#vanity ficlet

[existslikepristin]

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Dreamcatcher, Handong, female reader (or potentially a force-feminized male reader your mileage may vary), just a little quick-read ficlet about how Handong is a pervert, is that a foot fetish?, you should probably worship Handong’s body, she got them wander-y eyes and hands, woah woah woah you don't think this is inappropriate do you?, are you a dirty little reader?, oh you're a dirty little reader alright, Handong can tell

Just A Little Vanity

Handong strikes quite the figure. Most anyone would, sitting as she is on an armchair ornate enough to be mistaken for a throne. Your particular point of view is that of extreme artistic foreshortening. Mere millimeters away from your eyes, her bare foot takes up most of your field of view, obscuring even her crossed, mile-long legs. Her face, appropriately for such protracted limbs, seems distant and yet no less beautiful. Beyond those gorgeous, exposed legs, her fashion sense is as ostentatious as the tower-like structure of her body. Shaggy faux fur on denim, bedazzled camo, and pearls. Hair so platinum it might as well be chrome, reflecting blacks, blues, whites, and silvers. One slender finger adorned with two unreasonably large rings taps gently against her cheek.

“What to do… what to do…” she muses, “with such a naughty little girl like you.”

“Make me please you?”

She sighs heavily and presses her big toe against your lips. “Shush, you. It was not a question. Did you hear a question mark?” she demonstrates her meaning with her tone well enough for you to recognize the rhetorical nature of the question. The rest of your suggestions will have to wait.

“You…” Handong says, stroking your jawline with the same foot, “do not get to wave that delicious butt of yours in front of me all day and then just get what you want. There are consequences for teasing me.”

Although you're not going to say anything about it, you can’t help but think that perhaps Handong was planning this all along. After all, she made you wear a tiny skirt today, insisting it would be fine without safety shorts, and then she found any and every reason to be behind and slightly below you. It was certainly less than subtle. You'd been feeling her eyes burn a hole in your helplessly visible underwear all day. At least it kept your ass warm in the chilly spring air.

Yes, it was all a trap. Not a particularly clever one, and also not one you mind being caught in. Though it'd be nice if she let you kneel somewhere other than the hard floor.

Handong continues to caress you with her foot, lifting your chin, turning your head to either side. She inspects your face from each angle.

“Done talking back?” she threatens.

“Yes,” you talk back. Cheeky, but technically compliant.

She smirks with you, appreciating the irony. “Good. I would hate to have to send you home without a snack.”

Oh how utterly, coquettishly subtle.

“Please, no, Handong. I'm so hungry.”

She lifts her foot, and your jaw with it, snapping your mouth shut. “Shut up already. I am looking at you.”

It's unclear how those things are related, but you keep yourself from saying anything.

With a flourish, Handong uncrosses her legs, spreading them wide so you can briefly see up her skirt. “Surprise,” no underwear. But you can't look long. Her upper body spans that vast distance in an instant, putting her face nearer to yours, going from practically a pinprick to vision-encompassing, menacing you from above. Those slender, metal and jewel laden fingers grasp just below your chin, holding your head still. You only feel four fingers, giving you the impression that she's sticking her pinky out as if you're a fancy glass of wine. You can't wait for the dinner party.

Handong clicks her tongue, half-lidded eyes traveling up and down. They linger on the down stroke, reminding you of the other piece of clothing she'd demanded of you. Your chest is barely covered, the neckline of the shirt so low that it really shouldn't be called a “neck"line anymore, but perhaps a “nipple"line. As she pulls you forward, you're sure she can see far, far more than the shirt's designer ever intended. Handong's light dusting of a blush and perverted twitch of a lip key you in further.

“Mmm,” she hums, “I could just take a bit out of you.”

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from correcting her verbal spelling error. She tends to make more mistakes when her mind is meandering down your clothes.

She urges you up with a slight pull. Anybody normal would close their eyes for the impending kiss, but Handong’s eyes stay open and predatory until the last possible moment.

When you’re close enough, she strikes. Your lower lip is caught between her teeth and she nibbles softly before she kisses you proper. Her breath hisses between the gaps at the corners of your lips, greedy more for you than the air. She pries your mouth open with hers, invading you unreasonably quickly. She’s got a different metric for what constitutes reasonability though. You’re her toy. She'll play with you according to her rules.

“Handong!” Soomin shouts from across the room, “I’ve called your name three times! Come get your damn coffee! And we’ve got rooms for that!”

Without any additional warning, Handong drops you to the floor, stands up, and glides gracefully past you toward the counter. Watching her go past, you see no small number of other coffee shop-goers staring in your direction.

“Thanks, babe,” Handong flirts shamelessly as she picks up your drinks, “Oh, and I would like to use one of the rooms.”

[asjjohnson]

Immortality

(a ficlet written for Dannymay 2024 prompt 6: Immortal AU: What if Danny/Halfas couldn’t die?) Also on AO3.

---

He actually didn’t know whether halfas were immortal or just lived longer than humans.

Now at around age 140, give or take a few years (what year was it now? he could calculate it), Danny was an old man in his human form—wrinkled skin hanging from his arms and face like unironed fabric; hunched over to half his original height, bones grated down as though left exposed outside over the past decades; eyes milked over; ears inadequate despite their larger size; mind fogged.

He had no one to look to. A few years ago, or maybe a decade or two ago, he’d searched the Zone for any sign or rumor of the existence of other halfas. He wasn’t sure how long he’d searched, talking to distant ghosts, visiting places he never could have imagined existed, the Ghost Zone stretching on and on, toward infinity, before he’d given it up as a lost cause.

Vlad (though only a few years older than Danny and thus wouldn’t have been of much help anyhow) never returns to his human form. Had stopped living as a human altogether once he’d realized he was ‘growing old’.

Of course, this had been before Vlad was anywhere near an old man. Back when he’d only been about 60 years old. A few wrinkles and thinning hair, and his vanity and pride had had him abandoning his human half completely.

Not to the extreme of extracting that part of himself, of course—he had known better by that age—but of denying its existence; living solely as a ghost.

Danny had grown fond of humanity, however. The light touch of gravity, an embrace that kept him tethered to reality; the life found everywhere he looked, in the grass at his feet, in the air around him, or even just walking by him—so unlike the void of the Ghost Zone, the vast empty space with small pockets of ecto-life scattered across its depths; even the ache in his bones, the proof that he was alive, still belonging to this planet. It was all fondness.

Even as his senses continued to fade—the details of leaves and faces blurring even with thick glasses, the chittering of birds growing silent even with hearing aids, the difficulty of holding objects (connecting with the world around him) with pain and trembling hands—he clung ever more to the human world and its small wonders.

And though all his human friends from over a hundred years ago might be lost, he wasn’t alone.

They were still here.

Alive and well, living echoes seen in their grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, and teenaged great-great-great-grandchildren. A town composed of familiar faces. And sometimes those echoes were so strong, he called someone by the wrong name.

Matilda wears a black shirt one day and, even with the pink floral patterns, Sam is so strong within her.

Derek tries out for football, and the way his smile pulls across his face is all Dash, even through the freckles and shaggy brown hair.

Nicky’s righteous glare is Valerie shining straight from his heart. Although the light in his eyes as he talks about psychology is all Jazz.

Danny was trying. Trying so hard to stay with them all, as they continued to live, fully alive, forever onward.

He didn’t know whether halfas were immortal.

[wosowrites]

Award Night (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

warnings: none

a/n: this is more of a ficlet and it’s based off this request:

prompt: "please don’t make me wear lipstick" & "you look absolutely beautiful." i wasn’t sure if anonymous wanted the reader to say "don’t make me wear lipstick" or vice versa so hopefully this is good for you.

The day the list of final three contestant for every category of the FIFA best came out, you were ecstatic. And furious. Your girlfriend, Alexia Putellas, was nothing but thrilled, even if she hadn’t made the final cut.

"It’s ridiculous babe. You should be there." You had told her.

She had gotten a little annoyed with you. Telling you to focus on the fact that you were one of the final contestants, along with Beth Mead and Alex Morgan.

You were now sitting at the vanity in your parisien hotel. You mid length dyed blond hair was tied in a messy low bun, and your natural brown roots were peaking through your scalp. You were wearing a fully grey suit with a loose cut. it was buttoned up just below your breast. You weren’t wearing a shirt under the jacket, that look, the one of the suit and nothing else was always one you wanted to try. And today, you got too. Of course, Alexia was your plus one, and she looked gorgeous in a white, goddess like dress.

You were sat at the vanity, your left hand fiddling with the bracelets on your right hand. Alexia was standing behind you, her hands on your shoulders. "You look beautiful, baby." Alexia said to you, kissing the top of your head. "Yes, so don’t make me wear lipstick." You told your girlfriend, looking up at her. "This is the FIFA best, mi amor. And you’re going to look your best." Alexia told you.

"Fine." you groaned.

You stood up and walked into the washroom, Alexia trailing behind you. "What colour then?" You asked, rummaging through Alexias bag of makeup. Alexia took the bag and started pulling out different colours. She would hold one up to your suit, and then to your face, and shake her head and put it down. Finally, after what felt like hours, her shake of the head turned into a nod. "This one." She said, opening the cap of the lipstick. The colour was a nude pink, and you had to agree that it looked like it would match well. "Put it on then." You told her. "Me?" She laughed. "Yes. I’ve never put on lipstick before and i’ll probably get it all over my face. "Fine." She laughed.

