paused.

She stared down at the gold ink, her thumb tracing over each detail. With a heavy sigh of defeat, she turned it over. But just before she could read whatever devotion of love and worship was written on it, a loud whack echoed as she fell to the floor.

Her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw was a pair of boots that looked all too similar to a particular war criminal.

And that's how she ended up here, arms bound together with itchy rope that was so close to cutting off her circulation. And a pounding headache that made her want to shriek. She glared at the bald man who held her captive, wishing death upon him and his next of kin for generations.

Just before she could tell him off, a bullet flew through the air, lodging into the man's shoulder. It happened so quickly that Y/n could barely process it. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head as she stared in horror at the man. He writhed in agony on the ground, his hand cupping his oozing shoulder.

"Who do you think you are, pendejo? You think this is a game?" A hiss echoed as Y/n's heart raced. She knew that tone all too well.

"Valeria." Y/n whispered breathlessly as Valeria appeared from the shadows, gun in hand, and her eyes blazed with malice.

Valeria stepped closer, pressing the heel of her boot into the man's head. "Apologize, hijo de puta, or I'll blow your brains out." She uttered, moving the gun to tap against his cheek.

The man gritted his teeth before his eyes darted to Y/n. "I'm sorry."

A click echoed as Valeria moved to point the gun between his eyes. His body stiffened as he quickly scrambled onto his knees.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me, El Sin Nombre!" He pleaded desperately as she scoffed.

"Get the fuck out." She hissed as the man scrambled off the floor, darting out of the warehouse alongside the rest of her men.

Valeria rolled her eyes, stuffing the gun into her hip pocket. Y/n watched in disbelief, her jaw agape. "What the fuck?" She whispered as Valeria's attention turned to her.

The malice quickly vanished, only to be filled with longing and adoration.

"Mi Vida," Valeria cooed, reaching to cup Y/n's face. Y/n flinched back, her body defensive from her touch.

"Valeria, what the fuck. Do you know how fucking crazy you are? Why the fuck did you kidnap me?!" She shouted in anger.

Valeria seemed unaffected by her words, the adoration in her eyes only shining brighter.

"You know exactly why, mi amor," Valeria uttered, her voice laced with desire and possessiveness.

"How long must this game of cat and mouse continue when I can just do this?" She reached out, her hand finally resting on Y/n's face.

A shudder ran down Y/n's spine. "Valeria, this isn't right. It's over between us."

Valeria's grip tightened on Y/n's chin, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in closer, her breath brushing against Y/n's lips.

"No, mi amor, it's far from over," she whispered, her voice laced with determination. "You think you can walk away from me? Think again."

“You’re fucking crazy,” Y/n whispered, her harsh words causing Valeria's eyes to start to fill with annoyance.

“You killed a man without any regrets right in front of me, and you expect me to forget it ever happened?” Y/n uttered as Valeria tapped her lips.

"Regrets?" Valeria laughed, her voice dripping with venom. "That man meant nothing to me, mi amor. I did what I had to do to protect what's ours."

Her fingers trailed along Y/n jawline, her touch simultaneously gentle and possessive. "I killed for you, Y/n. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means getting my hands dirty."

Y/n stared at her in horror. She knew deep down that Valeria's love came with a dark side that frightened her. Valeria's love was obsessive. Valeria's love had no end to it. And she just happened to fall into Valeria's web. But no matter how far Y/n tried to run or how hard she struggled, she trapped herself even more.

The pull Valeria had on her was intoxicating. And something about the crazed look in her eyes made Y/n shudder. And Valeria knew it.

"You call me crazy, but look who's responding to my touch?" Valeria uttered, her hand moving to cup the base of Y/n's neck. She could feel the beats of Y/n's heart, how it raced from each glide of her fingers.

"Sabes que no puedes dejarme." Valeria cooed in her ear, her grip on Y/n's neck tightening just enough to make her gasp.

"You still want me," Valeria whispered as her gaze met Y/n's. Y/n stared at her with frustration and anger, yet hidden behind was want. As Valeria's lips brushed over her ear, she shuddered. The possessive grip she had on her neck made her knees almost buckle.

When was the last time they had been this close?

"I fucking hate you," Y/n spat, her hiss weak as Valeria's lips twitched upwards.

"No por mucho tiempo."

Y/n grunted as she was shoved, her back colliding with the mattress. The rope that still bound her arms ground against the bed, making her groan in pain. She stared up at Valeria with fierce eyes as Valeria straddled her thighs.

With a swift motion, Valeria reached down, her fingers deftly undoing the restraints that bound Y/n's hands.

"Now, mi amor," Valeria's voice dripped with authority, "Show me just how much you hate me." She mocked as Y/n's eye twitched.

"Bitch." Y/n whispered before she reached up, her hands gripping the edge of Valeria's shirt. Their lips crashed together in a passionate clash, a battle of dominance and desire.

It was a battle that Y/n quickly lost as Valeria kept her pinned beneath her. One of Valeria's hands wrapped around Y/n's neck, squeezing firmly enough to make Y/n's head spin. Her other hand slid beneath Y/n's shirt, her fingers skimming up her stomach toward the edge of her bra.

Y/n moaned beneath her, arching up into her touch. "Valeria," Y/n whispered breathlessly.

Valeria took the opportunity to press her tongue through the gap of Y/n's lips. Their tongues glided against one another as the kiss deepened. The need to breathe grew stronger as Y/n quickly broke the kiss, panting as Valeria smirked.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Valeria's hand slid lower, tracing the curve of Y/n's waist before slipping beneath the waistband of her pants. Her fingers danced along the edge of her panties, teasingly brushing against her sensitive skin.

Y/n's breath hitched, a quiet gasp escaping her lips as she arched into Valeria's touch. Valeria's lips brushed against Y/n's ear, her voice a low, seductive whisper.

"You're mine, mi amor. Every inch of you belongs to me."

Valeria's fingers slipped past the fabric of Y/n's panties, delving into her wetness. Valeria's eyes darkened at the feeling, the slickness of Y/n's arousal coating her fingertips. She began to explore and caress with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her touch growing more insistent and demanding.

Y/n's body trembled beneath her, her moans growing louder and more desperate. "Valeria--" Y/n gasped as Valeria's thumb traced her clit.

Valeria's grip on Y/n's neck tightened slightly, a silent reminder of her control. With each stroke of her fingers, she pushed Y/n closer to the edge, her gasps and moans filling the room.

But Valeria was not satisfied with just this. She wanted to push Y/n further, to make her beg and plead for release. With a wicked smile, she withdrew her hand from between Y/n's legs, leaving her gasping and on the brink of climax.

"Valeria!" Y/n cried out in frustration as Valeria moved her fingers to her lips. She lapped the fluids that coated her fingertips, her gaze turning hungry.

Her voice dripped with seduction as she leaned in closer, her breath ghosting over Y/n's ear. "Oh, mi amor, you have no idea how delicious you taste," she whispered, her words laced with a hint of sadistic pleasure.

Y/n's breathing grew uneven, a mix of desire and anticipation coursing through her veins. Valeria's hand trailed down Y/n's body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake until it reached the apex of her thighs once again. Without warning, she plunged her fingers back into Y/n's wetness, resuming her relentless exploration.

The sensations overwhelmed Y/n, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her moans grew louder, her body arching against Valeria's touch.

"Please, Valeria," she whimpered, her voice laced with desperation. "I need to come."

A wicked smile played on Valeria's lips as she quickened the pace of her fingers, her movements becoming more forceful and demanding. She reveled in the power she held over Y/n, how she could bring her to the brink and deny her release.

"I thought you hated me," Valeria mocked, causing a string of curses to leave Y/n's mouth.

"You'll come when you submit to me," Valeria hissed, moving her head lower. A cry left Y/n's lips as Valeria's tongue began lapping her clit with deliberate and needy strokes.

Y/n's hips bucked upward as Valeria forcefully held them down. Her lips wrapped around her clit before pushing her tongue deep into her folds. Y/n groaned in pleasure, her body buzzing with want. She could feel herself growing closer to the edge of release, but just before she tipped over--- Valeria pulled back, licking her lips.

A frustrated cry left Y/n's lips. "Please, Valeria," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. "I need to come. I can't take it anymore."

Valeria's eyes darkened as she reached upwards, grabbing Y/n roughly by her neck. She yanked her closer, their bodies practically grinding against one another.

"Louder," she demanded, her voice low and commanding. "Beg for me, puta."

"Please-- Fuck I-- I just want to come. I'll stay with you and stop running away; just please let me come." Y/n begged with teary eyes.

Valeria's eyes darkened as she roughly pressed Y/n down, straddling her thighs. "You sound so needy, preciosa," She cooed, moving back to spread Y/n's legs.

"I've imagined so many different ways I could have you beneath me again, crying and begging for me," Valeria muttered, her nails tracing Y/n's thighs. Valeria moved back, her hands pulling her pants down, along with her panties.

Y/n's breath hitched as Valeria climbed on top of her, pressing her deeper against the mattress. "You want to cum, mi amor? You'll have to earn it." Valeria uttered.

Y/n stared up at Valeria before it clicked in her head. She moved back, propping herself on a pillow. She reached forward and pulled Valeria closer. Valeria smirked and raised her hips as they hovered over Y/n's face.

"Go on, prove yourself," Valeria uttered as Y/n swallowed thickly.

Without hesitation, Y/n leaned forward, her tongue darting out to flick against Valeria's clit. A hiss escaped Valeria's lips, her hands tangling in Y/n's hair.

Valeria's grip tightened in Y/n's hair, guiding her movements. Y/n surrendered herself to Valeria's control, a moan leaving her lips as Valeria yanked at her hair.

Valeria rocked her hips, grinding against Y/n's mouth. "Good girl," Valeria hissed as Y/n's tongue traced patterns. Y/n's hands gripped Valeria's thighs, holding her in place as she continued to worship her with her mouth.

"Meirda." Valeria moaned, feeling her thighs begin to tremble slightly. She looked down and let out a breathless laugh. She yanked Y/n's hair, causing a cry to leave her lips.

"Look at me," Valeria uttered as their gazes met.

"You look so pretty like this," Valeria cooed, grinding herself on Y/n's tongue. Y/n shuddered at the praise, her hands cupping Valeria's hips to pull her closer. The ache between her legs was so intense she had to fight the urge to move her hand down.

And, of course, Valeria noticed as her eyes flashed with amusement. "You don't get to touch yourself, not yet." She whispered.

Y/n whimpered at the denial, her body aching with need. Her tongue worked fervently against Valeria's throbbing clit, forcing a moan from Valeria's lips.

Valeria's movements became more urgent, her hips grinding against Y/n's mouth with a fierce intensity. She felt her climax building, the coil of pleasure tightening within her core.

"You're doing so well, mi preciosa," Valeria moaned. "Make me come; show me how much you want it."

Encouraged by Valeria's words, Y/n intensified her efforts, tongue flicking and swirling with a newfound determination. She could feel Valeria's grip on her hair tighten further, her moans growing louder and more desperate.

And then, with a shuddering gasp, Valeria's orgasm crashed over her. Her body trembled, her walls clenching around Y/n's tongue as waves of pleasure washed over her. Y/n panted heavily as Valeria raised her hips, allowing her the oxygen to return to her lungs.

Yet as soon as she got it, the air in her lungs seemed to vanish as Valeria reached into the dresser next to them and pulled out a strap-on.

"Oh." The only word left her lips as Valeria grabbed and yanked her closer. Valeria smirked, her eyes darkening with hunger as she fastened the strap-on securely around her hips.

Valeria moved closer, her hands caressing Y/n's thighs, spreading them wide open. Her fingers danced along the slick folds, teasing and testing Y/n's readiness.

"You look so pretty beneath me," Valeria uttered before pressing the strap tip in. Y/n let out a choked moan, her eyes widening at the intrusion.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her body convulsing in painful pleasure as their hips slotted together.

"Open your eyes," Valeria hissed, pulling out slowly before setting a rough pace.

Y/n quickly obeyed as tears began rolling down her cheeks. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through Y/n's body, her moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing moment. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies colliding and the echo of Y/n's wails.

Y/n's nails clawed into the sheets, her body arching to meet Valeria's thrusts, craving more. "V-Valeria!" She sobbed as Valeria's hand connected with her neck once more. The sensation of being filled and stretched by Valeria's strap-on was overwhelming, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

She squeezed before bringing their faces closer together. "You can't ever leave me, my love," She whispered before crashing their lips together.

Valeria's pace quickened, her thrusts growing more forceful and demanding. Y/n's body trembled with each thrust, her pleasure mounting with each passing second. She could feel the coil of ecstasy tightening within her, the need for release growing unbearable.

