#prompt 16 third-rate

[starrysnowdrop]

FFXIVWrite 2024 #16: Third-rate

Adjective: not of high quality; mediocre or inferior.

Sometime after the events of 6.0; Hali oftentimes stares at Aymeric and still can’t believe that he loves her.

As she was laying in her lover’s strong, muscular arms that held onto her most gently and lovingly, Hali stared at Aymeric’s sleeping countenance.

Even as he slept, he was as graceful and elegant as ever, with his raven locks disheveled and his lips parted ever so slightly. Hali still had never seen a man more beautiful in all her life.

The lalafellin woman reached over and ran the tips of her fingers across his cheek, making sure not to disturb his slumber. A beaming smile graced her face as she wondered what she did to deserve a man like Aymeric.

Sure, she was a Warrior of Light, a Scion, Hydaelyn’s Chosen, the savior of the bloody star itself, and yet… she still felt third-rate. Aymeric still seemed so far out of her league that Hali could only thank the Gods and count her blessings every single day that he somehow loved her regardless of her inferiority.

Hali sighed as she closed her eyes and cuddled up to Aymeric, laying her head on his chest. In that moment, she felt like the luckiest and absolute happiest woman alive.

[katalinhunter]

Third-rate

There was a house in the depths of the Shroud, a storied house. Officially it was home to a theatre company, one that put on free shows once a month, but was a thin veneer. There were reports of happenings in around the place, of special arrangements made with the Grand Companies, of more explosions in around the place than you would expect.

"No, everything's just fine, they're just preparing for the next show and one of the effects got away from them. That's why they practice in the yard. Thank you for being concerned, come by and see the show, feel free to keep on going down the road. No adventures here. Shoo."

Tawny wasn't exactly sure what had happened but it was fine, no screams or anything, just a scream after that had sounded more excited than anything else.

The couple lingered on the far side of the entrance into the yard for a moment longer, discussing amongst each other, then decided to shrug it off and continue onto their picnic. Although, maybe someplace that was a bit further from here and closer to their village.

Tawny had already turned and walked away, thinking.

The leader of the 'theatre' and his assistant had invited Tawny over to some house, more specifically to its downstairs lab. They had some tech down there, closer to what Fifth Crown had but still third-rate, which scanned Tawny, gave numbers and readouts, may have caused Tawny to pass out for a bit. The two of them were kind of cagey about the last but it was late and boring and Tawny didn't want to get into it.

Back to the the theatre, rest and recovery, decide what to actually do next. There was… what was there? They missed some people at home but several more that it was good to be away from.

Could this knock-off shard be a home? Tawny smirked at the thought as they headed back in. Even if it wasn't dreadful it wasn't going to survive anyway. The Henshin had already targeted this place and it would be absorbed just like all the others.

They were intent on fighting though. Not that it stopped them all from gathering, practicing fucking musical numbers between what passed for missions or whatever. A manic bunch burning with energy. Let them fight and fight and flounder, maybe have another small victory before being crushed in the end.

Light streamed through the windows upstairs and shone on the stage there. Tawny had wandered up and was looking at it with almost annoyance. Just isn't right, need to get back, need to… not worry about it. There was a balance right now but that wouldn't last; there would be opportunities.

Later though. Footsteps receded, heading back downstairs and towards the bar there.

[chocoblep]

#16: Tempering Expectations

Prompt: Third-rate

Lydjana had been toiling over these new sleeping capsules for days, and she couldn’t understand why they weren’t working. The ballistics force that was being applied to them was the same as it had been before, as she’d been using her hand cannon both then and now to test. They weren’t as aerodynamic, which was to be expected considering they were half-filled with liquid, but the worst part was that half of them were breaking open when they came out of the barrel. That was a far cry from breaking on impact, which was the intended result.

At first, she thought the compound might have been too heavy, so she launched a dummy capsule with a lesser amount of water in it. This, too, broke when she shot it, so she recalibrated the hand cannon for a lighter shot and tried again. When she still met with no success and a very wet mud puddle, she decided to use the last of her previous batch of mix to make a few more capsules. There wasn’t enough for more than a couple, so she only molded two, and went to grab something to eat as she waited for them to set.

When she came back, she tried the same experiment, and the capsule soared through the air and hit her target with a loud thunk, breaking open and splashing it with the water she’d filled it with. Initially, excitement filled her and she whooped–she was getting somewhere! It was short-lived, though, because almost as soon as she’d cheered her success she realized why she’d been struggling so much. So she gathered up three capsules–the last old one, and two of the new ones she’d made–and tucked them gently into her satchel, leaving her testing grounds behind.

The Sapphire Avenue Exchange was packed this time of day, and as Lydi approached the alchemist’s market stall she usually brought her mix from, she was so tired, hot, and frustrated that she barely had a filter left. She dropped all three capsules onto the counter and then slammed her palms on either side of them, causing the Lalafell behind it to jump in surprise and the capsules to hop an ilm in the air before settling again on the wooden surface.

“Ah, Lydjana! Wh-what can I do for you?”

“Do you want to explain to me why, Hihimori, when using the exact same process, add-ins, equipment, environment, and gun  to make and fire these capsules, two of these will break apart on the shot and only one will break apart when it hits its target?” she asked, leaning forward. To crowd over the counter. A nearby merchant glanced at them, but quickly looked away.

“Probably a molding issue,” the lalafell replied, though he sounded less sure of that than he likely intended. “That kind of stuff is finicky–”

“How many batches of this mix have I bought from you?” she asked, cutting him off.

“A-A dozen, at least!” he replied.

“And I pay you well?”

“You do, lass!” he replied.

“And you’ve been putting filler in it recently?” She asked quickly, in the same tone as her last question.

“Yes–I mean, no! Shite…”  The man brought a small hand to drag down his face, sighing. “Yes, but it’s not what you think. The powder I put in this batch I had to substitute because my regular shipment never arrived, and it’s just as strong as the other–”

“No!” Lydjana slammed one hand against the counter, silencing him, and then picked up two of the capsules. She opened them both, showing him their construction. “Exact same shape, exact same thickness,” she growled, and then pulled a heavy book from her satchel and settled it on top of both of them. They held it perfectly straight, without bending. “Looks great, right? They’re both pretty strong. But watch this shit. Give it thirty seconds.”

Pulling the book away, she opened both capsules again and then pulled out her water skin, pouring a small amount of liquid into each one. Then she closed them and settled the book on them again. After about ten seconds, the new mixture’s capsule began to lose its integrity, the book listing atop it. After twenty, the book had moved enough that the other capsule came loose and rolled the length of the counter until Lydi stopped it with her hand, and as the book settled again, the capsule broke entirely beneath it, water splattering the counter and dripping down between the wood planks.

“Bugger me!” the alchemist said, quickly moving to pull whatever was under the counter from the dripping.

“I told you when I first ordered this that there would be liquid in these capsules. Did you think to test the mixture’s viability with liquid in them? It looks like your new powder is dissolving into it, and not only does that destroy the integrity of the capsule, but also ruins the potency of whatever’s inside it! You are either going to replace this batch with a legitimate one, or return my payment and I will do business elsewhere.”

The Lalafell raised his chin, fixing her with a glare. “I’ll replace half of the batch, if you bring back the faulty mixture,” he countered.

Lydi leaned forward just a touch more, her green eyes full of fire. “The entire batch, and here is the rest of your faulty mixture.” She shoved the only capsule remaining on the counter at him.

“Already used! I have no use for this!”

“Yes, well neither do I!” Lydi snapped, and then her voice rose. “And if I hadn’t been testing with this, I could have been killed because of it! Do you want that on your hands? Killing your customers because you didn’t test your damned substitute!?”

The lalafellan man widened his eyes, and at that moment a  hyuran man approached the counter with his hand resting on the pommel of the short sword at his hip and bearing the insignia of the Brass Blades on his coat, and Lydi straightened when she saw him.

“What’s the ruckus? You’re attractin’ attention.”

“This man sold me a mixture meant to form capsules for projectile-based delivery of substances, and substituted with inferior, ineffective ingredients without informing me of that change. He also charged me the same price he would have if he’d used the actual mixture we agreed upon. I was very specific with my request. You don’t mess around like this when it comes to guns and safety!”

The merchant looked between Lydi and the Brass Blade, and then sighed. “Here,” he said, moving to one of his ledgers and drawing a finger down the list. Then he counted out the exact amount that she’d paid him, and handed it over. 

“For the trouble. And I’ll replace the full batch, but I’m still waiting on the main ingredient. Apparently the original caravan they sent got attacked by a pack of jackals and lost it, but some mercenary took out the pack leader and they dispersed. Heard it was a bunch of shenanigans involved with that. They’re sending a replacement, but it won’t be here for a few more days.” He hesitated when she shook her head, his hand dropping with the gold still in his fingers. “Well then, do you want the recipe so you can take it somewhere else?”

“No! No,” Lydi said, taking a deep breath. “I paid for it, so keep the money if you’re replacing it. It’s the product I want. And trust me when I say you’re the only one I’ve found so far who’s managed to get it right and is able to produce it regularly, so I’d like to continue buying it from you. But hear me when I say this: When I order this in the future, no substitutes unless you discuss it with me first. I will find out eventually, and I don’t want to find out by getting injured or worse.”

“Yeah. You’ve always been level-headed, you just… surprised me roaring up like a Behemoth and I got defensive.”

The hyur looked between the two of them and raised his brows. “Everything’s good, then? No need to intervene?”

“No, sir,” both of them said in unison, and then Lydi leaned against the counter again, this time a touch more relaxed. The man nodded and returned to his post.

“Look, Mori, I like you, but I thought you were trying to pull a fast one on me, and when it comes to my guns, I can’t afford to mess around like that.” She gave him an apologetic look. “So I’m sorry I started in on you like that jackal that delayed your shipment, I just spent the whole day trying to figure out why these things were breaking left and right and I was really angry.”

The man took another deep breath and then let out a little laugh. “I like you too, Lydi, you’re a generous gal, and you’re right, I should have told you. Time’s money, and truth be told, I was busy and forgot about the liquids thing. My solemn promise that I’ll talk to you about it in the future.” 

“Well, you know what they say, mother is the necessity of invention. Maybe we can put our heads together when this happens and come up with something even better, yeah?”

“Aye.” He paused, and then looked up to her. “What were you gonna put in those capsules, anyway?”

“A sleeping draught that vaporizes when it comes into contact with outside air, and acts quickly on inhale.”

“Shite, you weren’t lying when you said that could be dangerous!” he exclaimed, just as another customer walked up to the counter. 

“Yeah. Someone shoots it, it explodes in their face, they fall asleep. Whatever they’re shooting at would either run off or shoot back.” Lydi collected the book and wiped it off, sticking it back in her satchel along with her last good capsule.

“Let me keep this faulty capsule. Maybe we can find a use for this mixture, eh? I’ve got a couple ideas. I’ll let you know when the original stuff comes back in and we can get you a good batch. And remind me not to make you mad!” He turned to acknowledge his new customer. “Hey, May! I’ve got your potions here, give me just a second to grab ‘em!” Then he looked to Lydi once more as he began fishing through the crate he’d pulled out from beneath the counter. “Do you need anything else before you go? I’ve got a few energy additives I’ve been working on if you want a sample or two on the house for the trouble.”

“Energy additives?” Lydi asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

“Aye! Add it to your water skin and it’ll keep ya goin’ like coffee. It’s derived from a nopalitender blossom extract from Tural, and I’ve been working on flavoring it. It’s been working pretty good! I’ve managed to almost replicate La Noscean Orange, and the grape one’s pretty much settled.” He spoke fast as he packaged up the potions, and then made the exchange with his customer and put the gold in his till.

“Oh… Sure! I’ll try it!”

As he bagged up a couple little powder packets and handed them over, he gave instructions on how much to use for a full skin of water, and Lydi had to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, finally.

“Well here I am, trying to put monsters to sleep, and you’re trying to wake me up!”

[slut4thebroken]

Daddy’s Little Girl

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Stepdad!Raymond Leon x reader

Summary | Your stepdad catches you doing something you shouldn’t be.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, very large age gap, technically incest, innocence kink, protective (controlling) Ray, grinding, pillow humping hehe, praise, degradation, spanking, punishment?, humiliation, virginity checks, daddy but not the kink?, he kind of hates everyone except you tbh.

Words | 3.7 k

Notes | Idk I feel like the end maybe got a lil ooc but I feel like it’s not enough to be out of place in the fic.

