#userserenfic

[serenfire]

i'd let her fuck me with a racket

fandom: challengers (2024) rating: explicit relationship: art donaldson/tashi donaldson/patrick zweig additional tags: alternate universe - canon divergence, pegging, strap-ons, you count a tennis racket as a strap on? i do, anal sex, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, analingus, safe sex, barebacking, (they only got 2 condoms and use 1 for the tennis racket), top tashi, bottom patrick, top art, top patrick, bottom tashi, plot what plot/porn without plot words: 6,799 chapters: 1/1

Tashi says, soft as an apology, “I have to go.” A line of spit snaps between Art and Patrick, and Patrick is staring at her and looking like he’s given up, like he’ll just let the blood-thumping moment of glorious, untold possibility pass them by. Art swallows the first plea that eternally lives in his chest, and instead says, “But Patrick told me he’d let you fuck him with a racket.”

read here

[serenfire]

based on this post by @equalseleventhirds: what if annabelle didn’t kill salesa and he drove her and martin to hill top road? | mag 197 spoilers

.

“Martin, I’m not setting a foot on this gas pedal until you buckle your seat belt,” Salesa says.

Annabelle winks at Martin in the rear-view mirror. “He’ll do it, too. On the way here, he used his turn signals. Martin: he used his turn signals in the apocalypse.”

Martin grumbles, shifting his knees around so they don’t press into Salesa’s back. “I don’t know why we just can’t wait for Jon.”

He buckles his seat belt.

“Like, he’s right there.” Martin points to the giant Panopticon tower, which recedes as Mikaele Salesa’s very nice vintage car weaves through robotic eyes that block the otherwise empty A40 exiting London. “We could wait for him.”

Annabelle shrugs. “I’m not confronting Jonathan Sims on his own territory.”

“Oh, so you are confronting him? This is a confrontation? You’re driving me to a confrontation?”

Mikaele stabs at the ancient radio, and it crackles on with a hiss of white noise.

Martin clears his throat and talks over the static. “Is this what this is? Because I kind of thought we were going to have a chat. A nice, calm chat, about how to stab Jonah Magnus in his pretentious gut and not suffer the consequences.”

“And it will be a nice, calm chat. Away from London.” Annabelle curls a strand of bleached hair over her ear in the flipped-down passenger mirror. She adjusts a cobweb over the hole in her skull.

“Uh-huh. So this is a kidnapping.”

Martin waits for Annabelle to exhale a laugh in the quiet way of someone who didn’t expect it, or for Salesa to grin at him. Salesa had grinned at Martin’s jokes quite frequently in Upton House. Maybe the man who sold a homophobic vase wasn’t quite irredeemable, after all.

After the longest silence in Martin’s life, rivaling his stint in the Lonely, he unbuckles his seat belt and leans over the front seat. “You’re definitely kidnapping me.”

“Annabelle, I didn’t think we were kidnapping him.”

“Mikaele, we’re not…permanently kidnapping him. We’ll give him back to Jon.”

“Oh? Great, you’ll give me back to Jon. Why don’t I believe you?”

A piece of spider silk drips down from the hem of Annabelle’s sweater. “I don’t know, Martin. Why don’t I believe that you had a bad muscle spasm when you cranked down the window and tried to throw the camera out?”

Martin glares at Salesa’s camera. The camera sits in all of its Fear-defying glory, tucked into the seat belt next to him.

“…Alright. Where are you not-kidnapping me to?”

“Oxford,” Salesa tells him.

“Mikaele—”

“Annabelle, are you going to blindfold him before leading him into the house? No? Then I vote he gets to know where we’re going.”

Martin taps his fingers on the very expensive seat cushions of Salesa’s very cool car. “And which place would that be?”

Annabelle makes a decision, smiles sunnily at him. “I’m taking you, not kidnapping you…to Hill Top Road.”

Martin tries to throw the camera out of the car window again.

.

“Okay,” Martin says, “at least let me change the radio channel.”

“No.”

“Annabelle, you’re literally kidnapping me—”

“Am not.”