"Valeria," she gasped, breaking the kiss. "Please, let me come. I can't-- I can't do it anymore--"

Valeria's grip tightened on Y/n's hips, her thrusts becoming more relentless. "Beg for it."

Y/n's body ached with both pleasure and frustration, her desperate pleas filling the room. She begged and pleaded for Valeria to grant her release, her voice filled with raw need.

Valeria's eyes gleamed with a mix of satisfaction and control as she continued to thrust into Y/n. But as the intensity of their connection grew, Valeria could feel her climax building. The coil of pleasure within her grew tighter, driving her closer to the brink.

With a final thrust, Valeria couldn't hold back any longer. She let out a moan of Y/n's name, her orgasm crashing over her in waves of ecstasy. The sight and sound of Valeria finding her release was enough to push Y/n over the edge.

Y/n's body tensed, pleasure consuming her as her orgasm washed over her in a powerful wave. She cried out Valeria's name, her voice a mix of ecstasy and satisfaction. They stilled for a few moments as Y/n panted heavily.

Tears were still streaming down her face as she felt Valeria's hand wipe them away.

"Nothing could ever separate us, Y/n." She uttered, leaning closer to press their lips together once more.

"Aún en la muerte, siempre serás mía."

[syrma-sensei]

Somewhere In Your Heart, Ch.3: Mirrors.

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader.

rating: explicit.

setting: in the early 80s.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: prostitution, angst, sexual innuendos, violence, cursing...

summary: Soldier boy lives through the ennui of his peak, but everything is about to change when he has a shift in his heart.

“That’s not what I fucking signed up for!”

Legend flinches a bit as Soldier Boy flings the glass of liquor in his hand. Legend's face twitches as he sees it splinter into tiny pieces, which makes him often wonder if he’d end up with his head bashed into pieces if he carried on his career in this damned place. Despite everything, Legend has developed a tight resolve when it comes to dealing with Vought's supes, Soldier Boy in particular.

“You wanted the gal, and now you have her.” Legend answers crudely.

Soldier Boy seethes, “I don't recall being consulted about her fucking pimp tagging along!”

Legend sighs at this point, “Mr. Harold's her manager, and he emphasised his inclusion to be thoroughly considered. He's been her tutor for years. And you heard her yourself, she wanted him in.”

Soldier Boy smacks his lips in deep frustration. Great. Now, he'd have to deal with her manager being up on their asses in their little game of cat and mouse. What he wants is simple, he wants her in his bed after he's won her over. He doesn't want that fuck face to get in his way. Soldier Boy sighs, passing an aggressive hand over his face.

“When do we start the rehearsals?” Ben asks in a tight tone, he's still finding this hard to digest.

“Tomorrow morning, because you know, she's quite busy at night.”

Legend's insinuated smirk didn't go unnoticed by Ben. The little shit.

“Good.” Ben replies, and dismisses Legend, because he too has a busy night.

Ben exhales deeply through his nostrils before he scooches by the swarms of dancing and drunk people. He's donned in a casual outfit for tonight. Casual yet fancy; Ben never skimps on his looks whether it's for business or in his private life. He dresses both to impress (the gals) and depress (the pals). He's aware of his effect on both sides and likes to swagger with his looks; he has black jeans on his legs, black jean jacket wide open to show off his chest which is accentuated by a white shirt. His feet are comfortable in a pair of brown and sleek boots.

Finding his way to the bar, his piercing green eyes catch the visage of a pretty girl by the bar. Once his eyes land on her, she flashes him a grin which he partially ignores on his way to his destination.

He sits on a stool, resting one arm on the bar counter, ordering a drink, then he turns around to have a quick scan on the dance floor. Most of the people dancing are between late adolescence and early twenties. When he was their age he applied to Dr. Vought's Compound V trials to win his father's favour. He scoffs between him and himself.

A real man doesn't take a shortcut.

The words still titillate a bitter taste akin to ash under his tongue whenever he remembers what his father spewed in his face after Ben saw God under those fucking trials. It was perilous and shrouded with uncertainty, but he was willing to do it for his father, to make him proud. He became America's first superhero, the golden son of the states, but what good the golden son title could do him if he was a disappointing coward in his father's eyes.

He closes his eyes for a bit, he can't believe it still haunts him after all this time. His dad is dead. Hell, he's older than him right now, hitting his fucking sixties with ease his dad would've wished he had. The bastard died of cancer, or so he'd heard. It was a long time ago. He doesn't remember, of course, why would he bother? He didn't even attend his funeral. The old bastard didn't deserve the honour.

He gobbles down his drink in one go when it's served, relishing in the momentarily burning sensation. Then, he orders another.

Fuck, sometimes, he wishes he was normal like those youngsters, he thinks melancholically. Hell, he can't even get drunk to forget, to make mistakes, to feel alive again.

He comes to places like this because it's easier to blend in. He's rarely recognised among drunk and stoned people who are looking for some ass.

Ben's head whips to the side when he feels a gentle hand on his arm, caressing it tenderly. “You look sad…” He raises a brow at the girl, she's the same gal he saw when he first entered the club. “I can fix that…”

He lets her despite the fact he knows she can't fix shit.

After hours, Ben is lying naked in one of the club's rooms, beside him the girl who offered him help, the help that did him nothing at all. He knew from the outset this wouldn't work, but he gave it a shot because the girl looked somewhat akin to Rita Hayworth whom he had a crush on growing up.

He rubs his eyes with a groan as he sits up, deftly swinging his feet down on the floor. This is not good. Sex is never not good to him, especially if it's accompanied with some toots on fine breasts like this one had. God, she has two watermelons for a pair of tits. And boy did he fucking like tits. Big, medium, small, he likes all of them.

Ben glances at her, fuck, he didn't even ask for her name, but Rita-Hayworth-knock-off is a new mom. He can sense the milk hormone kicking in her system which she's trying to dial down with meds. Ben twitches his eyebrows; it explains why she's taken this road.

He shakes his head, looking at her, she seems in her early twenties, he can hazard a guess and say it's the same scenario. She met Romeo, got knocked up, Romeo left, big old daddy kicked her out. And now she has hers and her baby's mouths to feed.

Ben grunts as he reaches for his jean jacket on the floor, he grabs something out before he gets dressed in his clothes. He leaves her some money under the pillow.

Rita-Hayworth-knock-off wakes up after a while to find her payment under the pillow, and a piece of paper above it, with no trace of the handsome man. Her eyes widen when she flips it back and forth trying to comprehend what's that.

It's for you and your baby, not for the fucking pimp.

Rita smiles with tears in her eyes, hugging the check to her chest.

When his pursuit of pleasure has failed, Ben heads back home. And by home it means one of his private properties, a penthouse. He sighs as he slips the jacket off, tossing it on the armrest of the leatherd big sofa in the living room. He ambles towards the wet bar and pours himself a drink. He lets out an elongated sigh, it almost sounds longing and craving.

“Fuck…” He groans. You really did a number on him. His bodys is fucking raging with want and nothing besides having you will regale that burning desire to claim you. He guzzles up his drink.

He fucking met a broad twice and his body is acting up like a pussy. He's fucking Soldier Boy, the Soldier Boy. One fleeting girl can't bring him to heels like that. But again, the image of your sensual features, the rasp in your voice, the mystery in your eyes, they're all so fucking tempting him to coax you down layer by layer. He wants to see the girl behind this facade. Oh, he knows there's one behind that eloquent, sagacious mask. He wants to meet the one who's grinding on his vainglory's gears. He wants that woman, and he's intended to own her.

The world of Vought is a dreadful and dangerous place to be, but however the people in charge of making it dazzle with such glamour, they earn each penny they make.

You were fast to acclimate to the somewhat new atmosphere. Jack was proud of you, and you were happy you managed to do so.

You're always on time, with utter competence and professionalism; any lack of diligence is frowned upon. Your business is mostly tied to none other than Soldier Boy, the greatest hero ever lived.

Working with America's son is amusing to say the least.

In spite of his big headed self, he's actually good at taking orders and exerting them like a good soldier would. Through the days in the rehearsals, he's been unexpectedly nice to you, which makes you wonder what he really wants from you. You're not an idiot. Jack made sure of that. You know that Soldier Boy wants you; him practically eye-fucking you is a bit of a giveaway. However, he doesn't verbally express anything of the sort.

During the days at Vought, you've come to learn more and more about Soldier Boy, bits reporters would kiss your ass to divulge to them. But of course your professionalism and the NDA you signed prevent you from doing so.

You find Soldier Boy — or Ben as he emphasised to call him, is an interesting individual, as expected from a man of his rank and fame. But as any performer he's a complete hypocrite. Just like yourself. The first time in which he almost made you gasp was when he invited you to his headquarters in the tower so you could sniff some crunched crack with him. To kick back, as he put it. That shit is good, I'm telling ya. You discovered that America's golden son isn't as godly as his media pretence claims to be.

He's flawed, tremendously so. Just like you are. He has a short and firing temper that threatens to blow off at any second. And he isn't kind to those who don't make him happy. One time, he burst in the face of a poor assistant for not bringing his right order of coffee. Iced. He snarled at him.

And to add insult to injury, he's hard to please.

However, and oddly enough, he isn't as crass with the gentle sex. Especially with you. Maybe the fact he would fuck you at some time has something to do with that. Be that as it may, you enjoy the companionship of the supe, because there's a lot to him that intrigued you. Despite everything, his what is akin to giddiness that he shows when he's with you is growing on you.

Anywho, within the deepest layers of you, you envy him. He isn't on a leash like you. He comes and goes whenever and wherever he likes. He takes shit from nobody, and does whatever he wants. You wish you had anything close to what he had. The power, the money, the connections. You want to be like him, and not some bitch tied to her owner for life.

Today's the day you and Soldier Boy officially record the cover song after days of arduous rehearsals with the latter. Again, he's hard to please; you can't help but to think whether he made you and the rest of the crew reiterate when he didn't like that note, or when he disliked the harmony of the rhythm, or he was doing that on purpose just so he can spend more time with you.

You internally sigh, you shouldn't read much into the lines, but considering, you relish in the attention and you give him yours, the thing he wants the most as of yet. You wonder when he's going to get bored of you. Up close, Soldier Boy is the kind of a man who falls fast into ennui. It's only a matter of time before he tosses you aside and moves on to his next stimuli.

You're playing with fire, and you know that. Much like he is seeking the pleasurable sting, so are you.

Despite Soldier Boy's faults, he knows how to get the job done, whether it's on field or up on the stage, Legend muses. The latter can't but acknowledge that Soldier Boy is a talent. A magnificent and pure one at that.

Legend is glad about the fact this gal is being in Vought's favour. She has the voice and the looks, and he can feel it, everyone working in the studio can feel it. The chemistry between the two. Maybe, just maybe, he can consider making them a screen couple after the song hits the audience on cloud nine.

It's been a good day today. The records are going smoothly. The only thing that might've disturbed it was Jack Harold's presence in Soldier Boy's. The latter has a thing about the former. And casting professional shit aside, the man is hubristic and kind of unpleasant. Luckily, he doesn't come by often. Jack dropped by from time to time to establish his presence. Nothing harmful, yet.

Legend only hopes Soldier Boy keeps his cool in front of Jack just for a couple of days more. Legend watches the duo sing in a flawless consonance.

Everything is at ease until a rambunctious Noir barges in the studio, seeing red.

The music of “Just The Two Of Us” slowly dwindles away, as yours and Soldier Boy's melts into the walls of the recording room.

“You’re standing in my place, Soldier Boy.” Noir enunciates.

Soldier Boy wries a brow the young supe.

The palpable tension is a clear cue for the crew to scramble out of the recording room, because they know better not to get in between two supes. Legend watches from the control room, he notices that you aren't running like the rest of the staff. Instead you take the spot behind Soldier Boy.

The latter can hear your heartbeat quicken up and can distinguish it from Noir’s; each has its unique pattern like a thumbprint. And at the moment, Noir's is gushing with fury, and yours… Well, yours is bumping with fear and… excitement?

Soldier Boy scoffs at Noir, a small grin playing on his lips. “Your place?” He snickers, “Listen up, kid—”

“No, you listen to me, Ben.” Noir spits, “This is where you fucking stop getting in my way!”

Soldier Boy bursts out laughing, “Getting in your way? Kid, this is my hit, before your old man knocked up your mama.”

That's it. Noir couldn't take more insult into his wound and marches forward, launching an attack at Soldier Boy. However, the more seasoned supe grabs his fist in his first with ease.

Soldier Boy tilts his head, glancing at you over his shoulder, “You might as well get outta her, sweetheart, things are gonna get a little bit messy.”

