#//despite that it's over i think the pacing was very good and they really nailed it when it comes to chatacters development and so on

[r3dblccd]

Y'all are fucking sick😭

[exhaslo]

Over-Time Ch4

(CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3

Warning: MINORS DNI, eventual smut, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing, fluff

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"This is the big bad CEO's office," Lyla said with a wide smile as she stood proudly in front of the large set of doors.

Your eyes could only widen as you thought of the man behind those doors. Such a powerful person was able to make Alchemax what it was. This was going to be your future boss. As nervous as you were, you had to make a good first impression!

"Stop scaring the new girl,"

Your ears perked up as you recognized the voice. Your breathing nearly halted as the doors began to open, revealing Miguel.

"Huh? Miguel? Y-You're...You're the C-CEO?"

Your heart stilled for a moment as you recalled everything you had done. Your clumsiness for bumping into the CEO on your interview day, chatting with him so casually in the elevator and showing every form of weakness possible.

As you heart started to gain pace, your chest swelled with regret. It was difficult, but you held back your tears. Noticing the treat on his desk, you immediately bowed your head,

"I-I'm so...so sorry! I-I-"

"There is no need to apologize. It is I who should give my apologies. I was the one who deceived you." Miguel said with a smile.

"Ew, your smiling." Lyla muttered.

As Miguel bickered lowly with Lyla, you still felt your head spinning a mile a minute.

"Anyway-" Miguel gently shoved Lyla to the side, "I was more so enjoying the presence of someone who did not know who I was, which led me to fooling you. For that, I apologize."

"Ah-" You gasped, finally letting yourself breathe, "S-So...was I hired...because of...of my skill or-"

"Duuuuuh, girl. This guy doesn't know the meaning of special treatment. He's just a big oaf." Lyla pitched in with a smug eating grin. Miguel could only grumble to her response,

"Please ignore her statements about me. I look forward to working with you from now on. As you know, Lyla will be going on vacation very soon. During this time she will guide you on everything you will have to do. That is, if you are still willing-"

"Yes! Yes I am!" You nearly shouted before covering your mouth, "S-Sorry, I am. I really want to better...myself and you have given me this um, opportunity."

Glancing up at Miguel, you felt butterflies in your stomach as he smiled towards you.

"I'm glad to hear that." His voice was still so gentle, "Well, I have a meeting I must get ready for. Why don't you take the rest of the day off and we will see you tomorrow, yes?"

"Y-Yes!"

-----------

Miguel was the CEO. Miguel was the CEO. MIGUEL WAS THE CEO OF ALCHEMAX! AND I MADE A FOOL OF MYSELF!

The thoughts raged through your mind as you quietly sat on the bus on your way home. Biting your nail, you tried to calm down, but it was no use. Despite Miguel being so kind to you, you still couldn't stop from recalling your foolishness.

You had to make it up to him.

You HAD too.

------------

"Why are you being so nice?" Lyla asked once the two entered Miguel's office.

"Am I not human?" Miguel said with a snort, "Is it so wrong of me to treat another with kindness? I am surrounded by selfish fools and greedy bastards every second of the day. It is nice to have a change."

"Yeah, but I really don't want to see her bend over on your desk crying your name out when I come back."

"Lyla!" Miguel felt his cheeks burn, "You know me better than that."

"I do. Which is why I'm totally predicting a few outcomes."

"You have little faith in me,"

Miguel sat at his desk and let out a heavy sigh. As nice as he may have seemed to you, Lyla was not wrong. As a man, Miguel already had a thought, though for a mere second, of you under him. The face you might make when he shoved his dick inside those walls of yours.

"You're totally thinking about it now, gross." Lyla chuckled, "You're lucky she's a quiet one, but....that's also a problem."

Clearing his throat, Miguel rid himself of those naughty thoughts as he listened to Lyla.

"I know. (Y/n) will get eaten alive by my business partners. I'm sure you can find a way to boost her confidence in this short amount of time."

"Against those horny old bastards? Duh," Lyla hummed before plopping herself against Miguel's couch, "It's her I'm more worried about."

"She hasn't-"

"Every women who tries to enter your life has fled because of her. You're lucky I have the biggest pair of balls in his city to even stand a chance against that snake."

"I recall...I wonder if she still has your bite marks-"

"Bitch better! They were sharp and clean from my dental appointment!" Lyla huffed before fixing her hair, "But even so, not even I am capable of preparing someone against her. I fear that your new assistant will be eaten alive."

"Then I'll be the only one of us to have faith in (Y/n)."

"Hm,"

-----------

Miguel inhaled deeply as he stood against his balcony, enjoying the quiet night. It felt strange to not be so stressed out after a long day of work. Taking a sip of his drink, Miguel couldn't help but recall your expression from earlier.

You looked like a deer caught in headlights once Miguel revealed himself. Your face turned bright red and your words fumbling with each other. It was cute. Miguel assumed that you were overthinking and panicked.

But, he still had faith in you. You hadn't made any sort of move to try and win him over yet. Most tend to try and meet with Miguel after hours. Instead, you sent another apology email for your actions and for the salty snack.

"How has such a little mouse survived this long? In this city of predators like myself?"

Humming to the thought, Miguel also recalled that 'snake' that Lyla brought up. All Miguel had to do was hide your existence for the next few months and you'll be fine.

"Hm, but will she be fine against me?"

---------

It was day two of you officially working at Alchemax. Lyla was going to show you the ropes.

However, you had to get Miguel's morning coffee.

"Miguel turns into such a grumpy beast when he doesn't have his coffee. I've already memorized his order, but I wrote it down for you along with the place we get it from. I also put my order on there, and feel free to get yourself something."

"A-Are you sure? This is the company card." You stuttered, feeling a little nervous about a simple coffee run.

"It's Miguel's card and he doesn't mind. Once we've all had our energy, I'll start showing you the first morning tasks."

"Okay,"

You tried to stop shaking as you put the card and paper in your wallet. Hurrying downstairs, you tried to calm down. This was your first unofficial task for Miguel. A simple coffee run. How bad could it really be?

------

You shuddered as you stood in front of your old job. Your hands trembling as you held the piece of paper in your hand. You hardly worked this early in the morning, so it would make sense why you never thought of Alchemax workers getting their coffee from here.

Hell, you hardly even noticed how close the two jobs were to one another.

Inhaling deeply, you made your way inside. Sweat rolled down your neck as you saw your old co-workers in the middle of a rush. Each of them yelling out orders and ingredients. As long as they stayed busy and didn't notice you, it would be fine.

"Wel-Oh! (Y/n)! Nice of you to join us."

And there was the hostility.

"What?! She's here?! After she didn't show up for my shift yesterday?!"

"....I....quit...." You whispered, trying to hide behind the line of people waiting for their order.

"Well since you're here, clock in and help us."

"I....can't," You tried to say.

Didn't your manager tell everyone that you quit? You made sure to call them last night to inform them that you weren't going to work there anymore. You quit this toxic job for Alchemax. So why, why is everyone still so harsh?

"(Y/N)! We need the help!" Another coworker yelled out.

You were shaking as everyone started to stare at you. The paper in your hand starting to crumble as you shook. They didn't need your help. You were just going to make a mess with how busy it was. They just wanted to yell at you.

"I-I can't! I'm just here for my new job!" You nearly cried out.

"Tch, what a liar."

And there it was. You lowered your head as the line kept moving. The stares you were getting were intense. Everyone probably thought that you were an asshole. As you waited, you felt your phone buzz.

"H-Hello?" You stuttered.

"Ah! (Y/N)! I hope it isn't too late, could you-"

"(Y/N)! I heard from the others that you refuse to help, especially after not showing up yesterday. We need to have a word in my office." Your morning manager hissed.

"B-But...I-I-"

"It seems busy. I'll text you the item." Lyla said before hanging up.

Oh, how you wanted to cry. What were you to do? You could never stand up to the managers. Why didn't the night manager inform everyone that you quit?

"To. My. Office."

"What seems to be the problem?"

Your breathing hitched as you turned to find Miguel. You couldn't hold back the tears as Miguel placed his hand against your shoulder. It was amazing. Everyone immediately froze as they stared at your new boss. Were you the only one who didn't know that he was the CEO?

"You're-" Your manager snapped out of his shocked state, "I was just going to handle my associate about her teamwork and customer service."

"Your associate?" Miguel scoffed, "From my understanding and resources, she quit your establishment last night. (Y/n) works for me now. If this shop doesn't wish to treat my associates fairly, then Alchemax will gladly take our business elsewhere." Miguel said firmly, motioning you to follow him out.

"I'm sorry, sir! We weren't aware that she quit. Please, allow us to make you your drink on the house-"

"We don't need your charity. Instead, apologize to her."

"S-Sir, I...I really-"

"Don't let them talk down to you as if you're nothing," Miguel whispered in your ear, "You deserve to be treated fairly."

As if something was stuck in your throat, you could only nod towards Miguel. Glancing towards your old manager, you waited for his forced apology. You still didn't like the stares. You knew that you could never come back here after this.

It took a minute, but your old manager finally apologized. Miguel just smirked before walking you out of the shop. Finally feeling like you could breathe, you turned to face Miguel once you were a good distance away.

"I-I'm sorry for causing t-trouble...B-But...How did you know I-I was there?" You asked with a stutter. Miguel removed his hand from your shoulder,

"I normally come in a little late to give Lyla her 'beauty time' as I call it. It also gives her time to get my morning coffee without having to rush. I tend to take this route every now and then and couldn't help but notice you in the café."

"I'm sorry I'm being a burden already," Frowning as you lowered your head, you stared at the crumbled paper in your hand, "I couldn't even get this right-"

"Don't cry," Miguel hushed, lifting your chin, "You can't blame yourself for the foolish acts of others."

"I'm sorry," You whimpered once more. Miguel just let out a soft sigh, wiping a tear away,

"Come. I don't have a meeting for another hour or so. Why don't we spend some time looking for a new coffee shop? I wouldn't want you going back to that hostile place."

Watching Miguel hold his arm out, you sniffed as you calmed down. Lyla said that Miguel was a beast without his coffee, but he was still ever so kind to you. Taking his arm, you gladly took Miguel's offer as you spent some time getting to know your new boss.

---------

Lyla pouted as she sat in her office, staring at the clock.

"Where the hell is my coffee?"

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Next Chapter

@timidquindim @decentsoupperson @ivkygirly @reader-1290 @daddyfroglegs @eepybunny0805 @ddreabea @iamperson12280 @migueloharasoulmate @tojishugetiddies @koko-1025 @hyeinwluv85s @daisy-artfield @migueloharastruelove @a-lil-whore @hcqwxrtss123 @the-pan-liquid @tojisfav @pochapo @bubblegumfanfictions @brighterthanlonelythoughts @ghstypaint @mangoslushcrush @synamonthy @scaleniusrm @moonspectorx @dorck26 @a060403 @lunablackcosplay @soraya-daydreams @lovefanfic1 @mymrsweirdnessshipperstuff-blog @pretty-pink-princesss @corpsebridenightamare @razertail18 @gachagator @droolingmuttt @miguelsfavwife @ryzguy06 @raideaters-blog @manishkaworld @keidilla @byjessicalotufo @pigeonmama @k3ythesapphic @acesangels @stealingyourturts @angel-xx-1 @amberbalcom14 @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @oscarissac2099 @keepghostly @zeyzeys-stuff @k3ythesapphic @nightingale1011 @mari0-o @uncle-eggy @safixiovi @flaps200 @dahehow @weirdothatwritess @gerblinradio @electronicchaoschaos @mafiaanomaly @pochapo

[nyctophiliq]

CAN YOU PLS WRITE SOME REYNA SMUT 🥲🥲🥲

✮ ┆HELP MY HEAD CLEAR. zyanya ‘reyna’ mondragón

no plot, just smut.

CONTENT WARNING.          18+ only, minors dni. NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; female-bodied reader, scissoring, kissing, praising, mommy kink, top! reyna, pet names, dub-con elements, | ~0.9k words

A/N.                   i found this scrapped reyna fic on my hard drive finally, hopefully, you like it anon despite it being rather short, and thank you for reading everyone !!!

to say that reyna was tense lately was an understatement and you were more than glad that the rest of the agents thought when she finally calmed down it was thanks to the countless training bots beheaded. you were more than proud of how well you could assist your girlfriend to cool her head, but you were nowhere proud enough to brag about how you really did it. even that was a lie because in her least angelic moments, reyna was still very pervasive, and with the slightest effort she could charm you into her room to have a good time.

there was no time for you to register anything happening after the sliding door closed, reyna’s hands all over your body, stripping you of your clothes before forcing you under her on the bed. “my precious baby, won’t you help mami, hm?” she coos as she straddles you, her hand catching one of yours that was trying to cover up your bare body, placing them on the buckle of her pants while her free hand was groping your chest, digging her nails into the soft mound of your breast.

your body was sprawled across the bed like a work of art, your tits bouncing softly as reyna rolled her hips against yours. light gasps came from your lips as your clit met hers, grinding against one another slowly. zyanya’s mouth waters at the sight of you under her and her animalistic fantasies of absolutely devouring you right there and then were never harder to maintain than now.

“feels good baby, yeah? helping mami out,” she asks, reaching a hand down to caress your face. it was hot, almost fooling her that you were riding a high fever and your cheeks were red like the blood that flows through your body,  your skin burning where she touched you. you nodded furiously, the blush darkening and spreading down your neck as she pressed herself down on top of you, taking control of the position, her arms bracketing your head and holding it down so you couldn’t move away. 

you bit your lower lip to suppress a moan which did not please the woman above you at all. reyna would hate to admit otherwise, tell you out loud how much she is enjoying herself in this position and the delicious stimulation on her clit. she didn’t think this kind of position could be as satisfying as any of her toys or your tongue and she is already planning the next time the two of you will do this.

“f-faster…” you mumble, your thighs trembling already. your heart was racing and you swore it would jump out of your chest any second with the way she moved her hips against yours.

“you are so good mi corazón, such a pretty messy pussy you have for mami,” she exclaims with a high-pitched moan following her statement. she pulls your thigh closer to her and quickens her pace as more praises fall from her mouth.

your eyes close as you soak up her words, whimpering softly after each and every adoring word that spilled from her mouth. your body trembles and your walls clench around nothing but air as your high nears and you find it embarrassing. she mewls all about how she’s gonna devour you after this,  how she is gonna eat you up and make sure you get what’s coming to you.

“m’cumming- cumming!” you squeak, your thighs trying to close as your hips spasm against hers. all your shame quickly dissolves, your mind only able to concentrate on the spine-arching pleasure your body is being wrecked by. you saw stars, shining brightly and bliding you as your orgasm ate you whole.

“cum for me- cum with me cariño.” reyna gave you a few rushed nods, not being able to form any more words as she too was nearing the edge. she can feel the small, unfortunate space between the two of you get even more slippery than before, the wet sounds of your pussy lips getting louder.

just as you were coming, your pupils were blown like you were high on drugs, and your brain was gushing out of your ears. zyanya followed you soon, her head falling forward and one of her hands slipping between the two of you. the pressure in her stomach was unbearable and the release her fingers provided was heavenly.

the sound of her moans was music to your ear and if you weren’t so dizzy because of your lingering orgasm. it felt so damn good to be fucked like this, to know that you are making her feel good and she's letting all that steam off that's building up inside of her.

reyna wasn't shy about showing off, kissing, and biting your shoulder and collarbone- touching these marks. it stung, how her fingers ran along and pushed on her purple marks, but the way that touch made her feel, the warm feeling, and how it made your body shiver all made her delightful, strengthening her ownership over you.

zyanya was breathing heavily, her hair tousled. her entire body was sweaty and flushed and she looked absolutely gorgeous. she pulled back slowly, her breathing labored and her eyes remained closed for a couple of seconds before falling over, taking you in her weak arms, pulling your naked bodies close to one another.

[batwritings]

HI, last request I swear dhvdjdgdgvs SORRY

I really loved your group sex piece for Al and Rudy, and it gave me an idea for a 141 equivalent. They’ve been going through tough times with Hassan, and fem!reader decides to help out.

Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost all take turns on her, in various positions on a bed. At first, she takes it well, but by the very end when it’s Ghost’s turn? Things take a bit of a turn. Any of the other boys can hold her up and keep her grounded, while Ghost remorsefully slams into her overstimulated cunt. He tries to be gentle, but there’s no real winning, since he’s a little too big for her to handle after all of her previous orgasms :(( Eventually, they just keep her calm, while he finishes her up. With every careful slam from his hips, she gets more and more cock-drunk. They comfort her through her final orgasm of the night, which has her crying out in pure pleasure. After they’re done cleaning her up, they make sure to give her lots of love <33

-Hybrid

...Hybrid, good friend, pal, has anyone told you how fucking GORGEOUS your ideas are? Because they really fucking are. Enjoy!~

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You were by no means a soldier in comparison to your boys on 141. The most civilian of civilian who was there for each of them (or all of them) when they needed it. And by the look in your boys' eyes after this last mission? They really fucking needed it.

Now, normally you're pretty good at gauging just how hard your boys will go on you when they really need it. Safe to say, you severely underestimated just how much attention 141 needed from you. And you weren't anywhere near done.

Your legs were shaking, inner thighs raw from the beard burn. Your jaw was sore, nearly locking up from how much you had to keep it open, cum drying on the corner of your mouth where it hadn't been cleaned up in time. Words were simply not a thing anymore, and that was all just from Price, Gaz, and Soap alone.

