#unstoppable bastard meets immovable bastard

[zero-buds]

I really wanna talk about Nathan Ford and Jim Sterling's relationship. Because it is, if nothing else, a clear line in the sand on the same side of the coin. Oh sure, one despises crime, but not because they inherently believe it's evil. And sure, one crossed a line, but it wasn't as if it was unexpected -it was just a shame it took a tragedy for them to cross it. And, just to be clear, Jim Sterling isn't on anyone's side and neither is Nathan Ford. No good, no bad, just self-satisfaction and there's enough time between them to know that they couldn't give a flying fuck either way about it.

Both are self serving assholes, both have personalities that are - for lack of a better term, stoic and dry as Death Valley, and both have a penchant for stepping over other people to get what they want.

The Only Reason Nate is even slightly more likeable is because at least the guy isn't a coldhearted bastard in the literal sense. At least he's Honest, and has some kind of empathy for other people.

Sterling barely does. All he knows is Black and White. There shouldn't be an in between. No grey area at all in Sterling's view. But the world doesn't operate that way, and Sterling knows that, which is why he detests the Leverage crew so much.

Him and Nate used to be on the same side (i mean they recovered art for rich people but they were just grunts following the law y'know). Used to chase the very same criminals that Nate now works alongside with. And that has to hurt a little.

Sterling feels betrayal, and maybe a bit of sadness. He lost the only friend he actually liked :( and that's in no way fair in his opinion. He's bitter about it when he meets Nate again in the first season. Especially when Nate dismisses their history.

Their friendship had to mean something to the now criminal mastermind. Surely, their years of friendship had meaning to it. (He attended birthday parties, a wedding ceremony, babysat for the Fords. I mean what else does he have to do to show that friendship?)

But if that's how it was going to be, fine, Sterling will begrudgingly play the bad guy even though he's pretty sure he's not. So he plays up the manipulative, cold-hearted antagonist who thwarts Nate at almost every turn. It's better than never getting to hear from Nate ever again. It's better than being told they were never friends (even if it stings).

When Nate gets shot in season 2, Sterling panicked. It wasn't supposed to go down that way but no. Nate chose to protect the crew, and he takes advantage of Sterling's beliefs that they're still friends to help them escape. It says alot about their relationship if Nate believes that Sterling would care. Would take the deal and let his crew escape. Sterling must have hated that Nate was right.

But the cycle continues. They meet, they banter, and they use each other. Again, and again and again. They're not exactly tethered to each other, nor do they seek each other out, but Sterling knows that if he pushes right, Nate will push left, keeping the balances in check.

[epicqtefail]

i have so much work to do in very little time im so scared but i just need to take a break to say what an excellent exquisite delectable thing connor and hank are doing throughout this game, whatever the fuck it is. fantastic

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!

I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3

Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader

summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara. 

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao

warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13

wc: 3.5k ish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.

Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things. 

Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax. 

Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration. 

It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers. 

"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler. 

"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."

Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words. 

"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers!  How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?" 

"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"

"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!" 

"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."

"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."

"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling. 

"I could do this all day, princesa. " 

You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure. 

~~~

You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit. 

You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive. 

He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time. 

You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far. 

That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him. 

You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.

"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar. 

"You okay?" 

He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you.  "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all." 

You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."

He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."

"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."

~~~

As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two. 

Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand. 

Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over. 

It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you. 

You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.

You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.

You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass. 

It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder. 

"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?" 

You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink. 

"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar. 

He stretches out his hand, and you take it. 

"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."

Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words. 

"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"

"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck. 

"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."

The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do. 

And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him. 

Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you. 

~~~

He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.

You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.

He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer. 

He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in. 

You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness. 

"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him. 

You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension. 

You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip. 

"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck. 

He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders. 

He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out. 

"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper. 

Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."

The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile. 

You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face. 

~~~

It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more. 

He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words. 

Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is. 

He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate  all your needs. 

When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order. 

So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk. 

He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach. 

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -" 

"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains. 

You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary. 

"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?" 

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-" 

"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious . 

"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body. 

"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something. 

You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up. 

He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?" 

You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression  is steady, just as unreadable. 

"Do you want to?" 

You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over. 

"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me." 

You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust. 

"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod. 

Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man. 