You don't need to be told twice. Your feet hit the air as you scurry out of the room. But… Noir takes the shot and hauls you in his free hand and hurls you to the wall. You wail as you fall on the floor.

“You little shit!” Soldier Boy grits his molars and grasps Noir’s arms and fixes him to his spot before he headbutts the younger supe. Three hits were enough to make Noir stagger backwards, giving Soldier Boy the chance to punch Noir's cheeks, then depositing him unconscious onto the floor.

Soldier Boy lips twitch at the pathetic little shit, before he walks in your direction, crouching down to your level.

“Hey, are you okay, sweetheart?” Unlike the brutal scene from moments ago, Soldier Boy's touch is gentle when he holds you up to check for any injury. Luckily, and thanks to Soldier Boy, Noir couldn't exert enough power to cause any severe damage to you but manageable bruises and a sprained ankle.

Legend watches at the mess from behind the scenes as supe crisis staff pour into the room to clear that mess up. He doesn't heed anything of his attention but how Soldier Boy insisted on carrying you up in his arms to get patched up in his own personal quarters.

Legend lights up a cigar and wonders what kind of spells you cast on Soldier Boy that he's so smitten with you. Could it be you're a supe with hypnotising powers? Maybe, but if so, you'd have been within Vought's records.

But nothing of the sort was found on you. You're just a human with a pretty face and vocal talents that happened to captivate the mind of the current most important asset of Vought. He expected Soldier Boy to get bored and toss you aside after a couple of days when he was done with you. But Legend was gravely mistaken. For the past weeks, Soldier Boy only got more enamoured by your charms and was putty in your hand with only a bat of your pretty eyelashes. Legend kept an eye on both of you everyday to see how that was coming along, and it surprised him to say the least.

Perhaps they can use you to their benefit for a better communication with the supe, Legend says. Because as the days pass by, Soldier Boy is only getting older and out of touch with each day. He's become more tenacious and hard to deal with each day. Maybe you could become a key for a new affair. Who knows, maybe when the song is all the rage in the country, people will like the idea of pairing you together better than Soldier Boy with Countess. People would find a human girl paired up with Soldier Boy more appealing and more relatable. Legend flick the cigar in the ashtray on the dashboard in the control room. He shakes his head, and gets back to reality. There are two injured people in the mess today which makes him release a series of expletives as he huffs a vapour of smoke.

He sighs. The things he does for talents.

“Oww!” You groan as the medic dabs an alcohol-soused piece of cotton on your ankle.

“Careful with that one. She's delicate.”

Soldier Boy tells the medic as he patches you up.

When he's done, he leaves you with several plasters on your body and a swollen ankle wrapped with a white bandage.

Great. Now you're gonna be useless for few days. You sigh, already picturing the querulous frown on Jack's face. You're gonna miss a couple nights at his clubs.

“Relax, you’re gonna be fine.” He offers you a glass of whiskey with rocks. “I know you're no snowflake.”

You take a gulp of your drink and the searing sensation temporarily numbs the bitterness you've held for the most of your life.

You sigh again, placing the glass on the coffee table in front of you. In times of vulnerability like this, you can't be but haunted by the memory of your brother. The only family you had before your life took a shitty turn and snatched him away from you. Before you met Jack. Before you've become this.

You drown yourself in self pity and scoff. Life wasn't just a bitch by depriving you of your care-taker and protector, it also threw Jack Harold in your way who moulded you into what you are now. A complete hypocrite, who lives off kissing ass and sucking dicks.

Soldier Boy studies you before he pours you another. He knows you need another shot.

“You know…” You say after you feel the tantalising burn in your esophagus. “I didn't remember being roughhoused by one of you folks in our contract. Plus, what did he mean by you getting in your way?”

You usually won't care, but you're really curious what rubbed Noir the wrong way that he hurled you across the recording room. For all you know, and from what you've heard from the halls of Vought, he was on a solo mission.

Soldier Boy jeers. “The kid's delusional. He thinks I pulled the song from under his feet when in fact, Legend begged me to do it.” He swallows a mouthful of his drink.

You sigh again, “But isn't he a member of Payback? I thought you guys are like family.”

Soldier Boy sneers, “The kid needs to be reminded to respect the chain of command every once in awhile. He shouldn't have crossed me with such impudence.” Then through his fleeting ire, a sly grin pulls at his lips as he tips your chin up, “And he shouldn't have touched what belongs to me.”

A bemused shiver roils through your spine at his claim of ownership of you. You can't be his. You're Jack's. The latter made sure of it. Being Jack's property would be a dread to any woman, but wanting to be Soldier Boy's is frightening. You saw what he did to Noir with a sliver of his strength, the fact he can snap you in two halves like a toothpick makes your bowels liquid. However, you can't ignore the twinge in your core when he said it. No, no. You learnt how to lie and be a fake bitch to other people, but not to yourself. You don't misinterpret the aching throb between your legs for this man. No, no. You crave to be his, you wish he'd snatch you away from Jack the way life snatched your brother away from you; once and for all.

You drum up what remains of your deteriorating aplomb and keep your chin up. “I wish to be compensated.”

Soldier Boy quirks a brow up. “You want compensation?���

You nod at your bruises, “If you want me to be yours, you must show me.”

He falls silent for a moment that elapses like a year. Then, another grin curves his lips up. “Show you…”

“I want you to show me something I've never seen… Can you do that?”

His grin widens, it almost resembles a shark's. “I think I can, dollface.”

After a few days, and after your bruises fade away into yellowish smudges, Soldier Boy keeps his words.

He sneaks you out of Vought after you two finish recording the damn song. Pleasure after business as he told you. You only thank Christ that you conducted the visuals a day before Noir came back and almost ruined your work.

He takes you to a building in the heart of the city, the sliding spyhole glides open, an eye peeks through it, and as soon as it perches on Soldier Boy, the door immediately clicks open.

You step in, dogging Soldier Boy's steps. He turns to you and smirks. “Welcome to Herogasm, sweetheart.”

🦅 Previous Chapter: A New Window

🦅 Next Chapter: Unmasked.

🦅 Somewhere In Your Heart Masterlist

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Taglist: @thebiggerbear, @zepskies, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deansbbyx, @deans-spinster-witch

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[scarthefangirl]

Giving to the poor

Hobie brown x G/N!reader

Request: hobie with a ballerina reader who is also a HUGE bookworm-dont ask me where the idea came from because idk either lol- I kinda just wanted to see how that would maybe look?

Warnings: none? Mentions of theft

Story type: Headcannons

A/N: Not my best but please read my other fics!!

Masterlist | REQUESTS OPEN

You and Hobie don't have a ton in common

You are graceful, very sweet, and a little more awkward

Hobie is a little more- bold and rough

But you two couldn't be a better pair

He loves your smooth and sophisticated fighting style, thanks to your ballet

He thinks its hot how you almost make fighting into a dance, and can whoop anyone in heartbeat

You encourage him constantly to take up ballet, insisting that it'll do him good

"Football players do it! It helps balance and control, and you'd look fine in a leotard." You always plead

"I don't need help, I'm doin' just fine love. But I certainly would look good," He always says

In secret he'd probably watch ballet tutorials to see if its for him, to make you happy

He is FLOORED when he finds out how often you have to replace ballet slippers

"Every 6 months? That has to be so expensive!"

Just wait till he hears that you also have pointe shoes that get replaced every few months...

He will start to time out when you buy shoes and buy them for you

He listens to you rant about your terrible dance teacher and fellow ballerinas for as long as you want, nodding in agreement about how horrible they are

He'll do yoga with you (although he's not very bendy) to keep you flexible and let you laugh at how bad he is

As for your reading addiction, Hobie finds it adorable

The way you gasp and yell at your books as you read, your facial expressions that convey the emotion of the chapters, your particularity for how books should be handled, everything

He isn't the biggest reader but if you hype up a book he'll definitely check it out

You guys bond over ones you both like

"I like hunger games. We need more katniss's in the world to stick it to the man!" He says after finishing the series

Dystopian books make him mad and go on lectures about how the real government is just as bad and deteriorating and loves the wah you'll go off with him and agree and listen

Sometimes he loses you around headquarters and looks EVERYWHERE for you

Loses trust in everyone

"Have you seen them? Come on, think would ya? Yes you have, I know you have!"

Only to find you in an empty room either reading or practicing your ballet

Either way, he leans on the door frame and admire you until you notice him

"If you're gonna sneak away darlin' you could at least tell me, I worry." He scolds but smiles and sits next to you.

Hobie LOVES making people uncomfortable

He'll admire you fighting and just yell out how hot you are or how turned on he is, not caring who hears

He'll make out with you in front of anyone, anytime.

On a different note, when you obsessively buy books he wants to stop you but he can't because you look so cute with the way your face lights up at each cover

"I've been wanting this one!" Or, "I have this one but this is a different cover!"

He isn't all for traditional gender roles but he will pay for your stuff, just because he loves you. He lets you pay for him sometimes if you offer

He sometimes sneaks a book out, stealing it just because he hates the way you insist on following rules

"Here, I took this one for ya," he says

"Hobart Brown!" You scold but can't help being happy for the book

"What? I'm stealing from the rich," he gestures to the book store. "And giving to the poor," he ends, gesturing at you.

He gives to 'the poor' a lot

If you ever talk about a book to him that you want, it randomly appears on you bookshelf

~

Sorry for the abrupt ending lmao

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[ruporas]

apologies if you've already been asked this but do you have any favorite trigun fics? i absolutely adore your art btw!

thank you!!! and i've answered this on insta, but i don't think i've ever shared on tumblr... i'm not good at reading fics, esp long ones, because my attention span is pretty bad, but from the ones i have bookmarked, i'll share some that i like in no particular order

hills like white elephants (meet me halfway) - adlvnam

pairing: vashwood word count: 1.1k, sfw, vague post v.10 spoilers ‘I read a story once,’ Vash says, unsure. ‘I’m kind of thinking about it right now.’

i like a lot of adlvnam's fics, i find them very unique and creative in their execution, and their writing is wonderful! this was the first fic i've read from them and it's stuck with me ever since. others that i like from them are in manus tuas (no spoilers) and vox dei (warning for post vol.10 spoilers).

stay - Anonymous

pairing: vashwood word count: 2.3k, sfw, no spoilers “Hold up,” Vash groans. He presses his free hand to Wolfwood’s mouth and shushes him. He’s probably going for a stern look, though between his poor attempts to stop grinning like the biggest idiot this side of the planet and the way he’s patting him, it’s hard to take him seriously. “Stop laughin’. Where’s the keys?” “What keys?” Wolfwood tries to ask, muffled by Vash’s hand, and his tongue is a little thick and slow in his mouth so… something comes out, but it’s probably not very wordy. Word-like. Not a sentence, probably. (or, wolfwood and vash get drunk, bicker, and then share a bed together.)

i enjoyed the mundanity and silliness of this fic and i think about it from time to time... i think fics where one of them or both drink together are pleasant to read.

Last Summer - varilien

pairing: vashwood word count: 741, sfw, no spoilers You are what you love.

tags on this one are "sunrises, morning routines, coffee, sentimental" which caught my attention. very sweet and beautiful.

Rain - Kokohamstar

pairing: none, wolfwood centric word count: 768, sfw, major spoilers - post v.10 Ever since he was a little kid listening to Bible stories, he dreamed of the day the world would be washed clean and wondered what the rain would feel like on his face.

as most wolfwood centric fics, it was a gutpunch and melancholic, but still soooo.. augh.... the last paragraph really does it for me.

water bucket blues - fathomfive

pairing: vashwood word count: 3.7k, sfw, major spoilers, post trimax Vash the Stampede goes on the record about a friend he once had. Also about card games, cats, family, and some other things. "Start with a piece of the whole, Meryl said. It doesn’t have to be the first piece. Start with a specific. That’s what they mean when they throw around the words human interest. I know the pieces. Believing they make a whole is another thing. But she’s a broadcast professional and I trust her advice. Maybe if I can figure out how to tell one piece—like the story of Wolfwood as I knew him—I can learn how to tell the others."

i love vash pov fics and i love it when it's first person and this one in particular hits because it's his pov and he speaks, honestly, openly, telling a tale that he can't really flub because it's about the people he loved. i love how grounded this fic is in the present of max, i love how vash grows within the 3.7k words, i love how he moves forward with the world he's living in. this fic makes me teary if i think too much about it... it's really wonderful.

it’s a summer day, and I want to be wanted more than anything else in the world - goldenglitz

pairing: vashwood word count: 3.9k, nsfw, no spoilers Vash has the lung capacity of a man who’s cried for 150 years. It isn't like Wolfwood takes more than he gives — but like with most things, he barely keeps up with Vash. He works his body to the limit, even as his lungs burn and his legs and arms give out under him. They fuck like they’re on borrowed time. All of this makes it so easy — so much easier than just talking. Wolfwood would sometimes rather pull new and interesting noises from Vash with just his mouth than do anything else with it. Their own dialect: moans, groans, and four words. “Yes” — “Please” — “Vash” — “Wolfwood.”

i love all of their vashwood fics, they only have 3 but they're all lovely and has a sort of characterization to both vash and wolfwood i don't see often. definitely one of my faves, especially when it comes to explicit vw fics.

i think these are all the ones i'll share for now!!