It was Ghost's turn now, and you could see the burn in those chocolate brown eyes. A broken whimper leaves your throat, but it is met with a soft hush and kiss to your temple. "Simon's not gonna hurt you love," Price coos as he pets your sweaty head.

The man in question kisses up your inner thigh as proof, despite the fact that he's watching you like a hungry wolf. He licks a line up your ruined cunt, from your cum stuffed hole to your clit. Your head snaps back and you let out a scratchy moan.

"Go easy on her aye L.t?" Soap rumbles on your other side, taking your hand in his so your fingers are laced with his. "She's been such a good little thing for us. Always taking care of us when we've had a rough day." The Scotsman presses tender kisses to your knuckles and lightly rubs his scruffy face against the back of your hand to keep you grounded.

Ghost only hums in response, lining up his cock with your pussy. The man has gone fully primal, letting his urges think for him. A rare occurrence to be sure but usually one worthwhile.

You can feel your eyes crossing when the lieutenant slams his member inside, a mixed growl and moan of pleasure coming forth in response. His pace is brutal, the headboard of the bed loudly knocking the wall behind you with his roughness. His blunt nails scrape your hips as he pulls you onto his cock over and over.

You're whimpering and moaning, tears pricking at your eyes as you bounce back and forth between overstimulated and bathing in pleasure. "Doing so well sweetheart," Gaz pipes up, having left the room to retrieve damp wash clothes and water. "You're taking him so well."

You whimper appreciatively as the pleasure overtakes the overstim. It was getting harder and harder to notice, but you faintly feel the familiar bubble of pleasure in the pit of your stomach. "S-S-Si-imon...!" You whine loudly, reaching your free hand out to cover his.

"Fuck--" Ghost groans, head thrown back, lost in the throes of pleasure. You can hear the mumbled praise for him as your orgasm overtakes you, your poor worn out cunt weakly milking the man's cock for all it was worth. You can't even flinch away at the spike of pain when Simon exacerbates the already heavy bruising on your hips.

As he comes down, the Brit moves his hands off your hips, one holding him up as he leans over you while the other, rubs your soft stomach where his cock is slightly outlined. You shiver a little, earning kisses on either side of your face from Gaz and Soap.

"You did so well lass, absolutely beautiful," purrs the Scotsman, hand caressing your face gently.

"Our perfect Y/N," Price rumbles, already lighting a post-sex cigar that he knew you liked the smell of. "Always taking such good care of her boys hmm?" You offer him a weak smile as Gaz gets to work, gently clearing the sweat and cum from your skin.

Soap peels himself away from you as Ghost slowly pulls out. You let out a shuddered moan as you feel the cum nearly gush from your pussy. He puts the gentlest kiss you think you've ever felt against your knee as you hear the bath start in the other room.

"Thank you for your attention doll. Now let's get you cleaned up."

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

If fighting vampire nazis, gore and guns wasn’t the focus of hellsing, what do you think the actual plot/main conflict could have been? I came across a post where you said alucard is wasted potential so … what kind of plot would show his potential? Also, what kind of a character arc do you think he should have had in a better and more thoughtfully plotted hellsing

Well I wouldn’t say the story isn’t thoughtfully plotted out :C

Like yes, it’s an over the top, campy, gorefest that makes no sense, but it succeeds in what it’s trying to do basically. I think it is genuinely, astonishingly good in a few ways. Hirano is fantastic at pacing and using his panels to give the impression he wants— when he bothers. And it’s surprisingly sound when it comes to structure and thematic motifs? The external plot is bonkers, but the way it handles these characters dealing with/being consumed by their pasts, and the way it uses vampirism/monstrosity as a metaphor is really solid.

Hellsing’s main thematic argument is one of comparing monstrosity and humanity, and pitting them against each other.

All the relevant monsters in Hellsing are presented to be unmoored, destructive, and unable to cope with the present in a meaningful way. They are defined by being incapable of moving beyond their pasts, so they seek out as much destruction as they can until they finally find something that can destroy them in turn. (This is consistent throughout the series but most clearly stated in volume 9)

All the monsters presented in Hellsing grapple with the inability to move on. Explicitly, Millennium’s entire raison d’être is bringing about a final “glorious” war they can die in because the modern world has no place for them anymore. They fight with fucking zeppelins. They’re relics.

Seras’ fight with Zorin hinges on a flashback, digging up all the trauma she never confronted. Walter and Alucard’s final battle is entirely about their history, and it has both of them looking like they did during the Dawn era.

Meanwhile, when Anderson uses the Nail of Helena (directly following the unraveling of Iscariot, and the death of Maxwell, who may as well have been his son), that is him refusing to cope. That is what drives him to monstrosity, to self destruction. That’s why he dies.

And Alucard, as the de facto protagonist, has spent the entire plot with the single motive of finding someone worthwhile to defeat him. He has no personal motivations outside of doing whatever Integra/Hellsing tells him to, and just… killing things for the love of the game until he eventually, finally dies. And his past hangs heaviest on the series. The entire present state of the series basically hinges on the shit he did as Dracula. The one thing we know about this guy is that if he could, he would very much like to die while killing things lol.

Anderson is meanwhile his main foil and most strongly represents the past/the siren song of death to him. He’s suspiciously similar in appearance to Van Helsing in the Bela Lugosi movie (despite Van Helsing looking different in the series itself) Meanwhile each encounter with him is immediately followed by a flashback, and then in that final fight Alucard ends up confronting his past human life.

And he almost gives up during that last fight, until Seras (a representation of the present and future) rouses him out of it. That’s his first real choice to move on. But it’s also established that eventually his past is going to catch up to him, and outweigh his future. It’s treated as a foregone conclusion, even if he’s not to that point yet.

So the Schrodinger thing at the end is really interesting. Because bullshit anime logic or not, the point is that he explicitly has to kill every single familiar he’s accumulated over the centuries, in order to exist in the present. Even then he’s “everywhere and nowhere” (lmao. whatever) which basically gives him the option to fizzle out of existence? So the epilogue existing at all, despite my various annoyances with its writing choices, is an interesting culmination of his arc! He chose to come back to his silly little found family when he really didn’t have to! I like that as an arc.

And in any sort of restructure I would want that preserved, even if the entire plot isn’t conveyed through boss battles. Anyway I’ve said for ages that I would want a monster of the week version of the series, so probs something like that.

Something with like the BTVS (or Supernatural lol) classic structure of small fry enemies per episode that culminate in a season arc/big bad. The ideal tonal and stylistic comparison would be X Files, but their overarching narratives famously sucked lol. Anyway I just would’ve liked a procedural vibe like that. I think the implications of Integra taking over the Badrick situation in the first volume is really interesting. And Seras being a police officer who was super not in the know— when higher ranking people are— was something that could’ve been explored in much more depth. I would’ve loved to see her as a recurring character in their like procedural episodes who keeps brushing up against this weird paranormal leaning stuff she doesn’t understand, until she finally gets involved in something that goes wrong and has to be turned into a vampire (ostensibly to save her life… but maybe to keep her quiet)

I also would love more intra organization drama that doesn’t result in immediate blood shed lol. We’re told that Iscariot and Hellsing have clearly mapped out jurisdictions based on majority religion, and treaties and diplomatic relationships, however strained. Maxwell going “fuck your treaties” is apparently a new thing, so like how does that go! What are the repercussions! What brought this on! And like are there any other similar organizations abroad? Are there team ups? I would like there to be team ups.

Meanwhile the existence of the round table implies that… the entire UK government.. is a sham? That they’re actually living in a secret feudal society? I want to know about the families and the politics and the very likely cartoonish degrees of corruption! The original Studio Gonzo show, very poorly, implemented a plotline where Hellsing became too much of a liability and the Queen specifically decided (lol) to have them publicly labeled as a terrorist organization and arrest everyone involved, pretending that they never had any government ties. That was fun! I would like a good version.

Or like it’s set in the 90s, let’s talk about how much harder it’s going to be to keep the supernatural quiet with the rise of technology, and the Internet. Like idk there’s room for a lot! I would basically just love to see a more sprawling version of this story and world.

My main issue with Alucard also is just that he’s so overpowered physically, that it seems like a waste to always put him in fights where he is 100% no question going to win. Putting him on a ship because the plot simply wouldn’t happen if he was there is 😭😭😭 I think we can have some boss battles, gore, and body horror, bc that is fun. But he just needs more restraints. I’d put more focus on him answering to Integra, who in turn answers to the slow moving machine that is bureaucracy, and just not let him do as much, and with severe consequences if he gets too out of line to maintain some stakes. Meanwhile, having a more mystery procedural approach would’ve balanced things out a bit more imo!

[answer2jeff]

not a lot, just forever.

carmen's opening up, but he wishes you'd do the same.

warnings: fluff + angst. fem!reader who is also a big reader (mostly poetry) and occasionally journals. unestablished relationship (friends to lovers, mutual pinning.) very touchy-feely. writing is overly detailed and so painfully poetic you might vomit.

word count : 2.4k

hey. i think i left my book at ur place. 11:15pm.

sorry, just got home. i can bring it over now 11:36pm.

oh yeah that'd be great! thank you. (sorry for the inconvenience) 11:38pm.

no worries 11:41pm.

lmk when ur here. xx 11:45pm.

Carmen had some idea of what that meant: xx. He knew what it meant when girls signed notes with xoxo in replacement of red kiss marks and strokes of long acrylic nails through their secret lovers hair—not that he ever received one, no. But your occasional visits practically felt just as intoxicating. If the order was x-o-x-o, and the worded statement being hugs-and-kisses, then xx must've been hugs, right? Two hugs. Like the one you shared the first time you met at Natalie's baby shower. He smelled like authentic Italian cologne with a hint of cigarette smoke diluted by dish soap and warm water. His grasp was hesitant, but ever-all-consuming once his shoulders relaxed. It was like metamorphosis. The way he wrapped his arms underneath while you tossed yours up around his neck, his gold chain feeling cold and hard against your skin, unlike the rest of him.

He was an under-hugger. He kept the ones he cared for unsuspectingly close to him. Such physical touch felt familiar. Maybe you'd just remembered stories and inside jokes about him through Natalie so well his tenderness and anxious nature was fitting to the idea of him you had in your head.

That was almost 6 months ago. And surprisingly, you'd become pretty good friends. Not that either of you really did friends at your age...but somehow it worked. You'd come to realize that he was so much kinder than anyone painted him out to be. And yet, you never really talked about yourselves.

Not in a way that really mattered, anyway.

The articles you'd written, the interviews you conducted with snobby assholes, the dozens of freelancing jobs with horrific schedules you had before, what you loved about writing and what you hated about the world around you—those were topics of discussion. Carmen's favorite restaurants he ever expanded his career with, the odd relationship he had with his sister that flipped like a rusty switch after highschool, candle scents he loved and bought over and over again despite their poor quality wicks, the first time he got drunk and how he swore he'd never let another drop of alcohol touch his tongue—those were normal methods of late night conversations.

But what about your dream to publish a novel? Or the memoir you read that completely changed your views on love as a whole. What about Carmen's uncle being his only friend his entire life? Oh, how he would've become a starving, broken artist if he ever believed he had enough talent for it. Hell, what about the girl you met in middle school who mysteriously moved away and shared all her secrets on the true meaning of life, death, and everything in between? Why didn't you ever talk about those things? Maybe it was too close, too personal. If he knew you too well, maybe he'd see you as you saw yourself.

Carmen had been thinking about those colored pencils you bought him for his birthday and can't get himself to tell you he uses them every day. Not just to illustrate his dishes...but you, sometimes. Your hair, your smile. He used that photo you begged him to snap of you staring out your window melodramatically with a bowl of pasta carbonara and a glass of bubbling champagne in front of you as reference. How could he ever show you the endless amount of pages containing the essence of your existence in that goddamn sketch book?

Questions. Questions. Questions.

Thoughts of potential ate away at your patience with every pacing step you took around your bedroom.

Answers. Answers. Answers.

—

"Do people even have deep conversations over pasta and wine anymore?" You trace the pad of your middle finger against the rim of your glass, your elbow propped up on the counter so your chin can rest in your hand.

Carmen draws his eyebrows together, the little crinkle in his forehead showing. You glance up at it and struggle to stifle a growing smile. He cocks his head before barring his bottom lip behind his teeth, picking at the skin with the tips of his fingers. That signature pose; where his left arm is crossed against his chest and his hand holds the elbow of his right arm. It's a habit you almost immediately picked up on. It told you time and time again that he was nervous.

Thinking. Contemplating.

"Is that, like—" he breaths a chuckle, but it comes out more as an accidental huff than anything. Smug bastard, he is. Especially when he drags his gold chain across his neck as it loops around the finger that once picked at the dry skin of his mouth.

"Your way of..asking me for a deep conversation over wine and pasta?"

Ah. He's called you out. The one thing he couldn't shake was his annoyance when you were so completely and utterly vague about your wants, your needs, your desires. Hell, Carmen Berzatto would wrap a lasso around the moon, or any planet you put your claim on, and drag it down so it could be yours and only yours. Only if it meant you'd stop feeling so complacent. You knew this. At least to some extent. His little favors buttered you up until you a mushy mess of adoration. What really scratched at your urges and your patience was how blissfully unaware he was of his show of affection toward you. Part of you feared that if you ever told him how much it caressed that bruised, fruit fly infested, rotted spot of your heart so gently it felt like a kiss, despite the sting, he'd stop.

"Y'know what? Yeah. I'm asking."

You shrug your shoulders and stare down at your nearly finished bowl of penne with vodka sauce. Stabbing a stack of pasta onto your fork and the clinking sound of the metal banging against the ceramic bowl seemed to fill the silence before Carmen finally spoke again, though with much hesitation.

"Okay," he barely whispers, nodding his head and fumbling to take a seat in the barstool underneath the counter. Sitting across from you gives him the constant justification to just look at you.

Starting off this session with a question was quite a kicker.

"Y'know Sade Zabala? Author of that book you brought back for me."

Carmen blinks slowly. He pretends to dig deep in his memory to identify the name, wondering if you'd ever mentioned her. But he fails, pulling his lips taught, so as to say 'I've got nothin.' The sound of your dramatic sigh and the 'tsk' sound of your lips separating makes his palms sweat.

"She's a wonderful writer. A poet. I mean, really, her book Coffee and Cigarettes was one of the most gut-wrenchingly beautiful and altruistic collections of.. of love, pain, rejuvenation—all of it."

If he was completely honest, he doesn't have a clear image of what those words meant. But it doesn't seem to matter what comes out of your mouth or how you phrase it. Your use of specific language fascinates him. There is nothing else he can do in this moment but nod and allow the corners of his lips to curl into a smile strong enough to make the apples of his cheeks go pink.

"I'll tell you one line of one of the greatest poems she had ever written in that book. In the humble opinion of yours truly, of course."

"Sure," he assures you. "Of course, of course."

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

Saliva pools in your mouth as you speak the quote, the taste of every vowel washing down your throat as if you dedicate them to Carmen himself. Which, in bare and naked truth, you do. The only thing you could ever ask of Carmen was to let himself tear himself open with the hope and belief that you would crawl into his fears and convert them into profound discoveries. And the trust that you would not stitch him up with your own hands, but rather clasp your fists around the circumference of his wrists as he carefully closes the wound his trajectory of life has created.

"Wow." Carmen's eyes go another centimeter wider, the language still processing in his mind. He interprets it over and over again.

"I know. And—" you set your fork down so you can have complete focus as you recite your following question, "I was just wondering what you'd say if someone told you that, y'know? What would you tell them?"

Vulnerability, he thinks. Fuck.

"I mean...fuck that's—that's a good question. Um.." he chews on the flesh of his bottom lip once again, looking above at the warm glow of the light that hangs over your island counter as if he'll find the answer up there.

"I don't even like the good stuff about me, so. I'm not sure how to, like, articulate that? Is that the word?"

Now the quickening pace has started.

"And what do you think the good stuff about you is?"

Probing questions like this are somewhat too-close-for-comfort inquiries for friends. But Carmen would be stupid to mind it. He relishes in it, actually. With much guilt. But it's tainted with the secret pleasure of being cared for by someone he so deeply valued the opinions and thoughts of.

Since the first day you met, Carmen knew he would never go to anyone else for some piece of mind. For some sanity. Or even just for someone to explain the method to his madness. You understood it—what he believed.

"I care a lot, I think. But that's not always practical. It hardly ever is now that I think about it."

"You do. You care so much." You soften your tone, hesitantly reaching for Carmen's tattooed hand that rests on the cold marble counter.

"Sometimes it freaks me out."

"Like, this whole thing, the—the restaurant, where my life is right now, it makes me crazy. But it also keeps me..."

"Human," you finish.

"Yeah, human."

Though it takes him a couple seconds for his digits to not second guess themselves, he gently takes your hand in his. The slow pace in which he intertwines his fingers with yours is enough to kill you.

"Can I tell you something?" Carmen asks.

"Anything."

"You take good care of me. Of everyone, really." . His thumb gently rubs your warm skin, the rough and calloused mounds over his fingerprints soothing you. A deep breath moves in and out from his lungs as he meets your eyes again. This time, he won't look away.

"It's like you were made to just be good."

You smile, but you're not convinced you're certain on what he means. "Thank you, Carm. But—good?"

"I don't know. You're warm. I'm—I'm not like that. I'm not warm."

This, this is where truths as bare as untraveled paws of loyal dogs that roamed the streets in search of security uncover themselves.

"What? Of course you are." You lean forward, feeling your heart pound so hard it could leap out of your body.

"I don't think I am."

To think—no, to know that Carmen Berzatto cannot share at least one feature of his layered soul he genuinely likes. God, that pains you. You could write a million sonnets listing every little thing you adored about your friend.