You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper. 

"Fuck, Miguel." 

"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot. 

You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares. 

"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans. 

"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."

His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters. 

" M-Miguel …"

He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm. 

" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?" 

You nod frantically with a stifled sob. 

"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."

"...fuuck you."

" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."

"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.

"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."

" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please." 

"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?" 

"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks. 

He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers. 

You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath. 

"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."

You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought. 

You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy. 

He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum. 

Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago. 

"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process. 

"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?" 

"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."

All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles. 

"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa." 

_

_

_

[y3ager]

STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!

— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’

eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.

my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭

YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.

but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.

you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.

for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.

you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.

until today.

“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”

“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”

“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.

“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”

“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”

“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”

“they are your bosses, without them-”

“they need me way more than i need them-!”

“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”

“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.

your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.

“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”

the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.

“i hate you, eren.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”

“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”

there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.

eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”

oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.

“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”

“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”

you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.

eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.

your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.

with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.

“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”

you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”

“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.

you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.

eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”

his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.

“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”

the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”

“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”

“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”

[foxish-draws]

I just wanted to draw the old men being toxic and got carried away cause it was a lot of fun to do. I just enjoy their dynamic of immovable gambler meets unstoppable bastard.

[lxvvie]

Throuples shit with Ghost and Mace:

An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. That is Mace and Ghost, respectively. As for you, well… you are the one keeps the peace. Usually. Depending. Other times, it’s you and Mace against Ghost. Well, it’s almost always you and Mace against Ghost because Mace is a professional shit-starter, and you tend to get roped in. You two keep him on his toes, though.

It was Mace’s idea, really, this thing you three got going on. He bided his time, went for the kill, got what he wanted, and damn. How’s it feel to have two big behemoth men crazy as shit over you? Must feel good, yeah?

And crazy for you they are. If you thought Ghost was down bad over you, Mace might have him beat. It’s a slim margin, though. It’s almost primal, their fascination with you, and they’re not ashamed of it. Oh, fuck no.

Simon’s love language is… a lot of things. Mace’s is trolling. Well, trolling and pissing Ghost off. Professionalism aside, Mace had a habit of trying to rile Simon up in the past. It was his way of flirting with the poor bloke. Turns out, “Wanna fuck?” yielded better results than his other pick-up lines did. Mace is like this with you, too, though it’s to a lesser extent. Simon got you hip to Mace and his Mace-isms. He’ll still flirt heavily with you, though.

Sharing a bed with two big behemoths is… interesting. It’s hilarious because Simon is in the bloody fucking middle now and will always be someone’s little spoon regardless. It’s also not uncommon to wake up to him having an arm around you both seeing as his chest seems to be a replacement for your pillows.

You thinking Simon was nasty with you, but the stories Mace has told you made you realize he’s downright disgusting and holy fucking shit—

Being sandwiched between these two men. Mace is smirking while Lil Mace is making his presence known against your stomach. Similarly, Ghost has arm around you so you can be pressed up against Lil Lieutenant Riley and, “Think you can handle us both, sweetheart?” God, yes.

You three not caring who fucks who so long as you all get yours and cum. Fuck, Simon doesn't give a fuck so long as he's sucking and fucking and having a bloody good day, and Mace... just wants to fuck, talk shit in general, and cum.

Mace kissing you and asking, “How’s he taste?” meaning Ghost and Jesus Christ. Simon makes Mace taste you by sticking his fingers in his mouth. Those same fingers that were fingerbanging the hell out of you not too long ago. Know that look that Simon gives? Y’know, the one where he wants to pounce on your and fuck your brains out? Yeah, that. Imagine being glued to the spot when both Simon and Mace look at you like that.

Mace absolutely enjoying being used when you and/or Ghost need to fuck your frustrations out. Oh, he remembers those moments, alright, when him and Simon would just… fuck for hours to get the adrenaline out. Or he had pissed Simon off again. Who fucking knows?

You stepping out for your run-of-the-mill errand and coming back to Simon and Mace naked in bed, the smell of sex hanging in the air, covered in cum and sweat, and they’re both nursing a post-coital ciggie. Or, rather, sharing one because Mace can’t be bothered to get his own, the bastard.