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Tonight was movie night, your favorite night of the week. For the longest time, your step dad refused to do this. You’d beg and beg, and he’d stare at you with that hard, unrelenting gaze until you gave up. That was while you still called him Mr. Leon. That was before your mom skipped town, leaving you with him. You were 16 when that happened and Raymond seriously considered sending you off to some orphanage. It was only two more years anyway. 

But over time, the idea started to make his stomach churn and his jaw clench in anger. That was when he started treating you like his stepdaughter, rather than some child he was stuck with. That was when you started calling him daddy. 

The first time, it surprised him. Girls your age have long since grown out of calling their fathers ‘daddy’ and started calling their boyfriends that instead. But he could tell you were being genuine and not just making a move on him or trying to rile him up. It took a while, but eventually he got used to it. He even started calling you a few pet names as well. That was the first sign that he’d gone completely soft toward you. 

The second was when he actually agreed to have a movie night with you… As soon as he reluctantly said yes, you practically squealed as you ran to the couch, telling him to make popcorn while you got everything ready. 

You didn’t try to get closer to him that time. But the next time, you sat in the middle of the couch rather than on the side, still not touching him yet. The third time was when you tried to lean your head on his shoulder. He jerked away from you, mostly out of pure instinct, but when he saw your pouting face, he sighed heavily and let you do it anyway as he sat there, his body completely stiff. 

It only progressed from there, until he finally started getting used to holding you while you snuggled into his chest. He almost… liked doing it— not that he would ever admit that though. When you were in his arms, he felt like he was protecting you, keeping you safe. From what? He didn’t know. Maybe it was just paternal instinct. 

As you got older though, he got more protective. He started setting rules, most of which you were fine with. It was the little ones like bedtime by eleven on school nights or homework before fun that you didn’t like. But you followed them anyway. 

The first time you brought a boy home… he almost committed a felony, to put it simply. He never came back though— thankfully— but you yelled at him for scaring him away when you were just trying to work on an assignment together. That eased his nerves, but he still didn’t regret what he did. However, that prompted him to have a talk with you. Not the talk, you weren’t ready for that yet, he decided. 

He sat you down and told you about boys your age and their intentions and what they’d do to you if given the chance. He was trying to scare you, and it worked. He slept easy knowing that your nights were spent watching movies with him, rather than partying or having sex. 

You put on pajamas and fuzzy socks and he wore sweatpants and a shirt. While you settled on the couch and browsed for a movie, he was busy making some popcorn for you both. 

“What about this one?” You asked as he walked in and sat down next to you. 

“What’s it rated?” He seemed wary. 

“R… But I’ve seen R rated movies before!” He glanced at the screen, then turned back to you with a sigh. 

“Fine. Just this once, you know I don’t like you watching really graphic content.” You bit back a grin and pressed play. He held the popcorn in his lap and you rested your head on his shoulder, both of your lower halves covered by the blanket. 

It started out fine. There was a lot of cursing and some violence, but it wasn’t too bad. What was bad was the super graphic and super long sex scene. You shifted awkwardly and looked at your lap. Should you just watch and pretend like this isn’t weird? That’s what he’s doing…

When you folded your legs up and rested them on his thigh, he placed a warm hand just above your knee. You cleared your throat and buried your face in his chest a little. 

“It’s just a sex scene.” He chuckled quietly. 

“I- I know… I’m just not used to watching it s’all.” He hummed in response and started brushing his thumb back and forth on your thigh, making your shiver. 

“We can watch something else.”

“No! I- I’m not a child. I can watch a… a— sex scene.” You said the last two words quietly and your cheeks heated up in embarrassment. 

“I know you can, princess. I’m saying you don’t have to.” You could tell he was amused, but you were getting more and more flustered. 

“Well, I- I want to.” You decided. He was fine with that. Even though he didn’t really want you watching this kind of stuff, he liked watching you blush and squirm. 

The sex scene was over and you relaxed into him, focusing on the movie again. The rest of it was more violence and cursing, then it was over. When you yawned and snuggled into his chest, he brought an awkward hand up to your shoulder, trying to pull you away. 

“Bed time.” You let out a low whine, but stood up anyway. “Go get ready for bed.” 

“Mhm.” You mumbled sleepily. You brushed your teeth and finished your nightly routine, but as soon as you laid down, you noticed the warm feeling in your belly and the ache between your legs. You’ve felt this once or twice, but you’ve never acted on it before. You laid there, desperately trying to ignore it and just fall asleep, but it wouldn’t go away and you kept thinking about his hand on your thigh and the way he smells and how safe you feel in his arms. Letting out a quiet whine, you pressed your thighs together and squirmed a bit, trying to ease the ache. It only got worse though. 

You turned on your side and squeezed your thighs together harder as your hips started moving back and forth, chasing pleasure that wasn’t there. You heard running water as he washed the dishes, so with the knowledge that he was too busy to catch you doing something inappropriate, you got up on your knees and placed a pillow between your legs. 

The movement of your hips was awkward at first, but you quickly picked up a comfortable pace and continued that for a while. You felt so dirty and perverted doing this, but you couldn’t stop. Especially not when you imagined doing this on his thigh instead. Would he grab your hips to help you? Or maybe he’d lay back and watch you hump his leg like a dog. 

You whimpered and closed your eyes as your head fell forward. Maybe he’d let you grind on something else… something much more R rated. The thought had you moaning quietly before you could stop yourself so you bit your lip to keep any more sounds in. You’ve only started having these thoughts about him recently and they confused you, but made you feel good, so you didn’t try to shut them down. 

Your belly felt like it was tightening and filling with heat, and you started panting as you bucked your hips faster. You weren’t exactly sure what you were feeling. All you knew was that the thought of stopping made you want to cry in desperation. 

“Are you all ready—” The door suddenly opened and you practically jumped away from the pillow as you stared at him with wide eyes. The feeling in your tummy was slowly leaving and you tried not to whine out loud because of it. “What were you doing?” He asked, tone a complete 180 from only a few seconds ago. 

“N-nothing, I was… I was getting ready for bed.” He slowly shut the door and you swallowed audibly as you waited for what was next. 

“You were getting ready for bed with your pillow down there?” He asked, obviously not believing you. You bit your lip as you nodded, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes and he stalked closer. You held your breath as he neared the bed, but when he reached for the pillow, you were too slow to try and grab it first. He held it up to his face and inhaled deeply, making your cheeks heat up as you squirmed uncomfortably. 

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to watch that movie. You get these ideas in your head and soon enough your whoring yourself around for every guy in this fucking city.” 

“No! No, I- I wouldn’t…” You didn’t want to whine, but his words were embarrassing you. He set the pillow down then sat next to it with a heavy sigh. You watched him pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes. 

“I guess this is my fault… I should’ve talked with you a long time ago, I was just scared.” Your brows furrowed in confusion and you schooched closer to him. 

“Scared?”

“Of losing my little girl. But clearly I need to accept the fact that you’re a young woman now. You can’t be my little girl forever.” You’ve never heard him sound so sad. 

“Yes I can.” You frowned. 

“Princess… You’re already 18. I don’t think that’s possible.” He chuckled dryly. 

“But… I- I want to be your little girl.” Your frown deepened and your eyes started to burn with tears. “Forever, daddy.” You whined. 

“I know, baby. But that’s what happens, you have to grow up, no matter how much you don’t want to.” You were getting even more confused and upset. What does this mean? Will there not be anymore movie nights? Will he not make you hot chocolate or read to you or tuck you in before bed? “And now’s the time. You’re already getting curious about big girl things.” 

“No! I- I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, daddy— I promise. I’ll do anything, just— please…” You cried, giving him puppy dog eyes as your bottom lip wobbled. 

“You want to stay my little girl?” He asked quietly, bringing a hand up to brush your hair out of your face. 

“Please.” You whined and he nodded. 

“You have two choices; you can be a big girl and I’ll teach you whatever you need to know to be safe, or… you can be my little girl, but you’ll need to be punished for your behavior.” 

“The second.” You didn’t even hesitate. 

“Okay, baby. Over my lap.” When you started moving to lay on his lap, he stopped you. “Other way.” You obeyed and laid across his thighs, pushing the pillow away so you could be comfortable. 

“No no no, princess.” He chuckled quietly. “That’s part of the punishment. You’re going to keep your face in your mess as a constant reminder of why you’re being punished right now.” With a low whine, you pulled the pillow back toward you, but kept your head above it. You could see now that there was a tiny damp spot on the fabric, only furthering your embarrassment. 

“Mmph!” Was the only noise you could get out when he placed a firm hand on the back of your head and shoved you down. You jumped when you felt his warm hand on the back of your thigh, slowly moving up. He teased the bottom of your sleep shorts before going back down on the other leg. “This is what you want? To be daddy’s little girl?” 

“Yes!” You cried, but it was muffled because of him still holding you down. 

“Fine.” He roughly pulled your shorts down to your thighs, making you whine and squirm in this hold. “At least you’re not completely gone yet…” He murmured, running a hand over your plain cotton panties. “Ready?” He didn’t let your reply before landing a hard smack on your ass, making you cry out. He did the same to the other cheek, then grabbed your underwear and pulled them up to expose more skin. 

You moaned quietly when he rubbed a soothing hand over your already sore ass. It felt huge. Sure you’ve noticed his hands once or twice, but it felt like he could grab your entire ass cheek and more with just one hand. 

He hit you again, but this time he didn’t stop until you were crying and reaching back to push him away. He released your head and twisted your arms behind your back painfully, keeping you still. With your head now free, you tried protesting verbally. 

“It hurts, daddy.” You whined. 

“Yeah? Keep your face in that pillow or I’ll use my belt and it’ll hurt a whole lot more.” He warned, making your breath catch in your throat. You didn’t want to find out if he was bluffing or not, so you lowered your head back down, trying not to get too embarrassed by the smell of your own arousal. 

He started spanking you again, lighter this time, but after doing it over and over, the light smacks started to hurt. You cried and squirmed and kicked your feet, trying to get a break. 

“I know…” He cooed, finally stopping to roughly rub and grope your ass, making you wince. “You can take it though.” You shook your head as a quiet sob left you. Your tears haven’t fallen yet, but you knew they were about to. 

“Please— Please… I'm sorry for being bad, daddy.” You whimpered, turning your head to try and see him. He just shushed you and continued playing with your ass for a while. When he got bored of that, he was spanking you again. He only did a few this time, but he hit you so hard… you could barely take it. You were crying now and your struggling picked up until one of your legs slid off his thigh. You held it up by your foot on the ground, but when you tried to raise it again, he placed a firm hand on that thigh to keep it in place. So you relaxed into the new position as he snaked his hand up. 

He cursed under his breath, then moved his hand to pull your panties up even further, making the outline of your cunt more pronounced. His thumb brushed over your slit, but it didn’t go anywhere near where it actually ached. 

“Now, why would my little girl be so wet during a punishment?” He asked innocently, as if his words had a less crude meaning. 

“I- I’m sorry, daddy… Can’t help it.” You whined, squirming again to try and get some kind of pressure on your clit. You couldn't help the moan that escaped when he pulled your panties to the side, then ran a finger through your slit. 

“Clearly you’re growing up just a little bit, but I think we can come to a fair compromise.” You waited anxiously for his proposal. “You can still be my little girl, but we’ll have some adult playtime too.” You were nodding before he even finished. “That means you can only be with daddy. Only big girls do that kind of stuff with other boys.” 

“Only you.” You promised. 

“Since I know how insatiable you're getting though, I’ll have to do checks every week, maybe more, to make sure you’re still my little girl.” 

“Checks?” You asked quietly, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Would you like me to do one now to show you?” You agreed hesitantly and he raised his leg that was under your hips to arch your back a little. When he released your arms, you immediately brought them back up to a more comfortable position. 

He placed both hands on your thighs, just below your ass, and used his thumbs to pull you open even more, exposing you. You tried not to get embarrassed or nervous, but no one’s ever seen down there before. What if he thinks it’s ugly? What if it has a weird smell? Your thoughts were interrupted by him circling your hole with one finger. 

“Ready?” He asked, but barely dipping the tip in your entrance to tease you. 

“Y-yes.” You said through a breath. He slowly pushed his finger in and you fisted the sheets as your head dropped down— you didn’t even care about your scent on the pillow anymore. His finger was so thick and long, and you mewled quietly at the feeling. He curled it against your walls and you let out a choked moan at the new feeling. “What… What are you checking for?” You whispered, unable to speak any louder. 

“Your hymen. That’s something only little girls have. Once it’s gone, that makes you a big girl.” He explained, continuing to move his finger inside you at a torturously slow pace. 