"Carmen, you—" you sigh, your head dropping for a fraction of a second. "You have such a big heart. You're not cold or...or out of reach, or anything like that, okay?"

Even with Carmen's tendency for rage and his tattoos that displayed yet another callback to his culinary career—his way of speaking: so gentle and unsupported, you're certain that he is something so much greater than just a chef. He took care of people too. His staff, his clientele, his family—of you. Whether it was home cooked meals when you were sick, or when you needed to complain about Natalie. Carmen listened. Not as her brother, but as your friend. You don't really remember when you started to regularly see each other during his leisure. Either at the restaurant, or a coffee shop next door to your complex, and eventually his living room.

"This is so fucking selfish, but—"

No, Carmen. You could never be selfish.

But you let him be hungry. You want him to be hungry. Starving for reassurance. Because you'll feed him until the empty space in his existence is filled.

"I just wish you'd look after yourself the way you take care of me. Like, fuck, hearing you look at yourself and point out all this shit that nobody notices—which I wish they fucking would—because I notice them and I still love those things about you is..."

Oh, what a beautiful mind you've always had. He'll always store all the love you can't have for yourself in his own heart. Your wit, your intelligence, your smile, even down to the way you have to readjust the grip of your fountain pen as you inscribe your thoughts into your journal

"Wrong." He completed his thought with just one word. "I don't like it. It makes me sad," he says again.

That breaks you. So much that a tear sure to be followed by many more wells up in your waterline. The glisten of the salty liquid in your eyes startles the wonderful man across you. You can see the immediate guilt in his face, his blue eyes filled with concern and regret. But you shake your head, holding onto his forearm as he raises his hand to your cheek to catch the falling tear. Fuck being friends. Fuck small talk. Fuck jokes and laughs and cigarettes and poor communication that just ended in silence.

This was here and now. There was no going back.

With that, you cupped Carmen's own cheek, leaning closer and closer to his lips before he desperately kissed you. His free hand anchored itself on your shoulder blade while yours crawled to the back of his head to burry itself in his golden curls. Your taste was everything. Salty with pasta with a sweet aftertaste that echoed from your fruity lip balm, followed by a final twinge of bitterness from your glass of red wine. He tasted of comfort, of acceptance, something you'd never felt against your tastebuds from the previous years of the dating pool. With every separation of your lips to swallow gasps of air, the further the two of you hovered over the counter in a needy attempt to get closer.

You didn't need answers. Not a lot from him either. Just him. Forever.

tags: @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria @diorrfairy

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

And All at Once / Masterlist

Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

plot: your first song about Eddie is about to drop, leaving you nervous about how he'll react

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: a very real conversation about drug addiction and familial death, smoking

wc: 5k

The guy on the screen was uncanny.

         “It's very, very special. Because if you can see, the numbers all go to 11. Look, right across the board. 11, 11, 11, 11."

         "And most of these amps go up to 10."

It was one of the band members of the fake band Spinal Tap, clad in a black cut-off tee with a neon green print of a ribcage. Black jeans. Shaggy brown hair with bangs. A cigarette hanging from his mouth. Surrounded by a dozen guitars.

It was as if Eddie had been cloned with a hair straightener.

“You look just like that,” you murmured, glancing over at him.

He rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at you. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do,” you argued. “You wear the tightest leather pants I’ve ever seen. And that shirt? The cig?”

         "...you're on 10 on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?"

         "I don't know."

         "Nowhere. Exactly."

“Yeah, but I don’t think I look like that.”

“Maybe not, but you do look like that. And you act like them, too. Don’t make me pull up Wayne’s World either.”

         “Why don't you just make 10 louder, and make 10 be the top number, and make that a little louder."

         "These go to 11."

He burst into laughter. Whether it was at you or the joke on the screen, you couldn’t tell. But it didn’t matter to you. His wild laugh was, to put it simply, everything.

“Okay, maybe I do.”

You loved him.

God, you loved him so damn much and you wanted to tell him over and over again. Drown him in your love and affection, get your sticky, glittery goo smeared all over his tattooed arms. Spread it all over him so that he never went a day without it.

But you stayed quiet in loving him despite being on his arm. Despite the photos and the TikTok stitches and the Instagram reels. The Tumblr communities that speculated what you talked about and how you would navigate arguments based off your respective star signs. But never once did you tell him that you loved him. 

It was obvious. Maybe it didn’t need to be said.        

Even if your new single was going to drop in the next few weeks and it was absolutely, positively about how much you fucking loved him.

Eddie had begged you to let him listen to it, but you were too scared. It was a pop song for Christ’s sake, and you didn’t want him to think it was cheesy or stupid or, you know, not good. You’d caught him listening to your music sometimes, so you knew he didn’t hate your sound. But there was always that possibility…

It was on your mind tonight while watching This Is…Spinal Tap on his couch, Oz and Puppet curled into each other on the other side. You leaned further into his side; legs pressed up to your chest. A fuzzy black blanket draped over you. 

“Tell me something true?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you looked at Eddie. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Why are you so scared about me hearing your song?”

You grew bashful. “Well, I mean… It’s about you.”

“And?”

“Well, what if you don’t think the lyrics are good? Or, like, you hate the music? Or you get embarrassed because of how bad it is?”

Eddie snorted. “Are you really that worried?”

“It’s not like it’s a ballad,” you explained, picking your nails under the blanket. “It’s like a fast-paced pop song. I mean, it’s literally called ‘Okay, Now Stop!’ It has an exclamation point at the end.” He chuckled. “The lyrics are very pointed but also vague, and I didn’t know if that would be okay, but now I can’t really change it. And I know it’s not the most poetic thing I’ve ever written. The label really wanted it to be the first single, but I’m nowhere near being done with the album—" 

Eddie interrupted you with a kiss, pulling your chin towards him with his pointer finger and thumb. You lost all sense of insecurity as he deepened it gently, basically swapping saliva as he nearly devoured your mouth.

When he finally pulled back, he gave you a swift peck. “I honestly don’t mind. I know you’re worried that we’ll cause more commotion, but this is your art, you know? You get to say what you want to say and it’s not your responsibility to tell people to butt the hell out and just enjoy the song. And if it’s fun, the lyrics don’t need to be poetic. Cut yourself some slack, sweetheart.” You nodded, knowing he was right. “When did you write it?”

“I wrote it around the time we first started running around.”

You weren’t expecting to see him smirk. “Oh, really?”

“It’s fun,” you said, more confident now. “I like dancing to it.”

“Then I’ll be there dancing with you.”

“I think I’d like that,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Eddie chased your lips again, hands moving of their own volition. And though the night was spent in pleasure, you were still stuck on this idea of failure. Not just from the fear of Eddie’s opinion, but the opinion of the world. And you knew, knew that you weren’t supposed to care. You weren’t supposed to let this stuff get to you anymore after almost losing him. 

And that’s how the guilt settled in your stomach at three in the morning. Because you knew that you still cared. Maybe you would always care.

It was strange, having everyone over at your hidden house.

Usually, it was empty, save for Eddie and Scott. An oasis to escape to whenever there was too much noise. However, tonight was too special, with your entire team and Corroded Coffin there. Even Becky, Este, and Mary had flown in for the special occasion despite finals coming up in the next few weeks. And they didn’t complain about it once, just excited that they got to see you. You could reciprocate the sentiment ten times over. 

Your lavish living room was decked out in decorations, pink and holographic silver streamers galore. Balloons getting tossed around and popped every so often. Grant and Jeff had provided the refreshments, supplying any empty space in the kitchen with liquor, beer, and mixers. Clara had gotten your favorite local restaurant in the city to cater for the evening, even going so far as to bring it all herself to uphold your privacy.  

Your last two albums played over the speakers despite your protests. Eddie had egged it on, poking your sides and telling you how much he loved everything you made. How you deserved to be celebrated, no matter how cliché it was. How you should be proud of your past as it was a part of your future. In the end, you knew he was right.

Everyone was dressed casually, your boyfriend wearing a beat-up Iron Maiden t-shirt with dark jeans and mismatched socks. Everyone’s heavy jackets sat near the back door just in case the party moved. It was November, after all. You’d tried to be just as casual, with a white long-sleeved crop top and jeans. For the first time in a while, you weren’t self-conscious about how different you both looked. If anything, it made you smile that much more.

And Eddie made it a point to move the furniture so the room could turn into a big dance floor, spinning you around to your own music as the night continued. “I’ll take that,” he’d say randomly, taking your drink and placing it on any stable surface before dragging you to dance.

“This is one of my favorites,” he’d add, but you couldn’t help but think he was lying after the third time. 

You were a chaotic pair, bumping hips and swing dancing as awfully as you could at the groans and protests of Jeff, Grant, Gareth, and Ronnie. In the end, they all joined in—Eddie just had to threaten demolish them in their campaign first. Then they suddenly had the urge to congregate and make fools of themselves. 

When you weren’t dancing, Eddie was still all over you, always touching you in some way. Stroking your back, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you spoke to his band. Your friends. Your entire team. Even Scott, which you thought was brave. 

He did it all and whenever you had a pause, his lips littered kisses on your cheeks.

It was still something to get used to. Because though the past stayed in the past, it was a rather usual feeling to be left to your own devices without your partner. Only a hidden shadow in the dark. They came to your events, sure. But they never came close for too long, always aware of pictures and gossip. You were the secret they were too ashamed to keep.

Eddie wanted nothing from you except to be yours.

And you couldn’t thank him enough for it.

“I think you should put it on now,” Este suggested, thirty minutes from the release. You tried to hide your smile. “It’s only fair.”

Clara shook her head. “Nope. No way.”

“Ah, come on,” Eddie said with a playful grin. “Don’t be a grinch! Especially this close to December.”

You giggled, detangling yourself from Eddie to approach her. Clasping your hands together, you mustered up the softest pout that you could. “Let me give everyone an exclusive.” Batting your eyes, you added, “Pretty please?”

Clara gave you a hard stare, clearly calculating whatever risk she saw before sighing. “Fine, but if something goes wrong, you’re to blame!”

Everyone cheered as you skipped over to your phone sitting on your bookshelf, still connected up to the speaker. Pausing the current song, you turned to face everyone.

“Okay! So, before I start this, I want to thank everyone for being here. It’s really lovely to see all the people I adore in one room. It’s an early Christmas miracle.” Your friends giggled. “And I know this is just the first single and we still have an album to finish, but the music I’m writing now,” your eyes flickered to Eddie before looking away, “is maybe the most important writing I’ve ever done. And I can’t wait for what comes next.” 

“A toast,” Eddie called out, causing all eyes to fall on him. “to one of the most talented women to ever walk the earth.” 

Murmurs of agreement sounded from the rest of the party. You bit your lip, trying not to let those flutters in your stomach overwhelm you. And as everyone took a sip, your eyes met Eddie’s, watching as he nodded at you. His smile emitted pride, raising his glass to you before sending a quick wink.

You nodded before pressing play and skipping back over to Eddie’s side.

The song started with you clearing your throat and saying, 

         “Okay, my pretty boy...now move!"

A trumpet wailed before the drums kicked in and the electronics filled the soundscape, an Eighties-inspired beat enveloping the room. Becky, Este, and Mary squealed and started dancing. You couldn’t help but giggle and move your shoulders to the beat.

You deliberately avoided Eddie’s gaze on you at the sound of you calling him a pretty boy. You knew you’d be too embarrassed. And though he didn’t try to directly catch your attention, you could tell he liked it by the way he squeezed your hand. Hopefully he’d keep that sentiment.

         “Would it be crazy to say how deeply I'm into you?

         Would you promise no games, 'cause I always lose."

You continued to feel Eddie’s stare, finally turning your head to find him raising his eyebrows at you. With a quick shrug, feigning nonchalance and secrecy, you decided to sway your hips along to the beat. You hadn’t been kidding when you said you loved dancing to it. 

         “Every day looked the same as the ones before.

         But you nursed your whiskey and said you wanted more."

As the beat built up and dropped into the chorus, you saw smiles on every face. Eddie was even tapping his foot along to the beat, every so often bumping into you on purpose. You held back your laughter.

         “Okay, now stop! Hear me knock!

         There's no hotel room I couldn't find my way into.

         Okay, now stop! Hear the clock!

         We're wasting time, here's to another long goodbye."

When you looked behind you, you noticed Gareth starting to head bang, giving you a thumbs up as the song hit a small instrumental. Ronnie was nodding along, something you didn’t expect. Past him, you noticed Scott watching you with a fond smile on his face. You returned it, sending him an air kiss. 

         “If this is fate, I confess to you that I don't mind.

         And if I ask for something true then please don't lie.

         Can you tell that I miss you whenever I'm away?

         There's only so much time, who knows what can change."

By the time the bridge came, some had latched onto singing along with the lyrics. You’d even caught Eddie trying to learn the melody immediately. It felt good, like all the worry you’d had before was washing away. You’d made this, confident in its production. You never needed to worry because you were proud of it. Sometimes you just forgot where you put your confidence.

“This is my favorite part,” you said quietly to Eddie, nudging him as it began.

         “Hey there! I confess! That there is now an Angel in my bed.

         Hey there! I confess! That I'm the Devil waiting in our bed.

         Okay, now stop!

         We're dancing dirty to The Beatles and the Stones.

         Okay, now stop!

         You're dancing pretty asking me to lead you home."

You put your fingers up, turning to Eddie and pointing to him. There’s a pause in the song before you scream,

         "And I DO!"

Everyone started whooping, the entire house shaking with the bass and the many bodies now dancing along to something you created. You got the same feeling as you did when you toured, always able to feed off the excitement of the audience. The energy, the rush of adrenaline.

It was as electric as Eddie’s touch on your waistline, aggressively nuzzling his face into your neck. It was as addicting as his presence, breath continuing to wash over your skin and into your lungs. 

It felt like magic.

“Baby,” Eddie whispered in your ear as you continued to sway. “I like it.”

You stopped, softening at his statement. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. It’s cute and fun.” He kissed your ear. “I know every little thing you’re talking about. It’s actually kinda hot.”

“Even if it sounds desperate?” you wondered.

He shook his head into your neck once more before pulling back. ��As if I wasn’t.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “You sure never acted like it.”

He shrugged, taking a step back before he moved some of his hair behind his ear. “Well, I had to keep my rizz intact.”

You couldn’t help but lightly smack his stomach, watching as he pretended to take a blow and almost fall over.

“I hate that you said that.”

“You love it,” he whispered, grabbing and pulling you back into his arms. You couldn’t help but laugh when he pretended to bite your neck.

“This is so good!” Jeff exclaimed as the song ended, interrupting your light bickering. You freed yourself from Eddie before hugging Jeff. “I just know the rest of the album is gonna go hard.”

“You think?”

Before he could respond, Scott was approaching you, a grin on his lips. He looked slightly cartoonish, his mustache lifting with his smile.

“Doin’ great, kiddo,” he said, patting your shoulder. “Doin’ great.”

Tears collected in your eyes at his words. Sniffling, you shook your head. “I bet you say that to everyone.”

“Not even close. You deserve it all,” he replied. “And I’m so proud of you for getting this far.”

In Scott’s face, you saw the beginning. When your father decided to treat you like a cash cow, Scott was there to treat you like a daughter. He kept you safe. But more than that, he was there when you needed him. He listened when you had to speak. Was there to cheer you on whenever you doubted yourself. Spoke up for you whenever anyone else doubted you. Made sure that no matter what, you had someone in your corner.

So, you pulled him into a tight hug. Buried your face into his shoulder as the world around you became a source of ease. There was nothing outside of this house tonight. No pictures. No receipts. No accusations. No need for armor. 

No, the rest of the world no longer existed. Not when everyone you held close was right there, living in this moment with you. 

“Why don’t we go out on the balcony?” Eddie asked, grabbing his jacket and your cardigan from the coat hanger.

You raised an eyebrow, eyes flickering around the room at everyone still dancing and drinking. It was midnight, but no one seemed to care. Least of all you and Eddie. 

“And leave the party?” you questioned.

“Yeah, come on,” he said, already starting to pull you towards the door. “I got a present for you.”

Something in you softened. “For me?”

And Eddie was damn near smirking as you pushed through the doors.

“Mhm. Come on, sweetheart.”

And so you did, draping the cardigan over your shoulders and slipping out the French doors. 

The balcony was something you’d spent real money on, always wanting something like it since you were a kid. There was the railing, all while Roman columns. The plotted flowers adorning every lining and every corner. The few benches overlooking the backyard. Land, with woods and everything, for as far as the eye could see. 

It was like your own little Victorian dream. 

Then there was the moon, waxing gibbous, high in the air and brighter here than anywhere else you’d ever been. Sometimes it reminded you of those trips you’d take to your grandparents’ house as a kid, far out in Nowhere, Tennessee. The extensive farmland, with lightning bugs and the low hum of crickets. The stars, the moon—so much closer and more tangible than you could ever fathom.

Though you couldn’t hear or really see anything like that here, it still felt like home to you. You made it feel like home.

“I know you don’t smoke as often as I do, but…” Eddie trailed, breaking the silence. He dipped into the front pocket of his jacket. “I made you something.”

You looked at him curiously as he placed something in your hand. It was a joint, but it wasn’t wrapped in normal paper. Was it even paper at all? In the low light, you noticed its maroon hue, the uneven texture.

“They’re rose petals,” he explained. “I actually made it myself. Pressed it and all that shit.”

You twirled it around in awe. The precision at which Eddie was able to roll a joint was astounding. Sure, it was due to years of practice, but it looked as clean as what you could find at any dispensary near your apartment in the city.