[bite-sized-devil]

Piggy Back Rides

You've had a particularly long hard day at RAD. Exhausted and dreading the walk home, you ask your favourite demon brother for a little favour.

Was going to do these in groups, but they just kept getting longer and longer. Apologies my fellow simps, please enjoy them one at a time starting with the eldest and finishing with the youngest.

TW: none it's pure fluff. GN! MC (Maybe a little suggestive if you like close your eyes and pretend?)

Mammon

"Come on Mammon, please!" Your voice coming out whinier with every plea that leaves your lips. You'd been begging him to give you a piggy back ride home since you'd both started walking towards the entrance of RAD.

"And why should The Great Mammon carry ya home? Silly human, what's in it for me huh?" The second eldest says with a clearly fake annoyed look on his face.

Fine, if that's how he wants to play, you know just what to do to get him to admit defeat and carry you home. You're sure he secretly wants to do it anyway. Turning your back on him, you pull out your phone.

"Ugh fine! Levi was here today, I'm sure if I promise him a game he'll be m-" You almost finish before Mammon is cutting you off and reaching for your arm.

"N-No, no MC. I'll do it! If anyone should give ya a piggy back it's me! I'm ya first man, aren't I?" The last bit comes out a little more questioning then demanding. Quickly spinning around to face him again you reach out your hand and cup his cheek making him blush furiously. You should have known he would react this way, he's a real softy under that pretend tough exterior.

"Of course you are Mammon, Why do you think I asked you first?" Smiling, you step closer to him, cocking your head to the side and beaming up at him as you say it.

"T-thats r-right." He stammers. His eyes are focused solely on your lips, face slowly leaning closer towards yours.

On tip-toes you lift up and ghost your lips over his. "If you give me a piggy back ride home, I'll let you... Kiss me?"

His eyes flit back up to stare into yours as he swallows loudly. Weighing up whether you're serious or not and deciding not to risk missing out on that particular goldmine.

The words "get on" barely leave his mouth before he's man handling you onto his back making you squeal his name in surprise.

He practically sprints the whole way back to HOL. Only stopping when he gets to your room, dropping both your legs without a word making you clutch his chest tighter so you don't fall on your ass.

"Mammon! A little warning next time maybe?" Annoyance lacing your tone. You let go of him once you steady yourself.

"Yeah, yeah, sure MC." He says hurriedly as he opens your door and drags you inside, the door slamming behind you.

"What's gotten into you Mammon? I thought you only got this riled up about money, it can't be because I said you could kiss me, surely?" You're questions bring another blush to his cheeks. Smiling cheekily up at him as he stands in front of you.

"I-" He beings to stammer but is cut off by your lips connecting with his. Caught of guard by your sudden action he freezes for a second, his lips unmoving against yours. Self doubt creeps into your mind making you start to break off the kiss, maybe he didn't want it after all?

Feeling your hesitation snaps him out of his initial shock, his hands come up to cup your face and he leans in as you go to pull away. You might have had to steal the first kiss from him, but he's never letting you go now that he has had a taste.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated! 🌻 Please don't repost, that shit won't fly here. I'll annoy the absolute shit out of you. If you would like to join the tag list please fill in my dumb little form

Tagging: @delphi-dreamin @the-ghost-of-panda @ariamichel

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

Could you a James Potter x reader fluff thank you so much

hope you like it!

pairing: James Potter x reader 

tags: fluff, first date 

word count: 2.3k

The Best Worst First Date

“Do you want to go out? Maybe tomorrow?” There. He said it. He couldn’t believe he said it. It had been weighing on him so heavily for so long; there’s no way he had actually asked. He probably just imagined it like he had a million times already.

“Sure!” you respond. 

Okay, way too easy, definitely imagined it. 

“Is there anything in particular you were thinking? I know Remus has been talking about that new restaurant.” 

Dinner! Great, he could take you to dinner. 

“Although, I know Sirius wasn’t super excited by the menu, so we should probably choose something everyone wants.” 

Wait, what?

“Sirius?” 

“Yeah. What? Is he busy tomorrow or something? Just us and Rem and Lily then?”

Oh, god. No wonder. How could he possibly clarify without loads of awkwardness? Maybe he should just forget it, go out with all his friends like every other weekend, you included. Or… or… “No, Sirius isn’t busy.” “Oh.” “As far as I know, anyway. I dunno, maybe he is.” Fuck, not relevant, not relevant. 

“Ok?” “But, uh, I actually meant maybe, you know, not just us and Rem and Lily, but just… just us.” A beat. “If you fancy it!” God, too loud, shit. Had he ever had any game? or does he just lose it any time you’re around?

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

“Sure,” softer this time. Unsure? But you smile your adorable smile, the subtle one where your lips go more sideways than up and your eyes sparkle a little, though he almost misses that as you look down. 

“Yeah?” hopeful, bright. “Yeah,” certain, warm. 

“Brilliant.” 

You’re not sure what to wear. James didn’t tell you what you were doing on your date. It is a date, right? That word never came up, now that you think about it (although, let’s be honest, it’s all you’ve been thinking about since yesterday; you’ve run it over and over in your mind about a million and a half times). But he wanted it to just be you and him. Sounds like a date. Right?

You try on all your favorite clothes, even a few you think might surprise you. Nothing feels quite right, but you opt for staying yourself, just yourself a little done up.

You’re considering changing or putting on more make up or perhaps spontaneously combusting when James knocks.

You run over, take a deep breath, and open the door to the most handsome man you’ve ever met. “Ready?” he asks. “You look lovely. You always do though.” It’s cheesy, but coming from him, and with that melting sincerity, it makes you feel warm and loved. 

“Thanks, Jamie. You look lovely too.” 

He blushes and smiles, adjusts his glasses, and leads you out.

He had it all planned. An early dinner first, a walk in your favourite park next, then seeing that new film you’d talked about excitedly last week. A bit typical, but hey, hopefully classic is classic for a reason. 

He’d spent hours debating the right restaurant to take you to. He opted for somewhere that advertised itself as an intimate space with a home-cooked menu. Sounded wholesome. And romantic, hopefully. 

You walk in to the restaurant, and his stomach drops. It’s not “intimate.” It’s tiny. And not in an exclusive way, or a cute way, or just a tiny way. It’s tiny in a dingy way, and he cringes as you struggle to get across the small space when the appearance of a waiter — a common occurrence at a restaurant, you’d think — fills the cramped space between tables too much for you to be able to get past without some awkward squeezing.

He’s grateful when you finally sit down… until your chair creaks and leaves you sitting lopsided. It gets a bit - just a bit - less mortifying when you laugh, seemingly actually amused at the situation. James chuckles with you.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, love. Um, excuse me? Can we get a different chair here please?” “Thanks,” you laugh. 

You get a new chair, with plenty more awkward squeezing due to size constraints, but all seems to be going smoothly after that. You chat, you laugh, you order. 

Just as James is settling in, thinking maybe this place isn’t so bad, though, the food arrives. And he wants to go bury himself in a pile of blankets at home and never face the outside world - let alone you — again. 

It looks terrible. Terrible is a compliment actually. It looks downright inedible. “Home-made”? More like rubbish-rummaged.

“Uh…” you hold up a bit of it with your fork but plop it right back down. You laugh again, but this time James doesn’t join you. “Would you think I’m a terrible person if I don’t eat any of this and they have to take it back as is?” you ask, half joking. “No, no. I mean, it’s not great, but god, what’s the alternative?” He sticks his fork in his food, and the texture reminds him of 80’s horror movie special effects. 

“I dunno? Food poisoning?” you respond conspiratorially. He can’t help but chuckle with you. 

You fill up a bit on the stale bread, make a lame excuse about being in a rush, pay and start to leave. “I was thinking we could for a walk now? If you fancy it. That park you always talk about isn’t far from here, right?” That was a main consideration in choosing this crap restaurant, and he hopes it makes it worth it. 

“Right! Sounds great,” you smile at him. 

You squeeze past another unlucky couple heading into the restaurant and head out… into a cold drizzly evening. God, this had to be a cruel joke from the universe. It had been sunny just this afternoon. 

James looks over at you and catches you tugging your jumper sleeves down and bundling into it as best as possible. He thinks of proposing a different plan, but he can’t for the life of him think of something else to do from how nervous he is. What do people do?? The movie isn’t for a while. You don’t say anything either, though, so he just smiles and turns toward the park. He takes a chance and puts his arm around you — a new thing for the two of you — and rubs your shoulders to warm you up. It definitely helps warm you up, for more reasons than mere body heat. You lean into him, and he can’t help but think that maybe this isn’t so bad. As he does, an icy gust of wind freezes his face and hands. 

You trudge through to the park, getting only a bit damp but very cold. The park looks absolutely lovely in the wintry weather, but you’re more than a bit uncomfortable from the cold. You try to make conversation, especially because James looks stunned into silence, and you can tell he feels responsible for bad weather of all things. You can’t get more than a couple words out, though, from how hard your teeth start chattering. 

It’s cartoonish, and it makes you laugh. James looks down at you as if you’ve gone mad, but at the sight of your laughing face, his stressed demeanor melts into deep laughter. 

You’re still on the edge of the park, and at another gust of wind, you take his hand and pull him over to the small lane alongside it. 

There’s a little shop there, and you pop in to see if there is a nice scarf, hat, mittens, anything really that might help. Others may have had the same idea, though, because there is only one scarf left, and it’s pretty horrendous. The patterns don’t match, and it looks more like a costume piece than anything else. But it also feels very warm… 

James catches you eyeing it, and resting his hand on your lower back, asks, “You like it? I can get it for you if you want. It’s the least I can do,” he half laugh half grumbles. 

“After what? You’ve not done anything wrong,” you say gently. “Well, I dunno. It was my brilliant idea to go walking in this welcoming weather,” he responds sardonically. You don’t know how to comfort him, so you just bump him with your shoulder playfully, shaking your head at him that it was no big deal. The scarf is horrible, but you are cold, so you pick it up. He takes it to the counter and buys it for you.

When he comes back over, your cheeks warm up dramatically, not from the warm shop, but from his wrapping it around your neck gently and carefully, his face scrunched up in an adorable and adoring concentration. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. He just smiles. 

You kill time looking around from establishment to establishment, and when the movie is near enough, James tells you you should head to the next part of the night. You follow him excitedly. As you near the cinema, your anticipation builds, expecting what the next activity is. You remember talking animatedly about this new film, and wrap your arm around James in a loving half hug, overcome with affection at how he always pays attention to and remembers what you say to him. 

He reciprocates, squeezing tight and kissing the top of your head as you walk on. You’re surprised at how natural this all feels, all these new gestures between the two of you that just feel so right, exciting and comforting at once. 

Lost in your thoughts, you’re confused and worried when James goes stiff beside you, stopping dead in his tracks. Looking up at him, you see his face paling, his eyes wide as he looks ahead. You follow his gaze to see the big “sold out” sign splattered on top of the new movie title. “Fuck,” you hear beside you. “Fucking hell,” a bit louder. He turns toward you, stress all over his lovely features. “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t think to get tickets ahead of time. I’m such an idiot; I can’t believe I didn’t think of it; of course there was a good chance it would sell out; and if I’d brought you earlier instead of just killing time,” spills out of his mouth at top speed. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, really, it’s fine,” you try to stop him. You rub his shoulder comfortingly. 

He tilts his head back and groans. 

“I can’t believe how royally I’ve fucked this up. I finally work up the courage, and then this is what I deliver? God, I wouldn’t blame you for regretting this.” 

“I don’t regret this,” you say very seriously. His eyes meet yours and linger there. “You don’t?” he asks hopefully.

“Not even a tiny bit. Of course I don’t. It didn’t matter what we did, James; of course it didn’t. The worst restaurant, the ugliest scarf, no movie - none of this matters one bit as long as we get to experience it together,” you utter warmly, chuckling at your luck. “Shit, the scarf is ugly?” he asks aghast. “I was thinking it was about the only thing that had gone right tonight!” 

You’re laughing hard at his horrified expression, and you have to wipe a tear from your eye as you tell him you love it. 