“Daddy…” You whined breathily. The only response you got was a quiet hum, telling you to finish what you were wanting to say. “Feels good..” He suddenly pulled his finger out, forcing a strangled sob out of you. “No— please! Please keep going.” You cried as he wiped his finger on your ass to clean it off. 

“Shh. While I’m here, I might as well do a full check. Lay down.” He pulled your shorts all the way off, then you moved to the center of the bed and laid down on your back as he settled between your legs. His thumbs were pulling you apart again, but this time his finger went above your hole. Your breath hitched and your eyes fluttered closed as your hips rocked, trying to get more friction. When he brushed a finger over your clit, you jolted and released a loud moan. 

“This is only for daddy to touch, do you understand? No boys, no hands, no pillows.” You nodded as you panted and bucked your hips again. 

“Only for daddy.” You mumbled almost incoherently. He continued brushing over your clit with feather light touches, but the feeling in your belly was getting more and more intense. “Please…” You whined, squirming even more. 

“Do you even know what you’re begging for, little girl?” You shook your head as your hips started moving more frantically now, like how they were when you were on the pillow. 

“Please, daddy.” You moaned, the feeling in your tummy growing tighter. He suddenly removed his finger again and you cried out loudly, all but throwing a tantrum in response. “Please! Please don’t stop..” You sobbed. “It hurts, daddy… please make it go away.” Your voice was a pathetic whimper, but you ignored the embarrassment, focusing on giving him puppy dog eyes and a pout instead. 

“No.” You let out a long bratty whine, making him bring his hand down on your clit with a loud smack. He didn’t hit too hard, but it was hard enough to make you choke on a gasp, and then silence you. He grabbed the pillow and tossed it to the ground, then sat on the edge of the bed. “Finish what you started.” 

“But,” He raised his brows, warning you to stop disobeying him and just do it. So with a pout, you moved to the floor and straddled the pillow. 

“Atta girl. Do it just like how you were when I walked in.” You blushed at the reminder, but slowly lowered yourself onto it and started moving your hips. It didn’t take long for you to get desperate enough to show your enthusiasm without shame. But you were also getting impossibly more desperate for him. 

“Daddy… please.” You whined. “Wanna touch you.” The way you whimpered and looked up at him with puppy dog eyes made him fold almost instantly. 

“Where?” 

“Wanna do this, but… on your thigh.” He sighed, but patted his leg and you scrambled up to straddle it as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“Better?” You bit back a grin as you nodded. He suddenly grabbed your hips and started moving you against his thigh, but you quickly picked back up and started rutting against him desperately. Now that you could smell him and feel his warmth, and his strong hands holding your hips, your tummy was getting impossibly tighter with arousal. All of the friction on your clit was starting to hurt a little, but you couldn’t stop. Not now. 

“Such a good girl…” He cooed, making you whine and ride his leg faster. “I’m gonna teach you all the ways little girls can please their daddies. Do you want that, baby?”

“Mhm.” You were too spaced out to respond properly. “Daddy, it— I…” You choked out, not even knowing what it was that you were actually feeling. 

“It’s okay. Keep going.” You whined at his encouragement but obeyed eagerly, wanting to feel this pleasure longer. Your sounds got louder and your hips moved even faster until you mewled quietly as your body convulsed. You were shaking and writhing from the intense pleasure and his hands started pulling your hips when you weren’t able to focus on moving them anymore. “Good girl… Ride it out.” He said quietly and you squeezed your eyes shut as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. He kept grinding your hips down on his thigh and you were sobbing out moans until it finally subsided and the achy feeling was gone. 

“How was that?” He asked, loosening his grip to an intensity that wouldn’t leave bruises. 

“What… what was…” You were panting heavily, trying to catch your breath and calm down. 

“It’s called an orgasm. Only I can give them to you, do you understand?” His voice was soft but still stern. 

“Mhm.” You nodded, now so much more tired than you were a few seconds ago. He pulled the covers back, then picked you up by your hips and placed you on the bed. You laid down, then he brought the covers up and handed you your stuffed animal before tucking you in. “My little girl.” He whispered, pushing your hair out of your face. You blushed and smiled sleepily. “Only mine.” 

“Only yours..” You mumbled incoherently and he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, filling your stomach with butterflies. 

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @faebirdie @idkdudsworld @nashja @rentaldarling @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @ceruleanrainblues @mrkdvidal1989 @brooklynscherry-z @ohmysatansstuff @aviamulier @d1lf-loverthinqs @butlersluvbot @miyababby @n1ghtw1ngslver @mandowhatnow @baekhyunstruly @nashja @xxorazz @halleysc6met @crunchsworld @cillianscrybaby @babaohhhriley @deceitfuldevout @gentyleman @lorelais-world @shroombloom-rry @pinguwrites @thatonesinglefriend @bernelflo @milktert @crunchsworld

[alwaysbethewest]

TLOU fic: See Me After

Merry Christmas @auteurdelabre! I'm your Secret Santa for this year's @pedrostories exchange and I have a little gift for you 🥰 Most of my writing is light and fluffy so it was a fun challenge to get a prompt like forbidden relationships and figure out how to spin it, haha. I had already been thinking about sex pollen and then you told me you love that trope, so here we are. I hope you enjoy this, and that you have a very happy holiday!

Title: See Me After Pairing: Joel/f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word count: 2.4k Content/warnings: Pre-series, reader is Sarah's teacher and around Joel's age. Sex pollen, masturbation, sex, breaking of school district policy on multiple levels lol. Unbetaed but thanks as always to @fleetwoodmactshirt and @mourningbirds1 for their invaluable advice and cheerleading.

Mrs. Taylor, the third grade math teacher, had told you about the fraternization policy your first week at the school—and the incident back in ’97 that necessitated it in the first place.

“I’ll tell you what,” she’d said conspiratorially, “I’m not so sure it would’ve made it into the handbook if the dad Miss Kayla was stepping out with didn’t happen to be married to the PTA president’s sister.”

But he had been, and it’s there now in black and white on page 16 of the packet you’d received from HR: District Policy 3A(1) On fraternization with students’ family members. In short, dating parents is not allowed.

Amid lesson plans and curriculum revision, dating is the last thing on your mind anyway and you don’t think much about it beyond the opportunity for break room gossip. You’re too busy learning the ropes at a new school, and when the weekends come you’re focused on getting your laundry done and seeing your friends. Romance falls by the wayside and you barely miss it.

Then the fall term starts, and Sarah Miller joins your class.

Mr. Miller is one of the most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s all broad shoulders and deep brown eyes, thick hair falling in soft curls over his forehead and a comfortable Texan accent from his mouth. He repeats your name as you shake hands and between his deep voice and the large, calloused hand firmly gripping yours, you feel your knees start to buckle and you know you’re fucked.

A little fantasy never hurt anybody. There’s no District Policy 3A(2) On fantasizing about that one hot dad. This is what you tell yourself at the end of Curriculum Night, after you’ve gone home and showered and climbed into bed, ready to decompress from meeting every new student and their parents in one whirlwind evening.

What were those hands so big for if not to imagine how they’d cup your hips, how firmly they’d grip your thighs and part them to discover you? Why have a voice that deep, that little bit rough around the edges, if not to hear it moan in your ear and tell you, come on, baby, just like that?

You don’t mean for it to turn into a fixation. It’s just an easy, unattainable fantasy. Cooking him dinner and him thanking you by fucking you on the kitchen table, coaxing a new orgasm from you until you’re so wrung out he needs to help you to bed. Him picking you up in his truck and driving you somewhere quiet, like two teenagers sneaking off, straddling him in the cramped space to ride his hand, and the beard burn you get on your neck doesn’t even sting. It’s a dopamine boost.

Sarah’s dad is kind of a dick.

You catch him outside on a Friday, waiting to pick up his daughter after school. He’s leaning against the door of his truck, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses hiding his eyes. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on his biceps and how his t-shirt sleeves strain to contain them.

“Mr. Miller.”

He starts when you greet him and you wonder if he’d been dozing behind the shades, despite the cacophony of schoolchildren spilling out onto the sidewalk around you. But he gives you a polite nod in return.

“I just wanted to remind you of the parent volunteer opportunities for this year,” you say, holding out a printed flyer.

He accepts the paper, glances down at it, and grimaces like you’ve asked him to sign up for a root canal.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t crumple the paper but he drops it through the open window of his truck onto the passenger seat, where you imagine it getting lost amid the standard car detritus of fast food napkins and gas station receipts.

You wait a beat, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“Okay, well. Have a good weekend,” you tell him. He nods again, silently, and you think his eyes have probably already shut again as you turn to go. But then you hear a quiet, “you too,” like an afterthought, and for some reason—insanity, perhaps—you feel a blush rising to your cheeks as you walk away.

That night, he turns a little mean. Selfish. He puts you on your knees at his feet, offers you his dick to suck, teases his foot between your legs so you can grind against his shoe for relief. You press hard against your clit and focus on his cock, imagining how he’d fill your mouth, salt-skin-heat on your tongue, and it’s mortifying how quickly it makes you come, alone and muffled against your pillow.

There’s a rumor going around school that the fifth grade chemistry teacher, Mrs. Fontaine, is a witch. If it’s true, she must be one of the good ones, because she’s only ever been nice to you.

It’s a Tuesday and you come across her in the break room, perusing a newspaper and drinking coffee out of a mug decorated with a black cat. She’s never seemed too concerned with dispelling the rumors.

“Ah, here,” she says, nodding hello as you head to the fridge. “Your horoscope. What you are dreaming of will find you, whether or not you think you’re ready for it. Embrace your destiny, even if it means breaking a few rules.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Breaking rules? Are you sure you’ve got the right sign?” you joke.

She laughs knowingly. “The stars are telling you to let loose; maybe you should listen.”

“Maybe these celestial bodies don’t really know my business,” you counter. Mrs. F just shakes her head, like you’re the one being silly here.

Sarah’s dad blows off your scheduled parent-teacher meeting and sends her uncle in his place.

It makes you prickle with irritation.

Tommy Miller is nice enough. He’s younger than you, and a natural flirt, quick with a smile and a polite yes or no, ma’am when you ask him a question. He also has no idea what subject you teach or which grade Sarah is in, but he seems sincerely pleased to hear she’s doing well in your class, and he promises to share your report with her father, who will definitely, definitely follow up.

You’re not holding your breath.

In the final week of the semester, Sarah hands you an envelope on her way to her seat. Your name is scratched on the front in boxy letters. Inside, the note reads:

I’m sorry I missed our one-on-one. I had a work project go overtime and couldn’t get away. Thanks for meeting with Tommy instead. He told me Sarah is keeping up and about your reccomendation for the competition. That’s very cool.

I know you all want parents to volunteer. Ain’t nobody wants to eat my bake sale cupcakes but if you have anything that needs fixed around the classroom I can do that for you. Tommy mentioned there was some loose tile by the door.

Call me to schedule it and I’ll show up this time, promise.

-Joel

The promise gets you. You sigh, thinking you might forgive him after all, and get started jotting down a list of the loose tiles and crooked cabinet doors your maintenance guy has been ignoring for the past year.

He shows up in a tool belt and work boots, on Saturday morning as you’d arranged. The building is deserted and it’s almost serene walking through the empty hallways, silent but for the click of your shoes and the heavy tread of his.

You feel slightly self-conscious, being alone with him in person after all the time you’ve spent with the thought of him in private, but you try your best to push that down so you can appear professional.

Mr. Miller—Joel—seems at ease, rambling about the history of the district school buildings’ retrofits and how many decades it’s been since they’ve been properly updated. It’s endearingly uninteresting, reminding you of countless students who have subjected you to impromptu lectures on their own special interests over the years, and you’re biting back a smile by the time you reach your own classroom.

He takes in the room with an expert’s eye, systematically going through the list you’d made him and making notes to himself, finally tucking his pencil behind his ear for safekeeping when he’s done.

You’ve got your own list to get through, to close out the term and ready for the upcoming one—lesson plans to print and organize, task cards to laminate, books to sort in the classroom library as you swap out this year’s unit for the next. You busy yourself while he gets to work and there’s a companionable silence in the room, broken by the shuffle of papers and books on your end, hammering and the occasional muttered curse word from his.

You allow yourself to watch him when his back is turned. You watch his back, in fact—the sturdy slope of it down to the little patch of bare skin that reveals itself when he reaches forward and his shirt rides up. His skin looks soft. Lush, you think, and you luxuriate in the vision of him until you realize you’re biting your lip and force yourself to snap out of it and get back to alphabetizing.

Coming to a break, you stand up and stretch, then slip off your shoes and wiggle your toes. Yesterday, Mrs. Fontaine had dropped off a tin of cookies and in the rush of wishing your students a happy break, you’d forgotten to grab them on your way out. They’re still sitting on the corner of your desk, and you perch next to them and open the box.