You pulled out your phone from your pocket, filming in the mirror as Alexia applied the colour to your lips. She stared at them, watching the change in colour, while you stared into her eyes.

"Perfecto." She said gently, putting the cap back onto the lipstick. You looked at her gently, using your hand that wasn’t filming to lift her chin up. You leaned in to kiss her gently, but she pushed you back. "You’re not ruining your lipstick with kisses." She said, and you turned off the video. "Please!" You said. "No." She laughed, walking out of the room.

When it was time to go, you put on beige loafers and kneeled down to tie Alexia’s heels. She was your everything, your queen, and you treated her that way every day, without a fail.

You both walked out of the limousine and onto the red carpet an hour later. You took pictures together, and individually. You smiled to the other finalists, as well as to the people that were going to be in the best 11.

You did a few interviews, but you could barely focus, feeling too nervous. Eventually, you got settled in your seats, and you looked around, soaking it all in. Beth Mead looked amazing, as a Canadian, you had a slight grudge with Alex Morgan, but that pink outfit looked amazing on the american.

The ceremony started, but everything was blurry. Mary Earps won the best keeper, Messi won FIFA best for the men’s, Sarina Wingman won best coach, and everything else you had no idea. You were so entranced by Mary’s speech however, that you completely freaked out when you realized that the next category was yours. "I can’t do this, Ale." You whispered to her. "Yes you can. Don’t say you can’t. You can win an award for being an amazing player if you can win the FA cup, and the olympics, and so many other things. You got me?" Alexia said.

"And the winner is… y/n y/l/n." The person opening the letter said.

It was as though a weight lifted off your shoulders. Tears prickled your eyes as you stood up. You kissed Alexia quickly, and nodded towards Beth and Alex. You walked up onto that stage, the stairs were steel and you were grateful to have been wearing a suit and not a dress. You got to the commentator and kissed her cheek respectfully before taking the award. You fixed the mic a bit, before really taking a look at the room.

"Holy crap." You breathed out. "I-I don’t know how to give a speech that could ever compare to Mary’s. Mary that was a beautiful speech. But i’ll start off by saying that I feel so lucky to be here today. And I strongly feel that Alex, Beth, you both deserve this just as much as I do. And honestly, the me from… three years ago honestly was just such a people pleaser that she probably would have walked off this stage and gave the award to you both. But, that is not the me of today. The me of today can accept that I deserve things in life. That I deserve joy, and recognition and support. I don’t think I really realized that I could have a life where I was totally happy, a life where I didn’t feel as though everything was constantly going wrong until I was 19. But then I moved out of Canada, and I love my home country with my whole heart but I needed a change so badly. Anyways, I moved out of Canada and went to UCLA where I met some of the best people in the world. It was there that I realized that my life could be good. That I could be in an environment where I was valued. I did my major in sports psychology and that really helped me understand my own brain. I think it also helped me become a better girlfriend to the most… incredible person in the world. I deserve a lot, but I’ll never deserve you, Alexia. Thank you, to you, for always lifting me up a little bit higher, thank you to my club teammates, Mapi, Keira, Patri, Lucy, Aitana, you guys have made living in the third country of my life much easier. But I think I owe my biggest thank you to my national teammates, who’ve put up with me since I was 15. I love you all, and I hope you’re watching me right now and thinking: ‘that’s the 15 year old who sang Justin Bieber for her initiation to the team.' Yes there is a video, no none of you will ever see it." The room laughed slightly, Alexia looked as though she was crying. "Anyways, thank you to every fan who voted for me, and thank you to Alexia for making me wear lipstick because the lighting is really harsh and I hope I look okay." The room laughed again and you walked off stage to loud applause.

You took your seat again, eventually being all called back for the best 11. Everything was amazing, everything was good. "You look absolutely breath taking." Alexia whispered in your ear as you walked off stage with both your awards. "And I love you very much."

[apomaro-mellow]

Whispers of the Night

Steve is content to spread the word of the Lord among the people of Hawkins, unaware that a demon has their sights set on corrupting him.

Ficlet inspiration / Read on AO3

Steve started every morning by thanking the Lord for allowing him to wake up to a new day and promising to spread His good word as gratitude. Which started with watching the morning news while eating breakfast. The morning stories were usually quite tame, catching everyone up to speed in case anything happened the previous night. But in a town as small as Hawkins, it was mostly fluff pieces and traffic.

Before the program ended, it always capped off with a preview of stories to come later in the day. One of Indiana’s senators had been caught having an elicit affair with someone and he had to tune in at eight to find out. Also there was something spreading around the youth that parents should be on the lookout for, also at eight.

Sufficiently notified of what he needed for the day, he set out for his mission. He was entrusted by the Reverend Brenner, who led their parish and was a shepherd for lost souls. Today, Steve would be tending to his own flock, the inmates of the prison just outside the town limits. Usually Jason led the service there, but he had fallen ill and so it was passed on to Steve.

He was more than happy to oblige. Besides, Jason seemed to have ambitions to head a church much larger than Hawkins could hold. Something in a real city. Commendable, to be sure, but Steve was content with their little community. Their goals aligned nicely. As Father Brenner’s son, Jason might’ve been considered the one to take over when his dad stepped down. But he talked more and more everyday about building a grand temple of his own.

And if Father Brenner saw fit to pass his post down to Steve instead, well…

“Don’t get too proud now Harrington”, he said to himself as he parked.

He checked himself over in the mirror first before stopping himself. He’d already made sure his suit was ironed right and hair looked perfect. Well, as perfect as it could be anyway. His tie was blue and neither too loose nor too tight. He entered the prison and went through security just fine. The only thing he needed on him was the Good Book. 

A guard led him to the room he’d be working in and it was simple, as to be expected. They didn’t have a single room dedicated to worship, like a larger facility might. A fact Jason often complai-lamented about. But there was a podium for Steve to put his book and chairs for the men. 

“Did we finally scare that lil boy away?”, one of the inmates gruffed as he came in.

“Poor thing probably got tired of Gus always making passes at him”, said another.

“I only hoot at the pretty ones”, a third, apparently Gus said as he looked Steve up and down. “This one’s safe.”

Steve’s lips tightened together. He wasn’t offended that a random man thought Jason was prettier than him. Certainly not. Vanity was sinful and what did the opinions of his appearance matter? Especially from the likes of these men? Steve blew out a calming breath. They might be criminals, but they were still God’s children. And through him, they might be able to find salvation. He turned to the page Jason had bookmarked for him, planning on continuing from there. 

“I invite you all to join me in prayer”, Steve said, hands coming together as he bowed his head. 

He considered for only a split second that he was making himself vulnerable to these men and he didn’t even know what their crimes were. But there was a guard in the corner and surely they wouldn’t try anything with a clergyman.

Steve read the scriptures as he’d been taught and didn’t falter when the men’s eyes glazed over with what could only be boredom. In an effort to bring up the energy a little for both them and himself, he grabbed the book and walked from behind the podium, pacing back and forth. When he looked up from the pages to meet their gazes, he noticed most of them did seem more engaged. But their eyes were a little lower than he expected. Almost as if they were watching his-

“Ahem”, he cleared his throat while snapping the bible closed. “Let us end today’s service with the Lord’s prayer.” 

He checked the clock discretely and was relieved to find that his time was nearly up anyway. He led them in the closing prayer and then nodded to each of them. All seven. Not a grand congregation, but it was seven potential souls saved. Just as Steve was preparing to leave, he jumped and yelped. 

Someone had just smacked his ass.

“Jackson!”, the guard yelled, coming over.

“Worth it”, he grinned at Steve.

Steve took in the man who had touched him, looking so self-satisfied while Steve was red in the face. A few of the other men looked on appreciatively or with what could only be called jealousy.

“How’d it feel?”

“You could bounce a quarter off it.”

“Shit, I’d wear that ass out.”

“The slacks were a great choice, Father.”

Steve was escorted out before the remarks could turn more vulgar but the damage had been done. Had they ever done anything like that to Jason? If so, why had he never said-Well it was obvious why he’d never say anything. 

Once in his car, he deflated like a balloon. His butt still tingled. It didn’t hurt it was just…different. Steve very vividly remembered the last time he’d been spanked. He had been six. He couldn’t remember what he’d done, just that the lesson had stuck. Do bad things and you get the belt. Even now, as an adult, when he worried about making the right choice, his behind felt the phantom of his parent’s punishments.

This hadn’t felt quite like that. He certainly didn’t enjoy it, no of course not. But it was the principle. Who went around slapping people on the behind and then bragging about it to his buddies?

Steve shook himself as he went to his next stop. A mother of their church had asked for some help in guiding her son back to the path of light. It was an intervention of sorts and Steve had done these a couple times before. It didn’t always end nicely, but it was the effort that counted.

She welcomed him into her home, serving coffee in the living room while calling her son down. The Klines had moved to Hawkins just a few years ago and while Mr. and Mrs. Kline had become regulars quickly, Steve had only seen their son in passing while in town.