“—and you won’t even let me choose the soundtrack for it.”

Annabelle switches the radio channels. “Oh, which one did you want? The sound of static? The sound of a very faint TV signal? Or, quite possibly, the sound of no radio towers existing any more.”

Martin crosses his arms. “I’ll take the faint TV signal.”

Annabelle does not change the radio channel back. Rude.

What she does do is open the passenger compartment and toss him a granola bar. Martin catches it, mostly expecting it to turn into spiders. It does not.

“Um. What’s this?”

“I’m hungry. Assumed you were hungry, too. Don’t worry. It’s not spiders.”

Martin narrows his eyes as he bites into the (apple cinnamon) granola bar. “Can you read my mind?”

“No. I just know that you think I turn things into spiders.”

“Might be because you turn things into spiders,” Martin says.

Annabelle grins out the car window. “Might be because I turn things into spiders,” she agrees. “But not you. Well, not anymore.”

Martin sputters. “You were going to turn me into spiders?”

“That was only when I thought you would be good at it.”

Martin scoffs, then; a full on dramatic scoff. “Annabelle Cane, would I not be good at being spiders?”

Annabelle looks directly at him, and scoffs back. “Martin Blackwood, you would be absolute shit at being spiders.”

Salesa raises a hand. “I think I’d be pretty alright at being spiders, personally.”

Martin shakes his head. “You were going to turn me into spiders. Me. Into spiders. That doesn’t even…there’s no manipulation in that! There’s no patience! It’s just needlessly dramatic.”

He pauses.

“Annabelle, were you a theatre kid?”

“…I assume this insult is being thrown by a poetry kid who specialized in Kerouac and Dead Poets Society.”

Martin opens his mouth. Closes his mouth. “And I assume that the only reason I’m being insulted like that is because I was right.”

“As was I.” Annabelle winks.

Martin stuffs his face into his hands. “Worst. Kidnapping. Ever. At least with Jon here, he could look into your mind and pick out something that’s really embarrassing to toss in your face. Or—or he could just kill you.”

“Yeah, but he won’t,” Annabelle says. “He needs to hear me out.”

“But then you kidnapped me.” Martin waves his hands around. “He probably won’t be in the mood for hearing you out after that.”

Annabelle snorts. “If you knew what he was doing right now…no, he is definitely not in the traditional mood for hearing me out.”

“Why? What’s he doing right now?”

Annabelle gestures to him and then stage-whispers: “He’s canoeing from the Panopticon to Hill Top Road.”

“He’s… Why is he canoeing there?”

“That’s the only other way there. This car, or canoeing.”

Martin pauses.

Martin thinks.

“Annabelle Cane,” Martin says, very quietly, “did you kidnap me from Jon solely because you wanted him to canoe to Hill Top Road?”

Annabelle leans back in her seat and eats a granola bar.

.

Jon pulls up to Hill Top Road, Basira a step behind, all thoughts focused on rescuing Martin.

The drenching rain has ceased as soon as he stepped onto the ground.

The house on Hill Top Road looks old and innocuous, and Jon can feel the thrum of the Web from within.

He can also see a sleek, black car parked on the curb, the driver’s face obscured by a comically sized map.

Jon sighs. He raps on the window.

Mikaele Salesa rolls the window down, grinning fully at Jon. There’s not even a drop of water on the car.

“Welcome, Jonathan,” Salesa says.

“Hnng,” Jon agrees. “Where are they?”

“Inside, of course. I’m glad you’re here; you can all catch up. And this is my cue to leave! Annabelle said I should probably drive this thing far away from where it can influence you. She wants you to be in pristine shape for your…talk.”

Salesa gestures to the passenger seat, on which his camera is rested. Correction: on which is camera is seat-belted in.

“Oh,” Salesa says, turning on the engine, “one last thing—this wasn’t a kidnapping.”

Jon blinks. “Wasn’t a…”

“Exactly! Wasn’t a kidnapping. Okay. See you around, Jon.”