“Cookie?” you offer. “My co-worker made them.”

Joel has been re-hanging cupboard doors to make them sit straight, and he looks up from his screwdriver. “Thanks.”

He washes his hands with care at the corner sink and comes to settle by your side, a respectful distance away. You munch on the cookies, looking around the room to admire his work. The changes are subtle, but for as many hours as you’ve spent in this room, they stand out to you. Little things like the cupboard doors closing properly, and the wooden border around your white board looking good as new instead of cracked along the edge.

“It looks great,” you tell him. “I appreciate your work.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing, but you see the smile on his face and can tell he’s happy you’re pleased.

It hits you first, you think. The strangest sensation, like a ripple through your body awakening every nerve.

“I feel…” you start, unsure.

What is it you feel?

You look at him and you watch as it strikes him too, as his jaw drops and his breathing goes shallow.

Your body feels drawn to his like there’s a magnet pulling you in. The air is suddenly thick, sticky with arousal brewing between you. Your eyes are locked with his and you see his pupils dilate, his gaze turning heavy with intent.

“Maybe we just… need some fresh air,” you suggest. It’s a struggle to turn from him to walk to the door and when you reach it your body aches. You look back at him, seeing the pained expression on his face and how tightly his fingers are gripping the edge of the desk. Your eyes drop—you can’t help it—to see the bulge in his jeans, and as if your body has taken over all decision-making, your fingers reach past the knob to engage the lock instead.

He kisses how you thought he would. Intense and focused. But his hands are nicer, gentler, than in your imagination. They smooth over your curves, settle on your back and your ass to pull you closer, into the space between his legs. His arms are a solid grip around you and your body melts against his until he’s the only thing holding you up.

He turns the two of you around so you can sit on the desk while he stands over you, panting when your lips break apart.

“I’ve never felt like this,” he whispers. “I feel—I need—”

He kisses you desperately and slides his hands under your shirt. The touch of his fingers on your body is like a dam breaking; now that you’ve felt it you need every inch of his skin against yours. Your hands knock as you rush to remove each others’ clothes, and it would be almost comical if you didn’t feel like you might die without him inside you soon.

He’s nudging his cock at your entrance, a spellbound, breath-held silence between you and a wanting ache in your gut.

“Please,” you whisper. It was chilly this morning but now you’re flushed with heat. His skin is glowing with sweat—it almost distracts you, noticing how the hard angle of his collarbone is softened by the sheen of it. You lean forward, set your mouth to his skin to taste him, and he groans.

He grinds against you, the thick length of him riding over your cunt. It feels like a tease, but it’s not; he’s holding himself back.

“Tell me you want it,” he breathes.

“Joel,” you moan. “Please. I want you.”

Your body arches as his cock drives you open, pleasure buzzing through your veins. He bows his head, mouth at your neck, the soft scratch of his beard pressing into your skin. With a gasping breath, he murmurs, “I wanted you—all this time,” and you think you might see stars.

You ignore the phone ringing, but when the answering machine switches on and you hear the urgency in your friend’s voice, you reluctantly drag yourself to the kitchen to pick up.

“Tell me you didn’t eat those cookies,” Mrs. Fontaine says.

You open your mouth, wondering what you should say, but she barrels on without you, explaining the mix-up with the special batch she’d made for date night with her husband and how she’s only just realized the mistake, and maybe she’s making a big deal out of nothing but you didn’t eat the cookies yet, did you?

You look up and see Joel leaning in the doorway to your bedroom, naked but for a pair of shorts, and abruptly you decide you don’t have time for this conversation.

“You know what? I’m gonna have to call you back,” you tell her, and with that, you hang up the phone.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

For the wnip meme if you're still taking them - no idea if you've seen Leverage (and no worries if not, of course), but I'd live for your Ready For Love / IDOAG-style take on the Leverage OT3, no matter the plot. The snark! The noodle incidents! The yearning potential always inherent in established-het-couple-plus-life-partner! It would be great.

oh my gosh, this is an amazing prompt and i love leverage!!! my first thought was that it would actually be very funny to put Elliott in a close-to-identical spot as Cosmo in Ready For Love, and then, uh. this happened:

The irritating thing about Hardison and Parker—

Well, there were plenty of irritating things about Hardison, too many to name, and at least two about Parker. Hers were the way she ate when she was feeding herself (Elliott still wasn’t over the time he’d walked in on her sprinkling Frosted Flakes onto a piece of pizza. “What?” she’d said. “It’s fortified with vitamins and minerals”) and the way she threw herself into danger even when Elliott was right there to take the hit. But the most annoying thing about them as a couple was that they had no shame, about anything.

“Anniversary cruise next month,” Hardison announced when Elliott slunk into headquarters on Monday morning, nursing a headache he’d been assured was not a concussion. “You coming?”

“I—am I coming,” Elliott repeated. “To your anniversary cruise?”

“Of course he is,” said Parker, dropping upside down out of the ceiling. “We already hacked into his calendar, he’s free.”

Elliott pinched the bridge of his nose, temples pounding. There were many, many things he could’ve said just then, chief among them “Seriously, again?” or “What is your goddamn addiction to having a third wheel around?” or “Do you two get off on being fucking pined at?” or even just a classic “Dammit, Hardison.” For reasons that surpassed his own goddamn understanding, what he said was,

“Next month’s not your anniversary.”

Parker flipped and landed soundlessly on her feet. “Yes it is,” she said. “September 16.”

“No,” said Elliott, with way more patience than they deserved, “y’all got together in August. August 28th.”

Hardison blinked. “Dude, you memorized our anniversary?”

Shit. Elliott could’ve hit himself. He had no cover, for knowing something like that. No real explanation, except for how closely he watched them.

“Well, you weren’t gonna do it!” Elliott blustered.

“Hey now,” said Hardison, “I think—I think I resent that. How could you believe I’d forget one of the most important days of my life?”

“Because you just did!” snapped Elliott.

Parker appeared at Elliott’s side (literally appeared; he hadn’t tracked the approach at all) with a bottle of painkillers, which she shook meaningfully.

“What?” said Elliott.

“I think she means ‘for the headache you’re suffering through for no good damn reason,’” Hardison suggested.

“Taking too many isn’t good for you,” said Elliott.

“Pain also isn’t good for you,” said Parker, and wasn’t that the truth?

“Oh, for god’s sake, gimme that,” said Elliott, pouring out two pills and swallowing them dry.

Hardison shook his head. “Why do you even have to be macho about how you take your Tylenol?”

“At any rate, we’re booking tickets for September,” Parker reported. “Three tickets, unless you’re busy. Which you’re not.”

“Because I’m coming on your anniversary cruise,” said Elliott disbelievingly.

“There, I think he’s catching on!” said Hardison. He and Parker high-fived.

See? Fucking irritating.

[666anxiety666]

May I ask for a Pressure tickle fic? Where the player / y/n is a 16 year old (In my country if your 15 ur legally go to jail, and the 16 yr old committed a crime in self defence) and Sebastian noticing the anxiety, pressure (pun inteended) and paranoia he decides to cheer the kiddo up to make em feel like a child again and just melt away their worries? So basically Lee 16 yr old Y/n and a Big Ler snake that gives off HUGE older brother vibes

That's such a cute prompt, omg 😭

Tickle monster

Sebastian and TEEN reader

LEE: Y/N LER: Sebastian

Warnings: none :)

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

Ever since you had been sent down here, Sebastian hasn't let you leave his shop without him. You don't blame him. You wouldn't go out on your own anyway. A sixteen year old should never have been in a place like this to begin with.

Sure, it got boring, and yeah, maybe at first Sebastian claimed he was only protecting you cause, "he had to." But over time, you and him have become quite close, like a sibling kind of way...

However, as of recently, your anxiety and paranoia has gotten worse. Ever small nosie made you jump. You always hid behind Sebastian when a new expendable came down. You were never away from Sebastian, always clinging to him.

Currently, you and Sebastian were getting ready for bed. You always slept with Sebastians tail curled around you. But on this "night," you couldn't sleep.

Your eyes darted all over the place, your heart rate picking up as you head what must have been one of the anglers, banging on a wall in the distance. Sebastian opened one of his three eyes and glanced at you.

"Don't worry, kid. They do that all the time... just try to drown it out, yeah?"

But you couldn't. every noise made you jump. You were scared. You shouldn't even be here to begin with. You wanted to go home... Sebastian noticed your fear and worry.

"Come on, kid. You've got nothing to worry about..."

But Sebastian's words did little to ease your fear. Sebastian sighed. He turned around to face you fully. His tail is still wrapped around you.

"What can I do to help you calm down?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. You shrugged shyly. Sebastian sighed again. He rested his cheek in the palm of his hand as he thought of what to do.

"Come on, kid. There's gotta be something..."

Sebastian poked your side as he said this. You jumped at the poke. Letting out a small squeak. Sebastian paused, raising an eyebrow. Then, it hit him. A massive grin spreading on his face

Yours blood ran cold, and you instantly tried to get up to run. But Sebastian's tail kept you down. You struggled. But it was too late.

"Oh no, kid. You ain't escaping... the tickle monster!"

Sebastian cackled. Latching onto your sides, raking his claws up and down. You squealed, kicking your legs desperately.

You grabbed at his wrists and tried to shove him off. But it was no use. Sebastian moved his third hand to your tummy. You squealed louder.

"Look at you, squealing like a little school girl~"

Sebastian teased. You tried to pull your way out of Sebastian's grasp, but it was useless.

"Aw, how cute! You think you can stop me? You think the tickle monster shows mercy to kids like you?"

Sebastian exaggerated. Moving his hands up to your ribs. Your laughter got louder. kicking your legs harder against the floor.

"Say... im quite hungry... how many ribs do kids like you have, hm?"

Your heart dropped. You tried to push him away, but it was no use. You begged, but your pleas fell of deaf ears.

"One..~ two..~ three..~"

Sebastian started to "count." Wiggling his fingers at each rib as he did. It tickled so badly. You kicked and squirmed harder.

"Come on, kid! You made me lose count! Now I have to start all over!"

Sebastian exclamied before starting his "counting" from the beginning. This went on for what felt like forever. Your squeals and belly laughter filling the shop as Sebastian would restart at every struggle you made.

"Ugh, you know.. if I can't have get at your tasty ribs... maybe I'll have to try something else...!"

Sebastian then pretended to start "eating" your stomach. Blowing raspberries and making munching sounds.

Your face flushed. This was so childish. But you couldn't escape. You were stuck. You kicked and squealed. Shoving at Sebastian's head.

Soon, after what felt like an eternity. Sebastian backed off.

"Man... I think I've had my fill..."

Sebastian grinned as he backed off. Leaving you panting and giggling. You hugged your stomach slightly. You're face bright red for laughing. Sebastian chuckled, ruffling your hair gently.

"You good kid?"

Sebastian asked. You nodded. Pushing your hair out of your face. Sebastian chuckled once more.

"See? Told you everything was fine. You just need a good tickle every now and then."

Sebastian joked as he poked your side one last time. You yelped and giggled. Sebastian smirked and lay back down.

"Okay, okay, I'm done.."

Sebastian mumbled. You also lay back down. Resting against Sebastians tail. Sebastian pulled a blanket over you before wrapping his third arm over your shoulder.

You felt your eyes droop. You were tired. Not only from today's work, but all that tickling you went through. Sebastian smiled slightly.

"I've got you, kid..."

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

Thank yall for the requests‼️ I have two more fics coming🙌

[paddockbunny]

List B + Challenge with Lando please!

Good Kisser

Summary : The first time you had kissed Lando it was well, the worst kiss you had ever had. So when you joke he wasn’t a good kisser, he makes sure to prove you wrong Rating : 16+ Pairing : Lando Norris x Reader Word Count : 1,787 ONE SHOT Trigger Warnings : 16+, NSFW, adult language, nothing too bad Images : curated from Pintrest

List : List B. Prompt : Challenge - after the receiver teasingly suggests that the sender is a terrible kisser, sender immediately and fervently proves them wrong with a long, passionate kiss that leaves the receiver taking back what they said.

You felt the heavy bass of the thumping music reverberating through your bones as you made your way to the VIP table your friends were sitting at.

While everyone had been indulging in the free bottles of liquor that adored the table, you had been good and had barely drunk a thing. You were the responsible adult for your friends tonight - which meant you had to make sure none of the guys went home with any girls - so when you saw Lando raise his glass to his mouth again you rolled your eyes.