He looked just about a couple years younger than Steve, but there was an unease about him as he sat down on the couch next to his mother. Steve had the armchair.

“Where’s your whole…”, Kline Jr gestured to Steve’s body. “The costume?”

“My vestments are saved for church services or other special moments”, Steve explained. “But let’s talk about you. Your mother has expressed some concerns.”

“Devil worship”, Mrs. Kline said suddenly. “He and his friends participate in it and I’ve been telling him to give it up.”

“It’s not devil worship! It’s just a game!”

“Games can start innocent but end dangerously”, Steve said, hands clasped in his lap. He imagined the young man and some of his friends standing around a fire, or perhaps a pentagram made from rocks and calling upon Satan. Something that might seem silly to those who weren’t devout.

“No, it’s literally a game. It’s like, pretend. But with math and you get to make your own character. And mine doesn’t even believe in god, any god! Which means he doesn’t believe in the devil either.”

“They call that atheism and it’s a slippery slope”, Mrs. Kline said. “My sister told me all about it and you’re going to end up just like your cousin if you’re not careful…”

Mrs. Kline ended up taking over the conversation and Steve was left to simply nod and say ‘mhm’ whenever she deigned to turn to him. After about ten minutes, it began to grate on him. He did come to share the Lord’s perspective after all, not just sit and cosign whatever she had probably already told her son.

Then the son had an outburst that brought Steve back to the present. “You’re not even listening to me! That’s the problem! You don’t listen! You don’t even care. I’m not the way you want me to be.”

Mrs. Kline got silent. “...What do you mean?”

Her question was simple and yet the atmosphere shifted. The son looked to be going over the options in his mind before deciding to just stand up and walk off. “Nevermind. Forget it.”

He walked out of the house and seconds later they heard a car drive off and Steve figured that was the end of the visit. He thanked Mrs. Kline for inviting him into her abode and offered his prayers for her family.

When Steve got home that evening, he removed his suit jacket and then checked himself over in the mirror by the door. Normally he did this before leaving just in case there was something that kept him from being presentable. But now, he stood with his back to the mirror and twisted around. In his black slacks, his behind sat rather prominent. He was aware of his body. And he could somewhat understand that if this feature of his was found on a woman, he might be enticed by it.

What he didn’t understand was a man finding it attractive on another man. Hard time changed people he supposed. He was able to catch the news story of the evening. And it turned out that the danger threatening children was the same game Mrs. Kline was worried about. At the time, Steve couldn’t make neither heads nor tails of it. But in the hands of a professional journalist, he was able to learn more about Dungeons and Dragons. 

It did seem ghoulish as he listened to them explain how kids playing the game quickly lost touch with reality. Steve worried as he heard that this was happening across the country. But all he could do for now was take care of his town.

The last part of his bedtime ritual was prayers of course. And most days he was able to fall right to sleep. Tonight though, sleep alluded him. He tried to figure out why, today didn’t feel incredibly eventful besides that slap.

The slap.

To have one guy call him ‘not-as-pretty’ only for another to basically proposition him anyway. Could they make up their minds? Clearly they were all interested anyway. Steve saw the way they watched his behind. But such feelings were immoral. Man should not find pleasure with another man, even when women are unavailable.

And bodily pleasures like that were the devils’ wicked ways in the first place. Steve had been told so years ago, when his own father had caught him with his pants down. Steve hadn’t touched himself since, saving his seed for the woman who would one day bear his fruit. He hadn’t met her yet. But God would present her to him soon. 

Steve’s hopes usually led to sweet dreams, but tonight was different. He was at the podium again. The one in the prison. Except instead of sitting in front of him, the men were on all sides. Words from the day echoed in his head but he couldn’t remember the voice, asking him about his vestments. He needed to change into them. 

He had an audience, but there was nothing wrong with changing in front of men. He’d played on teams in school and spent plenty of time in locker rooms. His tie melted off and he undid the buttons on his shirt. The eyes on him felt hungry. What happened to him happened when he had been fully clothed. What would they do to him if he was naked?

Everything else faded from his body like mist and he was bare for the world. He didn’t want them to just look anymore he wanted them to..to…

Steve was on his back, surrounded by darkness. There was something there, above him, something with hungry red eyes.

He was on his front, rutting desperately into his mattress as the dream slipped away from him and his eyes blinked in the morning light. He froze when he realized what he was doing, still panting on his pillow as he came down from it. He moved his hips a little trying to remember what had happened to get him so worked up but couldn’t recall any details. Only a shadow. A dark phantom that had overwhelmed him and-

He stopped that train of thought when he noticed the wet stickiness inside his underwear. Lord, help him.

Part 2

Taglist

[thelampisaflashlight]

Tongue Tied

[A ficlet about Mountain and Dew, because I'm in a mood. Let's go.]

That silence rung loud and true, and for a long time, Mountain wondered if he hadn't brought this all upon himself.

Aether was gone, the glue was gone, and with it, came all the feelings hung in the rafters for as many years as it had spent aloft.

Maybe Dew had always liked him.

Perhaps the idea that he hadn't was all in his imagination.

Still, the mind is a powerful thing, and Mountain's was oftentimes cruel and deceiving, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

Love for him could never been shallow.

There was no vanity or pride left in him beyond what he could swallow out of shame, or to apologize for any and all wrongs he had ever committed.

And yet, somehow, it clung to the roof of his mouth.

His lips drawn into a line, he finds he can't for the life of him say it.

That he likes him, too.

More than likes him.

That friendship is both too much and not enough, that with Dew, it had to be more.

That while their bond was already as deep as the frozen lake that trapped Lucifer after the fall, his love seemed intent on chiseling away at the ice in order to burrow deeper.

Dew seems to understand, or at the very least he doesn't take his silence as rejection.

For as long as he's known him, Dew has never accepted anything short of a firm yes or no, he gives space where its needed, yes, but he's stubborn.

Stubborn enough to have watched Mountain from afar all these years and not say a damn thing about his crush.

Stubborn enough to turn down every other offer thrown his way until Mountain opens up his stupid mouth and babbles out probably the most rushed and awkward confession of his life.

Dew is going to tease him forever.

Lord below, let him tease him forever.

And stubbornly continue to do so long after they've both turned back into stardust.

[capt-mactavish]

Provoke

little ficlet I wrote while I should have been writing my other one, while I should have been writing my RP, while I should have been working around the house on my day off. Enjoy!

Warning: Explicit!! 18+, minors DNI

Warnings for: gratuitous sex

Bottom John “Soap” MacTavish x Top Male Reader

“Fuck, Johnny, look atchu,” you speak in a hushed whisper, almost in reverence.

Johnny turns his head to look at himself in the mirror of the vanity you have him pinned up against. His mouth hangs open as he pants gently, fogging up the glass. And quiet, breathy moans leave his throat on every snap of your hips. His face is dusted pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears and down his neck, disappearing underneath the hem of his shirt. 

“You look so pretty like this, baby,” you coo, leaning over him, caging him in as you plant your arms on either side of him on the countertop.

The man beneath you shivers as your breath ghosts over the shell of his ear, and your lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

“Cheeky bastard,” Johnny huffs, wearing a smile of his own as your eyes meet in the reflection. “You’re way too into this.”

“Would you prefer it if I stopped?” You offer, slowing your thrusts and leaning back up as if to step away.

“Stop and I’ll gut you,” Johnny growls, whipping his head around to face you and gripping the shoulder strap of your tactical vest in a tight fist.

“As you wish,” you concede, picking the pace back up, exaggeratedly rolling your hips. 

“Don’t think- ah- you could if you… wanted to, anyway,” Johnny says with a growing smirk, turning back to face the mirror, his eyes once more catching yours in the reflection.

“You’re probably right,” you growl, dropping your head down to press your forehead against the back of Johnny’s shoulder. “You feel so good.”

Johnny chuckles and reaches back to you, curling his fingers into your hair. 

“Knew you’d be into this,” he says in a prideful tone. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You think back to just moments before. When you had been so fed up with the Sergeant’s constant teasing, on route to- and the entire duration of- the mission, you had finally had enough and snapped. 

Grabbing Johnny by the shoulder, you had shoved him into the dingy bathroom and shut the door behind you. The Sergeant stumbled back and watched you advance on him with wide eyes like a predator stalking its prey. 

But still, a smile graced his lips, heart thumping in anticipation as to how you would finish what he started. 

Forcefully, you spun the man around to face the mirror, then slammed him down onto the countertop, pinning him there with his hands behind his back. 

“You fucking tease,” You had hissed, rutting your hips forward into Johnny’s backside, letting him feel the hard length of your cock, his doing, straining against the front of your pants. 

“Come on, big boy,” he goaded, looking at you over his shoulder. He pressed his ass back enticingly against your crotch and smirked when you sucked in a sharp breath, “You know you want to fuck me.”

Unfortunately, and much to your annoyance, he had been right. Evidenced even further by the fact that you were now buried balls deep inside him, in the middle of a mission, in a dirty bathroom, with the rest of your team who knows where. 

“We could still get caught,” you warn, moving your head to brush your lips against the side of his neck.

“And would ye stop if we were?” Johnny challenges. He’s got a cocky look on his face, along with that stupid, pretty smile of his. 