Jon watches Salesa as his car speeds off into the night.

Basira shakes the remaining water off of herself. “Does that mean we could have driven here instead of canoeing until my arms fell off?”

Jon sighs. “Come on. Let’s go get Martin.”

[serenfire]

to be human by serenfire

jack kline & claire novak, castiel/dean winchester | T | 8k

“Okay,” Claire says. “Headset, headset, I need a headset now!”

Dean chews on half a piece of jerky like it’s nothing, like he has no stake in whether she finds the goddamn headset or not.

Claire walks right up to him and tears the jerky out of his mouth. “I know you know where they are,” she says, the jerky crumbling into bits that rain down on the Bunker floor. Claire has had a very long day—a very long weekend, in fact, which is ending with the wildest plan to solve a case that she has ever had the pleasure of concocting.

“Jack’s got all the electronics,” Dean huffs.

“I know you’ve got a headset around here somewhere, Winchester. I’ve seen you on your Walkman!”

Jack’s voice floats to them from the cracked door to his room. “Um, Claire? The bitrate’s changed again.”

Claire yanks the container of beef jerky off of the table. “Damnit, Dean Winchester! Come help your son become a video game streamer on the internet, or so help me God we’re not going to save this ghost!”

read on ao3

[serenfire]

365 daily affirmations for healing and positive thinking by serenfire

peter/elias, melanie/georgie, jon/martin | T | 5k

The florist asks, “So, who should I address these flowers to?”

Martin can't seem to get the words out. This was, unequivocally, a bad idea.

Georgie gives Martin one last, wicked smile. “Write: To Peter Lukas. From Elias Bouchard.”

This was a really, terribly awful, extremely bad idea, and it’s definitely going to end with Martin’s death.

written for @pinehutch during the @tma-valentines-exchange event

read on ao3

[serenfire]

vague posting by serenfire

tma, melanie/georgie, jon/martin, rated T

The Magnus Institute ✔ @MagnusInstitute 

The Institute does not have any "secret tunnels." Any attempts to disrupt the historic foundation of the building will be countered with an immediate security alert. 

Melanie King ✔ @GhostHuntUK replying to @MagnusInstitute 

damn just dm me next time elias 🖕

written for the podcastgirlsweek free day

read here

[serenfire]

y’all i wrote a ficlet about interpreting simon’s “threat on martin’s life”

Jon learns too much about Simon Fairchild’s romantic life when the murder he’s supposed to be doing goes very wrong.

“Jon,” Martin says, finger outstretched, “do it.”

Jon looks between the wiry shell of an old man and his boyfriend. “Um,” he says.

“Do what?” Simon Fairchild asks, still smiling.

“Kill him,” Martin growls.

At this, Simon Fairchild raises his extremely creepy hands up as if to placate both of them. “Hang on, can he do that?”

“He can,” Martin steps forward, an avenging gleam in his eye, “and he will.”

Instead of running away or cowering before Jon, Simon just cocks his stretchy face to one side and says, “Okay, I’ll bite. What am I being executed for?”

Jon turns to Martin. “What did he, um, actually do to you?”

Martin looks between them, and motions his hands in the direction of the Vast’s manlet as if to mime an explosion. “Jon, we can talk about this later.”

Simon raises his hand. “I would actually like an explanation, if it’s all the same to you. Otherwise, I do have other corners of my domain to get back to, corners that are very far away from both of you.”

Jon leans in next to Martin. “Didn’t you two have one placid conversation?” he whispers.

Martin sputters. “It was anything but! He threatened to throw me off a rollercoaster.”

Jon knows something’s up when Simon’s cheeks get very, very pink.

He knows more when the Eye decides that this is the time to deliver him Simon’s perspective on their meeting, as if to the punchline of an extended joke.

“Um.” Jon clears his throat. “Er.”

Martin’s not done talking. “There was no reason to threaten me! We’d had a perfectly amicable time! But no, he had to leave it with threats of—of keeping me in freefall for all eternity.”