Similarly, coming home to Simon milking (read: riding) Mace for all he’s worth, since the bastard wouldn’t leave well enough alone and shut the fuck up. Ghost gruffly telling you “C’mere…” before shoving his tongue down your throat and telling you to sit on Mace’s face to “shut the bastard up.” Mace fucking loving it and absolutely refusing to let you move, no matter how many times you’ve came on his face.

[bougiebutchbinch]

(based off a hilarious discussion in the Steddyhands server)

so, if a Certain Subset of this fandom insists that Izzy is a Manipulative Eeeeevul Villain who exists only to corrupt his sweet vanilla captain and mould him into Izzy's sadistic daddy!dom

and Stede is a Force of Goodness and Light who can purify Ed of Izzy's devilish influence using only his kindness, rich white privilege, and his dick.......

Well, obviously Stede and Izzy should fuck, right?

it's opposites attract! It's good v. bad! It's cringily Puritan-coded!

It's unstoppable force meets immovable object!

After Ed frolics off to become a fisherman, Izzy sets his wicked eyes on Stede. The reason he's so nice to him in those episodes is so he can guide him down a dark path and enable all his worst character traits - sorry, uhhhh, I mean, force him to burn people alive and relish in violence - for his own twisted sexual gratification.

Can Stede resist the allure of Izzy's phat pussy? Or will he succumb?

OR.

Will Stede's magic healing cock counteract the seductive allure of Izzy's darkly dangerous bootyhole, and heal him of his unholy kinky perversions?

Stede starts fucking Izzy with a noble goal: to fix this broken bastard and bring him back to the light. To teach him that gentleness and nobility are the way, not lying and sin.

But Izzy resists! He fears the purifying powers of Stede's love, his kindness, his girthy and mighty horsecock. He fears... becoming soft.

He rides Stede with demonic abandon, subliminally trying to poison his brain with the encoded message hidden in the slap of Stede's balls on his cunny lips, to brainwash him into thinking that violence is sexy, actually, and he should become Izzy's new amoral dom.

Which force shall triumph? Who shall claim victory, in this, the ultimate fuckery between good and evil?

[eldritch-spouse]

Rei gets obsessed with someone that is aware of how much of a fuckboy he is. She doesn't really believe that he loves her, that he just wants to hit it and quit it. I like the dynamic of an absolute stud paired with someone who is not as easily swayed by looks and charm. Unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

To be fair, it's initially very hard to tell if Rei effectively just wants to pump and dump or get into something serious.

The signs are kind of there, but he's quiet about his obsession at first. Or rather, he's already so crazy, loud and insistent that even if he said that he wanted to tie you to his bike and ride over the geysers of Wrath then hide you away in a little nook only he knows about- You'd think Rei is just in really high spirits that day...

Unfortunately for you, Rei always likes a challenge. Even if you think he's only there to get you in bed, you'll likely let him have you anyway because the heights of his desperation will lead Rei to exaggerate even more than usual in his work, reminding you that he may die in his next stunt or even deliberately making it seem as if he's struggling. All of this in an attempt to see if you'll put a stop to his increasingly self-destructive behavior and finally let the scummy bastard hit it.

The morning after, you wake up alone in his bed and think he's done. That he expects you to walk out and never contact him again. Except when you try to walk out the bedroom, he's already in the doorway, pushing you back onto the bed with a full tray in his other hand.

Where the fuck do you think you're going?!

He's going to tell you his schedule and you're going to pack up some bags for cross-Ring traveling. Now eat up, no time to waste!

[wannaeatramyeon]

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!! IM NOT SURE IF YOUR REQS ARE STILL OPEN OR NOT, IF NOT, PLEASE IGNORE THIS!

its been like 2 or 3 days since i found your account and your fanfics and they are just perfect like they r literally the defination of perfect

and since i love reading ur fanfics, i wanted to ask if it was possible for you to write a gun x goo fanfic where they both realize that they slowly fall in love to each other, but they r too scared to admit it.. just idiots in love, yk. you write them so good and im here for it hehe.

love you, take care of urself<33

Oof Gun x Goo? Gotta admit, I love this pairing. Thank you so much for reading anon and getting back to your ask like... 8 weeks later (maybe 8 weeks of MORE reading heh). 🫶 Take care too!

Gun Park x Goo Kim: Equals

What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force? Two lives fated to entwine for better or worse? Not souls to be saved but dragging each other to depths of depravity and then some.