You don’t answer, knowing the answer is probably, most definitely, no. 

Johnny feels too good around your cock, and looks too pretty all flushed and panting. It didn’t matter who could come through that bathroom door right now and see you. Let them watch for all you care, you weren’t stopping for anyone. 

All you can do is growl and reach an arm around Johnny’s front, pulling him back against your chest as your thrusts become harder. 

“Kinky fucker,” Johnny teases.

And you hate that he’s right. Again. That you wouldn’t mind one bit. Might even enjoy it. At least whoever it was would know for damn sure that Johnny is yours.

“Don’t... worry about it,” the Sergeant says, trying to reassure you. “The building… is clear and the rest of the team… is nowhere near here, nobody-”

“Soap, this is Ghost, how copy?”

You freeze, stilling yourself for just a moment. You can feel Johnny having become just as rigid beneath you.

Again, your eyes meet in the mirror and you swear you can see a bit of color draining from Johnny’s face. 

“Soap?”

You smile mischievously at Johnny before slowly starting to fuck him again, and you tilt your head to whisper directly into his ear.

“Go on, Johnny, answer him.”

Another shiver rolls down Johnny’s spine. His eyes are wide, you can tell he’s reluctant. He looks like he’s about to refuse when Ghost’s voice comes over the comms again, a bit more urgency in his tone now.

“Johnny, how copy?” 

The arm still around Johnny’s front reaches down to his comm unit and presses down on the PTT button, all while holding eye contact with him in the mirror as you fuck him from behind.

Johnny swallows thickly before speaking, “Th-this is Soap. I… I copy, L.t.”

“‘Bought time, Sergeant. What’s your twenty?”

Just as Johnny gets ready to respond, your next thrust comes hard and fast. It tears a groan out of his throat just as you press down on the button, forcing him to bite down on his lip in order to try and cut himself off.

“Johnny, you alright?” comes Ghost’s voice. 

Obviously he hadn’t stopped himself in time, and he glares at you in the reflection. Though his expression doesn’t hold any weight, and looks more pleading instead.

“Y-yes sir, -ah- just… just finishing… the sweep, sir.” he huffs between thrusts. 

“Sergeant, what’s wrong? Are you injured?” Ghost asks, a bit of concern starting to seep in. 

You're starting to move faster, and Johnny preemptively grabs your wrist, holding your thumb off the button of the comm as he lets himself moan loudly. His eyes are closed in pure bliss and he leans forward and lets his forehead prop against the glass. 

What a pretty sight, seeing him so undone. It fills you with pride, and the grin on your face says it all.

Once he lets go, you retract your hand, giving him control back over the PTT. He fumbles his fingers over it for a moment, jostled by your sharp thrusts, but finally finds the button and presses it down.

“N-no, sir… ‘M fine. Just… finishing up here.. -AH!”

Johnny keens as the hand that was once pressing his PTT was now underneath his shirt pinching his nipple. Though, you think he had managed to release the button before crying out this time. Lucky little shit.

There’s a long silence over the radio, and you wonder if Ghost is buying it. You certainly wouldn’t if you were him.

Johnny also seems doubtful, glancing at you in the mirror with eyes full of uncertainty and a hand covering his mouth. 

“Copy,” comes Ghost, finally, though with a suspicious bit of resignation in his tone. “Evac is on route, ETA 5 minutes. Get your arses over here.”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny pipes, letting go of the comm and slamming his hand down firmly on the countertop. 

“Dirty bastard, I’ll get you back for that!” he exclaims, glaring at you over his shoulder.

You only grin, your fingers curl into the short mohawk and yank his head back as your other hand digs into the exposed flesh of his hip.

“I look forward to it, sweetheart,” you say, and any more words Johnny had wanted to say die on his tongue as your thrusts turn brutal, fucking him relentlessly. 

Johnny mewls obscenely, bracing his hands up against the mirror as you fuck him into it. His mouth hangs open, letting every lewd and wanton sound he can possibly make fall off his tongue freely. 

If only he was still on comms now, you think to yourself, imagining everyone hearing everything you’re doing to him.

Glancing down between your bodies and letting go of his hair briefly, you pull your shirt up, wanting an unobstructed view of your cock disappearing into Johnny’s eager hole. 

You can see him watching you in the mirror, watery eyes taking in your bare skin. And you watch as he reaches down in between himself and the vanity and starts to stroke himself to the rhythm of your thrusts.

“That’s it baby, you take my cock so well,” you praise, running a hand up his back underneath his shirt. “Such a good boy.”

“Oh fuck!” Johnny blurts out, goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin. He’s looking at you in the mirror, his glassy eyes pleading with you yet again. His strokes start to become erratic, hand shaking. “‘M close!”

“Yeah? Ya gonna come, baby? Go on, sweetheart, come for me,” you speak, and as if waiting for your permission, he does. 

Johnny comes, and you can tell he’s never came quite so hard before. The sound that tears itself from his throat is absolutely filthy and he looks surprised at himself for having it in him to make. His legs quiver and shake, and you think they’d probably give out if you didn’t have him in an iron grip.

As he comes down moments later, his top half slumps against the countertop, whimpering with oversensitivity as you still plow mercilessly into him. 

“Good boy. So fucking good for me, baby,” you growl through gritted teeth, feeling yourself nearing the edge. “‘M gonna come, sweetheart. God fucking dammit you feel so good. Fuck!”

The sound Johnny makes is somewhere between a sob and a moan and it’s what finally tips you over the edge. You slam into him one final time, pressing yourself in as far as you possibly can as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You groan, deep and guttural, and your cock spasms as you coat his insides with your thick seed. Your hands are sure to leave bruises on his hips with the way you’re gripping them.

A moment passes where you are content to stay like this forever, buried inside Johnny with no care for the outside world and its responsibilities. But as you feel yourself softening, and your senses return to you, you become aware of time passing once more and pull out.

Stepping back, however, you allow yourself a moment to watch in satisfaction as your cum drips out of Johnny’s ass onto the floor or runs down the inside of his thighs. 

You hum contentedly, burning the sight into your memory for a rainy day.

Johnny is still whimpering softly, and you can see he still has his leaking cock in his hand.

“Alright, there, MacTavish?” you ask, pulling your pants back up and rearranging your gear. 

He only nods, and you smirk triumphantly before swatting a hand across his bare ass.

“Careful what you wish for, Johnny boy,” you say gruffly. You then grab your discarded gun by the door before opening it and walking out.

You can tell you’re a little late to the evac helo by the angry, irritated eyes Ghost was giving the two of you. 

“Everything alright, you two?” He asks, eyeing Johnny as you let him climb in first. 

“Yes, sir,” Johnny responds, avoiding his gaze, as well as the others, and taking his seat quickly.

Ghosts' eyes fall on you and you flash him a devilish smile.

“Just peachy, sir,” you say, and you swear Ghosts eyes narrow just slightly before you, too, board the helo.

You take a seat opposite Johnny, and smirk as Ghost takes the seat next to him. You can’t wait to watch him squirm in his seat the whole way back with the Lieutenant's eyes on him and an ass full of your cum. 

[wandering-feather]

Next Time Just Wake Me Up

Larissa Weems x Reader

Warnings: I would say none but talk of nightmares.

You wake up for a nightmare and instead of waking up Larissa like she asked you to do you get into trouble.

Fluff and Comfort

AN: This is a little blurb I wrote last night after waking up from a nightmare and could not go back to sleep and this helped me calm down. I guess a self indulgent ficlet. But aren't they all?

You woke up with gasp and your body jerked. You had a nightmare and you fought with keeping your eyes from closing. You couldn’t even remember what the nightmare was about. Sometimes they’re worse when not remembering; they leave you feeling uneasy. You looked over and smiled lightly to see Larissa sleeping still. She was laying on her stomach with her hair splayed out everywhere. She looked so peaceful. You know she has asked you to wake her if you have nightmares. Most of the time you wake her up during the nightmare but you must have been quiet. You didn’t want to go back to sleep. You decided to leave her be. You made sure you covered her up as you quietly got out of bed.

You went to the living room of your shared quarters. You don’t want to be too loud so you decide to read something instead of watching TV.. First you go to the kitchen and make some tea. Going back into the living room you sit down and look for your book before remembering you finished your current book. You looked at the huge bookshelf full of books. The bookshelf was built into the wall and was organized by colors of the spines. You did it one day after reading a book about organizing your life. Larissa was annoyed with you at that time. Every time she came home she would see that you organized something and she would have trouble finding her own stuff. When you messed with her vanity she threw your book away and told you no more.

When you looked up you saw the book you wanted to read on the top shelf of the very high bookshelf. Sighing you looked around to see what you could use to stand on to reach the top shelf. Damn your height you thought. Of course being married to someone so tall was a blessing in this situation. But you don’t want to wake her up and moving anything could wake Larissa up. You could just climb it to get the book that would be much quieter. You could just read something else but this book would keep you up and keep you calm.

Taking a deep breath you climbed the first two shelves and reached for the book. Finally grasping the book in your hand you smiled in triumph. Then you hear the crack of the shelf underneath your feet break and you can feel yourself falling, pulling down books and landing on your butt as books rained over you. You of course screamed covering your head. It was silent now and you looked toward the bedroom door maybe just maybe you didn’t wake Larissa up and you can fix this.