“You just said it was horrible,” he challenges, but he’s failing to hold back his smile. “It is. Horrendous, really. But I love it. Because you gave it to me. And I’m going to treasure it always as a reminder of our first date.”

He playfully tugs on it, now fully smiling down on you. “Yeah? You want to remember this? Inedible food, freezing weather, not seeing the movie?” “Yup. Every second of it. I want to remember inedible food and the hilarious face you made when you stuck your fork in it, freezing weather and how much warmer I felt with your arm around me, not seeing the movie and having our first kiss outside the cinema instead…” Your voice is soft by the end, your nerves overpowering your hopes. 

His face grows serious, and he takes a step closer to you. His hand comes up to caress your cheek gently, and you lean into it. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” he whispers, smiling softly, his face nearer yours than it has ever been. 

You bite your lower lip in anticipation, and his eyes shoot down to it. You both inch closer, and your foreheads meet, and he bumps his nose with yours. It makes you smile, and a moment later, you are smiling into his kiss. 

His lips are cold and a bit chapped from the cold, but they feel perfect against yours. His other hand comes up to the other side of your face, and he cups it gently as his mouth explores yours slowly. You tilt your head one way, then the other, following his movements. He sucks on your lip, and you chuckle in response, moving your hands from his shoulders to around his neck, holding him closer. 

He pulls back a bit, gazing into your eyes, smiling, but as he goes to keep kissing you, your stomach grumbles loudly. 

“Oh, god,” you say, embarrassed, hiding your face in his chest. 

You’re worried his stress at the planning fiasco is going to return, but you feel him laughing against you, and the warmth of it fills you with a happy ease you know you’ll keep craving. 

“What do you say we get some take-away then watch a movie at mine? Won’t be as glamorous, but I can promise plenty of blankets and shared body warmth,” he says, still caressing your cheek. 

You lean forward, kissing him gently but lingeringly. 

“Sounds absolutely perfect.”

[joshfutturman]

'the only me is me, are you sure the only you is you?'

oneshot - before beating biotic wars, josh has a nightmare, but begins to question if it could possibly be a memory rather than simply a dream. - for my writing group, so it's just a little one shot where josh has a memory from s2 when he finds all the au's of himself dead, and meets j26! my interpretation. (2.1k words) character - josh futturman & j26 (future man) (not a ship fic!) tags: death, stabbing, knife/shiv mention, blood, cussing, seeks comfort, parents mention, angst, nightmares, sfw, no reader mention

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

god, josh loved to sleep. he loved naps, he loved curling up on his bed after work and getting a quick snooze in before he streamed on twitch to his whole five viewers. josh loved dreams too, his dreams were normally fantastical or related to whatever game he was grinding at the time - or they were straight up not safe for work. oops. guilty.

but this particular night, josh couldn’t settle. he kept tossing and turning, frustratingly thrashing around in his blanket. his brows knit together, half pouting with his eyes staring across the room, making eye contact with one of the figures in his many gaming posters. why couldn’t he sleep? his mind stumbles over half-formed thoughts, combing over his monotonous day over and over. eventually, the tiredness catches up to him, causing his eyes to close over, sleep stealing him away.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

in his dream, he finds himself in a small box room. the walls were smooth stone, the kind that looked grainy and boring to the eyes. only a few objects occupied the small space, a pathetic bed, a metal table and some shelves collecting dust. his eyes scan the room like he’s trying to place where he’s seen it before. it felt vaguely familiar, but also far away in his mind. like an old rerun of a tv show you swear you’ve seen before until the credits roll and you’re left feeling unsure.

he stands, looking down at his bizarre outfit. what the fuck was this? his hands run over the fabric of the light navy, sack-type gown. it definitely wasn’t something he’d pick out himself, already feeling uncomfortable in the material. josh longed for a hoodie and sweatpants right about now.

shrugging the sensory issues from his brain to the back of his mind, josh looks towards the metal door of the room and walks over to give it a tug. 

oh.

shit.

it was locked.

giving it another tug to be sure, the door remained firmly shut. josh suddenly felt a little hot, sweat forming on his palms leaving the door a little sticky.

mind moving on, trying to remain unfazed by this eerie dream, his eyes catch on the strange hunk of metal leaning against the wall in the corner. a sound ricocheting against the metal behind it. it almost sounds like a rat. josh recoils instinctively. ew, were there rats in here? his bare feet against the ground suddenly begin to feel extremely exposed. a shiver runs down his spine and he reluctantly approaches the strange piece of metal, beginning to drag it to the side with all his strength.

to his surprise, it reveals a hole in the wall, a vent that’s been pried open - and a long time ago by the looks of it. and then -

wait.

what the fuck?

josh eyes the small man in the hole, eyes widening when he comes face to face with. . . himself.

“what the fuck,” he spits out, stumbling backwards on unsteady footing before taking a step forward again to reach out.

the other him - no, the other guy, starts to shriek out in protest, slapping his hand away haphazardly. josh gives up and steps back once more, throwing his hands up in protest showing he means no harm. “hey, hey, it’s okay! it’s okay.”

with that, the dishevelled-looking man crawls out of the vent, twitching and jerking like he’s not seen light in some time. josh’s mind runs away with itself, watching on as he sees what looks like an almost perfect mirror image of himself lose his mind.

this was a really fucking weird dream.

when the other speaks, it’s in broken sentences, stuttering and struggling with his words. josh almost feels sorry for him - but he can hardly comprehend what’s happening, fighting to feel anything else other than sheer anxiety.

josh feels himself speak, but he can’t quite make out the words. there’s a conversation going on against his will, like he’s watching over himself in the dream. it almost feels more reminiscent of a memory- like he was observing something that had happened in the past, rather than simply experiencing a 'weird' dream. ‘j26’, the other called himself.

j26 crumples against the wall, clutching his head. fuck, his fear was infectious. josh felt on edge, like his limbs were on fire, brain being zapped with adrenaline at every unpredictable movement the other made. it was almost like. . . he could feel what he was feeling. and that made him feel extremely uneasy, palms sweating even more. every twitch he almost wanted to mimic.

who the fuck was this guy? was this some sort of weird clone dream? was something extra freaky about to happen? he’d seen fan fiction online about this sort of thing. maybe he needed to stop going on tumblr at 2am, maybe this was a wake-up call.

but it felt way more real than that.

suddenly, there are footsteps down the hall and both of their heads snap in unison towards the sound. they’re approaching, quickly and with a distinct stride of authority. this smelled like trouble. josh backs into the corner behind the door, maybe he could hide? stupid idea retrospectively, but his mind isn't exactly in perfect working order right now. (or ever.) he needs something to hold. josh picks up a stray tray that must have been used for lunch by the looks (and smell) of it.

the nervous twitchy ‘clone’, or whatever josh could think to call him - j26 was a stupid name, clambers over towards the bed, sitting down innocently in contrast to the insane, trembling look he had a few seconds prior. josh wants to reach out, to warn him to move, that he’ll be caught immediately but he doesn’t have time.

the door swings open. josh’s instincts spring into action and he brings the tray down hard on the person's back. a tall man who hardly flinches at the attack. oh fuck. josh whimpers and cowers back against the wall. couldn’t he just fucking wake up now? like seriously?

but that’s when the other josh makes his move, pulling a makeshift shiv from his gown. his attack is much more effective than josh's now seemingly pathetic attempt. it's. . . brutal, primal almost. j26 plunges the knife into what josh assumes is a security guard, over and over. the soft and wet sound of metal impacting against flesh rings out in his ears, causing him to cover them.

it’s not long before the guard is on the ground, blood slowly seeping from his wounds. too many to count. josh isn’t sure whether he wants to stare, morbid curiosity peaking, or avert his gaze. it doesn’t matter, because he notices the open door. maybe leaving can help him wake up.

glancing at j26, he ushers him out, trying so hard not to look at the blood slowly inching down the handle of the shiv he holds so tightly.

but it's a blur. and the environment moves as dreams often too, in sparks and fleeting images. screams echo in his ears, deafening and pleading with a hint of betrayal. it makes him wince, eyes twitching as he finds himself in front of another metal door.

everything is screaming within him not to open the door. ‘don’t do it, god just don’t fucking do it. whatever you do, josh, don’t open the’ -

the door opens with a creak, his hand pushing on the handle without his consent. his atoms are buzzing, grip too tight and shaky, breath picking up. josh never listens.

he enters.

at first, he’s not sure what he sees. anxiety and the electrifying feeling of anticipation seem to cloud his vision. but what came next, he couldn’t laugh off or glaze over.

piles of bodies. arms draped over one another. legs contorted into strange and uncomfortable, impossible positions. blank faces stare back at him, some mouths agape, some almost seeming to be sewn shut. josh feels like the wind has been kicked out of him when he realises those faces are, in fact, his own.

there had to have been at least twenty, maybe more, thirty? his knees feel a little weak and he finds himself leaning back against the cold metal door to ground himself. where can he look? averting his gaze only leads him into another cold stare with familiar yet distant eyes.

his heartbeat settles in a steady pounding and galloping rhythm, punching his chest with each thud. it’s all he can hear. eyes tormented with the scene.

for once, futturman was speechless. he couldn’t utter a single sound. the implications of the bodies seeming to hit him all at once. it wasn’t a normal thing, he thought, to lock eyes with your own dead body. coming face to face with death was something that josh had never considered, at least not for a while - he was gonna be such a cool old man, a total gilf, (grandpa i'd like to fuck). one who still played video games and taught his grand kids how to play, or maybe they’d teach him new tricks in games he thought he'd mastered.

right?

so why did it feel so god damn close? why did it feel like death was just around the corner? the nightmare pushes him forward towards the bodies like a force of its own, benevolent and taunting. he wants to scuttle backwards, shaking his head in response. but he gets closer. . . and closer, and closer still.

they’re inches away. the reek of death only growing nearer. “no. . .” he mutters, “no i don’t wanna. . .” everything in his body was screaming no, to turn around, to leave, to wake the fuck up. but he couldn’t. and so he only moved closer.

until his feet reach the edge of the bodies, looming tall like a foreboding wall. the force begins to push him once more, forcing him to attempt to crawl over the mountain of corpses. josh yelps, hand reaching in to find balance - slowly approaching one of the corpses.

“no!” he calls out, feeling only utter horror when his hand connects with the cold surface of his body - taken aback by the ice-cold feeling, expecting something warm. but there was no warmth here. not in this room. or in this place. just death.

and the crisp sensation pulls him from the nightmare, back into his messy bedroom in his parent's home.

never had he been so fucking happy to see these four walls.

large gasps pour from his lips, sitting up with sweat dripping from his brow. tremors come over him in waves. he's moving to sit up, opting not to stand for now - not even sure he can. he just wants to move, like he’s still being edged towards death. josh kind of wants to cry, but the tears won’t come, yet. puffing out breaths in an 'o' shape with his mouth, he stands eventually, dizzy. this just causes him to fall back against the bed, lightheaded and weak.

josh wipes at his face, trying to disperse the sweat that gathers there. it’s then he notices just how much he’s shaking. he eyes his hands, tears welling up in his eyes like he’s just now confirming in his head how fucked up that all was.

“just. . . just a dream.” he soothes himself in a soft, trembling voice.

but dreams didn’t feel like that, at least not for josh - with vivid smells and overwhelming imagery. something wasn’t right. things weren’t right. everything felt wrong.

with every blink, those piercing dead eyes back on him. he wraps his arms around himself tightly, forcing himself to stand. shuffling toward the door, josh hesitates at the door handle, almost feeling like he’s back there.

shaking his head after a good solid few minutes of uncertainty, josh pushes on, thinning his eyes like he’s expecting to be greeted with that same scene and is trying to brace himself for the sight. but.

just a hallway. his hallway. their hallway.

and this causes him to smile as he takes a few steps towards his parent's bedroom door. suddenly he’s remembered of all the times he’s waddled towards their room over the years, he’s not done so in so long. since he was a little kid. this only makes him more upset, lip quivering.

he knocks on the door, “mom? dad?”

they’d help him feel safe. they always did.

but josh wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to shake whatever feeling this was - how could he ever sleep soundly again? would death be a frequent visitor?

hopefully not, he prayed, entering their bedroom sheepishly.

dreams were meant for good things.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

‧₊˚ dedicated tags: @helen-on-earth @fatinhadesiners06 @boonam @sun-spider13 @laurrrelise @sammygirlism @sleepyhutcherson‧₊˚ ily all sm!! thank you!