Gun's ears pricked when he heard the name from Charles Choi. A weapons prodigy, someone meant to be his equal.

And on their first meeting, all Goo could say at first glance was 'woah' to the man standing before him. A legend built through rumours of ferocity and power on the grapevine.

What better way is there to prove everything than with a test of strength?

It didn't take long for them to bring out the brutality in one another. A bloody battle resulting in no clear winner but perfectly matched equals, lasting scars and permanent steel pins.

The beginning of a partnership.

.

.

An object of mutual hatred speeds up their bonding.

Mr. Carpenter. Tom Lee. Someone who tests the limits of their patience and what they are willing to do to achieve their goals.

Day after day, both put through their paces until their bodies are beaten and spirits almost broken.

Gun is the first one to offer a helping hand. A truce. Held in his palm a healing balm developed by the Yamazaki clan to ease the muscles and numb the agony.

It's not much. Though it means at least Goo can go to sleep instead of lying awake, brain kept sharp from his body and limbs pulsing with pain.

Goo calls him a bastard and takes it.

.

.

Opposites in so many ways yet different sides of the exact same coin.

Forced to spend minutes, hours, days, in one another's company. Until they know each other's habits like their own. Know every single button to press. Can predict the next words out of the other's mouth. The time together, the company becoming as natural as breathing.

It was Goo's idea.

After the training, after they both started working formally for HNH.

Cabin fever building from seeing each other day in day out. Partners during business hours, sharing a home during the rest.

Why not prove dominance in other ways Goo had suggested, thinking there is no way Gun Park would say yes to this.

But when all the constant fights only lead to dead ends, what else is there to do? Why not chase a little pleasure with the pain too.

Gun agrees.

It doesn't mean anything. Why would it? It's a means to an end (though the victor is never decided) and a way to fulfil a human need.

.

.

The first inkling of something blossoming is thanks to Sinu Han.

The Boss of Big Deal breaking Goo's glasses and him sulking all the way home.

After listening to his incessant whining for what feels like hours, Gun takes a detour; pulling up straight outside an optometrist and marching the blonde in.

He even pays the bill.

"Aww," Goo places the black frames on and Gun has to admit that his broken ones, the gold pair, never did him enough justice, "A gift for your boyfriend. How kind."

.

.

Little adventures together add up. Nights in a bathhouse. Natural springs. Sailing vast oceans. Drifting under the open sky.

Training and eating and fighting. Against each other or back to back, Gun looking out for Goo and Goo looking out for Gun.

Honing their skills, unknowingly, to fight with a very specific partner by their side.

Hours upon hours upon hours together.

Sunlight following as they drive along highways, experiencing the highs of summer and lows of winter and everything in between. 

Moonlight illuminating dark corners in shady warehouses; casting a glow on all the skin torn open with violence and blood they have spilled.

It's a twisted sort of romance. One that would never be remembered as any great love story but fitting for demons that have never known anything else.

.

.

Karaoke in Ansan is never part of the plan.

(Neither was falling into bed together.)

Completely destroying the place and crew was but not the staying behind, surrounded by broken bodies and singing.

Goo pouts and frowns so much that Gun, even with the vein throbbing on his neck, acquiesce.

And when Gun suggested they make a move back to Seoul soon, and Goo scowled even more, saying he's having fun?

Fine. They stay for another song.

Which turns into 3, into 5, into the whole night.

Gun never gives in to the duet Goo asks for. He considers that a small win.

.

.

Goo is not familar with jealousy. Simply put, he’s an attention seeker. Loves the limelight, seeks it out and demands all eyes on him.

When Gun first started obsessing over Daniel Park, it doesn't affect him. Not really.

But when they're together, Gun is still distracted. Well, that's when it irks him.

On seeing Gun's broken arm, Goo laughed himself silly. It's what that bastard deserves.

Daniel Park should have broken his other one. Maybe snapped a leg too and his neck.

Goo continues to laugh even when he holds up Gun's phone for him.

Even when he knots that asshole's tie.

Even when he follows him to check ups and appointments.

Goo laughs especially hard when he offers to feed him and receives a dirty look in return.

It's only half a joke.

.

.

Everyone knows of their fights, the way they constantly butt heads and gripe at each other.