You were not so lucky though Larrisa hearing the crash and your scream she shot up in bed reaching for you. She begins to panic when she doesn’t feel you. She turns the light on to see you were nowhere in the room. She jumps out of bed and quickly enters the living room to find you sitting up on the floor covered in books.

You heard her loud footsteps as she came in and looked over at her moving some books off of yourself. Her face was frantic but seemed to calm a little when she saw you. Before you could say anything she was by your side helping you up.

“What on earth are you doing? Are you okay?” She asked.

You laughed and stepped around the books as she guided you to the couch. “I wanted a book from the top shelf and believe it or not I was trying to quiet. I climbed on the bookshelf..”

Larissa ran her hand over her face. “Why would you do that? Why are you even up?”

She sat beside you and was making sure you're fine because you didn’t even answer her.

“Larissa I’m fine. I had a nightmare and didn’t want to wake you.”

Larissa sighs and pulls you into her arms, smoothing your hair out. “You know I asked you to wake me up. Was it bad?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t even remember it. I just felt uneasy and didn’t want to go back to sleep.”

“Well you should have woken me. You're never a bother darling. I love you and don’t mind helping you out.” She says and grabs the book in your hands.

“Well in my defense I did wake you. Just not in the best way.” You smiled at her.

“You broke the bookshelf. You could have hurt yourself.” She chuckled lightly.

“I know I’m sorry. I just… “ you looked at the book in her hand. Anne of Green Gables you chose that one because it was a favorite of yours since you were a child and it would help keep you calm.

Larissa sighs and looks at the book too. She smiles lovingly at you and stands up, reaching her hand out to you to help you up. “How about you come to bed and I will read to you until you fall asleep.”

You smiled, you hated that she would not get much sleep because of you. But you loved listening to her soothing voice and it would calm you. Nodding you stood up and took her hand. She guided you back to your room. She got in bed first and then you climbed in laying your head on her chest.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you like you have asked and made a mess.” You reached up and kissed her lips.

“It’s okay I just worry about you dealing with your nightmares alone. I really don’t mind helping you. I don’t like to see you hurting.” She smiles down at you.

“I know. I love the way you take care of me.” You say as she covers you both up and opens the book.

“I will always take care of you my love.” She begins to read and run her fingers through your hair.

You listened to her as she started the book. You thought about how before her you dealt with your nightmares alone and now you didn’t have too. Listening to her smooth voice you already felt your eyes growing heavy. It didn’t take long for sleep to take over and Larissa looked down when she heard you lightly snoring. She smiled and sat the book to the side, getting more comfortable. She held you tightly to her side. She could see your face was relaxed and ran her thumb lightly over your cheek. She waited for a little while to make sure you stayed asleep and relaxed. Finally feeling you were safe from any nightmares she kept you close as she too fell asleep.

[babsvibes]

Boblin Fic Recs

Fics centered around Bob and Linda from Bob’s Burgers. This is by no means a comprehensive list, so please feel free to add your faves in the replies!

Canon Compliant

I'm in love with every song you've ever heard by @jimmypesto When Linda has one too many Pesto Coladas, Jimmy calls Bob to come collect her

I like the way you sound in the morning by @jimmypesto Six "morning afters" over the course of Bob and Linda's relationship

What's That Song? It Goes Pike... by @babsvibes Linda has a song stuck in her head, and now it's everyone's problem

gonna make love last forever by @neopetting soft otp prompts with boblin

After Date Night With the Belchers by @thestarstho A look into Bob and Linda's alone time after a date

Mixed Collections

you're in the kitchen humming, all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing by @jimmyjrsmusoems A few important moments in Bob and Linda's relationship, as seen through the eyes of others

Boblin Week 2023, Day Extras: Unused Prompts by @sailoreuterpe Collection of ficlets using the prompts not selected for Boblin Week 2023

Bob's Burgers Drabbles by @aimmyarrowshigh Collection of Bob's Burgers drabbles

Sips From Your Lips by Gaynin Linda and Bob have always enjoyed wine and spirits, almost as much as they've enjoyed each other (mature)

Things You Said... by @daddygrandpaandthebeaver A collection of Bob's Burgers ficlets based on "things you said..." prompts

Pre-Canon

I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace by @jimmypesto Bob and Linda break up for approximately twelve hours; wallowing ensues

not while I'm around by @jimmypesto Bob picks Linda up after a girls’ night just in time to find her being bothered by a creep

i think we do this love thing right by @br1ghtestlight Bob and Linda try to cuddle without waking up Louise

Through a Child’s Eyes by YAJJ There was romance and love in the world, and Teeny Tina knew it for a fact. All she had to do was look at her parents, after all.

just lay entwined here, undiscovered by @tully-blue Tonight, it goes: shelf, doorknob, nightstand, undressing with three stumbles and several muffled curses, vanity, and finally, Linda climbs over him and into bed. Well, if he wasn’t awake already, that would’ve done it

Canon Divergent

still my patron saint by @jimmypesto A Boblin Ghost AU (explicit)

I belong with you, you belong with me (you're my sweetheart) by @daddygrandpaandthebeaver Five universes where Bob and Linda Belcher are soulmates, plus one where they chose to be together anyway

clair de lune by @weatheredlaw Five things that didn't happen, couldn't happen, wouldn't happen

Of Pregnancies and Bumped Heads by @burgerspeople Linda's second pregnancy puts her on her ass.

Had Me at Hello by @golden--doodler Bob and Linda's big day has finally arrived after what feels like forever.

Explicit

brought purpose to your hips by @jimmypesto Linda wakes up in the middle of the night

falling for you is easy (like sunday morning) by @thisaliennerd Maybe there’s no such thing as fate, but one chance meeting is about to change the course of two people’s lives forever. Bob and Linda are falling in love fast, but can they balance their feelings with the practical realities of dating? (explicit)

Cheesus the Meatsiah by @babsvibes The night Bob almost gets the Meatsiah right

know that body like it's mine by @jimmypesto Bob and Linda always use hotel rooms as opportunities to experiment

our love's the only thing that could matter (must be signed in to view) 31 days of my favorite married couple doing sexy things. Sometimes kinky and sometimes vanilla, but they’re always very in love

[robo-milky]

It’s Not Vanity

[Feat. Cloche & Rollo NOT SHIP | 516 Words | Spoilers ]

A ficlet of how I imagine Cloche acquired Rollo’s picture, now published in celebration that he’s here in EN.

Cloche was unarmed, only holding the ghost camera strung around her neck. She watched as Rollo stood at the edge of the belltower, bathing in the amber glow of firelotuses. The scene would have reminded Cloche of a camper by a cozy campfire, if it weren’t for the barrage of screams drilling into her ears. She wasn’t sure who to feel more disgusted by, the boy who started the fire, or the girl who drowned out the noise as a nuisance.

“Master… Rollo,” Cloche voice dipped, trying to correct her indifferent tone, now that they were allies. Rollo’s head turned towards her, giving an expectant stare for her to speak. “Would you like a picture to commemorate this achievement?” raising the camera with an almost childish glee, she looked at him longingly.

“We can save the celebrations for later—actually, they won’t be necessary at all.”

“Why not?” Cloche stepped closer. “If it’s the other students you’re worried about, the flowers are well on their way picking them off.”

“You can’t get comfortable yet,” Rollo said. “Like cockroaches, they may even crawl up here headless.”

“They might as well…” Cloche hummed. “But it’s just a picture, nothing fancy. It’ll only take a second.”

“Cloche, I’m doing this to carve out a path of salvation for the people, not thanks or recognition. My aspirations are greater than any pursuits of vanity.” said Rollo. “To save Twisted Wonderland, Pyroxene, Fleur City, to save you.” His eyes scrolled over to the bells embedded in Cloche’ ears.

“I’m sure the Righteous Judge didn’t save Fleur City from its calamities for recognition either,” Cloche replied. “Yet his exact image is captured on statues. It was to document a time in history.” The corner of Rollo’s lip rose in a snicker, “I’m not sure if this is a deed I’d like to attach my face to—”

“Only if you fail.” Cloche insisted. “You’re standing here with pride, right? No regrets? We all know it is winners who rewrite history.” His eyes hardened, ”With absolute certainty.” He walked past Cloche, his cape fluttering behind him. He stopped at a point of the belltower where his figure bled into the fiery cityscape. It was a contrast of where he stood, darkness signalling absence of the danger. His sceptre stomped with a commanding thud as he tilted his head accordingly. “Well? You’re the one who suggested it. Make it quick,” Rollo said.

Cloche was quick to follow when she realized Rollo had not only considered but agreed to her idea. She scoped out the tallest platform on the belltower she could find to match his height and the scenery below. She raised the camera over her eye and clicked the shutter button when a breeze brushed past them. The anima card shot out from the camera. It was captured, Rollo posed in front of the mayhem with a menacing grin, his hand comfortably extended to brandish the parasitic flowers behind him. Cloche’ ears twitched, brushing her thumb over the print as it developed, “It’s perfect.”