“I love it,” you said, biting your lip to hide your smile. Looking back into his eyes, you suppressed the urge to tell him just what else you loved.

And your pause did something to him, his eyebrow lifting as he waited for you to say something else. 

But you didn’t, the words lodging in your throat.

“Want me to light it?” he asked suddenly, shaking his head.

You peered at him curiously, wondering what he was thinking.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Once you’d gotten the smoke into your mouth, you could taste a slight tinge of something floral. It didn’t taste all that bad. Actually, it was nice. As you exhaled, you noticed the lack of a strong burn in your throat.

“That’s smooth,” you commented. “Did you use a fancy filter?”

“The fanciest.”

As you smoked, you leaned your head on his shoulder, breathing him in as much as you could. The high settled in soft and sweet, taking that high energy and molding it into something peaceful.

“Can I tell you something true?”

You nodded, leaning back. “Yeah, what is it?”

Eddie’s eyes met yours, all signs of humor fading from his face. “I’m really glad to have you in my life,” he said. His voice was lower now, more serious. Deliberate. “Everything is so shitty sometimes and having you through it all has been really…” he trailed, trying to find the right word before shrugging. “I don’t know. Just really something.”

“Me, too,” you said, your smile widening. “Sometimes I can’t believe that you’re not even listening to the world. And when you can’t avoid it, you’re able to just laugh at it. I haven’t seen someone do that before.”

“I just try not to take it all so seriously. If there’s three million people saying one thing but we're still living our lives, then eventually the joke is on them. Not us.” His smile returned then, just for you. “Plus, your laugh is just heavenly.”

“You really think so?” you asked, voice growing small.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I really do.” Eddie’s fingers cupped your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek. “With everything that I went through, with the drugs and Wayne and everything… I don’t know. It’s nice, not just to have a friend, but someone I can come home to and, like, cherish. You know?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “You never exactly told me how all of that happened.” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “The drugs, I mean.”

He looked surprise, dropping his hand to take the joint from you. “Uh, shit. Well. Do you want me to tell you?”

“I do,” you said with a nod. “but only if you want to.”

“Are you sure? Tonight’s, like, your night.”

“And because it’s my night, I wanna hear about it.”

“Here, let me get another hit in before it gets all sad and shit.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re artists. We’re always sad.”

Eddie started laughing which resulted in him coughing out the smoke. You rubbed his back as he caught his breath again. “Yeah. Shit. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Satisfied?”

He nodded, taking another hit before he started. “I knew it was a fucking mistake when I did it. I really knew better. Gesturing towards the bench, you sat down next to one another. “Here, let’s sit down.”

Eddie handed you the joint before he kept going. “I didn’t have anyone there to tell me not to. I don’t blame the guys for using it recreationally. Once, twice—sure. Go ahead. But it’s when you start doing it a loooot more that gets a little tricky. 

“I thought I was smarter than addiction the second I caught my dad’s stash that first time after Mom passed,” he explained. “And, sure, I was smoking weed but that wasn’t a big deal. Weed’s great. Tried mushrooms and acid, sure. Molly once. What can I say? I have an open mind.” He gave you a small smile as you chuckled. “But then Grant said something at a party about trying coke together and I was like, ‘Sweet, let’s just try it once.’ And for Grant, that was true. But not me.

“Narrowly avoided it but, fuck. People just have it all the time.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I haven’t tried it, but it’s been offered to me more times than I can count.”

“Bingo. Exactly.” He tapped your knee with his. It was only then that you noticed the other was bouncing. You couldn’t decipher whether it was from the cold or nerves. 

“I convinced Ronnie to have more parties so Grant could get us some more. But none of them wanted it, so I always took all of it. And I just convinced him that we needed it as a just in case thing.” A sigh left his lips. “That, uh, lasted for two years.”

Your eyes widened, watching as he grew crestfallen.

“Eddie…” you whispered. “That was after your uncle…”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Yeah, it stayed after Wayne passed. But, like, five months after coke made it worse, Grant and the others sat me down and told me that they were worried about me. Ronnie hit me in the face which was, yeah, deserved to say the least. I was acting like a prick, spinning lies about how Wayne passing couldn’t be related. That I was fine when I really wasn’t. Like, clearly I wasn’t, you know? I was using.” You nodded. “Anyways, they convinced me to try and get help.”

“What did they say?” you asked.

“Jeff told me that they decided to stop partying, or at least stop doing it almost every weekend. That from now on we take alone time or find something to do together and just chill. Turn off for a while. See if it helped. Solidarity.” He grinned, something you weren’t expecting, his eyes glazed over in a memory. “Gareth asked me if I still had any of my old D and D campaign notes. I did, do, in a very protected place. Laminated it myself when I got the funds. And Ronnie, well, she told me that they wanted to play again and that if I was coked up, I couldn’t DM. And no one questions if I should be a player or the DM.”

A smirk formed on his lips. “And you know that it meant something to me. Still does. And she told me that once I got out of rehab, I better have a killer campaign to play.” Growing somber again, he took your hand in his. “You know, James Hetfield struggled with a drinking problem for a long time. They called Metallica ‘Alcoholia’ instead ‘cause they got so fucked up on tour.” 

“I didn’t know that,” you admitted. “That’s awful.”

Eddie let out a laugh, but it wasn’t really a laugh. More like a scoff he was trying to cough out. “Sometimes,” he said. “I feel like such a fucking idiot, you know? The signs were there. The warnings. Everyone said it and I just…did it anyways. And I don’t wanna touch that shit again but, fuck.”

You thought back to your cousins, the twins who couldn’t make ends meet after your aunt passed away. They resorted to selling, nearly embarrassed to admit how much it helped them pay their bills. If they were eating, that was all that mattered. It was only when they started using the product that it became something else. When you’d gotten the money to do so, you made sure they each had their own house and paid any expenses for rehab. You couldn’t stand watching them go through something like that anymore. 

“Addiction is handed to people on a silver platter sometimes,” you said. “And you didn’t think doing it once would turn into a problem. I don’t think anyone does.” Lightly squeezing his hand, you added, “I think what the guys did was really awesome. They’re good for you.”

“Yeah, they’re amazing. Saved my life more than once, that’s for sure.”

Eddie grew quiet then, staring back out at the moonlight. The faint sound of “because i liked a boy” by Sabrina Carpenter could be heard beneath a high-pitched laugh, belonging to Mary no doubt. You and Eddie were somewhere else, blanketed by the promise of the truth. Freezing in the mid-November air, particularly brutal this year. But you two stayed there, too wrapped up in your shared words. Some part of you knew it was crazy, but you’d stay out there all night if he asked you to. 

“And, uh,” he started after a few minutes of silence. “I feel very grateful that I found you,” You tried to hide your smile but couldn’t. “Not to sound like I’m high while I’m high, but it just, like.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it feels like the planets and the fates and the stars just kinda align and suddenly you’re somewhere you never thought you’d be. For better or for worse. And I know that with you, it’s for better.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of his words piercing your chest. “You just had to go and make me cry, didn’t you?”

“Crying’s good,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Enough with the sappy shit. Well, maybe there’s more.”

“What else could you possibly say that isn’t going to wreck me?”

“Well,” he started. “I wanted to invite you on a little trip.”

“Where?”

“Some island off the British Virgin Islands. The details are kinda hazy since Gareth sprung it on us, but we’ll be warm…” He pulled you closer. “We can go snorkeling or jet skiing or whale watching.” A kiss to your neck. “And we’ll have a lot of privacy to do whatever we want.”

“Are you trying to take me on a…ah, fuck…a fuck-cation?” you wondered, trying to keep your voice level. There were people just beyond the door after all. 

“It’s more than just that, sweetheart,” he said, pulling his head away. “I just want to spend some time with you outside of all these cities is all. We don’t have to run around or worry about any cameras. I made sure of that.”

“Did you drop money on something for once?” you asked.

Since getting to know Eddie, you found that he didn’t spend a ton of money all the time. Like you, he donated a lot of it and only spent real money on himself when it came to guitars and jewelry. Maybe a nice meal here and there. But besides that, he still frequented thrift stores and cooked his own food. Still kept a budget for expenses despite practically never needing one again. He’d told you that old habits die hard, and you couldn’t agree more.

A blush tinged his cheeks. “I might’ve.”

“When do we leave?” you asked.

Eddie’s eyes lit up, a smile already growing. “We leave in three days.”

“I think I could do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you stayed out there for another hour, quiet in your contentment. It was like you’d waited for something like this your entire life, always reaching towards something so pure. Your life felt like a series of endings, all hushed demolitions and bitterness tinging your skies. Now it felt as though this was the end to all the endings, a kingdom being rebuilt. And you didn’t mind to declare the man beside you the king.

I am including this amazing image that @strangergraphics designed for my fic (and she made the divider so full credit to her) of what the single would look like! Ugh, I love her. Anyways, here you go!

[blueraineshadows]

So.....Leander smut? I don't have a creative prompt. Maybe a little game of spin the bottle. Maybe a heated match of summoner's court. I think he'd be pretty eager to please MC, though.

Bring on the Leander smut.... 😉🔥

Thank you for your request 🙏 💜

It's Not A Date

Leander Prewett x F!MC - NSFW 🔞 🌶

Long fic, smut, oral sex, virginity loss

The sun was warm today, the first real summery weather up in the Highlands, and MC had long since discarded her robe and jumper. She brushed her hair back from her face and aimed at her ball on the Summoners Court board. She was under pressure to nail this turn. She needed the points. If she lost, then she owed Leander a butterbeer.

Her eyes flicked towards her opponent as he stood casually to one side, he too had discarded his robe and jumper, his shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows and his tie was hanging loose. It was unusual for Leander to look so casual. Usually, he was smart, neat, a little too controlled even. At the moment he looked almost dishevelled, and MC realised that she kept staring.

Had his shoulders always been that broad? And his hands...long fingered, graceful, as they held his wand. She'd never really paid much attention before, but today, she found herself oddly distracted. It showed. She was losing, and she hated to lose!

Clearing her throat and dismissing her thoughts, she concentrated on her aim. She had taken Leander up on his offer of making this game more interesting, she had accepted the bet thinking she had it nailed. Now, she wasn't so sure.

"Accio!" She urged her ball into a roll, it rumbled down the board and as she released the spell, she immediately hunkered down, head in her hands. She didn't even need to look as the ball headed right for her, rolling off the edge with a thump onto the grass and stopping right in front of her.

She heard Leander's chuckle and shook her head. His booted feet appeared within her sight and she looked up, a grim smile of defeat on her face. He was holding out a hand towards her, long graceful fingers slightly splayed. She stared at his hand for a moment and noticed a thin white scar near his thumb. She wondered how he had come by it. She realised that despite being his class mate for almost three years, she knew very little about him.

"I reckon you lost this game on purpose," he said. He couldn't hide the delight from his face at his win. "It's almost as though you wanted to buy me a beer. I'd call that a double win."

She sighed and took his hand, her small one lost in his grip as he pulled her up to her feet. "Well played, Prewett," she said. She poked him in the chest. "And I never lose on purpose. When do you want to claim your debt? Tonight?"

He smiled and nodded. "It's a date."

"Not a date," she said, grinning as she jabbed her wand towards him. She bent to collect her discarded robe. "It's a debt owed."

"Whatever you say, MC," he chuckled. "I'm still calling it a date."

....*....

"I can't believe you're going on a date with Prewett." Imelda looked positively repulsed. "Why?"

MC groaned and threw her head back in frustration. "It's not a bloody date! How many times?!"

Imelda folded her arms and leant against her bed post, one eyebrow cocked, skeptical. She watched as MC pulled another blouse from her chest and immediately discarded it. "You're sure making a meal out of choosing an outfit for this non-date," she said. "Anyone would think you wanted to look pretty for him."

MC ignored her, and she ignored the way her cheeks were growing hot at those words. It wasn't a date. It really wasn't. But none of these blouses looked good enough. She screwed up a perfectly good one and threw it back into her trunk with a sigh. She looked over at her smirking friend. "Help me," she sighed.

"I thought you'd never ask," Imelda said.

....*....

Leander paced along the path of the gardens near the north gate exit. He was clicking his fingers and then slapping his hand against a clenched fist, over and over, a nervous habit. He had teased MC about this being a date, which it wasn't, but he sure felt like it was one. He was so bloody nervous!

When he had made the bet about her buying him a drink, he had fully expected her to tell him to do one, but she had agreed, and with a smile no less. Just lately, she had been around him a lot more, they had actually been talking. He rather liked it, he liked her.

He blew air through his lips and told himself for the millionth time, don't fuck this up, don't be an idiot. Garreth had slapped him on the back and told him to just be himself. That was alright for him to say, Garreth had a knack for making MC laugh. She liked Garreth. He wasn't so sure she even liked him, and couldn't believe this was actually happening. He stopped pacing. Shit, what if she never showed?

Footsteps on the path made him turn, his hands stilling immediately, the palms turning clammy in an instant. He swallowed. Fuck, she was so pretty! Her smile was bright as she headed for him, her step light, almost excited.

Her hair was loose and soft about her face, and she wore a navy blue blouse, the collar open a little. Surprisingly, she wasn't wearing a skirt. Instead she wore dark, tight fitting trousers that hugged her hips. He couldn't help but stare at her curves, soft, sexy...gods this didn't help with his nerves. Eyes on her face, idiot!

"Hi, are you ready?" She asked.

He nodded. "Definitely," he said. "You look lovely, by the way."

A blush swept over her cheeks. "Thank you, that's very sweet of you to say."

Remembering his manners, and trying hard not to stare, he offered her his arm. "I know this isn't a proper date, but what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't escort you properly. Shall we?"

She immediately slipped her arm through his, and he couldn't help but look down at their linked limbs, still a little amazed that this was real.

....*....

So far, the chat had been about classes, exams, and their mutual friends. Easy, simple. He was nailing this. When she had paid for their drinks she winked at him, her smile making his stomach feel all fluttery and weird. "Consider the debt paid," she said.

"You're not going to turn around and run out the door now, are you?" He asked.

She huffed a laugh. "Don't be daft, of course not. Shall we get a table?"

They found a table and settled into seats, his knee grazed against hers and she glanced down. He muttered an apology, cursing his long limbs.

"Just how tall are you?" She asked.

"About six foot," he said. "I take after my dad. Mum is rather small in comparison. When I was tall enough, I started to pat her on the head and call her cute. She hates it!" He chuckled. "She isn't above giving me a slap on the arm for it either, but I still get away with it the odd time."

MC smiled, and there was something almost wistful about it. "Do you have any siblings?"

"An older brother, George, he is married now. Muriel, my sister, is a 3rd year. She is a right little scamp," he smiled, fondly. "She's a Gryffindor as well."

"I wonder what they would say about you sitting here with a Slytherin," she said. She picked up her drink. "You're socialising with the enemy."

"Keep your enemies close and all that." He gave her a cheeky wink. MC swallowed her beer quickly, her eyes darting away from his. The beer left a frothy line on her top lip, he stared, the unbidden thought of sucking it clean entered his head. She had very kissable lips.

"Erm, you've got..." Leander waved a finger in the direction of her mouth, before pointing at his own, hating how flustered and stupid he sounded. "Foam on your...on your lip."

"Oh," she said. She put her fingers to her mouth, wiping away the beer froth. She then slid her fingers into her mouth and sucked away the froth she had gathered. Leander stared, lips parted as she did so. Why was that so fucking sexy?

He felt heat flooding everywhere, it felt like a complete body flush and the collar of his shirt felt quite restricted all of a sudden. His cheeks were burning. She gave him a little smile that, if he wasn't mistaken, was rather cheeky, flirty. He had the urge to start clicking his fingers again, nerves creeping back in.

"So, tell me about yourself, what do you like to do in your spare time?" She asked. "I feel like I hardly know you."

And so they fell into easy chatter again, and he found himself opening up a little, telling her stories about his family, and she actually laughed at his jokes.

After their third butterbeer, Leander came back with two tankards of a different drink.

"What is that?" MC asked, giving it a sniff.

"Some kind of summer punch," he said. "Sirona called it a cocktail."

MC took a sip and ran her tongue over her lip. She hummed in appreciation. "Oh, that's good."

"I thought it was worth a try. I ordered some shots of firewhiskey too."

MC tilted her head, playfully. "You're not trying to get me drunk, are you?"

"Maybe," he grinned. "Please tell me you're not a messy drunk. Will I end up carrying you back to the castle?"

She leant in to give his upper arm a squeeze, and he immediately tensed, not to impress, but because she had willingly touched him. "I reckon you could handle it."

He looked at where her hand had touched. His smirk was a little naughty, he couldnt help himself, she was riling him up. "Feeling touchy are we?"

She giggled and leant to whisper to him. "Maybe I'm a flirty drunk."

He looked at her, his heart pounding. "Well, tonight just got very interesting."

She held a finger up in front of him, adopting a serious face. "Not a date, remember?"

"How could I forget when I have you to remind of it," he said. He focused on her finger and took hold of her hand. He turned it over, his thumb grazing her skin. He just had to touch her, his fingers ached for it. "You have rather small hands."

"That's only because yours are big," she said. She put their palms together. "See?"

He studied their hands, sliding his palm against hers a little before linking his fingers through hers. "I like your hands," he said, softly. He wasnt lying. He did like them. "Cute, but deadly."

If someone had told him he would be sitting here, rather tipsy, and holding hands with MC, he would never have believed it. But here she was, holding his hand, smiling.

She smoothed her thumb over his skin and he resisted the urge to moan at that simple touch. She had him all needy and he bit his lip, worried he was going to say something stupid and then she would let go.