What no-one else sees are the moments of tenderness. That neither realise they are capable of giving and also could accept.

Goo, one that always prefers to run his mouth, stays quiet. Sitting in the gloom with Gun whenever a successor doesn't work out.

Eagerly takes the brunt of Gun's frustrations with his back arched and whimpers falling from his lips.

Then when finally, the storm passes, Goo is still there. Full of smart quips and sassy remarks until Gun cracks. A smirk, a tiny thing.

But it's there.

.

.

Debt is repaid and so is kindness, though no one is keeping count.

And neither would admit that it's kindness.

The night Goo returns home, shovel in hand after the run in with Charles Choi and Tom Lee, Gun is the one that offers to fight Tom Lee together.

Goo doesn't know how serious he is. Nevertheless the idea makes him cackle. Maybe they would win, maybe they would die together.

It’s kind of poetic, in a way.

In the morning, he wakes with Gun curled around his back and an arm flung over his waist.

.

.

Cards are still held close to their chest; Gun and Goo both keep their secrets. They're at each other's throat as much as they're on each other's lips.

It's an unconventional relationship that would likely doom anyone else but for them, it works.

They never tell one another how they feel, they don't have to. It's not in their nature to say I love you, anyway. Their actions speak for themselves.

.

.

Gun watches his partner, his equal, driving. Humming along to a pop song, windows down and breeze fanning his hair.

It really is strange how they have managed to slot all their broken edges together.

How the line has blurred and turned fuzzy, yet now he can't recall if there was a line in the first place.

Goo, feeling Gun's eyes on him, looks over and snorts when he sees his expression. It's become soft, softer still with each passing day. He would make fun but sometimes he catches himself wearing the same one.

And. Well, he doesn't want to be a hypocrite. Not with this.

Goo grins, wide and a little wild, "We have fun, don't we?"

Gun barely even needs to think about his answer.

"Of course."

[stvrmhondss]

👉👈 lerquez tonite? lerquez tonite queen? (or next week, or the week after, anytime, please—)

takes a long drag from my cigarette i fear i’m in a bit of a writing slump but my thoughts are ever racing around my brain like hamsters in wheels so let me try if i can at least throw some to paper

so you know how marc is like the most feral little goblin? an incorrigible little slut? born to whore? making eyes at men twice his height, fiddling with his clothes, biting and licking his lips while someone is trying to TALK to him…. always ready to take of his shirt, pull down his pants on a stage in front of a crowd, zero shame in his body. like he Knows he’s a hot little thing… he KNOWS,,,

and then you have charles who is like the biggest FREAK when it comes to how he is perceived, his perfect pr face, so so Aware of appearances at all times and working to appear befitting his company like, wanting to Look Distinguished and Poised around his fancy monte carlo entourage and his investor meetings and what not but then being a little goofy around his friends but still being soooo aware that there’s a camera on him… like we joke we jest but he Does always spot the damn camera

and now imagine those two meeting… unstoppable force immovable object etc etc like i imagine charles is invited to one of those fancy lil gala dinners one of his clubs in monaco throws and maybe he’s even the guest of honour after his monaco win and he makes the mistake of taking marc as his +1. and BOY it’s a mistake, because marc takes one look at charles in his custom, tailored suit and decides to be the most awful brat in existence… i’m talking charles crosses himself three times when they make it out of the door of his apartment because DAMN that man is needy

like marc just does nooooot keep his hands to himself in the car, charles is SWEATING, has a death grip on both of marc’s hands just like,,, please,,, i’m begging you behave tonight this is IMPORTANT but marc just looks at him with his big baby cow eyes all 🥺 but what am i doing? 🥺 i just think you look so nice and charles is d o o m e d because his insistence on denying marc what he wants (aka getting freaked six ways to sundays) just makes marc bratty as FUCK. just oh? so you won’t let me have what i want because there’s important people there? i see. and he makes it a game, sneaks his hands all over charles just out of sight of the Important People charles wants to keep up appearances in front of, makes charles twitchy and nervous and horny as helllll while he just has a giggle