[frequentlysecondo]

New Face Paint

Secondo x Reader || Halloween Ficlet

no beta we die like men, SFW :) I chose a new theme for my Fall Festival with the Papas collection and just thought this was too nice to rot in my WIP folder

A trail of crimson trickled from a razor edged canine perched atop an even row of teeth, fixed together in a menacing snarl. One piercingly white eye stared back at you in the dull light with a gaze that intended to bore its way into your own soul, at least until the beast rolled its eyes in irritation that is.

“Is this really necessary?”

“The silence is not scary anymore! You need to practice!” An exasperated sigh heaves its way from your chest. Weeks had already been spent begging Secondo to consider playing a more active role in the haunted house; to trade in his traditional silent scare tactics in favor of a more active approach. There was no time for him to chicken out now.

“Need I remind you, most of the Siblings already find me quite terrifying. I could stand stock still, staring, and they would turn tail and run. Which is what I do best.” His objections were quickly dismissed with a wave of your hand followed by a gentle push on his shoulders to lead him back to sitting in front of the mirrored vanity so you could adjust his make up once more.

“You are not terrifying, amore mío. But you do stare. A lot.” You reminded him with a playful squeeze of the apple of his cheek which only earned a groan underneath his breath. Your lips pursed together as you stared down at him in search of what aspect was still amiss from his costume make up. Already you had been pretty proud of what you had applied to his face. Larger faux canines affixed to his own, dribbling over his chin with fake blood, along with a stitching affect crossing over his face, opening over the top left side of his skull to expose spiraling sections of brain matter you had painted on painstakingly over the course of two hours.

“You are simply easy to stare at.” The purred flirtation combined with Secondo’s arms creeping around to encircle your torso was nearly enough to distract you from the task at hand. Credit where credit is due, the man was relentless and had almost gotten his way. Almost.

[clazaries]

Hi 🤗♥️

I saw that you opened requests for Oscar Isaac and lately I'm in full obsession with Dune

I wanted to see if you would like to write oneshot fluff about Duke Leto x reader.

The duke and his wife have been happily married for years and have a daughter who is just 14 years old.

She is totally daddy's girl, always following him where he goes and seeing him as if her father had hung the same stars, but lately she seems more and more rebellious and distant. Defying his father every chance he gets and being a constant pain in the Duke's mind. Then he and the reader talk about it.

And the duke confesses that he has a great fear of losing his daughter, but the reader reassures him.

It can end however you want (angry or fluffy)

Hope you have a nice day (Sorry if I wrote everything wrong, English is not my native language) ❣️🤗

A small ficlet for you! Thanks for the request!!

"I just...I just don't know what to do," your Duke sighs. You know that whenever your Duke speaks plainly and shows such a lack of restraint of his emotions tells you that you know he has very limited options. "It's like she's going through this god-complex, trying her hardest to make everyone around her feel inferior to her. She has no respect, disobeys every word and lacks responsibility. How am I suppose to manage my own responsibilities when I'm having to make excuses for hers?"

For the last few months it's become common knowledge amongst all those serving under House Atreides that the Duke has been struggling to contain the temperment of his 14 year old daughter, especially those have fallen directly into the firing line of her unsavory behaviour.

As a chambermaid only a few rotations older than the Duke's daughter, it isn't common for you to discuss such matters with the Duke, let alone be in the same room as him, but recently he's begun confiding in you in a way you were never trained for, so your hesitance to help him doesn't go unnoticed. But after seeing how defeated he is sitting on the edge of his bed, looking rather unruly, you decide to chance the same luck. "May I speak plainly, my duke?"

"Please." He looks up to you as if you are the beholder of all wisdom, fingers still tracing the grain of his beard.

"You had lived many rotations before I was even born, so I cannot judge on who you were, but I can speak on who you are now. Everyone knows that you are a leader and a fighter. A good one; even-handed and compassionate. And for that, you have attained Caladan's respect and loyalty. But you are also a father. Her father exclusively. Nobody else on Caladan can share the honour of being your daughter, only her."

His eyes travel over you like he's seeing a side of you he hadn't before, adding to the profile he already has in his head. "It's so curious to me that you are only a few years older than her but yet so vastly different. Why can't I make her see it the way you do?"

Because you've pampered her from the moment she left the womb. Alas, you have more sense to remember what kind of consequences you'd face should you have spoken those words so candidly.

"By blurring the lines of being a leader, a fighter and a father. By letting her see the reason of why you are Duke of Caladan. Gain her respect the same way you did ours. Invite her to House conferences, show her how you train, show her how you handle hostile environments, make her your shadow."

The Duke rises from the edge of the bed with a sigh and saunters over to his wife's vanity, glaring at himself in the mirror. He has a narrow face full of angles and planes, with a high-bridged aquiline nose that gave him the look of a hawk, and woodsmoke in his brown eyes. Despite his intimidating looks, his outer shell doesn't quite reflect what's within. A point that perhaps his daughter has been abusing in recent months.

"I miss the little girl she used to be. I have so much love for her that I can't bear to spare the thought of her not being in my life. I'm scared of losing her. I fear that exposing her to this would put her in harm's way."

"Of course, and she trusts you to protect her as every child does. But what would innocence teach her that you coudn't?"

The Duke's face remains expressionless apart from the very small twitch of his eyebrow furrowing inwards. After a long moment of deliberating, his gaze sweeps to yours through the mirror. You begin to worry that you've stepped out of line.

"Do you think it would work?" He asks quietly.

To be completely honest, you don't know. At the very least, it would do her some good to be humbled.

"It is only advice, my Duke, not an instruction. I would never tell you how to parent your child, I would never disrespect you in that way."

The gentle nod of his head is a relief, and you feel your breath pouring from your lungs.

The Duke paces back over to you, standing just before you that you could feel the traces of his breath sweep across your features.

"Perhaps you are right. When I think about it, I learned most, if not everything from my father when I was a teenager."

A small smile spreads across your lips. "As did I."

The Duke reciprocates the smile, returning his gratitude in the way his hand gently squeezes the top of your arm. "He is a man I aspire to be. Hopefully one day I can be as proud of my daughter as he is of you."

"Thank you, my Duke. I'm sure your daughter will make a great leader one day."

He chuckles softly, "here's hoping she can survive being grouded for longer than a week."

[ectogeo-art]

both lips on the mirror

[Kira/mirror!Kira, rated: E, 250 word ficlet for Sapphic Summer 2024, check it out on ao3 for tags and content warnings]

It wasn’t the same, kissing the mirror. The smear of lipstick on cold glass was repulsive compared to how it had tasted on the trembling curve of her doppelgänger’s breast. 

The Intendant leaned away from the vanity and pulled her fingers out of herself. She rubbed her temples with slick fingers then took off her crown with a sigh. 

The experimental clones had all developed insurmountable mutations and the holograms were too unnerving, so she’d had them all vaporized and deleted, respectively. Of course, it made sense that her own perfection was so impossible to replicate. She needed the real thing. She needed her. Her double. Her soulmate.

It hardly mattered that the other Nerys had betrayed her. In the Intendant’s position, who hadn’t betrayed her?  What they’d shared was too precious to discard over trifles like sedition. She’d forgiven her quickly after her initial fury.

The truth was, no one but that strange facsimile of herself turned her on anymore. She found no satisfaction in the bodies of her servile playthings. She wanted only her Nerys. She longed to make her whimper for mercy again as she dipped between her legs and sucked on radial fronds arranged just like her own. 

And next time, Nerys would fuck her for the right reasons. It wouldn’t be an act, a diversion meant to hold her attention while the Terran rebels plotted sabotage. No, next time, their passion would worm its way into her double’s heart, leaving her the one wanting more. 

[The end! Be sure to leave kudos/comments on ao3 if you want to encourage my bad behavior ^_^]

[bolognamayhem117]

Title: "Looking at Something?"

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Astarion/M!Tav, elf/elf, paladin/rogue

POV: Tav(Rorik)

Themes: Aggressive flirting, praise kink (if you turn your head and squint), safe for work, mild angst, retconned Canon Dialog.

Warnings: trauma, manipulation, anger, neck wounds, alludes to distant past and recent abuse.

Author's Notes: First and foremost a disclaimer, I created this character on my first playthrough after Robert and I bought the game a year ago. I picked up the controller with zero knowledge of the game's contents after being told you could play as a vampire. I said "That's bold of the developer, fuck it, I'll make Rorik's dumb ass and smeagol my way through the forgotten realms or whatever..." Turns out the person who told me that was referencing the Astarion Origin playthrough. I said "Screw It I'm Doing It Anyway! With the power of IMAGINATION." To my delight and surprise it really wasn't all that hard to use paladin spells, items, scroll hoarding, and armor to very closely model the homebrew build of Rorik the Degenerate Dhampir Sun Worshipping Paladin. He has his own issues which this ficlet hints at. He's cringe, be gentle.

Fic Summary: Astarion is looking for reassurance or praise or... Something, and then the writer remembered they used the intelligence as a dump stat to boost their Tav's charisma and rolled with it. Mentions a friend's character. I only barely proofread so consider this your warning.

Tagged at request: @ghostkingart

“Looking at something?” Astarion addressed Rorik when the paladin passed behind him and paused.