“Well,” Simon tries to cut in, “that’s not quite…”

“Jon, he threatened my life; rend him limb from limb!”

“Martin,” Jon starts slowly, “I might think that you… misread that situation.”

This stops Martin in his tracks. “…What?”

“Oh, Mr. Blackwood,” Simon steps in, “I didn’t intend for my proposition to be received with such awful connotations. Had you responded positively, this would have all been cleared up.”

Martin looks between Simon and Jon, whose cheeks are starting to burn with the same level of discomfort as Simon. “Okay, someone better explain to me what’s going on.”

Simon Fairchild, that bastard old man, motions to Jon with the beginning of a sly grin on his face. “The floor is all yours, Archivist.”

“Feral relic with one foot in the grave,” Jon mutters. “Fine. Um, Martin…”

“I’m listening,” Martin says. “Reluctantly.”

“Martin, Simon Fairchild was not leaving you with a threat on your life.” Jon doesn’t know how to delicately phrase the next part, so he just spits it out. “He was…asking you on a date.”

Martin’s eyebrows climb to his hairline and he turns back to the bony old terror. “You what?”

Simon places his hands in front of himself in real defensiveness this time. “Well, you obviously weren’t interested, so I didn’t pursue it further. But—I mean, if you’re reconsidering it…”

“No!” Martin says. “No, trying to proposition me with a death threat is somehow worse. Jon, are you ready to kill him?”

Jon is absolutely not ready to kill him. His brain is still reeling from Knowing Simon’s part of the conversation, batting eyelashes and all.

Luckily, Simon saves him the choice. “Seems a bit rude to still try to kill me after we’ve established I haven’t tried to kill you. Been lovely chatting, see you both. Martin, dear, feel free to pop by again when you’re feeling less murdery.”

With that, Simon shoots off into the endless sky, leaving a trailing “Bye!” in his wake.

The Vast that surrounds Jon and Martin is more awkward than before, and when Martin turns back, Jon can’t hide behind a Statement.

“Did you know this all that time?” Martin asks.

“Uh, no, the Eye just…wanted to let me know that, I guess,” Jon says. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad at you? No, I think Simon Fairchild is squarely at number one on that list, on account of trying to seduce me by promising to make an attempt on my life. And did you hear that? He invited me back!”

“That terrible, awful old man,” Jon nods.

“Terrible!” Martin agrees, shaking his head. “Horrible! Never want to see him again.”

He sighs and offers a subdued smile at Jon, holding out his hand. “You coming?”

Jon smiles back and takes Martin’s hand. “Lead on.”

[serenfire]

TITLE: you don’t have to call me yours, my love

AUTHOR/ARTIST: serenfire

PROMPT DAY #: Day 1 - SOULMATES

SUMMARY:

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. “This is absolutely my fault, and I shouldn’t have accompanied you in the first place. But you don’t have to worry about me! I can deal with this myself.”

“Jaskier, you’ve been cursed to tell the truth until you fucking smooch your soulmate!” Geralt shouts. “And you don’t have a soulmate! So no, you can’t deal with this yourself.”

Jaskier winces. “It’s actually a little worse than that,” he admits. “I know for a fact that I will never be anyone’s soulmate.”

WORD COUNT (if applicable): 4.5k

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix Show & Witcher 3

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: None!

RATING: T

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending; written for @geraskierweek​​

[serenfire]

7,636 words | E

Martin splutters. “Oliver Banks, are you telling me that you’re here to proposition Jon?”

The door twists open, and Martin turns to see Jon stumble in.

Oliver answers blithely, “Well, now that I can see you’re jealous over him, I’m not averse to sharing.”

[serenfire]

3,113 words | georgie/melanie | rated E

Before, the bullet in Melanie’s leg thrummed a singular purpose into her: violence. Now, she’s consumed by another singular purpose—to taste Georgie.

(for podcastgirlsweek prompt: f/f)

[serenfire]

geralt/jaskier | E | complete!

summary

To think Jaskier was daydreaming just yesterday about living next to another cool and suave human being who might actually like him, for the first time in his life.