at some point charles thinks he’s clever and stands out of reach, opposite marc in a small circle of people and he thinks he finally gets to take a fucking breath because marc’s devious hands can’t reach him but ha! he has forgotten that marc is a demon and is determined to win this game he’s started by himself! so when charles makes the mistake of looking at marc for a moment while giving one of his usual charming answers and marc is just,,, looking at him with his most severe fuck me eyes i’m talking glancing up at charles from under his baby camel lashes, that little smile, nodding along to what charles is saying (his ass is NOT listening), biting and licking his lips like it is BAD for charles and he just completely loses track of what he’s saying and it is sooo obvious that he’s actually being asked if he’s okay??? like you good man?? and charles is sooo embarrassed because this isn’t very cool calm collected girlboss of him but marc just dials up the brattiness to fucking astronomical by going 🥺 it’s hot in here, no? 🥺 let’s get you something to drink 🥺 as if he isn’t directly responsible for charles losing his shit in front of an audience and that just makes charles fully lose his mind because. bastard. as if HEEEE isn’t the reason…

so when they reach the drinks table charles fucking REELS him in real close and just goes you little shit… you absolute menace do you really need me to fuck you so bad that you can’t let me breathe for a second here?? and marc keeps up his bambi eyes all oh woe is me you’re just soooo handsome 🥺 soooo hot 🥺 i just can’t help myself 🥺 and something fries behind charles’ eyes and marc sees it happen, shiver running down his spine because oh. yeah he’s just crossed the line that makes charles turn into a FREAK.

they fuck so nasty when they get back home,,, like marc bent over the armrest of the sofa because charles has NO patience left, stripped bare but charles still in his impeccable suit, only his dick out and marc is not allowed to touch himself or charles and he has absolutely no leverage like this to even just buck against charles, all teary eyed and whining and yeah… freaks (affectionate).

like damn look at this needy shawty like i’d lose my mind too if i were charles

[esteemed-excellency]

OC Ships List:

Hiram x The Quiet Deviless: they started as an excuse to draw cool outfits and look how far they've come. They live rent free in my head and I'm rotating them at lightspeed velocity. Sweet, romantic and a bit obsessive, but all in all very lovey dovey. Extremely scandalous in the eyes of polite society given their tendency for PDA, and a predictable affair if you ask anyone who personally knows Hiram. More about them here and here.

Hiram x Captain Dargor (@thunder-threnodies): fellow associates to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to distrustful collaborators to accomplices to friends again to lovers once more to partners to old married couple. What if you lose the person you trust the most? What if you meet them again after a decade, only to realise you both have been irremediably changed by your respective obsessions? What if you choose to keep trusting that person regardless of their changes, and despite their choices? The Narrative did a number on them but they just kept going until they found each other again. Soulful guy who is very tired of life x soulless guy who can't get enough of it. Sensucht x Streben. Immovable Object x Unstoppable Force. More about them here and here.

Hiram x Captain Snipsnop (@that-fella-snipsnop): old pals. Crazy partygoers. Senior citizens on the loose. Listener x infodumper. Amnesiac x eidetiker. Chaotic x chaotic. Research buddies. They enable each other's weirdness. The loveliest old man you will ever meet x the most annoying bastard you will ever interact with. Pov you want to avoid your correspondence class because sometimes the professor is a bit too sinister even for Benthic standards. You apply for an apprenticeship with the nice old captain who seems very sweet and a little out of place at the University. You end up on a dirigible witnessing The Horrors on the Roof. Poor Edward is there. The nice old captain just stole Poor Edward's zeppelin. Why is this happening. You manage to get back to London alive. You decide to attend a party to try and forget about the week you just had. The creepy correspondence professor and the old captain from your Roof adventure are there. Together. They're chugging absinthe shots. What the hell.

Hiram x Giorgione (@that-giorgione): Friends? Enemies? Something else? Something more? Who knows. Guy who owns the entire city x guy who knows every single person in town. They courteously exchange business plans. They politely sit through the same board meetings. They keep sending each other assassins. They keep having lunch together. They undermine each other's affairs. They keep sharing wine. The weirdest business associates situation you've ever witnessed. Guy who can't forget (affectionate) x guy who can't forget (derogatory).

Hiram x Virginia: The funniest crack ship imaginable to me. They had a thing almost 40 years ago and they're both cringed about it. Why are they even talking again. They always end up owing each other favours. They're building a railway. They despise each other. They know each other too well. They both think building the railway wouldn't be as fun without the other. They won't ever admit it. They would love to never meet again. They would love to keep pestering each other forever. Acquaintances (neutral) to lovers (cringe) to enemies to allies to acquaintances (derogatory) to enemies again to whatever is going on with the railway board meetings. Passive aggressiveness champions. Nuisance x nuisance. They're both so annoying god bles.