“What are you drinking, Norris?” You saddled up beside him. Momentarily, he looked up at you sheepishly but there was also a hint of smugness about him. “Why don’t you try it and see?” He held it out to you. You knew Lando didn’t like the taste of alcohol. He went for fruity little cocktails and sugar based drinks instead of the strong stuff simply because he hated the taste of it. So when you sucked the orangey red liquid up the straw it didn’t surprise you that it tasted like a smoothie. “You’re such a child.” You laughed as you slid into the booth beside him. “I’m really not…” You weren’t sure if he intended you to hear his words or not. They sounded like they were laced with something other than sarcasm. Something more like flirtation. But it was Lando. He was the last person who would be flirting with you.

As Max returned to the table he eyed the pair of you up and down and raised his eyebrow. Max had continually been complaining about how close and cosy you and Lando were. He always moaned about the pair of you seemingly like bosom buddies and like he was third wheeling. Which was utterly ridiculous as there was absolutely nothing going on with him. You were just friends who occasionally flirted. Flirty friends. That was it. Suddenly as you looked at him you saw the mischievous side grip hold of your friend across the table. The glint in his eye gave him away.

“Why don’t the pair you just kiss already?” You mentally wanted to strangle him. See months ago, you had in fact kissed. You and Lando. He had come P2 at his home race and on the night out that followed he kissed you. It wasn’t in the slightest bit romantic and as far as you could get from mind blowing. Actually, it had been a total fail. He had caught you off guard and instead of it being some big breath stealing kiss it was like kissing a dead fish. You were in shock. You had zero idea it was coming and the element of surprise was really, well, surprising. And besides all that, he didn’t actually seem to be into it. He didn’t grab your waist, caress your neck or fist his hands in your hair. He basically stood in front of you and just went for it. His tongue felt too foreign in your mouth, lips to unfamiliar and he felt so distant and uninterested that you even thought he had done it on a dare. Kissing Lando should have felt euphoric. It should have felt like you were the luckiest girl on earth - after all the fans that would have killed you to have been in your position - but it felt more like you were kissing your brother. It was truthfully the worst kiss of your life.

As you shot Max daggers across the table you heard Lando nervously giggle beside you as if he was in on some kind of joke. He had probably told Max all about the failed kiss and made it seem like it was all your fault. Hence the laughter and hence why you played him at his own game. “Please, not again, once was enough.” You jokingly flicked your hair over your shoulder dramatically. It whipped passed him and skimmed the open space left by not doing enough of his shirt buttons up. You glanced at him - thinking he would be ready to laugh about it like you were - and he looked at you like he had never looked at you before. Lando seemed angry. His brow was furrowed and he had a stern look on his face you had only seen when he was pissed about something that happened in a race. “What do you mean?” Tension grew. In fact it grew so large it felt like it a whole person had sat between the pair of you separating you both. You thought he was on the same wave length as you due to the fact neither of you had brought up the failed kiss after it had happened. Now, as nerves began to fill your body, you turned your head and glanced at Max. His eyebrows were raised and he was staring at you with a shocked expression. You were sure Max knew all about it - Lando was a bloody blabber mouth and told him everything after-all - but the look he was shooting you seemed to imply he was himself shocked at your words. Lando hadn’t given him the impression the kiss was good, had he?

“It wasn’t exactly good was it?” Your mouth kept going. You were digging yourself a hole and couldn’t stop. Fuck! This was why you didn’t like the spotlight. You’re mouth had a kind of its own when you got nervous. “Are you saying I’m a bad kisser?” Lando actually sounded offended. “Well, I’m not calling you a good one” It came out quicker than you could stop yourself. Your brain not catching up to your mouth, once again. But you also nervously chuckled to yourself because you were suddenly so anxious and you always laughed when you were uneasy. No one else laughed however. Certainly not Lando himself who was practically staring into your soul, seething in what you were reading as anger. “You’re the only one who has complained.” He said it directly to you. Looking dead in your eyes. “Really?” You we’re pretending to be shocked but you really were actually shocked. The failed Silverstone kiss was all you had to base your assumptions on so could he really blame you that you presumed he had had other complaints about his kissing skills. “Yeah really.” He scoffed.

And then your mouth did it again. It went off on its own accord before you could stop it. And with confidence you suddenly stated broadly; “Prove it”

You had no idea what you thought was going to happen - considering the fact you had quite clearly insulted him and then proceeded to push him - but now as he looked at you with a cocked eyebrow you felt like you could read his thoughts. He was surprised but pleasantly so. The smirk that breezed past his lips told you that. His head turned the opposite direction just as the knot formed in your stomach. If this was how you were thinking it would happen, you were sure he would chicken out. He would never do anything that was even slightly PDA in public. It wasn’t in him.

And then his hand was in your hair, his thigh was hard against yours and his chest pushed against yours. Your eyes closed in time for his lips to suddenly - finally - be on yours. His bottom lip grazed and his top lip captured as your breath was already stolen from you from the utter confusion at what was happening. But as Lando’s hand tugged your hair, your head tilting back for him, your mouth opened against his lips giving him access to your tongue. That was when you felt it. You felt yourself melting, swooning at his kiss. The blood seemed to rush to your ears and beat so loud it drowned out the noise from the nightclub speakers. All you could think about was him and how he was making you feel. Your temperature raised when his tongue glided across your own. He wasn’t forcing a game of dominance, you were already at his mercy. He had reduced you to a puddle on the floor. Your hands found his shirt and you held on to him while subtly trying to pull him into you even more. A deep, low groan flowed freely from him and straight into your mouth which sent a throbbing ache straight between your thighs. Fuck. What was he doing to you. Lando nipped at your bottom lip. Taking it between his teeth at one point making you completely loose control of your mind. You sighed giving him the signal that he had you in the palm of his hand and all you cared about was getting more of him.

But - almost rudely - he pulled away. His lips gone from yours in an instant. His face was only inches away and you stared directly into his beautiful olive green eyes, breathless and full of want.

“Well?” He smirked. His hands were still on you and you felt his body heat radiating from him. Words couldn’t form anymore. Your quick talking mouth had fallen silent from one single kiss from him. There was nothing you could say in response. You’d rather show him, kiss him back, kiss him again. But he pulled back when you went to do it “You didn’t answer. Am I still a bad kisser?” No. That’s all you had to say. You just needed to tell him no, he wasn’t a bad kisser. But you didn’t. “I think I need another sample to really confirm.” You shrugged and tried to brush it off (while trying to ignore the throb going on inside your panties.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He smirked but he gave you what you wanted. He began kissing you again and you never wanted him to stop.

[serensama]

I think we're getting low on onions again...

Chapter 16:

Lucanis gets a little jealous. Crackish.

Rated: T Word Count: 3.1k

Read on Ao3

Prompt 13 out of 25: Elek

----

“Aww, isn’t that adorable?”

“Hmm?”

She was tapping her foot, waiting for him to answer her properly.

He didn’t even need to turn around to know that she had that insufferable, shit eating grin on her pretty face. Aimed at him. And deservedly so. It would have almost made sense for him to turn and see Spite right beside her, with the same stupid expression on his face, looking at him as if he were the world’s biggest idiot- and perhaps he was. Instead the demon was standing beside him, screaming into his ear about his biggest fuck up since believing that Illario was innocent at all.

“I told you, Luc, if you didn’t make it a little more obvious, that our darling leader wasn’t going to notice your sweet little hints. She’s almost as clueless as you are, that one,” Neve said, stepping beside him to watch the scene before them unfold, tutting her tongue in open disappointment at what was happening. “Seriously, you could have told her that the bag of salted water candies you ‘found in Antiva’ was specifically imported from Rivain from that particular seller she likes just because she mentioned it once-”

“I just so happened to need some spices from a vendor close by-”

“Or that the time you brought her a cup of tea when she was poorly was just because you wanted to look after her, and not because you were giving one to everyone in the lighthouse… though granted, it was nice to get some random tea delivered to me out of your commitment to your deception-”

“I was being nice!”

“Or… you know… above all this- you could have just said, yes Rook, I do have feelings for you- please don’t date someone else,” she said pointedly, motioning toward the couple in front of them, laughing and chatting as if they weren’t even there.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Neve, Rook is allowed to be with anyone she wants… she-she’s… nothing is happening between us!” he stammered, his cheeks feeling warm. Spite stared at him with a sneer that looked like he had just smelled something that offended his delicate sensibilities. “What?! What’s the matter with you then, Spite?”

He shook his head and crossed his arms in disappointment.

You lie. To Wisp Woman. To yourself. To Rook. You smell of burnt hair and incense. Trying to cover what you have destroyed.

He really fucking hated when Spite made sense.

Lucanis chanced another look at Rook as her hand brushed Elek’s bicep a third time in the last few minutes, although she was a naturally touchy person, she hadn’t even been that open with him. Always careful where she put her hands on him, never assured or relaxed, as she seemed with the criminal or anyone else, really. He had tried not to care, not to notice, but it was hard when it appeared wherever they went, there was someone instantly taken with her. Whether it was that Veil Jumper that she had met when they first met Strife and Irelin, Talin? Talith? Whenever they passed the camp, he was always there with a new trinket or flower he’d think she’d enjoy, and each time she accepted it with a soft smile and a press of her hand on his arm or his cheek with heartfelt thanks that made him grit his teeth together.

There was also that shopkeeper in the Hall of Valor. Oh, he knew his name alright. Mateo. Running around in shorts so short that they looked like he had stolen them from Naera and squeezed himself into them. Rivaini’s and their ridiculous armour, he’d never understand it. He was definitely angling for something more when Rook haggled with him for a better price on some new enchanted gear for their team, telling her that he’d love to join her in the Hall, “for old times’ sake”. What did that even mean? Were they an item before? Was he asking to be an item again?

Then his own brethren. Teia, the consummate flirt he wasn’t surprised by, she was probably doing it to get under Viago’s skin after another one of their legendary tiffs- but Neri was a surprise. Neri bloody de Acutis. He was old enough to be his uncle, and he was still proving he had more charisma than he did. And she was responding to it! Always forcing a detour so she could stop and talk to Neri, asking for his advice on how to hold different types of daggers and to regale her with some stories of his previous contracts. He could have done that. He was really good with daggers, she knew that.

But the worst of all of them, the one that irked him like no other, was Elek Tavor, little Dock Town shit. The man talked too much and seemed to say nothing at all at the same time. It was like bearing witness to his cousin courting her, and he wanted to be ill. Elek was too slick, too easy to banter with when he had only met her, already forming inside jokes with Rook after saying two words with her. The Thread member seemed to understand her better in three brief meetings than in the months he had been with her. Lucanis was tempted to say it was unfair, that he was so close to making his move… but he knew how ridiculous it was. Unfair? Who cared? The man did what he couldn’t, and now he had a chance to make Rook happier than she had ever been since the whole ‘end of the world thing’ started. His plans to cook paella and churros for their dinner to thank her for everything she had done for him, to show her how he felt about her, went up in smoke.

The Crow wondered if it was possible to get a contract drawn up post murder if he didn’t request payment for it. Like a community-sanctioned killing. A public service. Lucanis grumbled at himself and threw another foul look at Neve’s way, who laughed heartily as she folded some papers she purchased for Bellara and tucked them into her coat. She clapped him on the shoulder with a kind but pitying look on her face, her lips quirking to the side in an apologetic smile.

“Listen, I know it’s hard, but sometimes the people we love move on, and we just have to be happy about it. There’s no rhyme or reason why they do it-”

“You literally stood there and told Rook that Elek wanted to show her a good time, Neve.”

“Sometimes people mishear things, and want to blame and lash out at their friends-”

“Neve.”

The detective smiled sincerely and squeezed his shoulder in hollow comfort. “I just wanted to see someone make a move. Not stuck in this… whatever thing you two have… I didn’t think she’d say yes! Who the hell in their right mind would say yes to Elek?” she snorted, shaking her head. Lucanis gave her a flat stare and pointed at Elek and Rook, still laughing with each other, the Thread even throwing an arm around her shoulder as he waved his free hand in the air, painting a scene for some tall tale no doubt.

Lucanis groaned and turned around, eyes scanning the headlines for anything that would capture his attention so his mind would not wander back to the illogical feeling of betrayal he felt. Rook owed him nothing. She had put her life on the line time and again for him, and he’d given her nothing back but the vaguest almost kiss in the pantry. Nothing at all like the romance novels he had read, where the protagonist would boldly exclaim their feelings to their love interest- even the world - and he couldn’t muster up the conviction to admit to himself that he wanted her. Wanted to be with her. How could someone like that ever think of themselves as worthy to be with someone like Rook? Who wore her heart on her sleeve and was never afraid of anything… even when she should have been.