"How did you get this?"

"Oh, that," he groaned, looking down at the scar on his thumb. "A rather unfortunate incident with a chomping cabbage. Nurse Blainey had to reattach my thumb."

MC slapped her other hand over her mouth as a giggle burst out. "I'm so sorry, that's not at all funny."

"Not at the time, no," he said, smiling. "What about you? Any interesting scars?"

"Actually, loads," she said. "I got most of them in 5th year. I've got Sebastian to thank for this one..."

His eyes widened as she tugged her blouse from her waistband at the side and lifted the material to show off the rather spectacular mark that adorned her waist. The flesh was puckered white in swirls and jagged bolts, but around it, her skin was creamy and smooth. Fuck, he wanted to touch her.

He leant down to inspect the swirl of the scar, it was strangely beautiful. "Sallow did that?"

"Not on purpose," she said. "He was so very sorry, poor guy. We were doing a bit of duelling practise, fucking around, like you do. He caught me with a Confringo spell."

His eyes met hers, envy clenching his stomach. Fucking Sallow, always having to be the best at everything, duelling, spells, flirting. Sallow always had a line of girls waiting to speak to him, and since MC had arrived at Hogwarts, she had been a permanent fixture at his side. Even wounding her to this extent hadn't put her off him.

It made him want to clench his fists.

"You and him did a fair bit of fucking around if the rumours are to be believed." He hated how bitter he sounded, his envy a writhing thing.

MC gave him a secretive smile. "I don't kiss and tell, Leander."

"So, are you still fucking around with him?" Maybe he didn't want to know, the thought of her and Sallow...No, he needed to know. Was it even worth his time trying to flirt with her?

She leant in a little closer, her face inches from his. He could smell her perfume, see the detail in her eyes. He licked his lips. Her voice was low, teasing. "Why, are you jealous?"

Insanely jealous. It made the truth spill from his lips. "I think you are more than aware that I fancy you, MC," he said. "You're very beautiful."

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, something hazy and dangerous flickered in her gaze. She shifted in her seat, fidgeting, and her teeth grazed against her lower lip. Fucking hell, he was getting turned on, he felt his cock twitch in his pants. The danger of getting a boner was very real right now.

Then she sat back in her chair, grabbing her drink and downing the contents. The moment was gone. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and twirled his drink on the table top, trying to think about anything else to distract himself from her full lower lip.

"What about you?" She blurted, breaking the stretch of quiet between them. "Are you seeing anyone?"

He shook his head. "Nope, no-one."

"Good," she said. His eyes widened. She blushed. "I mean, its good to keep your options open."

Confused, he studied her for a moment. "Are you alright?"

She put a hand to her head. "Excuse me a moment, I need the little witches room."

He watched her go as she went to the bathrooms, those tight trousers of hers hugging her backside in ways that made his groin ache. He rubbed his face with his hands. He didn't have a clue what was going on here.

Maybe he needed to cool off, take a step back. How many times had he blown it with a girl? Too many times, an embarrassing amount. He always put his foot in it somehow, and he didn't want to do that with her. She was alright, for a Slytherin.

....*....

Her reflection gazed back at her in the bathroom mirror. She wasn't even that drunk. It wasn't the alcohol making her hot and flustered, it was him! Fucking Leander Prewett, with his broad shoulders, and his hands...mmm fuck, she was obsessed with those hands! She pressed her own hand to her lower abdomen, a burning sensation building as she imagined the things he could do with those long fingers.

Merlin, she was hot, too damn hot. She washed her hands and took a deep breath. Time to go back and rejoin him. She needed to calm the fuck down.

He was sitting waiting, two shots of firewhiskey on the table. She eyed them and he grinned. "I figured we could have one more for the road."

"Ready to leave?" She asked. "Was it something I said?"

"It's almost closing time," he replied.

She glanced around the bar surprised, had they been here that long? The customers had certainly thinned out and Sirona had put chairs up on the tables at the far end.

"Fair enough," she shrugged. She picked up her shot and threw it back, relishing the burn as it went down. She banged the glass back into the table and leant towards him. "Your turn."

His gaze never left hers as he did the same. She watched his throat work as the whiskey went down, heat stirring within her. She almost needed to clench her thighs, she was that horny.

They left the pub and began to walk, the night cool, but not cold. Then, MC suddenly stopped. He had been just behind her and he collided with her shoulder. "Oops, sorry...everything alright?"

Her heart pounded. She fucking wanted him! It was eating her up, making her pulse flutter, she spun to look up at him, her breaths quickening.

How had this happened? She realised she didn't care. She grabbed the front of his jumper and dragged him down towards her mouth. She heard his swift intake of breath before she pressed a smacker of a kiss on his lips. He froze, clearly shocked.

She chuckled and flicked her tongue against his lips playfully. "Mmm, want me to do that again?"

His stuttered gasps were fuel to her fire. "Yes, please."

She wanted to jump his bones and kiss the fuck out of him, but there was something very sexy about his nervousness, it was cute, submissive, and it unfurled the mischievous tease in her.

She caught his bottom lip with her teeth, oh so gently, and tugged, oh so carefully. His little whimper was deeply satisfying. Her lips curved into a slow smile. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this," she whispered.

"Y...you are?"

MC moaned and kissed him again, her hands wrapping up behind his neck. This time he responded, his hands gently touching her waist as a moan of his own sounded in his throat. It was a torture to keep her kisses tame, but she did. She teased the fuck out of his lips, loving every desperate little noise he made.

She smirked and put her hands over his, sliding them downwards until he was holding her arse. She could hear his desperate pants for breath, the stunned look on his face so adorable and sweet. "Do I feel good?" She asked.

His fingers carefully squeezed and he groaned. "Fuck, yes..."

"Want more?" She nipped at his bottom lip again. He nodded, quickly, going in for another kiss.

She giggled and wriggled free of his grip.

"What...MC?" He frowned.

She crooked her finger at him, her eyes teasing. "If you want more, you're going to have to catch me."

Her stared at her, lips parted, eyes wild. She slowly licked her lips, backing up from him. Then she blew him a kiss. "Come get me..."

She turned and ran.

....*....

His mind was actually spinning. When she had kissed him, he had frozen in utter shock. MC, Hero of Hogwarts, one of the best damn duelists in the school, fucking beautiful beyond belief, and she was kissing him.

As she taunted him to come and catch her, her eyes promising more, and oh gods he wanted more, he realised he would literally do anything that she wanted. He was in the palm of her hand.

And she was getting away from him. Run, you idiot! He took off after her, the excitement and adrenaline a heady mix. He could hear her giggles, the tap of her feet on the cobbled path. He caught a glimpse of her disappearing around a corner and sped up.

She was waiting for him. She grabbed a hold of him, shoving him up against the wall, and she was bloody strong. "Fuck!" He gasped. And then she was pressing those delicious curves against him, her mouth on his neck. His eyes rolled back, moans spilling from his lips as she sucked at him. "Oh, gods...fuck!"

All of his blood rushed to his cock, desire making him burn, all thoughts wiped clean except for her and what she was doing to him. She bit his earlobe with sharp little teeth, he hissed, but then she licked it all better. Gods.

"Still want more?" She whispered. Her breath hot against his ear.

He gripped her hips and pulled her real close, she moaned and rolled against him. A gasp escaped her lips and she looked down. "Fucking hell, Leander," she groaned. "It's not just your hands that are big!"

Colour bloomed across his cheeks and he was grateful it was night, even his neck was burning. He couldn't stop the whimpers as she began to grind against him, his cock twitching and fit to burst. He closed his eyes, unable to watch her, knowing that if this continued for much longer he was going to blow his load. Cold showers, history of magic, anything, just don't fuck this up!

Then she was pulling away, giggling, tugging playfully at his jumper. "Now, now, Leander, the fun isn't over yet. I'm just getting started," she said. "That was a freebie, this time you have to catch me."

Fuck! She was running again. He groaned, breathless with want, she was actually going to kill him!

She was fast, and nimble, for such a little thing. Her hair spun out around her as she darted around corners, those trousers hugging her curves distracting him as he tried to make a grab for her. Twice, his fingers brushed against her, but she was slippery, giggling and teasing as she danced out of his grip.

They crossed the river and ran down the path before she disappeared into the graveyard. He came to a stop at the top of the steps, puffing, scanning the graves, there was no sign of her. He frowned. "MC?"

A low hung mist was gathered in the corners, he stepped slowly along the path, listening out for her. This place was bloody creepy at night, he shivered and tried calling for her again.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and bit back a scream, he flinched and spun, drawing his wand on instinct. She gasped, her smile pure wickedness. "Oh, Leander," she said, teasingly. She pushed a finger lightly against the tip of his wand. "Is this you saying you wanna play rough?"

Fucking hell. He actually gulped. MC slowly pushed his wand down and out of the way before stepping up close to him. He was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch as she trailed a hand over his chest, and then down.

His lungs had already been working hard from the running, and now, as her fingers teased a trail along the hem of his jumper, he thought he might get dizzy from how breathless he was. Then she slid a hand up underneath, tugging out his shirt, cool fingers grazing up over his abs.

She swept the palm of her hand over him, making him tremble. "Put your wand away, Prewett," she whispered.

He obeyed, immediately. She smiled. "Kiss me."

He was getting desperately close to losing his mind. He claimed her mouth, hungry for her, he had earned it. She parted her lips and allowed him access, moaning into his mouth. Gods, she sounded so damn sexy. He slid his hands into her hair, loving the silky softness of her tresses. He wrapped his fingers into it, holding her head at the perfect angle to kiss her deeply.

When she pulled back from him, he held her by her hair, determined to not let go. "Don't you dare fucking run again," he said.

She chuckled. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Not until I get what I want."

He panted, staring at the way her eyes glittered in the dark, more turned on than he had ever been in his life. "And, what do you want?"

"I want this brave Gryffindor to come play in the dark with me," she said. She tugged at his waistband and he grit his teeth, cock aching. She leant in to lick his throat. "Come play with the enemy."

"In a graveyard?" Who was he kidding? He'd do it anywhere she asked him at this point.

She grinned, finger tips drawing circles on the sensitive skin of his waist. She started to back up, taking him with her. They left the path, her fingers making quick work of his trouser fastenings. In a deeply shadowed corner, he found himself pressed up against the wall of a mausoleum.

Her kisses were slower, her tongue swirling seductively against his. He was just melting, utterly in her hands, moaning in bliss as she slid a hand into the opening of his trousers. He forgot about the graves, couldn't give a fuck if they were seen by a late night visitor, because she was wrapping those deadly little hands around his cock and stroking.

He shuddered, drowning in the feel of each rub. "Fuck, yes," he whispered. He rolled his hips, pushing his cock harder against her touch. It felt so good. He whimpered when she let go, but she was tugging his jumper up, tossing it aside so she could work on his shirt buttons.

His hands were in her hair again, sighing softly as she kissed his chest, her tongue swirling over a nipple. She went lower, and he began to twitch with anticipation as she got down on her knees.

Now that was a fucking priceless sight.

When her hot, wet mouth slid around his cock, he thought he could die right there and then. Join those in the graves and be the happiest bastard in the world. His moans grew louder, his hips flexing as she sucked and licked, her hand sliding to cup his balls. "Fucking hell...I'm gonna...mmm. Bloody hell, MC."

She sped up, he gave a cry, his head falling back against the stone. He was seeing fucking stars. She took him deep, so deep he could feel her throat constricting around his head. And still she fucked him. His fingers gripped her hair, he didn't want to hurt her, but by fuck, he was losing it.

He groaned, deep and desperate as he came, his cock pulsing madly as he unloaded into her throat. He felt the lick and slide of her tongue, his fingers releasing his hold on her hair as he slumped against the stone wall.

She stood, smiling wiping at her mouth. "Have I been a good girl?" She asked.

He moaned. "Yes, the fucking best."

She wrapped her arms about his waist, her lips gentle as she pressed a kiss to his chest. She ran the tip of her nose upwards, kissing his collar bone. "I'm not finished with you yet though, Prewett," she said. "Still up for a bit more?"

She looked up at him, utterly beautiful. How the fuck had he managed to be in this position? Honestly, he was never this lucky. He was always second best. Tonight, somehow, he was winning, and there was no way he wanted it to stop.

"What did you have in mind?"

....*....

MC moaned, head back, Leander's mouth on her neck. Her blouse was open, marks of passion littered over her breasts and chest. One of her legs was free, the other had her trousers and knickers pooled at the ankle. And, she had been right about Leander's fingers. She bit her lower lip, grinding against his hand as he rubbed and fucked her.

He had wanted to please, asking her what she wanted, and fuck, he was delivering. She was so fucking wet, the edge of her release quivering ever closer.

Panting and writhing she fisted her hand into his hair as his mouth tortured a nipple, the peak hard and sensitive against his tongue. "I love that tongue," she sighed. "What else can you do with it?"

Then he was on his knees, her bare leg over his shoulder. She looked down, eyebrow raised. Fuck, her leg looked pretty good slung over him like that, his face buried in her folds. A deep moan left her as his tongue swirled and flicked. "Oh, yes...Leander..."

She began to tremble, biting back the need to cry out loudly as she came. Leander gripped her bucking hips tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

He stood up, hastily wiping his mouth. "Gods, let me fuck you," he said. His hands smoothed up from her hips, his eyes glazed as he cupped her breasts. "You're fucking amazing."

She smiled. Oh, she would absolutely let him. She'd already had him in her mouth, and the size of him had her eager for more.

He kissed her, deep, slow, and she felt the nudge of his arousal. She wrapped her hand around it, pumping, soaking up his little groans. He moved closer, fumbling a little as he tried to hold her steady and line up against her.

They wobbled, almost losing balance, and she giggled, clutching on to him. A thought struck her and she put her hand to his face. "Leander, look at me," she asked, softly. He did. "You have done this before, right?"

He hesitated, a conflicted expression on his face. She didn't want him to put a brave face on it and lie. No matter how much she had teased and played with him, she didn't want to hurt him.

"Tell me the truth," she said gently. "First time is a big deal, I wouldn't want to spoil it for you."

He let out a quick breath and shook his head. "Believe me, you are fucking brilliant, MC," he said. "As first times go, this is hot!"

She kissed him, softly. She moved to press kisses along his jaw, gentle, moving up to his ear. "Sit down," she whispered. "I'm going to sit on your lap."

Sitting with his back to the mausoleum wall, MC straddled Leander. Her approach was different now, but she was still aching for him, turned on at the thought that she was his first. Grateful for her experience, she took her time, taking his hands to show him as she lined him up and eased herself on to him.

She moaned at the stretch, easing him slowly with gentle thrusts. It was tight, really fucking tight, and she actually felt it sting a little.

Leander was gasping, gripping her hips now, staring at down at where they were joined. "Oh my...fucking hell...I...gods..."

She rolled her hips, her walls relaxing around him, taking him really well now. She risked going a little faster, her hands going to his broad shoulders.

"Does it...mmmph.....fuck....does it...feel good?" He asked. "This isn't going to take long. Gods...amazing!"

She took his face in her hands, kissing him, fucking him, letting him vent his passion into her mouth. "Its okay," she whispered against his lips. "Trust me, it feels good. Come for me, fill me up, Leander. I want to feel it, please. Come for me."

He groaned, and then grabbed her hips tightly, stopping her. "Let me," he said, tightly. "I want to do it."

They rolled over into the grass, MC's open blouse rucked up behind her, her hair splayed out. She opened her legs wide for him, he reentered her himself, moaning as he pushed in deep. She arched her back, wincing as he hit her limit.

He began to thrust, hard. She threw her hand out, clutching at clumps of grass as he absolutely fucking railed her. She couldn't stop the cry that came from her mouth. She was shocked at his intensity, the sheer strength of him, corded muscle in his neck and arms standing out in the distant glow of Hogsmeade's lights.

MC gritted her teeth and took it, lifting her hips to meet him, an intense pressure building rapidly deep inside her. His cock was rubbing against everything, her mind beginning to spin.

A shocked gasp left her lips, her nails dug viciously into the skin of his back. "Oh, fuck!" She gritted her teeth and clenched hard around him, her climax a pulsing, hot throb as he pounded into her. His face was tight as he found his own release, his cock pulsing thickly inside her.

They both collapsed into a sweaty, breathless heap in the grass. She smoothed his ruffled hair back from his face, just staring at him. "Wow," she puffed.

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "Best fucking date, ever," he said.

She grabbed his chin. "Oi, Gryffindor, it wasn't a date."

He grinned and took her hand in his, smoothing his thumb over her skin, pressing kisses to the tips of her fingers. "Don't worry, next time it will be."

"Next time?" She quirked an eyebrow. "Don't count on me losing any more bets with you, Prewett."

"All bets are off," he said. "Next time, I'm taking you out on a proper date, and we are absolutely ending up with you in my bed. Even if I have to chase you around the whole fucking castle to earn it."

She giggled and linked her fingers with his. "I haven't scared you off then, dragging you into a graveyard and taking advantage of you like this. How very Slytherin of me."

"Quite the opposite, actually," he said. He leant his forehead against hers. "I think I fancy you even more than I did this afternoon."

She flexed her fingers against his, bringing their linked hands to her mouth to kiss them. "You know what? Me too."

This one is for all those who wanted a little more Leander on their feed. Thanks for reading! Part Two is HERE

[enigmatist17]

So I did go see the Borderlands movie this morning, and holy cannoli, it was a flaming dumpster fire of a movie. Spoilers about below just FYI

However!