[blackkatmagic]

Today's AO3 tag that reminded me of something Kat has written: 'unstoppable bastard meets immovable dumbass'

This is just Alpha/Agen tbh.

[wetcatspellcaster]

Hi!!

So, I just wanted to say, that I’m a huge fucking fan of pieces. It’s just,,, fantastic— literally everything I want from an ascendant Astarion fic (violence, pining, conflict!!).

I’ve been struggling to articulate what exactly I enjoy the most about it, but I’ve settled on the dynamics— the dialogue you’ve written reads like him tonally and structurally. Almost every line Astarion has in some way alludes to this fear of loss of control and insecurity that remains with this dumb, sexy bastard!!

Rosalie’s own voice (yearning, knowing, insecure in her own way about change and age, determined, fucking hilarious and she knows it) compliments his in a way that breaks my heart!! She’s his antithesis and his compliment!! Ugh!! No wonder Astarion is so obsessed!!

The dialogue between the two, makes me happy to have them together— but also incredibly sad and worried for them. I need them to see a high fantasy marriage counselor so that they can get along and Rosalie can do what she wants. Though I cannot wait to see if a higher power tries to interfere with Rosalie’s wish making. I imagine Mephistopheles wouldn’t be happy to see a refund of 7,000 souls.

Thank you for sharing, and (I cannot stress this enough) thank you for your hard work! Please know that I am now a ride or die for your writing— as I ran through Party Favors and your DA fics.

Hey lovely, thank you so much for taking the time to send such a kind message! :)

I've said this a few times in a few different places, but I'm just lowkey obsessed with a certain villain/heroine dynamic that is essentially "unstoppable corrupted force meets incorruptible and immoveable object' - I've shamelessly written it for Darklina, and now I get to do it again while also adding D&D wizards into the mix for my own mental health! I'm glad that you enjoy the dynamic as well - always nice when a meal I'm making for myself suddenly evolves into a banquet for others :D

I can't answer all your message without spoilers, I promise that *I* think it's a Happy Ending!!! And while it is true that the Wish spell tends to invite the DM to come up with the negative consequences the bigger the thing you ask for, soon Rose will know it operates by those rules as well ;) So I'm sure she can prepare for it.

I really appreciate such a lovely message, I'm glad you enjoy my work (I'm also glad you find Rose funny) and I am grateful to hear that it's not just a fluke fic and you've liked some of my other stuff as well - that's always nice to hear!!! ♥♥

[bolyde]

unstoppable force meet immovable object. you can't do away with rolan entire, no. you've warmed up to the insufferable bastard. you know one bloodless means of shutting him up for a few seconds. grabbing his chin, an element of surprise on your side, you kiss him quickly and, to the fault of mounting annoyance, a mite rougher than necessary. "i don't require somatics like you, wizard."

A growl of surprise leaves Rolan. Between being grabbed and the kiss and feeling unbelievably drawn to how consuming the affection that @mindhallow doles out to him. "With how much you talk, maybe you should learn about them." Rolan slings back, a hand reaching up a gripping Wish by the front of his doublet tightly so he can't get away just yet.

What an infuriating man to want close.

"I'll also have you know, I'm a sorcerer too." He then scolds, releasing Wish, turning away to run a thumb over his lips. The skin had busted from the force of the kiss, "Unfortunately these academic circles just do not take you as seriously if you advertise that fact." A scoff as his tongue darts out across his bottom lip like he's chasing and savoring the last taste of Wish upon them... maybe he was.