Rook was also afraid.

Lucanis frowned at Spite who was poking at the floating newspapers around his head.

What do you mean?

Rook was afraid each time you didn't say the words. She thought she'd never hear them from you.

What words?

Who knows, the demon shrugged, moving on to follow some kids playing with a cat, hissing back at it when it bared its teeth at him. But she was waiting. Since coffee with Cousin Crow.

...And she doesn’t wait anymore?

No. Heard her saying that she knew. Where Lucanis stood. Didn’t need to wait for you anymore.

Lucanis wanted to crumple down and plant his face on the hard wooden table as hard as he could. The only thing stopping him was the idea of an unscrupulous journalist happening upon him and seeing the next day’s headline reading, “Demon of Vyrantium, sleeping on the job” - yeah, Illario would just love that.

A high-pitched squeal helped chase away his gloomy thoughts, and he turned to see Rook and Neve holding hands like schoolgirls, giddy over the confession from their crush. She looked so happy, her smile from ear to ear, a rosy flush on her cheeks, and her golden eyes sparkling like he hadn’t seen since… well. Since they had returned from their little escapade into his mind, he had thought…

He was mistaken.

Apparently, she had seen all she needed to, and it was enough for her to realise that he was not meant to be the one she was meant to be with. Lucanis was actually happy for her, proud even. It was the smart choice. The right choice. Especially when someone else could make her glow like she was the sunrise, dancing around in skin to spread her warmth to the mortals below. He gripped the pommel of his sword tightly. He was never going to get over this by waxing poetic over her when it was too late. Spite returned and stood by Rook’s side, the demon’s off-putting gaze locked onto her as she bobbed excitedly on her heels and communicated with Neve in shrill squeaks that seemingly only women and dogs could understand.

“Soooo, what do we think?” Neve asked, moving side to side whilst still holding onto Rook’s hands in a weird dance to coax information out of her. “Are we good with this development? Are we happy? Do we approve?”

Lucanis’ ears perked up against his will; he couldn’t stop listening now that he had heard the question. Rook chuckled quietly and nodded, her grin growing even wider than before. He had never seen her that way. It hurt, but in the best way possible. If he couldn’t be the one to make her shine that way, he was happy there was someone out there who could. Still, it would not stop him from gathering the rest of the team to pay this ass a visit. He’d ensure Elek knew that whilst the Threads may have protected Dock Town, nothing could protect him from them if he decided to break her heart. Maybe they’d bring Manfred along and tell him that the skeleton was that of Naera’s last ex- Oh! Taash and Emmrich could use that to threaten him together and continue their bonding.

A sudden bump into his shoulder stopped him spiralling into elaborate fantasies of what he could do to the little criminal if ever given the opportunity, and he locked eyes with Rook, standing right beside him, bright eyes sparkling up at him like the most precious yellow diamonds. He got it. He, more than anyone, understood why people flocked to be at her side and wanted to be close to her.

“Isn’t it great?” she smiled up at him, delighted and pure. He wanted nothing but to lean down and just kiss her on the forehead or pick her up and fly somewhere else- far away-

Yes. We could. Should. Let’s go to Rivain. Rook is happiest in Rivain. Or in the pantry.

The pantry?

“...Lucanis? Are you alright? Is Spite making fun of me?”

Spite would never! Rook is my favourite!

Lucanis shook his head and tried to smile comfortingly. “No, he’s literally saying you’re his favourite. You may have offended him by thinking badly of him.”

Rook frowned and turned around, talking to the air directly beside Spite, who was still grinning at her. “Oh no, Spite honey, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to assume or be mean-”

“He’s having the time of his life, don’t worry about him.”

Lucanis. Is. Envious. Of. Spite.

“Well, so long as he’s fine,” she said, still beaming up at him and making his stomach flip when it shouldn’t. “But isn’t this wonderful? I’m so happy!” He nodded absentmindedly, a strained expression passing his handsome features. Rook caught it, because of course she did, and grabbed his hands. “Hey… It’s going to be okay. I know it’s not ideal, and it’s not what I expected either… but honestly, I think it’s for the best, you know?” she said so earnestly it felt like a dagger was plunged right into his sternum and jiggled about for maximum damage.

“If you say so, Rook,” was all he could manage.

Rook sighed and bit her lip, concern flooding her eyes. “Is there any reason why it’s not a good idea? I mean, yeah, I get it. He’s not the most upstanding citizen out there, but he’s not an inherently bad man. He’s kind, he’s funny, and he’s handsome-”

“Aim higher, Rook. You know you can aim higher than a basic decent person, right?” he snapped at her, instantly regretting the words as they fell from his lips.

She took a step back, confused. Where the hell had that come from?

“I apologise. I am… merely tired, it seems.”

She didn’t buy it.

“It’s alright if you’re not okay with it, Lucanis, I don’t expect everyone to understand or approve. But Elek’s really a great-”

“I’m sorry, Rook. Truly. But I do not want to hear how the man who has no scruples in lying to innocent people is such a stand-up guy.”

“Oh, from someone who murders people for a living?” she snapped back, fists on her hips. “None of us is perfect, Lucanis. I’m a glorified thief, you’re an assassin, and Elek is… Elek. But I’m not going to cast the first stone here. If Bellara seems happy enough to give him a chance, then I will support them. He even took the time to walk me through his date plans with her just now, how sweet is that? But don’t worry, he knows if he messes up Neve and I will rip his balls off and sell them as dog chews for a copper each!”

Spite… am I having a stroke?

… I do not know what that is. Is it fun?

Fuck.

Lucanis thought over the words five times, and each time he came to the same conclusion. It was not Rook that the man was after, but their other happy, chatty, elven mage. He started laughing, laughing at himself and the incredulity of the scenario, his readiness to jump into the five stages of grief at the loss of a relationship that never was but still could be. Rook pressed her hand onto his forehead to check he wasn’t running a temperature, and it made him laugh even harder.

Rook is scared for you right now.

I’m going to kill you, Spite; you told me that she gave up on me, tired of waiting for me.

Did not. Said that she knew where you stood. Wasn’t waiting for you, because she knew you felt the same already. Finally.

… You couldn’t have elaborated that a little more?

Not Spite’s fault, Lucanis can’t understand. Stop assuming. Talk. Ask. Say the things you want to say. Besides. Wisp Woman was the tricky one this time.

He really. Really. Hated when Spite made sense.

Lucanis pulled her hand from his head and placed a kiss on the back of it as thanks for her concern, not missing the way her eyes widened at the action or how she couldn’t stop staring at his lips. “You are right, Rook. I should give him a chance. As you said- none of us are perfect-”

“Except me, of course,” Neve piped in, perched on the newspaper vendor’s table, watching the entire scene play out like her personal serial come to life.

“Of course, darling,” Rook agreed instantly. “No one else less than perfect could make that coaster hat look good.”

“For the last time, Rook, it’s not a bloody coaster-”

Lucanis stood between the two bickering women and chuckled to himself. All that time, he was worried about everyone catching her eye, but she had her sights firmly set on him. It was enough to get to a man’s head, if he were the type to let it. Patting the tabletop as he put his plan in order, he turned to face Rook, who was professing her undying fealty to a new religion they were planning, with Neve being the central deity of perfection. There would be a weekly diet of fried fish and poorly made tepid bean water for the masses-

“Say, Rook… I need to go to Treviso to pick up some items for dinner tonight. Just some seafood and maybe some chocolate-”

“You had me at chocolate, Dellamorte,” she quipped, hooking her arm into his playfully.

“Good to know,” he replied, in a voice he recognised as the same he used with her in the pantry.

She does too. She has some of her best memories in the pantry.

“Did you want to join us, Neve?” Rook asked, only to be pulled along by Lucanis, not bothering to wait for her response. Even though he was grateful for her intercession, it did not mean he wasn't still pissed off with her.

“Don’t you worry about me, Rook,” she chimed, amusement dripping from her tone. “I’ve got some things to work on here; I’ll meet you at the Lighthouse later.”

Wisp Woman is laughing at you, Lucanis.

She’s allowed to.

But she seems… happy for you. Are you happy, Lucanis?

Lucanis smiled, looking out at Rook from the corner of his eye. She was warm, bright and still holding onto his arm like she had always belonged there. They were off to Treviso to shop together, and for once, maybe he would understand what it would feel like for other people to look at him and feel envious because the woman they all wanted, was staring right back at him.

Yes, Spite. I am.

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

Prompt #16: Third-rate

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#FFxivWrite2024 is underway – a daily writing challenge presented to the Final Fantasy XIV writing community for the month of September. You can join any time throughout the challenge with any prompt number! Entries can be written on any online writing platform (tumblr, Archive of our Own, Google Docs, etc.). Submit the link and be sure that I have reading access. Check you entries here in the Public Spreadsheet

Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2024 || kofi

[midsummer-semantics]

under the dancing lights

Small break while I do a million other things but here's *checks calendar* day 16 of @steddieangstyaugust.

Prompt: Halloween

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Underage Drinking, Cemeteries, Canon Complaint (question mark???), Ambiguous Ending

divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

He isn’t sure why he’s out here. It’s not like there’s anything left, anything calling him to action. The kids are old enough to trick-or-treat without supervision, Robin is with Vicky at a party he didn’t want to third-wheel to, and everyone else…

The point is, traipsing through Roane County cemetery on Halloween night seemed like a good idea when Steve is three Jack and Coke’s deep and unsure of where he fits into the regular world. He bought a dozen flowers on the way here just before the shop closed for the evening, like he couldn’t risk showing up to the cemetery empty-handed for some reason. 

Barb’s grave is overrun with flowers 365 days a year, three years running. Steve leaves several of the carnations in the bundle he carries at the tombstone, begging forgiveness as he does every few months. He hasn’t told Nancy what he does, even when he’s accompanied her a few times. He simply stays silent, lets Nancy grieve, and returns a few weeks later to replace the dead ones when no one is paying attention.

Next is Bob Newby, whom he didn’t know, but the kids did, so he drops a couple of flowers off out of perfunctory expectation.

Billy is the one of the hardest, his grave near Steve’s dad’s grandparents’ joint plot. He tends to spend a little more time here, aware of how the plot feels under his knees, remembering how Max looked as she lifted in the air under Vecna’s influence. Sometimes, Steve comes just to sit, to stare at Billy’s name and curse his existence, even if it brought him Max. Other times, Steve sits and talks, tells his rival how his step-sister is doing, how Steve learned to plant his feet, how regardless of what a piece of shit he was, no one deserved to deal with the bullshit the Upside Down had to offer. He leaves one flower out of obligation, but he doesn’t linger like he normally would.

He leaves a few at Chrissy’s grave, not just because she died, but because he knew her, even vaguely because she was a cheerleader while he was still on the basketball team. And because Eddie would want him to.

He flips off Jason’s grave as he passes it.

Three years — less than, technically— since the first death. Almost three years since Steve took Jonathan’s nail bat and made it his weapon of choice against the monsters that lurk beneath their feet. 

Over half a year since Max went into a coma that doctors — UD connected or otherwise — or Eleven haven't been able to wake her up from. 

Seven months since Eddie Munson was added to the list of people Steve couldn’t save.

The sun has dipped well past the treeline on the edges of the cemetery by the time he reaches Eddie’s grave. There’s no one else around, thankfully, but Steve knows it’s only a matter of time before some idiot high school kids make their way to the cemetery to get trashed and try to see a ghost or fuck near one of the graves. He should know, he was one of those idiot kids not too long ago.

There’s writing on Eddie’s headstone, scrawling letters spelling out MURDERER in red spray paint. One of the R’s is backward, Steve notes, rolling his eyes, a gesture that makes his vision swim a little. It’s not the worst thing that’s been blasted across the headstone since it was placed, but it’s by far the dumbest. He sets the remaining flowers down at his feet as he crouches to examine the writing closer. It’s dry, but it can’t have been there for more than a few days considering he was just here for Eddie’s birthday and had cleaned the last slur himself. He should have brought a bucket and brush instead of the stupid flowers, but he’s a little wobbly from the alcohol and the idea of going back to his car for any reason other than to go home and pass out alone sounds terrible. He’ll come back tomorrow and clean it, plus whatever gets done to it tonight probably. Maybe he should have brought his nail bat. Camped out next to Eddie’s grave and waited to see who exactly is doing it so he can make sure they know never to do it again.

Steve loses his precarious balance, falling back on his ass in the cold, damp grass with a soft “oof!” The flask in his back pocket digs into one cheek, and he shuffles around until he can extract it, then leans back on one hand while the other holds the cool metal.