Rorik was tired, he'd stopped on his way back from a piss because something wasn't right. He’d been too beaten by the beasts of the underdark to process the scene before him for its absurdity. The vampire spawn was holding a hand mirror, scowling into it as if scorn might make his reflection appear in its smooth glitter.

The high elf angled the mirror in such a way that Rorik could see himself. Did he always look so serious? Yet disinterested? Rorik seldom sought his reflection, it wasn't a countenance he wanted to face.

“Just looking. What are you doing?”

“I'm looking too, but not seeing very much” Astarion told Rorik almost softly, sadly. “Another quirk of my affliction.” he spat the last word as if it tasted rancid, eyes dark and lips cutting a sour pout.

Rorik had heard these sorrow-songs many times in his homeland and beyond. He was no stranger to this agony, but it never got easier to hear it, even from a spawn he hardly knew, harboring a strain of the cursed malady he was not so familiar with. It seemedthat no matter the variant, it affects one's reflection in glass treated with a paper thin veneer of silver.

Rorik played the fool, wrong as it felt to pretend he needed to ask questions in order to guess how Astarion might feel about not having seen himself in centuries.

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?”

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity?!” He bordered on sounding offended, but his expression shifted with the same flippancy as his whims. Sometimes Rorik wondered if Astarion was making himself hard to read on purpose. Now, with a short but heavy pause, he went on with a longing about the droop of his shoulders and the way he looked at the other man, perhaps with jealousy. “Of course I do…”

He continued.

“I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and its eyes turned red.” And then, those scarlet eyes plunged back into darkness with his last syllables. His seething glare burned as hot as the Sun's love burned his vampiric skin in the day, before the illithid worm at least.

Rorik tried a question he'd heard many times before, sometimes even directed at himself. It might keep him talking. “What color were they before?”

“I... I don't know. I can't remember.” His glare softened with something that half revealed him, but the outraged anguish returned to him, as it tends to do. “My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I've lost.”

Astarion threw down the mirror as he finished, it cracked as it struck the packed earth beneath them. If they were standing in a proper room of wooden or brick floor then the mirror would have shattered in a spectacular fashion.

Spiteing the fact that Astarion needn't air to live, he drew pants of heavy breath as he bared his teeth in his anger. He had every right to be angered, all spawn do.

Patience, Rorik reminded himself. As much as it went against his instincts to stick around within range of teeth while their owner bobbed between drowning in their own righteous fury and the oblivion of sorrow, there was always something about Astarion which lured him in. Rorik could still look at himself in a mirror, most of the time, and he thought maybe the reason he hadn't yet walked away from Astarion while he tantrumed about his past, present or Casador might just be because: he could see his reflection in Astarian, too. His pain felt all too familiar.

“What?” Astarian broke him from his thoughts.

Rorik corrected quickly, unsure what his own expression had revealed. He straightened a head that had tilted toward his left shoulder, fixed his eyes which he guessed had softened upon Astarian’s anger on base instinct. Too close. He'd almost fallen victim to his old habits, but Astarian was no flailing racer stallion who required the softness of a coddling stable pony to calm him. And Rorik was nobody's pony anymore.

“I'll be your mirror. What do you want to know?” It was a cheap distraction, yes, but he found in it genuine empathy. Astarian couldn't see himself, hadn't seen himself in two-hundred years, he deserved the next best thing.

“I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me. What you see.” Astarian replied with another reflection, this time of Rorik’s own sincerity.

The deferring tipping of Astarian's head told it all. A wound had been bared for Rorik to examine, one he could grind salt into and Astarian knew that. It was the scattered moments of vulnerability that helped Rorik stay, too.

He feigned a smile just in time, before his silence convinced Astarion that something was wrong. The others' brows were already creased as he braced to be hurt.

“Well, the shmutz of bullette viscera smeared on your left cheek has my attention right now.” Rorik jabbed casually.

Astarion scrubbed his wrist over his face with an irritable grimace, following Rorik's gesture to find the supposed smear of gore, only to find nothing because Rorik was having a little fun at his expense. Astarion was fastidious in his grooming. He’d missed nothing when he'd washed.

Rorik was rewarded with a glare, so he laughed, “If I didn't like you, I wouldn't jest… I'm not a poet, I'm not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, and I don't do flattery. So brace yourself.”

“Oh.. Kay…?” Astarion murmured.

Rorik straightened his posture to look Astarion from the toe of each tidy elvish crafted loafer up to the top most curl of his head of white silver. Consciously taking him in only topically.

“If I were unbiased and this were my first impression: Your face is long but not overly narrow. Your nose is very straight, cutting a tidy profile. I imagine you've never had it broken. The fairness of your skin hints at a noble upbringing; a childhood spent indoors rather than under the gaze of the noon sun. Your hands are clean and unmarred, so for certain you're not a laborer. You are clearly particular about how your hair is done every morning… Your jaw is angled sharply toward your chin but is neither too strong nor too weak. It suits you well. Your lips are full which reinforces an air of youth about you, and your upper lip is just a bit thicker than the lower without being distracting… About five foot and eleven inches, shoulders broad enough to mandate care toward them when having garments tailored… In all, The world sees a young elf.”

Rorik bit the end of his tongue as he finished, holding back the last and decidedly biased thought: that he saw all these things too but accompanied by eyes which looked as tired as he often felt himself.

Astarion's expression was empty yet soft, gaze drifting into the middle distance until the very end when his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted as if something had curdled in it.

“Eugh! Must you always make everything sound so clinical!? You told Edmund this morning the cactus where your heart should be has beautiful flowers and that was backhanded!” Astarion mocked Rorik's northerner accent, badly, “I know you can do better than that. Ugh, for shits’ sake, why do you find me attractive? Why does anyone find me attractive, Rorik?”

That took Rorik off guard. This wasn't just about forgetting one's own appearance, was it? It was about Astarion understanding how the world was affected by his body being in it. Rorik shifted in discomfort, now put on the spot to summarize the things he personally found alluring. He felt almost dirty saying it.

“I- suppose people can't help themselves but to admire? You're striking. Perfectly styled snow hair, you're well formed… Em, lovely skin? like opal? White opal. Were you true symmetrical I would've drawn my sword, having mistook you for a stone wit-”

“I- I'm not symmetric?? Where is my face uneven!? Tell me this instant!” The high elf squawked, hands smoothing up the planes and dips of his visage in search.

Rorik snorted. Astarion seemed like the type to become offended at the mention of a slightly uneven cupid’s bow. Best not add to his self image anxieties too much. A true lie would have to do.

“You have a freckle or two, perhaps from your recent love affair with the sun.”

“Freckles?!”

“Oh, relax. Not near as many as me.” Rorik reassured.

“Hmph. That was… Better-ish, I suppose. You're onto something, keep going.”

Rorik's expression pinched with realization. “Is that all you're after? Shallow praise?”

“Hardly! I'm also after gold, sex, revenge. Quite the list, really, and failing any of those I will always settle for: shallow praise.”

“Fuck that noise. I can do better than patting your ass with a couple cheap compliments.”

“Care to expand on that? I can't tell if I'm being derided or offered an upgrade from your awkward small talk.” Astarion harrumphed and began picking under his fingernails, apparently checking out of the conversation in a display of boredom.

Rorik stepped closer to recapture his attention, spurred forward by a volatile cocktail of embarrassment, ego, and vindictiveness that had spilled in close proximity to the competitive streak within him.

“I used to be good at this. I swear. You'll just have to be patient while I call it back to me.” Rorik leveled in a low rumble, and it was no bluff. Idle worship of a bloated ego had saved his skin in his youth more times than he could count. This bordered too close to an exhumation of the corpse of his past, but if the occasion calls for it in the name of harmless fun: then let old habits lumber about like a fucking zombie.

Astarion's eyes lit themselves with dark amusement, leaning in too with a smug sneer, “Call louder. I think it ran straight past you.”

Rorik wasted no breath on the others' taunting. He delivered. “Your eyes are extraordinary, they burn through people like a branding iron. I'd rather face a devil I’d sleighted.”

Astarion let loose the bark and giggle of laughter which used to grate on Rorik's nerves, “Oh, not bad… and you said you don't do flattery! Do go on.”

That's one point to Rorik. He wanted more than that. He wanted to win whatever this was. “They have their moments of immeasurably inviting softness, too. Eyes like yours tend to get their way with me, if I'm being honest… And don't let that go to your head.”

“Ha! Hard not to. That's a dangerous admission.” Astarion swayed his shoulders and hummed with an odd, rich texture in his voice. His expression was guarded, however.

“Awareness of one's weaknesses is healthy, I'm told..” Rorik commented rather pointlessly. Choosing pretty analogies for the features of a face he found attractive felt more risky than it should. Rorik's jaw and throat felt hot for no particular reason. “Moving on. Your smile is deadly. Like a bear trap lined with sweet meats and candied fruit. A pout, a grin, a laugh, they all draw me closer…”

Closer. Astarion must've taken the utterance of the word as an invitation. He brandished that smile like a blade now and brought them near nose to nose. “Yes, yes. You're right. But we know better, don't we, Rorik?”

Not fair. Rorik’s naked skull felt like it was on fire, and the feeling was not limited to neck and up.

“We do. You can't lure bats with candy in pretty wrappers.” he tilted his head with his words, ever so minutely, exposing the angry punctures in his throat.