[philosophicalparadox]

For the ask game! Mephisto and Lucifer XD

Oh you do love to torment me don't you lol

Send me two characters and I'll tell you:

Who would win in a fight:

Consistently? Neither. Do I think Mephisto/Samael has merc'ed Lucifer a few times catching him by surprise? Hell yeah. Do i think Lucifer has gotten petty vengeance and destroyed or tried to destroy Samael's body? Definitely. But in a real, full out fight? MAD is the only way I see it going. Samael might bow out to preserve himself or Assiah but I wouldn't call that losing. Similarly Lucifer would almost certainly destroy his host body trying to fight Samael. They'd destroy each other physically if nothing else. If it went beyond that and they fought in Gehenna or somehow in a non corporeal form, then they'd destroy Assiah/Gehenna before they ever destroyed each other. Their powers are equal and opposite; Samael has perfect defense, Lucifer has way too much juice. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. Itd be a battle of stamina I don't think either one would win in the long run. If Lucifer was more patient I could see him wearing Samael down, but we both know he'd hit with lots of heavy attacks if he had nothing left to lose, and seriously wanted to destroy Samael; he would use up his energy losing his temper and Samael, while not having a good time, would be draining that energy away knowing exactly what would happen.

2. Who would be a better roommate:

I'd say neither of them would be good roommates. Lucifer would be more appealing at first, until he had a bad day and suddenly all the woes of the world would be on you. Mephisto would be the crazy weeb trash roomie that was a bit obsessive-compulsive and would yell at you for touching his stuff, but you'd get used to him; the fact he would take off for days on end and youd never know where he was would be a little disconcerting though.

3. Who is better in bed:

Oooooof tough one. Depends on what you like. Overall Meph is way more versatile, and willing to do most kinds of kink. He also is open to playing whatever role works for you; he loves acting. Lucifer I do think is good in bed, especially if he wants to impress you, but he's more of a stickler. He likes things to go his way, whether he's a top or bottom. And if you don't want him to get bored you'll have to know what he likes and how. Even so, despite Lucifer objectively getting less tail, I imagine he's far more of a boy toy in spirit so to speak. He sees, he likes, he takes...whether they like it or not. Mephisto can be like this, but he's more honest about it. With Lucifer it's about his image or getting his needs met. With Mephisto, if theres any emotional connection to it, it's probably pettiness or boredom.

4. Who I'd pick to be my presidential running mate:

When it comes to campaigning I'm picking Mephisto every time. Lucifer could absolutely get me where I wanted to be - but he would set it up to ruin me at a moment's notice all the while, and the first time I incurred his ire he'd sabotage me just to be a petty bitch. Mephisto is true to his word - sometimes a little too true - but so long as I played my hand carefully and made the right sort of exchange, he would get me there and leave me there, in theory. Anything that happened after would just be "coincidence" *wink wink 😉*

5. Whose shoulder I would cry on:

I'd prefer Meph for this one again. Lucifer might make noise about condolences and gestures of comfort but he's a cold and hollow bastard in his heart and might even get mad that I'm crying because he doesn't understand it. Mephisto might be annoyed, confused, or disgruntled, but he would eventually just succumb and be like "ok, this is something humans need to do sometimes. It'll go away on its own as long as it doesn't concern me." And be mostly indifferent. Depending on his mood he may try to play court jester and turn into a dog or do something ridiculous to make me laugh. I don't really see him trying to make it worse, especially for a total stranger, just mostly benign. Unless he was the one being cried over. Then he'd go out of his way to leave a bad impression.

6. Who would make a better parent:

Mephisto, no contest. Is he the best parent? Fuck no, but he is willing to set aside the personal stuff to learn what he needs to do to deal with a situation. I already presume he has tried raising the twins himself, to no avail - but he has in fact raised at least one child we know of, Abel, to a relatively ok degree. Lucifer, on the other hand, is too self absorbed and ambitious. He would be affectionate to a child perhaps, but he could never ingratiate himself or be too involved with one. Kids are dramatic and selfish little devils and Lucifer is naught but an overgrown child himself; he could play with pleasantries but he would end up hating any child he was around for a long enough time.

7. Who I would rather date:

Do I even need to answer this one? Lol. I'll take a week long relationship with the Devil that ends in fake tears and a good laugh than possible months of creepy love bombing, obsessive narc shit that always ends the same way. Only this time I might end up dead.

Thanks for the ask @thebeingofeverything ! This was fun 😆

[fabulous-joys]

Have we ever considered a tall fun ghoul btw because he lives in my mind rent free. He's a clumsy bastard and has long legs which he runs too fast with for his own good. Often eats sand because he falls face first into it.

tall fun ghoul would be too powerful in the sense that he's dangerously fast and can reach things on the tall shelves. he would also be flawed with the clumsiness and the impulsive tendencies. what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object