Ah, well. He’ll settle for property damage instead.

(Or: Through events that are not Jaskier's fault, his college roommate hates him. At least Jaskier can drown his sorrows and unrequited love through sexting an anonymous online dating profile nicknamed the Wisher.)

chapter summary

“I never hated you; I thought you were nerdy and smiled at your computer too much—Geralt, you can’t just keep pressing your dick onto me to get me to finish talking, I swear to God I have things I want to say first.”

[serenfire]

M, 1/5, 4,140 words

To think Jaskier was daydreaming just yesterday about living next to another cool and suave human being who might actually like him, for the first time in his life.

Ah, well. He’ll settle for property damage instead.

(Or: Through events that are NOT JASKIER’S FAULT, his college roommate hates him. At least Jaskier can drown his sorrows and unrequited love through sexting an anonymous online dating profile nicknamed the Wisher.)

[serenfire]

chapter 3/5 | 12,223 words | E

summary:

To think Jaskier was daydreaming just yesterday about living next to another cool and suave human being who might actually like him, for the first time in his life.

Ah, well. He’ll settle for property damage instead.

(Or: Through events that are NOT JASKIER’S FAULT, his college roommate hates him. At least Jaskier can drown his sorrows and unrequited love through sexting an anonymous online dating profile nicknamed the Wisher.)

chapter summary:

Tissaia says flatly, “It’s not a threesome.” At the same time, Jaskier shakes his head vigorously and says, “It’s not a threesome.”

[serenfire]

4,925 words | M

“Jaskier, let’s just get out of Cintra…” Geralt’s words roll to a stop.

Jaskier is in the throng of people still left in the throne room, except there is a difference between the others’ dishevelment and his own.

The left side Jaskier’s bardic outfit has been torn from him cleanly down the middle. Geralt can see one nipple, Jaskier’s entire thigh, and a ball and a half, even as Jaskier tugs on his trouser to stretch.

Out of a mass of people, he is the only one who has lost any sort of clothing, and his is hanging off him like a billboard for a brothel.

(Or: If Yennefer gets to be improbably naked in canon, then I am making Jaskier equally, if not more, naked. It's equality.)

[serenfire]

geralt/jaskier | E | 18k | chapters 4/5

summary

To think Jaskier was daydreaming just yesterday about living next to another cool and suave human being who might actually like him, for the first time in his life.

Ah, well. He’ll settle for property damage instead.

(Or: Through events that are not Jaskier’s fault, his college roommate hates him. At least Jaskier can drown his sorrows and unrequited love through sexting an anonymous online dating profile nicknamed the Wisher.)

chapter summary

The Wisher is definitely not a bot. Unless bots have abs that can’t be reverse-searched on Google Images. Does the Internet have the ability to deepfake a dick video? No, right?

[serenfire]

“buckle up kids we’re fixing tlj” series masterpost

bloom (1602 words) by serenfire

This is not how Paige Tico dies.

Not if Poe Dameron has any say in the matter.

simulation (5184 words) by serenfire

Not today. It’s not a simulation, it’s real life, and in real life, there is always a way to survive. Finn draws the floating bodies back to him with the raw power of something growing deep inside him, and when he opens his eyes again, he can see Leia Organa.

*NEW CHAPTER ocean's four (9148 words) by serenfire (2/3)

“Oh my god,” Finn says. “You’re Lando Calrissian.”

(Or, The Star Destroyer Heist)

chapter 2 summary

Around him, lasers hit the complicated machinery of the tracking room, and sparks vault over him. Behind him, stormtroopers are running to catch him.

Finn isn’t firing back. Finn is reaching out to the bracelet.

The bracelet hiccups on the counter, twisting slightly. The room seems to hold its breath.

Come on, Finn thinks. Do this for me.

[serenfire]

ocean's four (3491 words) by serenfire (1/3)

Part 3 of buckle up kids we're fixing tlj

“Oh my god,” Finn says. “You’re Lando Calrissian.”

(Or, The Star Destroyer Heist)