“If it isn't the sweet taste that draws you in, then what is it? Tell me Acolyte.”

Rorik shook his head. “You know I'm a masochist. You know the answer to that.”

“Aw, Little Treat longs to be trapped? How delightfully demented.”

“Mm,” Rorik offered a solemn nod. It was another admission of those dirty weaknesses. “Last thing for now-”

“For now?” Astarion crooned, grinning wickedly as he underlined Rorik's implication that he may have more to say on this particular topic at a later date.

“For now,” Rorik confirmed but teased… Teasing? He'd never teased like this, in this context, before. Best end on a note of humor, “Speaking of teeth, you've the most polite little feedin’ fangs.”

“...What?” Astarion straightened then and leaned away.

Rorik must've thrown him off his rhythm with that one. Right. Astarion was from a small coven, and apparently not one which enjoyed the bleak humors of the condition.

Rorik leaned minutely closer and bared his razors in a grimace with a finger directing attention to them. “I'm saying, your teeth look almost normal. At least compared to these lawn shears I was saddled with. Your smile is still sharp, but passable. Many with the condition aren't so lucky.”

“Good to know I'm not a complete freak.” Astarion harrumphed.

“Maybe I crossed the line. I forget, not everyone reconciles it all so easily.” Rorik admitted, but refused to backpedal that last opinion.

“I suppose I can give you a pass on it, given that you were born with… All of that.” Astarion gave a waving finger gesturing to all of Rorik as he half-accepted the half-apology.

Rorik couldn't help but chuckle and look away, the imagery brought to mind was too heinous and ridiculous all at once. “Well, I was indistinguishable from the living until I consumed blood at fifteen-ish but, sure. I wasn't bottle fed monk blood as a tot. Couldn't imagine that horror.”

"Normal children are horrible enough… Now, why don't you just tell me I'm beautiful and we'll call it an evening.” Astarion shifted the topic smartly, but looked away for a moment too.

The dance was strange. Rorik wasn't sure what they were doing, but he sort of liked it.

“You're alright, Gale is more my type.” Rorik lied, blatantly.

“How dare you!” Astarion's tone was playful, rather than offended, although it's always hard to tell with Astarion, “I thought we had something special… Still, you're nice too. I’d better get some beauty sleep. It seems I need it if I'm to catch up with the competition.”

Rorik could only shake his head. Everyone has a type. Astarion's was apparently fractured faces and a malignant glare. Rainar's glare. Rorik quickly tossed aside the errant thought and the accompanying cruel memory. He dipped his head before deciding to attend his own sleep.

“Sure sure, but do tread with caution. The pursuit of perfection is perilous, and you're already knocking on the door.” Rorik offered with a smirk. This game was… fun.

“Hhmf! Says he's not romantic,” Astarion mocked talking to himself, shooting a dark glance and that dangerous smile over his shoulder as Rorik retreated to his bedroll by the fire.

[maithefluffychicken]

Astarion/Gale bloodweave.

Gale has a gift for Astarion. SFW. Part 1 of ??.

Astarion had told Gale that he misses to admire his own face in a mirror. Petty vanity, Astarion has said back then, it feels like years ago.

It's been just a few weeks, maybe a whole month? Gale has lost track of time since the... ilithid abduction. And back then Gale had thought Astarion was just being dramatic, fishing for compliments, asking Gale directly what did he see whenever he looks at the vampire. Gale was taken aback then, both because Astarion is breathtaking in his ethereal beauty, his fangs a constant reminder of his dangerous nature... and because Gale had to face then the awkward truth that he was, indeed, developing intense feelings for the pale elf.

Gale praised Astarion that night, called him beautiful, and winced when Astarion seemed unimpressed by his words, no matter how much Gale tried to wax poetics about Astarion.

Now, Gale can read through Astarion cold, nonchalant facade. Now, Gale takes in every microexpression the vampire does, how his eyes flick quickly, taking in his surroundings, ready to flee or fight whenever he feels some kind of threat upon him.

Now, reaching Baldur's Gate, the tadpole still firmly and cozy nestled in their brains, with Gale's fate over his head like Damocles' sword... now, the wizard decides that he can spend his last nights on Faerun spoiling his favorite brat, the man that has raptured his heart.

"Gale, darling," Astarion calls, dragging every syllabe lazily, sighing dramatically. "What are you doing all by yourself in this ruined cabin?"

Gale shakes his head, amused. Astarion's voice send shiver down his spine, reminiscence of the dream-like nights they spent together, when Astarion still believed he had to use his body to keep Gale entertained.

"Ugh, this is so disgusting, oh look, a dead rat... What a waste... Gale? Are you playing hide and seek? Where are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm on the second floor, Astarion," Gale answers, unable to contain his smile.

"Gods, why? Come here, darling, I miss your face."

Gale does not giggle, he's an ass grown up man and he does not giggle, but he can't stop his cheeks from burning red. Of course, Gale obliges.

"What are you doing up there, dear?"

"I was just... meditating," Gale says, because he's scared to admit that he needed some alone time to psych himself to do what he's going to do now.

"Sure, alright," Astarion says, eyeing Gale with his head tilted up defiantly. "You missed dinner, I saved you some cheese and dry saussages, and bread, and that wine you fancy."

Astarion says, shrugging, as if does this for everyone everyday. As if this doesn't matter. Gale's heart does a mortal jump at this freely given love demonstration, and he's sure the vampire can hear how fast his blood rush thorugh his veins right now.

"Dinner, sure, thank you, beloved," Gale says, unaware of how the endearment falls from his lips until Astarion's face does that small wince, how his pupils blown, swallowing the red of his irises.

"Gale..."

"I have something for you," Gale blurts out. "I... could we find somewhere more intimate?"

Astarion seizes him up with his red wine eyes. Nods minutely. Astarion trusts Gale, knows Gale won't betray him, nor force him to do something Astarion is not ready yet. Gale would rather die to betray Astarion, and leaving the tray of food behind, Gale takes Astarion's cold hand and together they walk until Gale deems the landscape good enough for his gift to Astarion.

NEXT

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next parts or in my Astarion/Wyll ficlet (coming soon) 💛

[bimbocoreblonde]

Hi! I'm back on Tumblr for The Fall Guy content, and even though I haven't written any fan fiction in a while, but after watching the Fall Guy and falling in love with Colt Seavers, I'd really like to start again...only I have no idea what to write.

If anyone wants to see a ficlet written for Colt based off of the SFW alphabet (list below the cut) then please send me a message because I need some help getting back in the saddle here!

(I'm also loving Tom, Dan, Jody and also Gail tbh, so send me requests for any of the Fall Guy characters and I'd love to write something for them!)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

[lambourngb]

prompt- we're born with white blood, which darkens with mortal sins.

established icemav - short ficlet

Ice hissed as his razor cut a little too close to his jawline, nipping a tiny bit of skin in its wake. He stared in the mirror, transfixed for a moment as the blood welled up, black as night, and then dripped onto the vanity countertop.

He remembered being a young officer, blood as white as milk, even after the Layton mission. Killing a MiG pilot to save his own life and that of his RIO apparently did not count as a crime.

However, after thirty years of serving at the beck and call of the Admiralty, once four stars were on his shoulder, it meant his blood was no longer pale and innocent but dark obsidian. That was where the real crimes laid; behind the broad desks and under the pen of troop deployments, signing off on regulations that only became fair after 2011. That was the price Ice paid for those years of being part of a machine that wanted to do good but couldn't be good while doing it.

"Hey babe, do you think you have time for lunch today," Mav called from the bedroom, shocking Ice out of his trance.

Quickly he grabbed a tissue, mopping up all evidence of his black blood and flushing it before his husband could see it. Mav's blood was the color of oatmeal, never darkening past his childhood of petty crimes. When they had fallen into bed together, Ice's blood still pumped through his veins pale and ice-white. Somehow through luck and deployments, he had managed to conceal his current state from his husband.

"I think so; I'll tell my aide to clear the space," Ice replied, holding a folded-up tissue against his cut as Mav came into the bathroom behind him.

Mav wrapped his arm around Ice's side, tucking into his warmth. His husband was already dressed for the day at the base, his uniform scratched deliciously at Ice's bare skin as he stood in front of the vanity in only a towel. "Did you cut yourself? Here, let me see-"

Ice leaned away from Mav's hand, dodging his attempts to pull away the tissue. The cut had probably clotted by now, but it was still too risky for Mav to see the dark stain from his wound. "I'm fine, and you're going to be late. I'm not running interference with Cyclone again."

"When did you run interference the first time?"

"Day one when you broke the hard deck and performed an illegal cobra maneuver," Ice reminded him sternly. They both winced in memory of that lecture during the training for the uranium mission. Thankfully it had all worked out, and everyone had returned home safe and sound. Still, regardless of success, Cyclone remained a stickler for being on time. "And, of course, you were correct in your teaching methods; I don't regret stepping in."

"Have you ever?" Mav asked, his thumb trailing against the softness of Ice's waist before creeping closer to the tied towel. "Regretted stepping in?"

Ice looked at his husband in the mirror, knowing that the blood in his veins had darkened over time as he gathered favors and performed miracles to keep his wingman in the air and protected. "Never. You're worth it."