Kevin Hart ended up being one of the saving graces when I thought he would be the worst of the lot! Sure, he doesn't physically embody Roland from the games, but performance and combat-wise, he was very solid! Jamie Lee Curtis as Tannis was alright as well. She nailed a lot of Tannis' mannerisms to a T, and overall, unlike Lilith and Moxxi, I didn't mind her being aged up. Kreig was great despite being pretty much silent most of the game, and looked like he'd been quite literally pulled right out of the game and dropped into the movie.

Tina was very meh, it's like they wanted her to me more unhinged but restrained themselves at the last moment, and it doesn't work in the Borderlands world. They also had this thing where she's really a clone of a supposed "Daughter of Eridium", whatever the hell that means??? I think if it had been rated R or unrated like it should have been, Tina would have made more of an impact, but she just ended up being very meh.

Lilith was...well, I'm not sure. Most of the movie kinda centers around her backstory/her mom, which tbh is not what I wanted to see from a Borderlands movie? Like seeing some twists about Pandora/her being older was fine, but to have almost everyone fawning over her/her mother got old super quick, and they waited until the end for her to be the badass siren we all know and love??? I'm not the biggest Lilith fan, but Cate did her best with a script that couldn't decide if they wanted Lilith to be an asshole or sympathetic, which for an actor who's played/loves the games, has to suck :/

Jack Black was not great, and to find out he VA'd the Claptrap lines before they started filming makes his odd detachment make so much freaking sense. It always felt like Claptrap was just slightly removed from everything, and I couldn't nail down why until I googled that midway through the movie (which btw my sister, a friend, and I were the only ones in it lol). They should have just gotten the VA for him, Jack was not it :/

The CGI was either really good or really bad, and Lilith's wig did not blend in with any of it at all lmao. The sets/Pandora/costumes, aside from Tina's, were pretty damn good, but where it really shined was the guns. I could literally point out specific guns and their manufacturers despite all the motion of combat, and to be able to do that for even a casual gamer? Loved it.

Sadly though, despite them having been credited for months leading up tot he film, Hammerlock, Wainwright, Ellie and Scooter all got cut from the movie and it's a fucking travesty. I was kind of hoping Hammerlock would kick ass, but to get to the end and find out the asshat who ruined this movie said "oh they were gone for pacing" made me SO mad.

THEY FILMED A WEDDING SCENE YOU ASSHAT, I WANT THAT FOOTAGE AND I WANT IT NOW

Overall, my score is a 1.5/10

[devonhinged]

[FFxivWrite2024] Horizon

Endwalker ending spoilers! About the aftermath of Ultima Thule. If you've been following my tweets this might be easier to understand...

Zenos lies overlapping the horizon. The light grazed the roots of his hair that were still golden. The alien yet earthly warm light. In this vast space where there is nothing else but them, despite himself, Saga stretches out a hand towards him. Zenos is merely a few ilms away. If Saga moved about his torso, maybe he could nudge himself far enough to touch him. But it seems like he had lost all the muscle for it. 

He still sees and hears, but he's fighting a very heavy sleep. 

... a gift, or a burden? 

For a moment, in this warmth, Saga remembers laying on the floor of his childhood bedroom, letting the window open and the sun in. 

"Don't you dare.... Bastard."

He grimaces in tears. Pain slowly setting in the longer that he's awake, along with an incredible sadness. He never came back home.

"Don't you... dare die before me." His fingers curl into his palm, but too weak to push his own nails in. Zenos no longer speaks to him. Hell would've frozen over. "I thought you wanted to fight. I thought you'd live for it forever." Saga is not too sure if he's still speaking himself.... 

He let go of his fight to breathe. So this was all his life was going to be. In the end, there is no end to it after all. Only one step after the other, every moment of every second, until he can't do another. And all these people he's leaving behind, his greatest nightmare still manages to come true.

...I don't want to die alone.

. 

. 

. 

The more he slips into unconsciousness, the more he is calm. At least, his soul feels happy. Had he done a good job then? He is wrapped in an old, familiar embrace. Alike, but not of his brother or even his mom. Not even from his earliest childhood memory. He slips deeper and deeper into it, it’s like a cold blanket. He reckoned... his soul must've been very old.

Is that really enough? 

I understand what we must do, but I don't know what to do anyway...

I'm scared to be alone, I'll be honest. 

What if I forget everything? What if we all do? 

Do I just keep on going?

A faint echo. Trickling water. Smell of wet soil. The sun hitting his scalp and rocks beneath his feet. There were distant footsteps somewhere echoing around him. Saga doesn't think he is anywhere new. He's been here this whole time.

Then I will, no matter what. Even if I lose the purpose. 

If that's all you ask, then it seems easy enough. 

I'll keep going for the sake of it. I will trust you. 

And I'll see you again. 

That was as vivid as it comes, then the dream fades away again, as if he is slowly waking up. But there's nothing on the other side of his closed eyes. There's only that distant, echoing footsteps. Not even getting louder or fainter, only at a consistent pace. As if they're walking with him. He only stays in one place, though. He's not going anywhere. So he doesn't know where they're going. 

Here, he is not alone. He's never been alone. He's been here this whole time. 

Saga's eyes are flooded with light and he gasps for air.

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Hi bestieeee! Love your work! Hear me out: can I get an Emi Martinez smut where you’re dating Ronaldo or Messi or someone and, while they’re away, Emi offers to do some lawn work for you and you end up screwing? Thankssssss

Cool for the Summer

Pairing: Emiliano Martinez x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, shower sex, cheating, unprotected sex, fingering, mild size kink, pet names, praise kink

Summary: *in req*

Word Count: 4.5k

Disclaimer: changed it to pool boy but I think you’ll enjoy nonetheless;)

Taglist: @kawaikylian

The temperature that day was sweltering. Around me, the heat wave was raging. I cast my eyes out my window. The heat was causing the air to sway and contort. Many gardeners wiped the sweat from their brows due to the twisted mirage caused by the fever.

“God! When will this end?”

I said as I paced the kitchen, irritated. Summer days were usually spent relaxing by the spacious pool that was conveniently located outside Ronaldo’s and my villa. The anomaly, though, occurred this week. I quickly began to perspire the moment I stepped outside my front door. I could only stand to lounge for a short while before scurrying back to the air conditioning or jumping in the water.

I grabbed a glass from the collection of stunning mahogany cabinets and quickly filled it with tap water. I gulped the cool water graciously. I felt unusually thirsty despite having only gone outside briefly to retrieve the mail.

Typically, the summer heat was bearable. In fact, I enjoyed the heat. There was something wonderful about the sweat and sun that always got a rise out of me. It was sensual to take your lover on long beach walks while holding their damp palm as you both became sun-kissed. It was sensual to kiss in the pool while the sun raged on. On the other hand, this heat wave was unprecedented. There was nothing sensual about perspiring through every shirt you owned in a three-day period.

But the long, hot summer did have one very clear advantage: our pool boy visited very frequently. Due to the increased usage, the pool required even more maintenance. It was always enjoyable to observe him working. His shirt was off, and the exposed areas of his back and torso glistened with perspiration. On days like these, I wished for things that I knew were forbidden. Not prohibited due to circumstance, but prohibited because I was, regrettably, married.

I tapped my nails against the spotless marble of our island in the center of the roomy kitchen. I was in desperate need of something to keep me busy. My search turned up nothing, which was a problem. I caught sight of the pool boy's muscles flexing deliciously in the sun as I peered out the window. To be completely honest, I have no idea what he does to our pool. I only hope he’s as good as he says he is.

The phone rang. The still room reverberated with the piercing ring. My eyes were torn away from the tall, attractive pool boy as I was abruptly brought back to reality. I plucked my phone from the pocket of my jean shorts, glancing at the caller.

Shit, it was my husband.

I begrudgingly answered the call.

“Hello?”

I inquired.

“Hey darling. What are you up to?”

I was staring out the window, admiring the pool boy's toned chest glistening in the hot sun.

“Nothing much. It’s brutally hot here.”

“Have you been using the pool?”

“A little. The water is lukewarm, so it isn’t nearly as satisfying as taking a cold shower.”

“Hm. I see. Well, try to get out there. It took a long time to get that pool installed.”

“I know, I know. How was the business meeting?”

“Good! It was really good! I think moving to Saudi Arabia may be in the near future.”

My lips were pursed. Over the phone, Ronaldo noticed my quiet and apprehensive demeanor. He was aware of how much I adored our home. We chose it together shortly after our marriage, and we had always shared a dream of installing a large pool.

“I know you love the house, darling. Perhaps we can keep it and go there for vacation.”

My face drooped.

My gaze shifted to the swimming pool. When I saw our handsome pool boy strutting toward the sliding glass door, my heart leaped.

“Um- love you, darling. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

The increased urgency in my voice was not apparent to Ronaldo.

“Alright, sounds good. Love you.”

I hung up the phone and placed it face down on the marble countertops. Emiliano's head was thankfully pointing downwards. He was unaware of my frantic behavior.

He slid the glass door open with ease before striding confidently into the cool kitchen. As the air conditioning enveloped him, he exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Ah, that feels nice.”

Emi closed his eyes, enjoying the pleasure of the cold air. I took a moment to admire his unkempt appearance. His cheeks were flushed pink. The baggy tank top did little to hide his toned pecs. Drops of perspiration cascaded down his muscles, coating every inch of his tanned skin.

“I don’t mean to bother you Mrs. Ronaldo-”

I jerked awake from my trance. I cocked my head upward, concealing my excitement at the significant height difference.

“Please call me Y/N.”

A faint smirk played on the corner of his lips. Emi approached, bowing and resting his elbows on the marble. Our lips would meet if I could just reach my head over the counter.

“Right. Well, Y/N, I was wondering if I could trouble you for a bottle of water.”

He teased me by emphasizing my name. He knew I preferred to be referred to as Y/N. I returned his smirk.

“Of course you can. One bottle of water, coming right up.”

Our relationship had a history of flirtatious play. However, I never acted on it. It was difficult to tell if he was being dead serious or if my imagination was exaggerating my fantasies.

I spun around, opening the fridge and pulling a cold bottle of water from the shelves. I made an effort to hide my bright smile. I swiveled my body around, slamming the water bottle onto the countertop in a dramatic fashion.

“There you go, one bottle of water.”

I said, my tone soft.

Emi smiled. My heart fluttered.

God, it’s been forever since Ronaldo made my heart flutter.

Emi encircled the bottle with his large hands. As I watched his fingers wrap completely around the bottle, my jaw clenched. The object was dwarfed by his grasp. My gaze moved over the veins that adorned his forearms and hands.

Blood rushed to my core.

Don’t let him see.

I forced my eyes away from his gorgeous hands.

Shit.

Emi smirked. He definitely noticed my gawking.

He brought the bottle to his lips and hastily gulped the water. As the cool liquid slid down his throat, his Adams apple bobbed. A drop of water dribbled down his chin erotically.

Shit!

Jesus!

I closed my eyes and shook my head slightly to center myself.

“Are you alright?”

Emi inquired. The furrow on his brow and the concern in his voice indicated that he had most likely missed my second wave of gawking.

“Yes, I’m alright. Thank you for asking.”

The silence that descended upon us was dense and awkward.

Shit, strike up conversation, Y/N.

“Um. Are you done with work for the day?”

Emi nodded, his dark eyes glimmering in the midday sun.

“Yes. I’m all done for the day.”

Perspiration had blackened the majority of his gray tank top. An idea occurred to me. A horrible, horrible idea that should never have entered my mind, but once I had it, it was difficult to release.

No.

No, I can’t.

What would he-?

How would I-?

What would Cristiano do if he found out?

“Hey, Emi-”

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Emi's face brightened. He flashed me a soft look. The flirty nature of his demeanor had dissipated. His toned body would get me going, but his puppy dog eyes would be the death of me.

My heart skipped a beat.

A blush crept onto my cheekbones.

“Yes?”

I knew the breathy tone wasn't on purpose, but that didn't stop my heart from racing with glorious anticipation.

“If you aren’t opposed to the idea, you’re more than welcome to use our shower to freshen up.”

A look I had never seen before crossed Emi’s face. It was one of pure shock.

“Oh! Um-I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

I shook my head.

“No! You wouldn’t be overstaying your welcome. I know how awful it must be to work outside all day in this awful heat. The least I can do for you is allow you to take a cold shower.”

Emi swallowed, hesitant to accept my offer.

“Um.”

His voice trailed off into the still air. A brief pause occurred. I shifted my weight, trying not to reveal my true intentions.

His demeanor began to change. His nervousness subsided and was replaced by consideration. He scoffed, a small smirk on the corner of his lips.

“Alright, if you insist.”

He said smugly.

My heart began to race.

My palms began to sweat.

Shit.

What was he thinking?

Emi rose, maintaining eye contact as the height disparity became more apparent. He turned to leave the room, heading for the first floor bathroom. He came to a halt as he approached the door frame. With each steady breath, his shoulders rose and fell.

I gulped.

Emi glanced over his shoulder and met my gaze.

“Thank you.”

He stated. Emi turned and strolled down the hallway to the first-floor bathroom. I stood, staring at the empty door frame where he had just been.

His tone was... seductive?

Or was that merely my imagination?

I stared at the empty door frame. His aura lingered.

The faucet squeaked. The water began slamming against the tile. I awoke from my trance.

Oh my God!

Was I really about to climb in there with him?

I have a husband!

Despite the thousands of objections racing through my mind, I found my feet instinctively carrying me down the hall. I came to a halt in front of the bathroom and stared blankly at the painted wood.

Jesus.

I'll be honest; I thought this would be much simpler. I thought our flirtatious jokes would make the process simple and stress free.

I then considered what was hidden behind this door.

Emi.

Naked.

Covered in thick droplets of water.

A wave of heat rushed to my core. My face became cold. Ronaldo's memories had all but vanished. Fire took the place of my blood. Lust took the place of my guilt.

I wanted this.

I so, so wanted this.

I pushed the bathroom door open, being careful not to jar the hinges. The air in the room was thick with steam. I admire Emi's ability to take a hot shower in the middle of a heat wave. As I walked, I shed my clothes, lengthening my strides.

Me and Emi were only separated by a miniscule sliver of glass. Behind the foggy pane, his magnificent features were softened by the haze. I knew he had noticed me. I knew he was expecting me.

Despite being completely naked, the intense heat of the steam kept me warm.

I pushed the glass door open gently, revealing Emi's large, naked frame. With his back to me, he flexed and contorted his muscles as he ran both hands through his short hair.

“I figured you would follow me here.”

He hadn't turned to face me quite yet. My knees shook as he spoke in a deep and sultry tone.

Emi cast a glance behind him, his gaze moving along my naked body, taking in every curve and divot. He sighed softly, becoming further aroused as the situation unfolded.

I gulped, my heart pounding with excitement. I required time to mentally prepare myself if that brief glare was any indication of what was to come.

Emi turned, his torso now facing me. He had a lovely chest. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and run my hands over the planes of his skin. Emi hooked a finger under my chin, gently pushing my face upwards to meet his burning eyes. As he took a step forward, the breath caught in my throat. I could feel the heat radiating from his solid body.

Emi’s face contorted into a devilish smile.

“I knew, from the moment I laid eyes on you, that I’d make you my good girl.”

His large hand rose to cup my face in his calloused palm. He tenderly stroked my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Despite being toasty warm, a chill ran up and down my spine at the gentle touches.

Emi smirked.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

He muttered under his breath. As he leaned down to press his mouth against my ear, my hands fidgeted at my sides.

“How long have you wanted this for?”

I shuddered. My knees shook. I fought the desire to crumble into his arms.

“A long time.”

My tone was pitifully meek.

Emi drew back slightly to stare into my lust-filled eyes. His cocky smirk remained plastered on his lips as he positioned his face mere inches from mine.

We were close, so close.

I could feel his warm breath cascading across my face.

But I fought the urge to close the gap between us.

Emi scoffed.

“I know… whenever I’m around you wear practically nothing. You love teasing me, doncha? You love the thought of me snapping and fucking you right in front of your husband.”

I exhaled a trembling breath. Emis eyes traveled to my lips.

“I’ll admit, it was difficult to control myself today. Maybe because you were wearing those tight little shorts… or-“

He met my eyes once more. His gaze was dark. His pupils were blown.

“Maybe it was because your poor excuse of a husband wasn’t around.”

His sultry tone fell an octave. I shivered.

Emi leaned in closer, closing the distance between us. Our lips fit together like two puzzle pieces. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and drew his strong frame into me. His hands instinctively reached for my hips. He turned us around, pressing my back against the wall directly beneath the faucet.

The contrast between the cool tile wall on my back and the hot water cascading between our bodies caused goosebumps to appear on my skin.

Emi's kiss quickly turned hot and desperate. What began as a composed moment quickly devolved into a clash of teeth and tongues.

“I’m gonna show you how a real man fucks.”

He mumbled against my lips. The vibrations from his words sent a wave of heat to my core. I couldn’t blush. All the blood in my body had rushed to my center.

Emi wrapped a large hand around my thigh, hiking it up to his waist. The new angle was perfect for grinding my cunt against his semi hard erection.

Emi groaned, my mouth swallowing his noises. He trailed a hand towards my center, gliding two of his fingers along my velvety wetness.

“Shit…”

He murmured breathily.

I moaned as he found my clit, instinctively bucking my hips against his calloused fingertips.

“You’re already soaked and I haven’t even touched you.”

His words were clouding my brain. There were no thoughts or feelings, just him. He delved two lanky fingers into my cunt, quickly finding my g spot. I convulsed around him, throwing my head back against the tile wall. A brief flash of pain bounced around my skull, but it soon dissipated as Emi began thrusting his digits into me.