“Probably stupid to drink more, but I doubt you’d give me shit about it,” Steve says to the grave, holding the flask up like he’s making a toast before closing his eyes and taking a swig. He actually hates whiskey, but it was all that was in the house since it’s his dad’s favorite, and beggars can’t be choosers.

Still, he coughs a bit as the straight liquor burns a path down his throat — he really should have brought some kind of chaser with him, but hindsight and all that — and then lays back on the grass as soon as it clears.

He keeps his eyes closed, breathing through the slight roil in his stomach, and imagines what it would be like if he simply sank into the ground beneath him. Not like if vines were to spring up and drag him under, but if he just slowly melted into the earth the way one feels like they’re melting on a really plush mattress.

It’s only a slight comfort that the grave he’s lying on is empty. Otherwise, his vision of being swallowed by the earth might come with the extra twist of Eddie’s hands dragging him down Evil Dead-style. 

He snorts to himself, his head lolling back and forth a bit. Eddie would have loved that reference, he knows it. He may not have known him for long before. . . before, but he’s sure of it regardless.

After a moment, he brings his hands up to rub the heels into his eyes, waiting until he sees stars before he opens them. The stars continue to blink for a few seconds as his eyes adjust to the inky black sky.

Wait.

No.

There are stars dancing. Little lights swaying to and fro in front of his face, with more popping up around him. He turns his head in awkward directions against the grass, knowing he’s getting foliage in his hair the whole time, watching as more blink to life.

He shuts his eyes again as he sits up, but when he reopens them, they’re still there. It’s too late in the year for fireflies, too cold this late at night at the end of October, and yet the lights dance regardless. 

“Whoa,” he breathes, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu to when he was blitzed out of his mind on Russian truth serum and staring at the ceiling of Starcourt.

One of the stars comes close to him, wisping against his cheek like a tickling feather before flying away. Another does it to his left arm where he’s holding himself up, another to his hip where his shirt has ridden up slightly under his windbreaker. Steve giggles uncontrollably as another brushes his forehead and he turns his head to follow them. There’s another, and another, and another, and as he reaches out to catch one—

“Having a good night, big boy?”

[smlgbtqweek]

SM LGBTQ+ Week 2024!

The third annual Sailor Moon LGBTQ+ Week takes place the week of June 16-22, 2024 (during Pride Month).

You may post your works on Tumblr, AO3, Deviantart, or anywhere you choose so as long as you link them in your Tumblr posts if they are off-site. All ratings are allowed, so long as NSFW work is properly tagged. You can add your AO3 works on our designated category for the event here: smlgbtqweek2024. We also have a Twitter for the event you can tag and we will retweet your works there too!

Submissions should have an LGBTQ+ character, ship or topic at their core along with the daily theme. It doesn't have to focus on or even include a ship, given this week also celebrates asexuality and trans identities! M/F pairings are allowed as long as one of the characters is LGBTQ+ and the work references their queerness. Bi/Pan people in m/f relationships are still queer and valid. This also applies to trans people in m/f relationships. Basically, as long as you're writing/ drawing/creating something featuring LGBTQ+ character(s), you're golden.

Don’t forget to tag us at @smlgbtqweek and use the hashtag #smlgbtqweek24 so we can reblog your work! **If you post something and don't see it reblogged, it's probably because we overlooked it or Tumblr didn't show it to us. Contact us and we will fix that right away!**

The prompt list is as follows:

Sunday, June 16, Day 1- Home/Travel

Monday, June 17, Day 2- Wine/Candy

Tuesday, June 18, Day 3- Heart/Edge

Wednesday, June 19, Day 4- Twist/Tangle

Thursday, June 20, Day 5- Fashion/Pattern

Friday, June 21, Day 6- Mountain/Tree

Saturday, June 22, Day 7- Free

Here's a handy graphic version, too!

We know the prompt list is exciting, but please wait to post your entries until the actual day assigned in the prompt!

Have fun!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 16

Day Fifteen | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Seventeen

Pairing: Indiana Jones x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked

Warnings: Role reversal; period-typical attitudes toward sex; vaginal sex; riding unsafe sex; creampie

He starts to turn up to your classes midway through October. You’ve seen his picture in the paper, heard the conspiratorial whispers of the enamored co-eds across campus, but you’ve never met the man. 

You notice him right off the bat—it’s impossible not to. If it hadn’t been for the way most of the female students were twisting in their seats to get a look at him, his countenance would’ve given him away. He was dressed far more professionally than your students, and watching you far more closely than any of them were as well. The afternoon sun glinted off of his glasses as he tracked your movement, from walking into the lecture hall, to setting down your briefcase as you greeted your students.

-- 

You’ve nearly forgotten him by the lecture’s end, as your students pack up their things and file out. You focus on getting your scattered notes and attendance sheets together, certain that Jones will trail out with the rest of them. You feel someone watching you as you tuck your notes and attendance into a folder. You glance up, expecting one of your students, but finding him standing there instead. 

“Dr. Jones,” You greet, turning your attention back to your bag. “Is there something that I can help you with?” 

“Brody told me that he’d hired someone else in the history department, but I haven’t had the time to come and get acquainted.” 

“Well, that probably had something to do with your recent excursion to Guatemala.” 

He chuckles softly. “I see my reputation precedes me.” 

“It certainly does.” 

“I just wanted to stop by, say hello…Get a look at the professor that’s been poaching my students.” 

“They probably wouldn’t be so easy to poach if you turned up to more than a third of your lectures during a given semester.” 

You close your satchel, lifting the strap onto your shoulder and straightening up. He searches your face, eyes narrowing slightly behind his frames. 

“Are you headed back to your office?” He asked. “I’d be happy to walk you.”

“Home, actually. I’m done for the day.” 

“Could I drive you?” 

“That’s quite alright, I drove myself here this morning.” 

Jones nods slowly, gaze sweeping curiously over you. 

“Perhaps I could drop by one of your lectures again.” 

“What for?” 

“Fun. I enjoyed it.” 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two about a thing or two.” 

Jones’ lips curled with a smile as he nodded. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

--  

“What was that crack about me missing classes?” 

You throw a surly glare over your shoulder at Indiana as he grins up at you. This was not the plan. 

After a week, Dr. Jones had made it a point to visit at least one of your classes. After a month, you were planning a lecture series together over dinners and drinks. After two months, Jones had managed to talk you into taking a little weekend trip with him—for the sake of the lecture series, of course.

“I'll go on one condition,” You’d warned, pointing firmly at him. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I need to be back by noon on Monday at the latest. I have a lecture at three and I despise missing classes.” 

“...I will do my best.”

“Jones.” 

“Cross my heart, honey.” 

He’d raised his hand and crossed his heart, then raised his right hand and gestured, “Scout’s honor.” 

You’d wanted to be grated by all of it—the smile, the crossing of his heart, his scout’s honor, the way he’d called you honey. But you’d gone into the weekend with a curious new feeling. You didn’t think that Indiana really wanted to get together for lecture notes, you thought that he wanted to, well…

Well, you’d gotten the impression that Indiana may be interested in you—romantically. It was rare that a man like that asked you to drinks just to talk about the legacy of Alexander the Great, or insisted on walking you to your door afterward. 

A weekend away had seemed perfectly in order to kick off the far-less-than-professional side of your relationship. You’d packed your cutest clothes—you'd been excited.

And now rather than snuggling up, you’re following an artifact fencer into a cave in the middle of the Grand Canyon at 3pm on a Monday, dirtying your second favorite outfit, and fighting the urge to sock the grinning fool squarely in the jaw.

“Stifle it, Jones.” 

-- 

You throw the door to your hotel room open, stomping irritatedly inside and reaching back to shove the door shut again. You don’t hear it close, but you do hear the thud of Indiana’s feet behind you. 

“What’s the matter with you?” He asks, shutting the door behind himself. 

“You promised, Jones. Crossed your damn heart, if you even have one.” 

“Wouldya quit pouting? We did a good thing,” Jones argues. “So you missed a class, so what?” 

“It’s the principle of the thing!” You argue, whirling around on him. He’s stunningly close, his brows raised as he watches you. You scowl as he grins amusedly. 

“Why did you invite me out here, anyway, Jones?” You add. Something flickers in his gaze just enough for you to seize on. 

“For the lecture series,” He insists. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously?” You narrow your eyes, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “That’s all?” 

“Why else would I have invited you?” 

“For something like this, perhaps?” You reach out, grasping his cheeks and draw him in. He flails a bit for balance as your lips crash together. He steadies himself as he rests his hands on your hips, sighing softly against them as he uses his grasp to pull you closer. You let him steer you back toward the bed, but before he can push you down, you turn and give Indiana a push. He bounces back onto the mattresses, eyes wide as he peers up at you, his kiss-plumped lips parted in surprise. You smile, straddling his lap as he propped himself up on his elbows. 

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?” He asks, sliding his hands over your thighs. 

“You’ve been giving me orders all afternoon, Jones. It’s time to let me steer.” 

-- 

You watched Indiana’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. He’d hardly taken his eyes off of you as you’d undressed, hardly been able to keep still as you’d climbed onto his lap. Now, his eyelids lowered as you slowly rolled your hips, sliding down onto his cock. 

“C’mon,” He groans. 

“Shut up.” 

“You wanted to steer, but don't know how to drive.”

“We don’t need to floor it. Besides,” You give your hips a little swivel. “I’ve already got the key in the ignition.” 

Indiana growls low in his chest, his head falling back against the pillows as you cast him a wicked grin. You brace your hands on either side of his head, bowing down over him. 

“You’re really not used to this, are you?” You murmurs.

“Don’t get a big head, honey. I’m so used to this it’d make a Parisian courtesan blush.” 

“Not this,” You chuckled, tightening up around him, and grinning as he grips your hips more tightly. “I meant not being in charge.” 

Indiana glares up at you with muted wrath, a deep breath drawing in through his nose. You giggle, leaning back and giving a showy bite to your lip as your hips meet Indiana’s. 

“You aren’t,” You insist as you set a punishingly slow pace. “It’s driving you crazy. Look at that little tick jumping in your jaw.” 

Indiana’s hands raise to grasp your breasts, but you catch hold of his hands, intertwining your fingers and using your full force to pin them up over his head. His arms flex as he presses up against your grip, and you know that Indiana could easily throw you over. You brush your lips against his, then dip closer for a deeper kiss as you begin to grind your hips unhurriedly. Indiana’s lips part beneath yours, his tongue swiping out to brush and tease against yours.

He loses himself in your kisses, letting his straining muscles go slack against the mattress as you screw your hips down against his.  You finally draw back from the kiss, shivering as Indiana leans up, swiping his tongue against your peaked nipple. You sigh, pressing your hips back against his and arching your back to push your breasts into his face. He turns his head, nuzzling the valley of breasts before sucking your other breast between his lips. You reach down, playing with your tingling clit and brushing against the slick base of Indiana’s shaft. 

Your pace begins to falter as your attention is torn between the press of Indiana’s cock and the practiced swipe of your fingers against your own flesh. You gasp softly as the familiar sensation of your orgasm begins sneaking up on you. You let go of Indiana’s other hand and push yourself up, resting your hand on his chest as you pick up your pace. You look down at Indiana and find him watching you closely as you use him for your own pleasure. You curl your fingers, nails digging into Indiana’s chest. He groans, grasping your hips and using the grip to take control of the pace. 

You don’t bother to stop him. You just tip your head back and thumb one of your nipples, cursing as you finally cum. Indiana pushes himself up against you, his chest pressed against yours. His arm hooks around your waist, pulling you closer. You can hear the grunts and groans beneath his breath, feel the harsh pants as he grows closer and closer beneath you. Indiana draws you down on top of him again, using his grip on your hips to fuck you through your orgasm. You watch his eyes roll back into his head, his groan choked out as he fills you. your cunt still twitching around him. You sigh softly, snuggling against Indiana’s chest as he calms. You smile as Indiana’s arms curl around your back, keeping you close. 

“...Tell you what,” He mumbles after a moment. “You’re not such a bad driver.” 

You chuckle, rolling off of Indiana and onto your back. 

“I’m flattered.” 

You gaze up at the ceiling as you feel Indiana roll onto your side, watching you closely. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“How long can I convince you to stay here?” He murmurs.

“In bed?” 

“In Arizona.”

You scoff, turning to look at indiana. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I’m not.” 

“I’ve got classes tomorrow, Jones.”

“Skip ‘em.” 

You roll your eyes, looking up at the ceiling again. 

“Ridiculous.” 

Indiana reaches out, stroking gently along your arm. 

“You really give a damn,” He comments. His voice is soft, almost stunned. 