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

[obsessedtomone]

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 1 - Convenience ▸Shigaraki x femReader

Summary: “Say, I’ll make you a killer deal,” he begins, the tone of his voice deceptively even, failing to mask the coldness. “If you fucking apologize to me right now, and manage to clear things up with the professor before—” He slides his sleeve just above his expensive-looking smartwatch and casually checks the time, “—the class ends, in about… mmh, give or take three minutes? I promise you won't regret this as much as you will if you do go through with this stupid shit you started with me.”

His face breaks into a slow and creepy smile as he threatens you, body emanating nothing other than incredible malice.

You wish you could turn back time and never cross his path, that stupid night at the store.

You wish you were a different, nicer person, one that knows when to bow their head or to apologize if they messed up.

But you weren’t and you won’t. Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three

Chapter 1 - Convenience Pitter-patter.

With a pop of your joints, you reach for the moon or the ceiling or maybe the gods above. You reach and you reach and finally you feel that satisfying stretch burn through your muscles.

What time is it anyway?

Uh-oh.

You cringe, because the birds are chirping, the first light of the day is starting to show, and because… you’ve been gaming your entire fucking Saturday night.

It’s 4:30 AM when you check your phone.

—And you could’ve been studying, could’ve been in touch with your project buddies, to at least send them your part of the project in time. But you didn’t and you won’t.

Not at least until tomorrow anyway.

Tomorrow, probably around ten minutes before your group’s deadline.

Yeah, you’re that special kind of asshole.

Looking around yourself, you realize that—all of the sudden, the room feels so fucking stuffy you could suffocate. It’s messy and god fucking knows when you opened your goddamn windows last.

So that’s exactly what you decide to spend your next action point on, as your mind briefly wandered back to your past few Valorant matches. 

You actually stayed up late, trying your best to climb to Diamond and dealing with the hyper-misogyny of random pathetic incel teammates who immediately shit themselves the moment a woman opens her mouth on mic.

Whatever.

At least you weren’t living in your mommy’s basement, swimming in a sea of trash, right?

You glance around your room and wince.

Okay, maybe you’re swimming in like—a puddle of trash. 

But that’s okay, because you’re definitely way above those goblins on a societal level… right?

You don’t dwell very much on that particular thought.

With a yawn, you reach for the windows and open them wide. The cool air of soft autumn rain invades your stale room the second you open them, replacing the warm stuffiness of your man-cave and filling your lungs with fresh oxygen.

You wonder how long it’s been raining for already, when you feel your stomach—the one vital organ you’ve purposefully been ignoring all night—growling. What did you eat today?

When the fuck did you eat last, actually?

“Uuugh—” you whine, finally feeling the shakiness of your hands and the overall weakness of your body. 

On your way towards your joke of a kitchen, you decide what flavor cup noodles to scarf down quickly before you hit the hay. Your internal debate is torn between two particular flavors, before you open the cupboard and realize—there aren’t any instant noodles left.

God fucking damn it.

You briefly glance down over your sorry excuse of an outfit—one that would put homeless people to shame—made up of plain black sweats and an oversized black hoodie, noting how you should also maybe perhaps take a fucking shower after literally sweat-gaming all day.

Fuck it, you think, taking a total of two seconds to decide that this was good enough for the world, before you set off to the nearest twenty-four hour convenience store.

So you grab your phone, your keys, and that’s what you do.

────────

Despite the hints of a rising sun, it’s still pretty dark outside. The air smells like fresh morning rain and wet concrete.

You don’t mind, because to your own delight, it couldn’t be quieter around here.

The neighborhood you live in is incredibly sketchy, but you couldn’t complain given it’s barely a fifteen minute walk to your university and the rent to your rundown one-bedroom apartment is dirt fucking cheap.

It suits the broke ass bitch that you are and you like it this way—one, because you have a thing for sketchy run-down places and two… because it’s yours and yours alone.

The totally-legal-and-definitely-wont-blind-you pepper spray you bought from the shadiest internet store sits snugly in the pocket of your hoodie, one hand occasionally fidgeting and feeling the rim of the object. 

Knowing you have something to use in your defense makes you feel safer when you’re outside. You never know when something unpleasant could go down.

You’re so used to being on-guard after all the years of shitty experiences. 

Of being on your own.

Of stupid shit that kept happening to you.

So you walk, if only with a smear of anxiety, because you still need to stay vigilant and not put the universe to a fucking test.

The first thing you notice when you waltz into the corner store, is how goddamn bright the fluorescent lights are. They’re far too bright for your tired eyes that are used to endless hours of staring into dimmed screens with the lights off.

The second thing you notice is how eerily quiet it is inside—save for the whirring, clicking and occasional gurgling of the refrigerators in the back. Or at least that’s where you think the sounds come from.

It’s odd that the current shift didn’t think of turning on the radio to fill the silence—to make this place feel less like a ‘bad end’ location from a horror game—but a quick glance towards the staff at the counter and their wireless earpieces tells you that they couldn’t give less of a fuck about the store’s ambiance.

Not that it matters, when you’re too busy surveying the shelves in search of some food, of something edible, the ‘food’ in question consisting mostly of snacks and other nutritionless garbage that would give nine point five out of ten doctors a cardiac arrest.

Speaking of heart failure, you find yourself in front of the refrigerated drink aisle, using all of your brain wrinkles to make your hardest decision yet.

Which one of the canned heart attack flavors are you gonna buy today?

You hum, spending a good three minutes (give or take) thinking, and when you finally go ahead, reaching with your fingertips to grab the energy drink—

“Hey,” a low and grating voice speaks right behind you.

The sound makes you fucking jump.

You turn around with a scowl and then—straight out of a comedy skit, you feel like you’re staring at your male doppelgänger.

An extremely sketch-looking guy, wearing black sweats that match your own, the hood of his equally dark colored hoodie up and covering a messy mop of white hair.

And then you notice his… his intense crimson colored eyes, drilling a hole through the middle of your fucking skull.

If only looks could kill.

“Did you need something?” You fail to mask the venom in your voice, aimed at him for no good reason.

A skin care routine, you think.

Not like you bothered with one either, but at least your face isn’t disintegrating into disgusting flakes yet, unlike his punk ass.

Motherfucker couldn’t have waited two fucking minutes for you to pick something? 

Where the fuck do you have to be at like 4:50 in the morning?!— you scoff, but the words remain yet unspoken.

The hooded figure raises his hand to scratch at his pale neck, seemingly annoyed at your shitty attitude towards him. 

He just has to meet the worst type of bitch at this ungodly hour, on a Saturday no less—and he isn’t having it. 

Red eyes stare you down for a moment, watching your face scrunch up at his sight.

“You’ve been standing in front of the drinks for like ten fucking minutes, ugly ass bitch.” He finally claps back, and with that, your eyes narrow. “Pick something or get the hell outta my way.”

“I was just about to, asshole,” you reply, voice betraying you and ultimately cracking while you seethe. “Grab your stupid ass drink so you can finally go home to the boys and cry about not getting any.” 

You finish your sentence and stand aside for him, motioning to the drinks all the while his eyes widen in what you presumed to be shock—but before he has the chance to respond, you hurry the fuck up and leave.

The poor employee at the counter who saw the scene playing out (store ain’t that big, now), seems to want nothing to do with any of this. Graveyard shifts must be really fucking fun when you’re graced with not one, but two annoying idiots.

You drop all of your items on the counter and while the cashier is scanning them, you pat all four of your pockets, looking for your wallet to pay.

Until it dawns on you.

No fucking way—

Ain’t no fucking way your stupid, braindead ass forgot to bring money.

This isn’t fucking happening to you right now.

Especially since the embodiment of patience is standing just a few inches behind you, shifting uncomfortably from one leg to the other and waiting with bated breath for you to finally pay and get lost.

“Uhh. Do—Do you guys keep tabs open?” you ask, recoiling at the sound of your own voice, scratching at the back of your head sheepishly and almost whispering the second half so the guy behind you wouldn’t be able to hear it. “I kind of… forgot my wallet at home.”

The cringe that is already coursing through your veins, deepens infinitely when you see the employee stare at your face, as if you grew a second head.

“No.”

Your humiliating predicament makes the guy behind you break into the creepiest snicker. You shoot him a glare and dare him to say something, but he’s too busy laughing at you.

God, if only the ground would swallow you whole, right fucking now.

With the worst shades of shame coloring your face, you turn around to leave, swearing to never set foot in this fucking establishment ever again. Nevermind that it’s the only store close to your house.

Before you have the chance to make good on your promise, the white haired guy reaches out—if a bit hesitant—and grabs your arm.

What’s the chance a nuke would crash into this fucking store and wipe out your entire existence, together with whoever is here to fucking witness this? Or maybe aliens could finally make contact with planet Earth and take you the fuck away. Getting your ass probed sounds infinitely more appealing than this incredible embarrassment you feel in front of the two assholes.

“Hold.”

Your pathetic gaze lifts from the ground and when you meet his eyes he looks—amused?

“What. Let go of me, man.” You panic, trying to free yourself from his grip, but his fingers are firm. Is that blood under his fingernails?

“I’ll pay,” he offers, a disturbing smirk playing on his dry lips.

This fucking guy.

“N-No, I’m good. Thanks.” Your voice is shaking more than you want it to and you feel tears finally prick at your eyes.

Why do you live your life this way? Why are you so fucking pathetic—especially in front of assholes like him?

Why are you still so weak? 

After everything you’ve been through?

You try once more to shake him off of you, but he’s deceptively strong for his build, and doesn’t relent now that he’s got you where he wants you to be.

“It’s okay, really. This just made my night so I’m gonna pay for ya,” he says, the almost-even tone in his voice not matching the way his creepy smile seems to be getting wider.

He swiftly pulls out some scrunched-up bills from the pocket of his sweats, slipping them to the employee who could not give less of a fuck about whoever pays first, grabbing your already-bagged purchase and basically shoving it to you as he gives his best ‘Come again soon!’ bullshit line that actually translates to ‘Please fucking leave the store already’.

“How about that, huh? Now you owe me one, little bitch,” he whispers into your ear, voice low and full of grit sending chills down your spine and rendering you absolutely speechless.

Without sparing you so much as a second glance, he finally pays for his own shit and leaves the store in a smug stride.

You could basically read the “EZ” he wrote in slash all chat while destroying your fucking nexus.

What a horrible fucking night, you think to yourself, hurrying to go home as well.

Your only comforting thought being that you wouldn’t have to see his stupid fucking pasty face ever again.

[animasola86]

A few changes are coming...

Hello, dear followers of this very blog.

The title of this post says it all: I am in the middle of re-structuring a few things around here because my focus has shifted a little.

About a year ago I started this blog as a home for my Hogwarts Legacy hyperfixation, I took a deep dive into fanfiction, into oneshots, into smut essentially. I wrote so many things centered around Sebastian Sallow it's almost embarrassing in hindsight. But I am not embarrassed, I am actually quite proud of having been able to write so much, of having a muse to guide my creative (and dirty) thoughts.

It's been a real blessing.

But as you may have noticed, my focus, my fixation, has shifted, fizzled out a little.

It started when I began writing for Professor Sharp, dipping my toes into the older man/younger woman dynamic, and to be quite honest with you, I am still knee-deep (or even deeper) in that trope. It's always been a passion (a secret kink?) of mine to have an age (and size) difference between characters, so eventually I moved away from that particular character as well and focused on characters of my own.

I'm still currently writing my original story Innocence Lost over at @animasolaoriginal (about a cowboy and a girl, a slow burn love story), but the smut writer in me has yearned for something more, so I posted a few Smut Drabbles, very short little smut scenes I couldn't put into my story yet (or ever).

And from that very sentiment of having little outlets for my horribly dirty mind, grew another idea for an original story, something I'm still working on (I'm eight chapters in already), and this time I will finish it first before I post anything, I'm forcing myself to do that, yes I will (famous last words, huh? Don't quote me on that...)!

What I'm trying to say is, this blog, that has been focused around HL and Sebastian Sallow, will turn into the smut blog it has always been, but no longer featuring our beloved freckled pixel boy. I kept my smut drabbles neutral, dropped no names, no descriptions, just, well, faceless porn really, so anyone could imagine any character in the male and female characters portrayed if they wanted to.

I find freedom in doing so, being able to write anything and not put it in the confines that is writing for British characters set in the 1890s without having to put them in various AUs all the time.

And so I'll continue writing what I like, and I hope you will follow along.

I know most of you probably also follow me for my HL screenshots that have mysteriously stopped appearing as well. I still have my vast library of posted screenshots, don't worry, they will stay (everything will stay, this is just about future content), but if I ever dive back into the game (which, tbh, I haven't played in a long while, haven't even updated yet or checked out the new photomode), I will post new screenshots on a sideblog I will have yet to make.

Just to keep this blog cleaner. And smuttier.