“Oh my God… Jesus….”

I murmured incoherently.

His free hand gripped my hip, keeping me upright.

“If I knew you’d look this pretty with my fingers inside you I would’ve fucked you a long time ago.”

My eyes fluttered closed. I clutched Emi's shoulders. My knees were violently shaking. I'd be a puddle on the tile floor if it wasn't for his hand on my hip and our close proximity.

My walls fluttered around his digits. His fingers felt wonderful, even better than I could’ve imagined. They were incredibly long and somehow able to locate my g spot with every thrust.

The coil within my lower abdomen was tightening, yet Emi wasn’t moving nearly quick enough to bring me to my delicious release.

“Emi, please, move faster-“

I begged. Emi interrupted.

“Don’t be so greedy darling. You'll get to cum. I’ll make sure you cum.”

He stooped to rest his head in the crook of my neck.

“For now, be my good girl and let me fuck you with my fingers for just a little while longer. Can you do that?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Yes… I-I can do that.”

Emi began to place featherlight kisses along my jugular, occasionally nipping at my skin.

“Emi-please-don’t leave marks-“

Emi’s calloused thumb pressed against my swollen clit, silencing my protests.

“Don’t worry sweet girl, I won’t.”

He placed a tender kiss on the soft skin under my earlobe.

“Even though I wish I could leave a little souvenir for your husband.”

Trying to explain to Ronaldo why I have dark hickeys all over my neck would certainly be interesting.

I scoffed.

“If you fuck me really good I’ll let you put a few marks on my back.”

I stimulated his senses by running my fingers through his short hair. Emi drew back, our noses sensually brushing together as he pecked my plush lips. He continued a steady pace with his fingers, stimulating my walls deliciously.

“I'm disappointed. If I were him I’d see your back every day. I’d bend you over everything.”

I gasped as he began tracing shapes into my swollen bundle of nerves while simultaneously pumping his fingers into my core.

“Emi, please, can I come now?”

Emi placed a kiss on my cheek, an unexpectedly soft gesture.

“Yes sweet girl, you’ve been so good for me, you can cum now.”

He quickened his pace. I moaned pornographcially, my jaw falling to the floor as the coil within me rapidly tightened. The wet sounds of my cunt ricocheted between the solid walls.

“Jesus Emi!”

I knitted my brow together.

“Come on good girl, cum all over my hand.”

His words sent me spiraling. Black spots clouded my vision as the release I had been chasing washed over me. My walls hugged his long digits as they continued to thrust lazily within me, bringing my body down to earth.

“Holy shit Emi.”

I said once I had come down from my orgasm.

Emi drew his hands from my cunt, leaving me with a sudden sense of emptiness. He brought his digits to my mouth, pushing them past my lips as an invitation to suck on them. I obeyed his commands, hollowing my cheeks to increase the suction as the sweet taste coated my tongue.

“Oh baby, if you think that’s good, just wait till you get a taste of my cock.”

Emi tugged his digits from my mouth with a loud pop before reconnecting our lips. We kissed carelessly as the rain fell around us. His large hands relaxed atop the swell of my hips. My arms were thrown around his shoulders. I rose to my toes in order to close the height gap between us and fully enjoy the sensation of his soft mouth against mine. His hard cock pressed into my lower abdomen, sending a heat wave down to my center.

I chuckled against his lips.

“You’re awfully humble.”

His erection was pressed against my stomach.

Jesus, he really was huge, I’ll give him that.

Emi rose to his full height, smugly looking down at me. He cupped my cheek, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.

“You wouldn’t have snuck in here if you thought the sex was going to be mediocre, sweet girl. I need to fuck you so good that you’ll be touching yourself to the thought of me inside of you for weeks.”

Wetness began to pool between my thighs once more.

“How do you want it, sweet girl?”

A devilish grin spread across my face. I pressed my lips seductively against his ear, rising to my toes.

“Bend me over.”

I whispered, smiling wider when I felt the goosebumps erupting along Emi’s skin.

I pulled back with the intention of igniting a moment of eye contact between us. However, I was interrupted by Emi’s strong grasp flipping me around. He placed a hand between my shoulder blades and shoved me downwards roughly until I was fully bent over for him.

I gasped audibly as Emi dragged the tip of his cock along my folds, collecting the velvety wetness that had recently pooled between my thighs.

“Jesus, I just made you cum and now you’re soaked again.”

His tip prodded at my entrance. I squeezed my eyes shut, fully prepared for him to rip me apart.

But that glorious sensation didn’t occur.

“God Emi, just fuck me already please!”

I begged, shoving my hips backward in the hope that he’d take pity on me.

Emi grasped my hips roughly, shoving me forward to undo my previous actions.

“Just hold on sweet girl, be a good girl for me and be patient.”

Piping hot water droplets slammed against my back and rolled onto the tile below. I watched them fall as Emi continue to torture me by running his swollen cock along my folds.

My arms and knees were shaking violently. My core was aching for him.

Be patient.

Be patient.

Be patient.

Be a good girl.

I cast a glance over my shoulder, wanting to catch a glimpse of his cock before he buried it deep within me. As I relished in the sheer beauty of his fully hard length, he finally gave in to my body's protests.

Emi jerked his hips forward, burying himself balls deep within my aching cunt. I groaned loudly.

“Shit!”

My head fell between my biceps. I stared blankly at the tile below as Emi quickly began a steady pace.

He was so thick, so deliciously thick. He stretched my walls so far that I swore if he was any bigger I’d rip in half.

The subtle pain that came with Emi’s penetration quickly dissipated into pleasure that was far hotter than the weather.

“Holy shit sweet girl, your pussy is so wonderful, so nice and tight.”

The praise was intoxicating.

Once he allowed me to adjust, Emi gripped my hips and began tugging me back to meet his brutal thrusts. I moaned loudly each time our pelvises smashed together.

The thick water droplets slapping against the tile was perfect white noise that wonderfully complimented the glorious sounds of our combined moans.

“Jesus Emi, you’re so big.”

I said, the words struggling to overcome the myriad of moans that were hastily spilling from my lips.

“This is how a real man fucks, sweet girl. Indulge in it before you have to go back to your pussy of a husband.”

He was right.

I’d never been fucked quite like this.

His hard cock was sliding in and out of my cunt perfectly due to my prominent wetness. He made me feel so incredibly full, yet the glorious sensation wasn’t overwhelming.

Every move he made was intentional and left me feeling completely euphoric.

With a particularly hard jerk of his pelvis, the tip of his swollen cock both my cervix and g spot. I moaned, my back arching. Emi knew I wouldn’t last long, so he made sure to milk the last few moments of togetherness. He leaned down, pressing his firm chest to my back.

His ragged breaths were now audible due to our close proximity. He was panting deliciously, unable to conceal his desire.

I’m glad to know he was enjoying this just as much as I was.

“You take my cock so well.”

His tone was completely breathy and fucked out. It was so incredibly sexy. I had never heard anything quite like it in my entire life.

“I knew you’d be a good girl for me.”

Oh God, he was making my head spin. I couldn’t take much more of this. My lower abdomen was so impossibly tight.

His cock was finding my g spot with every thrust.

My entire body was trembling like a leaf.

“Emi, fuck-Emi I’m gonna cum.”

Emi exhaled a shuddering breath.

“Not yet sweet girl, please, be a good girl for me and hold on. I wanna be inside you for just a little longer.”

I was powerless to resist him. I fought the desire to release all over his thick length.

My fingertips were filled with pins and needles.

Emi’s grip on my hip would surely cause bruising.

The bent angle of my body caused my back to ache.

Yet I was completely satisfied.

Emi was panting in my ear, the hot water was cascading down our warm bodies, and his cock was filling me to the brim.

Emi’s calloused fingertips found my swollen clit.

I moaned pornographcially.

“Who can make you feel this good? Hm?”

I shuddered, barely able to form a coherent sentence. My orgasm was seeping into the corners of my brain, threatening to spill over the edge.

Not yet.

“You, Emi, only you can make me feel this good.”

“That’s right, that’s my good girl.”

Emi placed a tender kiss on my jugular.

“Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock, be a good girl for me.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

I came undone.

My orgasm slammed into me like a freight train. I squeezed my eyes shut as the euphoria completely overcame my brain.

My chest heaved as I regained my composure. Emi slowed, helping me come down from my post orgasmic gaze. When he was satisfied with his work, he pulled out.

The absence of his cock left me feeling empty, yet extremely satisfied.

I rose to my full height, making sure to keep a hand on Emi at all times in order to steady my trembling knees.

A bright smile was plastered on Emi’s face. His cheeks were flushed. His lips were plush.

I’ve never seen him happier.

“So, about that hickey…”

I rolled my eyes, giving him a playful smack on his chest.

Emi cocked an eyebrow.

“Really? It didn’t seem like you were joking. Come on, humor me, at least consider it.”

His tone was lighthearted and playful, a stark contrast from moments ago. I narrowed my gaze suggestively.

"Hm."

I placed my open palms on Emi's well defined pectorals. His muscles rippled under my touch as I rose to press my lips against his ear once more. The water continued to fall around us. We were like two lovers trapped in the sensual rain.

"Well, if you make me cum again I'll consider it."

[quaememinisse]

Title: You can scream my name as loud as you need to

Plot: smut, PIV, unprotected shmegs, orgasms

Pairing: Pedro x OFC

Author’s note: I am on vacation in Puerto Rico. And feeling some type of way.

Pedro’s bet made Eden laugh awkwardly the first time he made it one warm summer night the previous year, at an after party for a film festival they decided to attend, despite wanting to stay home and…do other things. Beneath the heat of Pedro’s rapidly swinging hips, she tries to remember why he even came up with this bet. They had gotten into some really edgy conversation with two other couples and some director she cannot recall the name of, as another orgasm seizes her whole being…a woman had said that her husband had given her the most orgasms of her life in the most romantic locations.

Paris being on of them, followed by Santorini. Pedro had taken a step closer, towered over Eden, stared her in the eyes with a sweet and simultaneously smitten, dirty, chocolatey gaze, and half-joked to Eden, who thought at the time that they were just very good friends who had crossed the line and started having a fling, he bet he could give her the most earth shattering orgasms in the Spanish-speaking places of the world. Eden had blushed maddeningly, sipping her sparkling water, thinking that Pedro was just a little bit too tipsy (he didn’t usually drink very much to begin with. His real vice remains cigarettes, which he’s still battling to quit, knowing it’s the only way Eden will agree to make out deeply with plenty of tongue, the way he most enjoys.)

“Pedro!” She gasps, her thighs trembling. He moans with satisfaction at her intense squirt.

“Mmmm,” he moans, pushing his girth eagerly back through her engorged opening. She had come so hard, it forced his cock clear out. Her gasp and eyes widening briefly eggs him on. He grazes her G-spot mercilessly, watching Eden’s breathing speed up again. She clutches and scratches at Pedro’s tanned upper back, crawling upwards a bit in the hotel bed. Pedro giggles, pulling her hips towards him again, reversing her mild escape.

“Where ya think you’re goin’?” He grins, pressing his hips taut against hers, “Ven aqui (come here), baby” and kegeling until his rapidly pulsating girth forces her into a gripping orgasm. He moans, keeping himself pressed deeply, on her A-spot, so she couldn’t spit him out this time. Her limbs go limp, no longer clinging to his flanks.

“Tómalo (take it),” he says, kissing her sweating forehead, intertwining the fingers of his right hand into the fingers of her left, pinning it against the mattress and stopping Eden from knifing into the flesh of his chest with her nails. Not that he doesn’t enjoy getting a little banged up from her enthusiasm. It reminds him how crazy he can drive her in just a couple dozen thrusts, or less. Eden swears for a moment she can’t see anything but an array of blinking lights, that she’ll damn near pass out from the overwhelming pleasure. Pedro grunts with finality, losing balance a little, before internally drowning her with thick ropes of cum. Eden’s leg continues to tremble uncontrollably, her eyes rolling back into her skull. The sensation of Pedro’s lips upon her chin brings her back to reality. He stays buried in her cunt, gripping her right leg almost to the point of pain, clasping it by the back of her knee to keep her open, as not to lose a single drop to the sheets. He revels in his own orgasm at last. It got harder to hold off, the more she came, trying to milk him fervently.

“You get so fuckin’ tight,” Pedro breathes, trembling a final time before slowly, painstakingly pulling out. He pushes his length back in a couple more times, enjoying how wet things have become, earning a gasp from his cock drunk girlfriend.

“Holy fuck,” Pedro breathes, picking up the pace again. Eden screams, gushing and clenching around Pedro for the umpteenth time, his sperm mingling with her secretions and staining the sheet beneath them. Sensitive beyond continuation, he finally withdraws, lying on his side beside her, fingers still intertwined. It was already 93 degrees when they had stepped off of the plane to Puerto Rico a mere few hours prior. Eden finds herself beginning to feel dehydrated. Pedro grabs her hip.

“Where to next, babe? I bet I can give you more than that in Chile,” he states confidently. Eden is at a loss for words, shivering as Pedro makes this proposition directly into her ear.

“Why haven’t we been there yet?” He giggles. Eden can’t find her own legs, so Pedro carries her to the bathroom to shower. She doesn’t even hope for a time out.

[a-luran]

Hi! I just wanted to tell you that I think you're amazing at writing and I have loved your stories so much!

I was going through your writing asks, (because I consider you a huge inspiration), and wanted to ask how you manage your descriptions with your story's flow? I'm pretty descriptive when I write, overly descriptive really, and I can never seem to keep the story moving how I'd like it to. Your works just seem so effortless in keeping the pace and relevancy of the details. It feels like a moving story. Mine are just too choppy and it leaves me rewriting my sentences over and over again, never being able to move on and only making it to around 100 words a day. Just super blocked up with my own perfectionism.

Thanks for your time and sorry for the long rambling. And don't feel pressured at all to answer this! If you are to take anything from this long and drawn out enquiry, I just sincerely want you to know that I admire you very much and consider you one of the better if not the best writer I follow. I will always be excited to read what you put out there!

Hello anon! I'm sorry it took me so long to reply. You are very kind and if you ever want to come chat about writing please do! I don't think your words are a long rambling, they made me think consciously of something I usually do intuitively so i am very grateful.

Since you are, dear anon, anonymous, I could not say whether you writing is choppy but I doubt it. I really doubt it! I know a lot of people throw digs at descriptive writing but I like how the style and detail of a writer's descriptions give you a glimpse of how they look at the world. The way I use description, for example, is based on what I notice when I walk into a room depending on what I am feeling at one particular moment or another. I'll write a few examples from my perspective, which your question made me think about, and I hope it might help break down some of my process for you.

Anger blurs a space and calls to recklessness. Grief-shock also blurs a space the effect it has on the body and the way it focuses your attention is different. When writing a scene, the first thing I do is think about what is at the core of a character's focus. I think that Sean (Ire) is someone who judges character and intention by reading cues other might overlook: the cuff's of a person's shirt or coat, the tilt of their speech patterns, their body language. I also don't think he does this as a step-by-step process, he's a character that reads intentions and backgrounds intuitively. This all leads to the following (this is a bit of a spoiler for a chapter of one of my wips but bear with me):

In and the love that i hold for him , Sean is the first person Arthur calls when his husband is in hospital, and the first to arrive. He is laden with some guilt about leaving Arthur without much support when they were younger, feels out of place coming back into his life, but is also a doctor in this AU and a good one at that. He's coming into the scene as an estranged brother as much as he is a professional, so when he meets Arthur in the hospital, what does he notice first? The state of him; the wear of age and stress on his face, the torn edges of his nails where he has been picking at them (a habit from their shared youth). He notices Arthur hasn't changed his clothes and they look lived in and worn, but he is also aware that he's walking into a private hospital. Despite the tension in the scene, Sean inevitably will wonder how Arthur or his husband are able to afford this, whether they have a private medical insurance, if the reason they invested in it is because Arthur's husband is older, with a medical history that reflects the life he led before he married Arthur. Who is this man, really, that he is here to see? Who is Arthur now after all of these years?

The conversation they have in this scene does not allude to any of these questions. Sean immediately jumps into asking Arthur about the situation, not his life. And Arthur is just as awkward, if tinged with desperation. Sean's curiosity latches onto the seemingly minor details Arthur shares about his husband's accident, his health circumstances, and quickly starts drawing conclusions. That makes for a very busy scene, in terms of exposition (Sean's introduction, his perception of Arthur, his feelings about the situation they're in) so I break up the paragraphs on thoughts and the dialogue with action prompts. If I feel like the reader might need a break, i slow down the exposition and focus on their body language, bringing the scene to a pause. And when I introduce these pauses I add in covert exposition-- I'll write about the ring on Arthur's finger and the way he plays with it. I write about the way Sean puts his hands in his pockets. By this point, I don't feel like i need to explain to the reader that Arthur is already coming to realise that he is about to lose his husband, or that playing with his wedding band is something that comforts him. I don't need to tell the reader that Sean ten years ago would have grasped Arthur's shoulder, and that he feels out of place the moment they stop talking about medical charts and expectations. The actions are doing that for me, and he small details about their body language give the scene an emotional texture different than what I could accomplish if I spelled out their thoughts. These are two men with a complicated past, who have never been emotionally close. In this scene, Arthur made a stilted call and Sean rearranged his life and schedule to be there. They both know this, and the scene which starts sharply, almost anxiously, uses different kinds of descriptive language and tools to wind it down into this final, awkward scene. What's helping me structure it from beginning to end is the way Sean interacts with the world and what his priorities and focus is.