“Making fun of me?” 

“No,” Indiana insists. “Hell, I like it.”

"Maybe I could teach you a thing or two about it."

"Giving a damn?"

"Mhm. Teach you how to keep your promises, next."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021 ; @thatesqcrush ; @shanimallina87 ; @adarasforest ; @s-u-t ; @silversprings-mp3 ; @senawashere ; @foxilayde

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #16 - Third-rate

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #16 - Third-rate

Briar tilted his head, watching Aeluan with curious fascination. He wasn't quite sure what the paladin was doing, but it was intriguing to watch the man as he worked. At the moment, the Raen was carefully examining several pieces of wood. He was doing so with such intensity that the vendor selling looked somewhere between baffled and concerned.

"No," Aeluan said finally with a frown. "Not at this price."

The vendor sputtered and animatedly gestured at the wood Aeluan was currently frowning at. "Sir, this is the finest northern pine wood and--"

"It's third-rate at best," Aeluan cut in, polite but firm. "It is full of knots and still needs proper curing. Look." He pressed a nail into the wood, denting it. "Not to mention you can see discolourations from the sun." The paladin folded his arms and lifted his chin. "I'll give you half."

"…Half?" the vendor said, trying to look offended but paling slightly when Aeluan pointed out the wood's imperfections. "It was imported, sir! I would be selling at a loss! Perhaps we can come to an agreement?"

Briar watched in silent interest as Aeluan haggled and countered the vendor, who was doing their very best to make the wood sound exceptional as well as get Aeluan to buy more. It made Briar's head spin a bit, but it was nice to see Aeluan calm, confident, and assured in his stance. Not that the paladin wasn't often a steady presence, but he was clearly in his element at the moment.

At last, the vendor threw up their hands and sighed. "Very well," they groaned. "But my children will starve," they muttered dramatically. "I can have the wood delivered by the evening, sir."

"Thank you," Aeluan said politely, lips twitching in a smile. "Also, you don't have any children."

"Bah," the vendor huffed, taking his coin and waving Aeluan off. "Be gone with you. I have others to sell to!"

Aeluan chuckled and Briar blinked. He looked up at the paladin as he was herded away, glancing over his shoulder at the vendor. "You know him?"

"Oh, quite well," Aeluan said cheerfully, one hand on Briar's back protectively as he kept an eye out on the street. One could never be too careful. "I buy from him often."

"Then why did he try and cheat you?" Briar said with a baffled look.

Aeluan barked a rich laugh. "That? Oh, that's just the game. We always come to a fair price in the end, but getting there is half the fun." He glanced down at Briar, raising a brow. "You don't haggle?"

Briar shook his head in confusion. "No? Why would I ask for more than I want?"

Aeluan blinked and chuckled again. "Oh, dear," he murmured, shaking his head. "Let's talk about that later. For now, how about some lunch?"

Aeluan belongs to @sword-and-surfboard / @valdiis

[dreamwatch]

Disenchanted Lullaby

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #16 - Prompt: Struggling | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: depression, chronic pain, referenced drug use | POV: Eddie | Pairing: None | Tags: Eddie Munson, slice of life, introspection, the comedown after touring, loneliness, ennui

In all my universes Eddie has Bipolar type 2. Make of that what you will. :)

Technically no pairing... technically...

Eddie opens the apartment door, a rush of stale air meeting him in the hallway. He steps inside and drops his bag, toeing his sneakers off. The curtains are still closed, dust motes decorating the room; there are upturned dishes by the sink that are long since dried. The sofa is a mess of clothes and books, discarded when he was packing. The place is just as he left it four months ago.

He sorts through weeks of unread mail, bills on one pile, junk on another. Starts a third pile when he recognises the handwriting on some letters; Dustin, Mike. Steve. He sticks that one into a pile of it’s own. No overdue notices because he cut off the cable and sent checks from the road for the rent and utilities. Probably confused the hell out of them with all the different post marks.

There’s a lingering smell of himself in the bedroom, an echo of him, and he wishes he’d changed the bedding before he left for the tour. He unpacks his bag, checking for clean clothes, but there’s road-stink on everything so he takes it all down to the laundry, trying to get four months of sweat and cigarettes out of the fabric.

He had the good sense to empty the fridge before he left; he forgot once and came home to find food so rotten it was almost sentient. But that means he has nothing to eat. He’s been living off pizza and Taco Bell for sixteen weeks; there was a venue in Denver that gave them fruit and vegetables among the usual subs and pizzas. He never realised eating a carrot could be a spiritual experience.

The aisles of the local supermarket are filled with women and their offspring, an old lady hits the back of his bad leg with her trolley, doesn’t even say sorry. 

The harsh fluorescent strip light flickers above him as he stares at the deli meats. There’s fifty cents off pastrami. He needs to get bread. 

The strip light hums. 

Maybe some mayo. Should definitely get some oranges. 

“Sir?”

He blinks and looks as the girl behind the checkout.

“Sorry, what…?”

She sighs. “$26.55.”

“Right. Yeah, sure.”

He hands over three tens and walks out as fast as he can. As he loads up the car he notices the twin six packs of PBR at the bottom of the trolley.

The stairs finish off the job the old lady started, he feels flayed and raw, but he ran out of Vicodin about eight shows back. The apartment is quiet enough that he can hear the whistling of his tinnitus. He thinks about calling Wayne but it’s lunchtime in Indiana and the old man will be sleeping. He’ll catch him another time.

He’s in pain and exhausted, so he slides out of his jeans, climbs on top of the dirty bed and sleeps.

Wayne used to say that his mother ‘suffered with her nerves’, and Eddie could never make any sense of that until he started high school. They didn’t see it for what it was at first, teenage boys and their angry moods, but Wayne recognised it eventually. Eddie’s been on and off meds ever since.

Right now he’s off. But they numb him, dial him down when he needs to be dialled up, so he doesn’t take them when he tours. It’s not smart; the last few weeks he’s felt it creep back, insidious tendrils grabbing him, pulling him down. His ‘nerves’. He needs to call his doctor.

It’s amazing how many people think everyone in a band lives together like The Monkees, all trapped in one big house. They did, when they first moved to Indy and found a two bedroom shitbox. Now, though, they can’t wait to get the fuck away from each other the second the tour ends. Weeks trapped on a bus with no privacy and very little hygiene doesn’t do much for long term friendships. By the end any camaraderie has begun to curdle. 

Gareth and Matt live with their girlfriends now, Jeff with his wife and baby. They have solid families, good reasons to not be in the same room as one another until they have to get back into the studio. Eddie has his books, his records and a television set. He considered getting a dog for company but there’s nobody to look after it when he inevitably goes back out on the road.

He doesn’t verbalise it because it’s painful to admit, even to himself, but he’s lonely. He made some friends in LA, just for him, never to be shared. An actual boyfriend once. Or maybe just a lover, Eddie’s never sure where the line started and ended. But he has a habit of pushing people away, doesn’t even know why he does it. Hurts just to hurt.

He glances at the letters on the table. The letter from Steve. 

The red light of the answerphone blinks at him, telling him the tape is full.

He sits down with a beer and a bag of pretzels and switches the television on, flicking through the channels until he finds the Wheel of Fortune; he and Wayne used to watch that together. 

He really should call Wayne.

It’s nearly eight o’clock. He’d have finished his vocal warm up by now, finished his stretches, gone for a piss before drinking more water, drinking more beer, finishing up with a line of something. Roadie hands him his guitar, the black Flying V, he runs some scales. Hears the chanting as the crowd get antsy while their techs do the last mic check and clear the stage. Jeff is always first so the wall of sound has already built before Eddie walks out. A crushing roar that rumbles deep in his chest before he even strikes the first chord.

The crowd applaud as Gary from Sioux Falls solves the phrase: There’s No Place Like Home.

Eddie gets up for another beer. Comes back with two.

[autumnslance]

LynMars's FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

We're back again! The list and links for all of my completed prompts for this year's FFXIV Write. Stats and ramblings about writing will go under the Read More cut. Eventually these will be revised in some manner and tossed onto Ao3.

Asterisks again mean there's wolship nonsense happening.

01. Steer - Vignettes of less sociable times over Aeryn's life. 02. Horizon - WoL at the end of Ultima Thule, EW 6.0. 03. Tempest - WoL returns to Amaurot to contemplate, EW 6.4. 04. Reticent - C'oretta & Dark Autumn have a chat. Sort of. 05. Stamp - Aeryn finds a memento while cleaning, post-EW 6.0 06. Halcyon - Tanzel, Emelia, & understanding grief. Backstory. 07. Morsel - Zenos heading to Camp Broken Glass, EW 6.0. 08. Free Day! 09. Lend an Ear - Emperor Varis is very much alone. StB patches. 10. Stable - Hydaelyn as the avatar of Light. Endwalker. 11. Surrogate - Weird West AU. Unexpected new roles for the Strikers. 12. Quarry* - Dominants AU. Thavnair comes to Tural's aid. DT 7.0. 13. Butte - Dark Autumn versus seedkin in Xak Tural. DT 7.0. 14. Telling - WoL reflects on Emet-Selch's expected reaction. EW 6.0. 15. Free Day! 16. Third-Rate - Aeryn's annoyed by the Unbound. DT Role Quests. 17. Sally - Dark pays a final visit to a traitor, post-StB 4.1. 18. Hackneyed* - Aeryn, Thancred, & terrible literature. 19. Taken - A young wood warder tries to save his sibling. Backstory. 20. Duel - Wuk Lamat's challenge does not go as expected. DT 7.0. 21. Shade - WoL ruminates on some of their ghosts. Thru DT 7.0. 22. Free Day! 23. On Cloud Nine - A chocobo & her Warrior of Light. End ShB 5.0. 24. Bar - 2 different adventurers starting out. Legacy & ARR. 25. Perpetuity - Aeryn, Deryk, & questions of faith. EW 24man raid. 26. Zip - C'oretta helping out Hamon at the Coliseum. Technically DT. 27. Memory - In a future, music makes Iyna remember. EW Patches. 28. Deleterious - Aeryn & Shale discuss regulators & history. DT 7.0. 29. (Free) Deleterious 2* - Thancred & self-recrimination. ShB 5.0. 30. Two Heads are Better than One - Gulool Ja Ja muses. DT 7.0.

Previous years: 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021 | 2022 | 2023

Ended up a touch Aeryn-heavy this year, though Generic WoL, various NPCs, the other OCs, forays in the FC's AUs, and some supporting family cast members make appearances. There's even a callback to a previous FFXIV Write entry. Lots of Endwalker and Dawntrail due to recency bias, but it manages to span the spectrum from backstories through various expansions.

I only did 1 Free Day, due to having 2 solid ideas I ended up writing for that prompt. It was right at the end of my annual birthday vacation week, so I was pretty rested (may also be why they're among the longer entries!). Unusually, the rest of that week's works are not any longer than the others.

I'm also still working on some original writing, though, so that did cut into fanfiction time.

Below 500 words: #2 Horizon (347), #3 Tempest (415), #7 Morsel (499), #10 Stable (400), #13 Butte (477), #14 Telling (355), #17 Sally (464), #20 Duel (499), #24 Bar (462).

500 - 1,000 words: #1 Steer (944), #4 Reticent (581), #5 Stamp (588), #11 Surrogate (964), #12 Quarry (844), #16 Third-Rate (564), #18 Hackneyed (577), #19 Taken (915), #21 Shade (764), #23 On Cloud Nine (728), #25 Perpetuity (958), #26 Zip (592), #27 Memory (810), #30 Two Heads are Better than One (500).

Over 1,000 words: #6 Halcyon (2,479), #9 Lend an Ear (1,326), #28 Deleterious (1,099), #29 Deleterious 2 (1,231).

Shortest: #2 Horizon Longest: #6 Halcyon

Total: 20,382 words. Not my shortest but far from my longest. Comparing with the previous years, I can see a clear improvement in my grasp of both NPC and OC voices, and more confidence in general.

Even so, "Butte", "Sally", "Bar", and "Zip" were the hardest for me this year, and I may need to warm up to them. I love "Halcyon" for a lot of reasons, and am also fond of the lighter offerings in "Duel" and "On Cloud Nine." I like a lot of the others, particularly when trying to get into NPC heads (even if they're really weird places to be ffs, Zenos).

Not too many shippy entries this year, one of them for one of the AUs, one mostly talking about it rather than seeing it, but I like "Hackneyed" a lot as it's been awhile since I've written about Aeryn & Thancred's literary tastes (and opposite ways of treating their books).

These will eventually be revised and added to Ao3, and then we await next year!