Imagine finding my screenshots of pretty Scottish landscapes or cute Magical beasts (or broody pixel boys) and then scrolling down to find a filthy little smut drabble right under it. It just doesn't mix well anymore. (It never did, but I only realize that now, oops, sorry to everyone who probably stayed away from my blog for that very reason).

So, to wrap this up: I will remain a smut writer, if you are in need of a little erotica to spice up your day (or night), you will always find something of the sort right here.

I'm also not leaving the HL fandom, I'm still an active follower (read: lurker), and I feel like my time has come to let other people contribute to it. And if you follow the #sebastian sallow smut tag, you'll find a lot of authors that still mainly focus on him, so if you don't want to imagine him in my anonymous smut scenarios, you'll find plenty of other sources around here, don't worry!

I, for one, want to expand my horizon a little, look into other fandoms. I've read so many fanfics/oneshots centered around characters like Joel Miller (who I loved ever since playing The Last of Us for the first time), Arthur Morgan (who inspired my cowboy phase tbh) and even characters I never knew I needed in my life, like Simon "Ghost" Riley (who I didn't even know before because I never played Call of Duty), but this is tumblr, you are exposed to a lot of things if you allow them in - and it's been an absolute blast to find new things to obsess about.

So I hope that you, dear followers, can forgive me for branching out, for turning this once HL-centered blog into not just a multi-fandom blog, but a place for smut enjoyers of all types.

Because I found my calling, and it's writing porn. It is what it is.

TL;DR:

Future screenshots will find a new home in a yet to be announced sideblog.

The content will become more neutral, so that anyone can imagine anyone in the roles of the protagonists.

(I may still write for specific characters in the future, to be determined which one, maybe I'll return to write for Sebastian Sallow or Aesop Sharp one day, who knows, I still have some unfinished WIPs after all...)

There will always be smut. Because smut is life.

And with that, I thank you very much for reading this far. And I thank you for sticking around, for enjoying my content, in the past and in the future, hopefully. Thank you for your patience with me and for joining me on new adventures!

Cheers!

[inchidentally]

more of my completely pointless self-indulgent f1 royalty AU with a Charles focus (as always, pls ignore all historical/monarchy mistakes bc it's an AU) (this is a charlos au but I had to throw in a very tiny lestappen moment bc so many moots love them)

after seeing these of Charles playing football I decided they were from a moment when the prince was playing around with his attendants in the palace because he loved terrorizing them about the many breakables and his not-very-precise footwork with the ball. he's permitted to remove his head and hand coverings within the palace walls but only if he won't risk being seen. I imagined this to be after jousting practice - he's not allowed to properly joust ofc but he can do a pretend version with blunted lances and on soft earth covered in hay. he has a special set of beautifully made leather armor so that there aren't any ridged or sharp places to hurt himself.

it's too hot to keep on once they've returned to the palace and underneath he wears this long red and white suit (replace the sponsors with royal insignias lol)

in my tags I had Charles accidentally run out into the courtyard chasing the ball after a particularly wild header and not realize what he's done until he hears his attendants frantic footsteps behind him. he stays frozen in place, eyes wide and sun beating down onto his face. the courtyard is only on the side of the private apartments and he hasn't ventured far but it's still absolutely forbidden.

the only other person there is a young man about the same size and age as the prince with tightly cropped reddish-brown hair, tugging at the stiff collar of his formal suit in the summer sunshine. in the seconds that their eyes meet, Charles feels himself smile wide and open and radiant. the stranger's grumpy pink face turns awed and his eyes widen when the attendants crowd Charles and carry him back inside. Prince Max Emilian is too young and unlearned about the royal customs of Monaco to understand why his mother turns grey and his father looks cunning when Max runs to their chamber and bursts out the story of the beautiful young man in the courtyard whom he'd just seen 'abducted'.

but from then on, Max Emilian would wisely adopt a look of innocence when the sole rumor of the Monaco's second son's exceptional beauty made it's way through the royal courts again, source unknown.

immediately after the incident, the National Council are expecting heads to roll. the royal visitors from the Netherlands have of course been hushed up (or so they thought) but surely someone must pay with their life and the prince's movements restricted even more. they argue that without the prince's virtue and purity, his value to the royal courts hoping to wed one of their own to him will be as nothing. the very protection of the larger countries of Europe could be in jeopardy. they regularly cast acidic glares up where Charles stands in the gallery, fully covered once more and shaking with anger and fear, unable to even speak for himself. they say all kinds of things about how it couldn't have been worse timing for the prince to show such callousness because the palace is meant to still be in mourning.

Sovereign Prince Lorenzo is weary, having only been on the throne for a year and still deep in his grief for his father. he beckons the head of Charles' retinue forward to stand in front of the throne. Joris bravely pleads the case that he and his staff were just happy to see the young prince having fun again as they'd been worried that his grief combined with the particular seclusion he already lived in would sink him. he offers to take the blame entirely on himself as he shouldn't have allowed the game to venture so close to the courtyard at all.

Lorenzo smiles grimly at him and looks up to meet his brother's pleading, tear-filled eyes. almost twenty years of growing up together and Charles frequently only able to communicate with his eyes have made Lorenzo an expert at reading them. he decrees that the lives and positions of the prince's retinue will be safe but that in concession to the Council, the prince will be confined within the private apartments for three months and afterward he must remain covered even in the private courtyard. it's possibly the final blow to Lorenzo's spirit as sovereign to see his brother's eyes smiling down at him, even as his freedoms being stripped back even further.

little did any of the court know that in just over a year, Prince Lorenzo would abdicate. and that in just under two years, the powerful Sainz family would see their son ascend to the throne and free Charles from his bondage forever.

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

Today I got this comment on the Jeopardy! AU that I haven’t updated on way too long, and was reminded of the fact that I have had a scene about this exact thing sitting in my draft of the final chapter for about a year and a half.

I fully intend to finish this fic, but unfortunately on top of some (not too serious, but still persistent and annoying) health problems that have made it hard to tackle much writing in general, I also have the issue that the longer this fic goes without updating, the more my brain creates a ton of anxieties and blocks around this fic in particular, so I’m not sure when that will be. So I figured in the meantime, I might as well share a short little snippet about how Twitter (which was still called Twitter when I wrote this and wasn’t owned by Elon Musk good god this has been on hiatus too long) is feeling about Jon’s Jeopardy! run in this universe:

[Jon gets a text from Georgie with a link to a tweet and the question “Have you seen this?”]

The tweet consisted of video with a thumbnail of Jon behind a Jeopardy! podium, accompanied by the caption, "My coworker, Martin..." Jon pressed play warily.

When he did, he found that someone had made a compilation of all the times he’d said the phrase, “My coworker, Martin,” throughout his time on Jeopardy! The video was nearly two minutes long. Only half of the episodes Jon had filmed had aired so far.

Against his better judgement, Jon clicked on the #jeopardy tag to see what else people had to say. The results were… illuminating.

“Fuck soulmates, I want whatever Jonathan Sims and his coworker, Martin, have going on.”

“just want someone to someone to love me the way the jeopardy man loves his coworker martin”

“Should I make a #jeopardy drinking game? So far the only rule I’ve got is, ‘drink every time Jonathan mentions his coworker Martin,’ but I think that’s a pretty good start.”

“I don’t think half my coworkers even know my name…”

“I want what they have (12-time Jeopardy champion Jonathan Sims and his co-worker, Martin)”

He closed the tab. He was fairly sure he'd gotten the gist.

[fic-over-cannon]

A Gentleman

With his Received Pronunciation, Saville Row suits, and the family line spanning generations of aristocrats, Conrad Oxford is a gentleman for all the world knows. He doesn’t fuck like one.

Conrad learned just how powerful it is to wield someone’s desire for you as a weapon on his 19th birthday, sitting across a table from the most influential man in the Russian court. He was too unsteady, too untrained, then to know how to manipulate the tendrils of lust, to dig them in like claws until his opponent lay helpless before him. But he’s always been a quick learner, and in this it has been no exception. Conrad’s first fuck is in a brothel on a half-day’s leave from the trenches, the name Archie Reid written on his dog tags. He learns a lot in that handful of hours, from the working girls and his fellow soldiers. Has an epiphany that his long pianist’s fingers can be put to so many more uses.

Conrad lost any taste for violence he had around the same time he lost a chunk of his skull, smaller than a nail’s head, to friendly fire. But his body, the one that trained for hours to be a weapon, still has it’s uses. After the war, after his recovery, Conrad comes to discover that his single-minded determination and moral flexibility when it comes to higher goals makes him particularly well suited to seduction. Very few people look at this soft spoken boy with his wide eyes and rosebud pout and suspect him of anything nefarious. And when they’re under him, faces twisted up in pleasure hips meeting his with a punishing rhythm, well they’re not really thinking much about Conrad’s motives at all. He learns quickly on the job, how his gentlemanly manners can disarm even the most hesitant mark but the sight of a loosened collar and the languid bob of an Adam’s apple can stop them thinking entirely. Hard fast fucks in closets and palatial guest rooms yielding codes to safes and ministerial schedules. Clever questing fingers distract from documents stolen from the desk underneath his partner for the evening. He wins under whatever rules the universe uses to measure these encounters though his partner doesn’t know it yet, but it’s in that most delicate moment of victory that he’s most in danger.

But when he’s safe, doesn’t have to worry about the near blindness in his left eye being used as a weakness against him, Conrad lets himself fall into the intimacy of the aftermath. Rests his head on the sternum of his partner just to hear their heart’s muffled beats. Let’s his breathing slow to match the rise and fall of the body below. No many-layered suits acting as armour to separate him from the closeness of skin on skin dotted with perspiration. He likes pressing soft closed-mouth kisses to the tender skin of a stomach, it sends a thrill through him, this chance he takes at his most bare. Ending him would be so easy like this, here in this moment, if his paper thin ruses are discovered. Idly he’ll wonder if they’d wrap his body in the same sheet he’s currently half-wearing. But that’s not the game he plays with this particular lover. If he’s feeling particularly vulnerable, he’ll even let them play with the curling hair at the nape of his neck. Feels those fingers capable of the violence he avoids stroke those scraps of unguarded skin. He can fantasize it’s done out of true tenderness. Can imagine love from the arms holding him close in the moment.

[dribs-and-drabbles]

This is a little something (she says and then writes nearly a thousand words) about Kawi and intimacy and his behaviour towards Pisaeng's affections in Be My Favourite ep 9. I've been thinking about it all week but wasn't sure if I wanted to use my precious free-time to make a post. However, on the cusp of the new ep, I realise I do want to get these thoughts out.

I realised from reading other people's perspectives of the ep that my initial assessment of how Kawi was behaving was perhaps clouded by the 'old lenses' that I was subconsciously watching the show through. For context, I wasn't sure that I liked that Kawi kept pushing Pisaeng away and I even mentioned the dreaded Blushing Maiden trope. After some thought, I realise that my initial judgement was very much influenced by a couple of things carried over from ye olden bl times (which may not have been done away with completely but seem to be on their way out in present times).

First, from having seen so many bl/qls with the blushing maiden trope, subconsciously I guess I still expect to see it because it had been so prevalent. And second, despite the re-wiring my brain has undergone when it comes to Krist, I think I still fell back on the earlier presumptions that Krist was either averse to skinship (particularly with men) and/or wasn't a good enough actor to convey physical intimacy (this, of course, mostly stems from his portrayal of Arthit in SOTUS, which for all we know was how he was specifically directed to act - and which many have interpreted as demi- or asexual, which absolutely has a place at the table).

My conclusions to these realisations is that I need to learn to trust these newer bl/qls that they really aren't going to rehash the old questionable tropes of yesteryear.

I remember some discourse before the last three eps of My School President - when we were worried about the ending - about how Bad Buddy taught us that we can feel safe watching it - "safe in the knowledge that tropes were being subverted, that the usual angsty triggers actually got resolved pretty quickly, that the ep 11 curse wasn't actually a curse at all". And we needed to take that knowledge to help assuage our fears about the ending of MSP. And I think I'm in a similar situation here with Be My Favourite and Kawi in particular.

Staying with Bad Buddy for a bit longer (because, really, when can I ever not talk about it in relation to something else?), I remember feeling a similar disappointment with how Pran was being portrayed in ep 9. I felt he too bordered on the blushing maiden with how he shied away from Pat's advances in his room before Korn came in, before the rugby game, and even when washing up after the hotpot date. I don't see that now because, of course, we know Pran isn't a blushing maiden at all - I mean he's not known as Feral Musky Scented HOE Pran for nothing.

Yes, it took time for Pran to get used to Pat's affections but that was probably because he had pined over this man for so long it was all a bit overwhelming at first. Pran probably needed to ease into letting down his walls, to be vulnerable around Pat, and to believe it was all real. And in the end, when he had gotten used to it all, Pran holds back because he likes to make Pat work for it...because Pat also likes to work for it, because they get off on role-playing - as I've said before, it's like foreplay to them.

I'm not saying this is the same for Kawi but it's a similar situation. I knew this about Pran, and that I was wrong in my interpretation of him, and yet I didn't think to approach Kawi and Pisaeng with the same lens. The lens that so many of you have helpfully pointed out - Kawi is a 30-year-old virgin. This is all so new to him, not only to be intimate with someone but also with a man whom he hadn't even contemplated being with. He's spent 12 years only thinking of Pear (emphasis on 'only thinking' as well as 'only thinking').

@burntsuncomet said it well in their tags: "touch gets very very difficult if you don't interact with people much, so intimacy of normal affectionate touches are tough. Kawi would have to start slow and let Piseang just smack a kiss, maybe hold hands, hug a bit, it's a lot of work before intimacy from touch will be like second nature in Kawi's case." @rocketturtle4 also added that Kawi's "general uncertainty could be very well tied in with his loneliness and, especially, his fear of losing Piseang if he does the wrong thing".

@waitmyturtles offered a slightly different perspective, that almost "everything in this show is totally intentional, and...that [Kawi's] discomfort is totally meant to reflect those accusations from Krist’s past about his clear discomfort in acting out intimacy (especially juxtaposed with how much better he’s done with the intimacy in this show)".

So, all of this is to say that I need to start trusting this new wave of bl/qls - a message I obviously forgot from My School President and which has been proven by several other series this year.

And I need to trust Be My Favourite especially, because, as @williamrikers said, "they've swerved and avoided every other trope so far I believe that they're working towards something here". And I agree. Every episode has been fantastic and I haven't disliked a single thing about the show so far.

On top of that, I need to trust my newfound belief in Krist's acting, because he has pulled out some absolutely brilliant performances in this show so far - so why should I think ep 9 is any different?

[teteminne]

I’d love to hear something about A Game of Love for the WIP game

Hii, thank you so much for the ask and for tagging me in the game as well!!

So, A Game of Love is an AU I talked extensively with @palominojacoby about a long (long) time ago, but that (unfortunately) didn't make it out of my drafts yet. It is a modern jonsa AU of the movie What Happens in Vegas, that rom-com with Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher. Here's a snippet!

Four days later, Sansa wakes up with a blinding, awful headache, and a taste so foul to her tongue it nearly makes her sick.

“By the gods…” she moans, sitting up on the too-soft bed of her hotel room. Anya had let her keep the room she’d gotten for herself and Harry in a rare gesture of goodwill - or apology, perhaps - . It was clearly a room meant for a couple, with lots of flowers and a myriad of heart motifs, but what had crushed Sansa’s heart had actually been the bed, draped in silk-satin sheets and enormous, truly far too big for one person alone…

Sansa lets out the highest high pitched scream of her life, flinging herself off the bed and onto the floor in a painful flash. The man laying by her side screams too, though much more gravely. A shout, really, filled with the awful surprise of being woken up by a particularly shrill siren. His wide eyes find her once he sharply turns her way after shooting straight up into a sitting position on the bed, and then widen further - a thing she wouldn’t have thought possible, really -. 

“Others take me!” the man curses, voice so rough it is more of a growl, really. Sansa covers her face with her hands, knees brought up to her chest, wanting to cry. She can’t believe she’s done this. She’s always known hookups aren’t for her - there’s nothing wrong with them, not at all, it's just that she has a particular way of seeing sex, always has, really, and to her, it is like… an spiritual experience. Like a momentary simbiosis. The thought of merging herself like that with someone she doesn't know, doesn’t love… she’s never wanted that and she can feel her heart sinking in her chest at having done it. “Are you… are you crying?” the man sounds horrified. Sansa lowers her hands, looking up into his face. Well… her cheeks redden. At least she’d done well for herself. 

“No.” she denies, swallowing her tears and smiling wetly up at him. It’s not his fault Sansa has drunkenly done this. By the way he is flinching at the daylight shining through the window, he must be nursing as bad a hangover as Sansa is. It would be cruel to make him feel bad about this. “It was just the light.” she lies. 

He looks a bit suspicious, but thankfully doesn’t question her further. Sansa thinks it might be because he wants to believe her - he’d looked thoroughly stricken at the possibility of having participated in something that’d make her weep -. That sweetens him in her heart, and her features soften further. The way the muscles of his shoulders lose their tension in response assures her she’d been right.

His clothed shoulders. Sansa blushes; it was a very fancy dress-shirt that he was wearing. As fancy as the dress she had on. Had they truly been in such a hurry they’d not even fully undressed? She’s still wearing panties! Had he just pushed them to the side to…

She immediately interrupts that train of thought, mortified. 

Slightly awkward in a sort of endearing way, the man offers her a hand to get up off the floor. Sansa coyly takes it, smiling a bit, trying not to think about how she must have makeup smeared all over her face. 

But then, once she’s standing, her hand in his, she feels the hard coldness of skin meeting metal, looks down, and at once drops his hand, shouting in rage:

“You’re married!” she bellows, indignant. 

She doesn’t even wait to see the confusion in the stranger’s eyes take place on his face, looking all around for her heels, her purse - and the condom. By the Gods, let them have used a condom -, fully enraged, when she is suddenly surprised by the stranger’s own bellow:

“You’re married!” he accuses, pointing indignantly at her. 

Sansa swirls to look at him, unbound and dirty hair flying all around, head pounding - truly pounding. This might be the worst hangover of her life - and follows the line of his finger to where it points: her own left hand, where a shiny, tiny band of silver - or is it white gold? Oh my, it is white gold - elegantly circles her ring finger. An unknown band of white gold; she’d left Harry’s ring to him back at the apartment. Besides, that one had been gold, with a big diamond on top. Her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.

“No, no, I’m not….” she mumbles, baffled, mouth dry.

She looks up, wordless, only to find the man holding something, pale all over.

“What?” she asks; “What is it?”  

Quietly, he turns what he’d been holding around: a picture. It’s a picture. Of him, and her. Kissing in front of a man in a sparkly suit. She has a plastic bouquet and is wrapped in what she knows, in her gut, to be his jacket. He has what she can only assume was her veil haphazardly wrapped around his shoulders. He’s somewhat dipping her, and she is clumsily holding onto his shoulders for dear life. 

It’s a picture. A picture of them getting married.

[deathbyoctopi]

The year is finished, so it is time to look back and go through the best AO3 treasures I found these last 12 months!! And since XueXiao has been the bane of my existence ever since i discovered it, I decided to make a top 10 list of them! 

So these are (in no particular order) my favourite (song)xuexiao fics:

- the backyard is full of bones by @veliseraptor  A thoroughly enjoyable what-if with Xiao Xingchen being a bit smarter about the wounded man he found. Extremely well paced and written, it eases into the enemies-to-lovers dynamic perfectly, and it depicts characters so believable and well-rounded that it practically feels like canon. 

- I promised you a garden by @lady-of-the-lotus  A short snippet into an alternate timeline where Song Lan’s consciousness is trapped in a paperman and forced to bear witness to the yizhuang’s (very sexy) domestic life. Cute and frustrating and very, very satisfying. (One of those where Song Lan’s not having a good time, which might be one of my favourite tags). 

- Now that I see you by @10holmes​  Don’t usually go with unfinished projects, but this one is an absolute treasure which’d need to work very hard to go awry, so of course I’ll have it here. We have a double canon divergence with Not Blind!Xiao Xingchen, and Amnesiac!Xue Yang!! Which make for a delightfully angsty relationship as they both tiptoe around each other, all while battling with internal turmoil, conflicting morals and a misplaced low sense of worth. A fic absolutely worth keeping track of. 

- The prisoner of Jinlintai by @fieri-sentio-et-excrucior  A rather recent project that had us in tethers for a month and a half (!) with the very sexy prompt of Xiao Xingchen being framed and arrested by the Jin, while a certain guest disciple with a sweet tooth was still around... Another enemies-to-lovers with a wonderfully natural evolution in their relationship, with the extra treat of a rich and entertaining world building that could easily sprout a few spin-offs. 

- Nothing but a way of shading blood by @veilchenjaeger​  This one is very recent, but it shoot up to my top 10 immediately, both for the marvelous writing style and the perfect way they executed the prompt. It provides just the right amount of anguish in Xiao Xingchen, before and after certain discoveries are made, and the diplomacy game with Jin Guangyao and his minion just adds an extra flavour in an already spicy mix. 

- Heaven has a road but no one walks it by @silvysartfulness​  The second (and last) ongoing project here, but just as deserving of the spot. This book-sized treasure is a long journey of (re)discovery, of a slowly kindling relationship with wonderful twists and turns. The slow pace balances out perfectly with some intense (and, in one occasion, thriller-like) action scenes. Also, it was the fic that made me see SongXueXiao with a more favourable opinion.  

- lie back and let me unlock you by @veliseraptor  A short and extremely sexy xuexiao roll in the hay, with the amazing prompt of Xiao Xingchen being (quite shamefully) aroused at the thought of his old enemy Xue Yang, and good ol’ Chengmei offering to rolplay. The result is even more unbelievable that what you can imagine! 

- On the topic of cold by @andreri25  A cute little snippet in the early days at Yi City, where Xiao Xingchen almost dies from hypothermia and Xue Yang has to keep him warm. So what if he takes advantatge? Daozhang won’t remember, and he does need some hot friction after all! It’s wicked and cute in equal parts, because Xue Yang starts off really concerned (even if he wouldn’t admit it or know why, really) but changes gears when the danger is over...

- Final victory by @fieri-sentio-et-excrucior​  A funny concept very well executed, particularly in the emotional response both Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang give at the different turns of the plot. Daozhang discovers that his old enemy is in town, killing people, and after recovering from the surprise, Chengmei offers his help to hunt him down. Cue some well-placed deceit and a cruelly cute happy ending. 

- it hurts at first (but it ain’t that bad) by @veliseraptor  Yet another change in dynamics with Xiao Xingchen discovering his mysterious friend’s identity, if only this time because Xue Yang flat-out tells him (well, he thought he was done for anyways). What follows is a wonderful deluge of arguments, moral dilemmas and Xue Yang’s particular brand of twisted social logic that allow a deeper (and less deadly) reprise of their last canon conversation. Just lovely. 

Which one of those I like best? I don’t know. I don’t care! They are all fantastic. 

AND, since this year was also the first I started actually writing some original content, and not only devouring other artists amazing works, lemme put them here as well >w<

- Phantom Threat  The foregone conclusion of all the fix-its that have xuexiao become an item (sans hidden identities, that is), in which Song Lan arrives at Yi City and does what he should have done in canon and talks directly with Xiao Xingchen, to reveal the terrible secret... which he already knows about. 

- To carry a bit of yesterday  A small slice of life in the Three Year Bliss, where Xiao Xingchen wants a family portrait and despite being quite contrary to the idea, both a-Qing and Xue Yang end up complying. It has amazing art by @wrathyforest​, too!! ^-^

AND FINALLY, just a few non-xuexiao fics I also loved to the moon and back, but have little-to-no connection other than belonging to the mxtx universe. 

- You’re stuck with me by LikeAFlamingKiss_Consume  A delightful jadecest with dark!Lan Xichen (well, dark!Everyone and their mother, it’s a fucked up AU) and a reluctantly horny Lan Zhan. 

- Blood array by @giraffeter​  Though it could technically be a xuexiao fic, the actual fucking here is between Demonic Gremlin Team Extraordinaire! Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian, sooo... doesn’t count. The fic is entertaining, very sexy and their interaction is marvelous to follow! 

- Despite warning signs by @extrapenguin​  A surprisingly cute and light-hearted Xue Yang/Mo Xuanyu little treat, from their days as Jin disciples. A happier alternative reality for both of them, with fluff and smut in equal parts, which never fails to make me smile. 

- Qi Rong’s day off by @ahintofblue​  Too bad the only tgcf fic to make the cut is a very, very nsfw alternate outcome of the mausoleum scene from book 2, but what can I do? The writing’s so smooth and engaging, it’s rough and cruel and I loved every single minute of it. 

I have the gnawing feeling I’m still forgetting something, either here or in the xuexiao part... but until I discover the way to check which fics I left kudos in, I either go through an ocean of titles from my ao3 history page (that won’t even let me filter!!!) or I just wait for my two braincells to click one day. Oh, well!

Thanks for reading, and to all writers, THANKS FOR WRITING!!! I love you all. Have a happy new year!