I don't know if this makes sense! I wish i could take a published scene and use coloured markings to break it down. i think that would be a more effective way of explaining what i mean. But if this is of any use at all please let me know and come talk about writing any time! I love it.

[speculativeartisan]

A Quick Review of Camp Damascus

So I had a six hour plane flight and a new book and I finished it in one sitting and gave myself air sickness while doing it, but in my opinion it was worth it.

Camp Damascus by two time hugo award finalist Chuck Tingle is a novel about the horror of religious bigotry, conversion therapy, and indoctrination. Demons are also involved. It's tightly paced, evocatively written, and doesn't shy away from the fact that despite all the dismemberment that happens, this is a story about the triumph of love over hatred.

Chuck is open in interviews that he finds a lot of his inspiration in film and visual media and this is really clear in his writing style. Probably one of the most cinematic novels I've read recently, I found myself thinking very frequently "oh man I bet this would look so cool in a film adaptation" (and I do sincerely hope this gets a film adaptation someday because it would rock as one). Similarly the way scenes are paced, and the transitions between them, were reminiscent of a movie or TV show. It keeps the novel brisk, and full of momentum. And while there were points I felt could have used a little more room to breathe, or a little more tension, it never quite tipped over into feeling rushed. Breezy would be the word I'd use.

Unfortunately the pacing did keep me from really being able to get immersed in the horror side of things. The descriptions were vivid, visceral, and imaginative, but I never really sank into that headspace of suspenseful dread that usually comes to me while watching or reading horror. This is a personal hangup/preference, I can't say whether other people would find the novel very scary, but even if I didn't engage with the novel as horror I did enjoy it on the level of an action thriller.

I also appreciated Rose, and the way Chuck is able to so masterfully characterize both her autism and her deep religious indoctrination. When authors attempt to write characters deep in the throes of a religious upbringing, they tend to write too much rationalization into the character. They approach the worldview from the idea that this character knows what they believe is false and they have to constantly talk themselves in to their own faith. When the character loses their faith it is because they are confronted with something they can't justify.

Rose doesn't justify her faith to herself because she doesn't need to. These beliefs are just facts to her. The Sky is blue, water is wet, being gay is immoral. That's just how the world is. Anyone who says otherwise is just wrong, either because they are misinformed and need to be corrected, or because they are malicious and need to be avoided.

It really is that simple for someone who hasn't yet interrogated their own belief system. And likewise Chuck absolutely nails the voices of the religious community members Rose is surrounded by, from the therapist she sees, to her parents, to the head of Camp Damascus itself. It's all excellent character writing.

I haven't read any of Chuck's erotica, so I can't speak to how similar the writing in Camp Damascus is to the other works in his catalogue, or whether people who enjoy those stories would enjoy this one. I very much enjoyed Camp Damascus though, and would whole-heartedly recommend it to anyone looking for a fun and energetic story about love, community, and overcoming the people who would keep you in the closet for good.

[risu5waffles]

You know, Five-Ate-Five really is a great creator. i played through a bunch of their levels to get a feel for their style for the review, and every one was a banger.

You got Western Warrior, a fantastic little bit of LBP1 goodness. Save the Mayor's(?) daughter from bandits wiv the help of your trusty paintgun and physics. They nail the feel of an LBP1 story mode level here, and there are some pretty neat tricks they've pulled to make it look like you're shooting through bendy pipes. V cool.

The whole of the Epic Purple Lion series was a hoot (despite having forced level links). Starting wiv a solid wall jump level in The Story of Epic Purple Lion and You and its neat environment, fun gameplay, and really nice puppets. Continuing through Welcome to the Inside of the Checkpoint; which, while overbright, was very inventive, and super interesting. Winding up wiv Huge Inspiration Stealing Lazors, which has one of the best "platforming up a falling tower" sequences i can remember.

LittleGardenParty! felt a little weaker, but it was clearly built for full-party play, and it was just little ol' me. Even then, the level could be played just fine wiv one player. i had a great time, and the whole setting was very charming.

And those are just five out of 33 levels on their planet (maybe not counting two adventure maps full of old levels, i'm not sure how those get tracked). If the other stuff is half as good as what i played, they'd still be very good levels indeed.

And, amidst that bounty, that cornucopia of bangers, i managed to pick The Garden in 1 Hour.

Which is deeply, deeply, poop from a butt.

And the worst part is, i can't even really review it, because (as far as i can tell) it is supposed to be poop from a butt. A jarring, twitchy, over-loud troll level. i mean. i guess that makes it a success, in a sense? i don't know. i stopped caring about halfway through my second play for pips.

You fart when you jump, tho'; there is that.

--------------------------------------------------------------

So very, very busy. i know the TENspot is late. Like, really late, and i hate it, but it's just going to have to be later. i've got too many pots on the stove, and not enough arms to keep them all from burning.

i've been thinking, once we hit episode 365 of LittleBite-sizedArchive (a milestone rapidly approaching) i may take a two week break to rest a bit, build a backlog at a leisurely pace, and maybe rethink how i'm spending the limited resources of time and energy i have. i want to keep doing what i've got on now, but i need, i think, to incorporate a more set production schedule, instead of just doing things when there's time? Like, set aside two or three mornings, and make those the recording sessions? i don't know. i've been feeling like i'm spread way too thin, and i need to find a way to address that.

[thebestworstidea]

Men Like Cats (Baldur's Gate 3 fic)

Read it on ao3

Teen and up, or a cautious M for implied sexual content This started because I had a few spicy thoughts about Gale and Astarion, some longing, a bit of vampire nonsense, flirting. It got rapidly out of hand and at some point along the way, it got less spicy. I also realized that they both reminded me of cats, just different kinds. Gale more of a 'yes this is my person now I am content to curl up' and Astarion the 'I will come to you on my own terms, and you'd better accept them oh no not cuddles I hate that falls asleep'

The dusk was curling around camp, as each of them found comfort and calm after an exhausting day. 

Gale wondered if there was something wrong with time, or if it was simply his perceptions. Days never seemed to last so long when he was in his tower, or studying as a youth. 

But Tav had asked him to learn a small martial skill- Gale had managed to forbear pointing out that a quarterstaff was a weapon- but learning to throw knives seemed like a possible goal. Something-Something mental focus and hand eye coordination- surely he could do that. 

He even had a mostly willing teacher.

“Well you seem to know where the target is, at least.” Astarion drawled as he approached. He’d filled a bucket with various daggers that they’d picked up from corpses and chests, which gave them a nice number to attempt to throw. “Perhaps try and get the pointy end in the target?” 

Gale didn’t blush, because it was a perfectly reasonable comment.

“I still think that using mage hand is a good idea.” 

Astarion made a little tick noise, and shook his head.

“Sadly, mage hand isn’t really strong enough to get any kind of stab going. Trust me.” 

“Tried it a few times?”

“It’s not a hard spell.” the vampire said dismissively. Gale picked up a dagger and hefted it slightly. 

“Perhaps an entirely different spell could be devised-”

“Or you could just try again. Not everything is effortless elegance.” He flicked a knife up and then threw it at their scavaged target set up a dozen paces away. It of course sank into the wood handily. Gale watched the entire smooth motion and frowned, before mimicking the action, a bit slower. It hit the target, but once again hilt first, though it was a hit hard enough to leave a dent. 

“No not quite.” Astarion slid behind him and ran a hand down his arm. “I mean, not that that wouldn’t hurt but it’s not the kind of damage we’re looking for. You need to keep your wrist loose- but not move it.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“The throw is from the shoulder.” he said, as if that helped. Astarion’s fingers traced over the worn velvet of Gale’s tunic, tracing the length of his arm. Up to the shoulder then down to the wrist. Gale couldn’t help but watch the movement.  They were very attractive hands, with long ivory toned fingers and glinting well tended looking nails, which settled around his wrist. He flexed it automatically, and equally thoughtlessly the fingers traced along the vein in his wrist.  “Well?” came an impatient puff of a word next to his ear. “Get another knife.”

“You still have my arm.” 

“So I do.” Astarion’s other arm slid around his middle and Gale sucked his gut in without thinking as they pressed together chest to back. “I’m not stopping you from moving. I just want to see what you’re doing.” 

“Seeing usually involves eyes, not arms.”

“I’m a physical learner.”

Gale gave an uncertain laugh, and picked up another knife. As promised, despite doing his best impression of a coat, Astarion didn’t impede his movement.   Arm up, knife held loosely, eyes focused, and throw.

The knife hit point first but not deep enough to stick, drooping and falling out. 

“Hmm.” Astarion’s breath was a little cooler than other people’s, but no less distracting in such an intimate area. Perhaps even a bit more so; with the thrumming awareness of how close his mouth was to Gale’s throat. “I think I have it.”

“You don’t need to put in so much effort.”

“Trust me I’m not intending to expend any more than I want to.” Letting go of Gale’s arm, he reached down and plucked a dagger from the assortment. “You almost have it and then we don’t have to play together any more if we don’t want to.” 

“I suppose you’re an excellent teacher then.”

“Thank you, now watch carefully.” Without moving from where he was pressed against Gale he brought his arm around and threw the knife.

“Where did you learn to do this, anyway? Hardly the skill of a slave or a magistrate.”

“Throwing knives is fun.” he answered, picking another. “At least once you can do it.” He brought his arm around as if to throw- but didn’t let go of the knife. “Here. See what’s going on right before it gets released.” 

Since his forearms were bare, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows Gale could, after a fashion. Thinking of revenge for the teasing, he raised his hand and ran his fingers from elbow to wrist, the tenseness of the muscle and tendons. To his surprise, it did give him more information. The thrum and flex of muscle and tendon, the soft texture of skin. 

And also the point that was trying to be made, he thought. Moving slowly so Gale could keep contact, Astarion completed the throw.

Loose but unmoving. 

Focused, he took another dagger and threw, watching it sail through the air and thunk into the wood, point first and deep enough it only dipped a little. He did it again, with a little less hesitance, and once again, it stuck. Three with the same level of success; all within the second ring. 

“Seems you’re a physical learner too.”

“Call it more chronic observer; sometimes one just has to look more closely.” Gale retorted. “But wait, you didn’t hold the dagger like that, you were holding it like this.”

“Wait-”

Despite the abuse they’d been suffering from being repeatably thrown, the daggers had started out sharp- Lae���zel would sometimes go through the entire chest, and sharpen everything she found, irritated when she was in camp, bitching the entire time about how lack of preparation could and should get them killed, but still doing maintenance on their armor and weapons. He’d even seen her trying to put an edge on a goblin weapon they’d acquired, and if he could speak githanki he was sure whatever she was saying was a scathing critique of the maker. 

Or something about the smith’s mother. 

What that meant was when he tried to grab the dagger by the blade as he’d seen, it slashed his fingers open- made worse that he tried to catch it after the initial cut rather than let it drop possibly on his foot. Not his most brilliant moment, though certainly not on the short list of his most foolish, either. It just clattered back into the collection. 

“Damnation.” He swore. “Well I feel like a fool.” he flexed his fingers and was fairly sure it was just the fleshy pads that had been damaged. Blood ran like ribbons down the digits. Despite himself, he glanced back at Astarion, who had gone still where he was still standing rather scandalously close.

Perhaps it was the tadpole, or personality, or practice, but Astarion had very little reaction to the sight of blood. Gale would admit to having read one or two pulp novels on the subject of vampires- ones he was even more sure now had no bearing on reality what so ever- and reaction to the sight of blood was one of those traits that marked it. However their resident vampire showed no real reaction to the sight or smell, in fact reacting the same as anyone when he got covered in splatter during battle- despite the fact he would strike with precision, snapping his clearly sharp teeth down on a exposed limb or shoulder in an attack. 

But he was still now, and focused. 

Gale considered it for a moment and turned to face him instead, offering up the hand. 

“Would you want to taste? I recall hearing you and Tav having a good chuckle about using us as a tasting menu. Rich and refined was it?” He wasn’t expecting anything, perhaps a scoff or a small frown. 

Instead his hand was gripped by elegant long boned fingers again, and this time, it was moved more than examined. Astarion’s tongue lapped the blood that had pooled in his palm, where it was starting to drip, flicked across the pad of his thumb,  and the slash there. It traced the path up to his finger tips and the bleeding tips were- gods save him, sucked between soft lips.  He supposed he had offered, and this was just what he got for it. His heart sped up anyway,  and he glanced back to the main camp, shrouded as it was in dusk. Anything to get his mind off the flat out arousing sensation. It wasn’t- wasn’t what it felt like.

Gale could barely make out Tav’s form already sprawled on their bedroll, half hidden beneath the fluffy mass of Baby, the owlbear cub, and Scratch who was laying over their feet. Karlach and Wyll were playing some sort of children’s game- apparently native to Baldur’s Gate and Shadowheart and Lae’zel were out of sight, probably embroiled in a staring contest again.  No one was paying attention to them. 

His attention was dragged back by a flex of tongue against his finger tips, and he couldn’t help but meet the challenging red stare, as his fingers were released with a damp pop. 

“Well?” he choked out, still a bit speechless. 

“Hmnn.” was the thoughtful sounding reply. Then he smirked. “I was right- but darker than I’d thought. And I was afraid for a moment your pulse was going to bleed you dry through what amounts to papercuts.” He turned Gale’s hand over and gave a sarcastic yet consolatory pat. “You’ll be fine. No need for a bandage or healing potion. Just don’t go grabbing any other weapons by the blade.” 

When Gale didn’t answer, he went on to lick another drop that fell from Gale’s thumb onto his hand. The sound of the wizard swallowing was louder than the sound of his own throat working. The position made it far too easy for Gale to curl his fingers around the other man’s jaw in a caress. 

That was all it took to find himself crowded back against a tree, and being thoroughly kissed.

It was… very nice. It hadn’t been that long in the grand scheme of things; but there hadn’t really been much since his less than grand folly. Even a few years with no gentle touches but those from a cat, however sweet and intelligent wore very heavily (He couldn’t imagine how Karlach bore it). His hand was in Astarion’s hair (downy soft) and hoped desperately that the bleeding had stopped, because they’d just gotten clean after coming back to camp. He could taste blood where their mouths met, and it didn’t dissuade him in the least; reminding him of boyhood fumbles that resulted in bitten lips. A present danger, as he felt the scrape of sharp fangs on his tongue. 

A reminder of just who was pressed against him, but he felt no danger, even as Astarion’s surprisingly hot mouth moved to trail over his neck, leaving harmless kisses, that made him shiver.

“Wait- wait” he mumbled hand tightening in the soft curls. 

“What?” it sounded a little frustrated. Gale smoothed his hand back to cup Astarion’s face again.  

“Don’t play with me.” He said earnestly. “My heart might be tainted and tattered, but it’s also very soft.” 

He gave a little half chuckle in response. 

“Soft and tender. But I understand, Do you want to stop?” 

“I’m afraid I want to keep going too much. You aren’t… the domestic type.”

That brought out a much more genuine laugh and Astarion rested his forehead on Gale’s shoulder. 

“Domestic like a cat, darling. Too feral to be contained, but all too willing to linger on a cushion, given the opportunity.” He frowned a bit. “... I don’t want to be kept.”

“Ah.” He said with understanding. “Good thing I understand cats, then.” He stroked his thumb over Astarion’s cheekbone and his eyes narrowed a little, much like a cat. “Both of us cats together then.”

“Really.” 

Gale gave a startled laugh when he was licked, just below his ear. 

“Do you like your belly rubbed then?”

“Perhaps only by very specific people.”

“Oh, and am I one of them?”

“You might be.”

“And Tav of course.” 

Another glance over to their now plainly sleeping friend. They were, if Gale was right, drooling a little into Baby’s feathers. He still felt incredibly fond. 

“Of course. What about you?”

“Oh there are a few places I’d like to be rubbed, if you’re up for it.” He paused. “And to be clear- I may be playful, it may be fun, but I wouldn’t play that. Not when I have a choice. And I do now.” tilting his head he nuzzled just a bit at the edge of Gale’s jaw, very much like a cat looking for attention. “And you? Are you trifling with my attention. Because you could have just been direct. Without being terrible at knife throwing and the blood loss.” 

“Oh, direct is it, ‘I'm just a physical learner’?” 

There was a huff of a laugh, and Astarion pulled away, leaving Gale feeling a bit colder, somehow. 

“You know-” Gale said after a moment, “I think there might be an interesting celestial event that may be happening tonight. We should see about that.” Direct it wasn’t but when he walked into the forest, to a rise he’d spotted earlier, it was clear the message was received.

When they reached the clearing- just barely out of earshot from the camp for privacy’s sake- the kissing resumed, all the more passionate for the brief pause. The grass was soft, but there was a spare bedroll spread out, probably for similar reasons or when someone just needed a moment or two alone. It was an improvement over grass sticking into bare skin. Somewhere along the line, their tops were discarded, and Gale looked up to see Astarion on his knees, straddling one of his thighs, and was suddenly struck with self consciousness. 

While their relationship had been undoubtedly physical, there was never any doubt that Mystra had loved him for his mind, so his soft scholar’s body wasn’t really an issue. Some of the softness had worn away already, but there was still enough flesh over his ribs to dig fingers into, which Astarion was doing, kneading- well rather like a cat. 

In comparison the vampire was lithe, lean, and luminous in the starlight, moonlight illuminating each separate curl. To continue the alliteration, Gale felt that ‘lovely’ could fit in the description as well but he doubted it would be appreciated. Lascivious perhaps- he was certainly skilled and apparently enthusiastic in covering Gale with kisses. 

“Are you with me?” He huffed, sitting up further. “I’m doing perfectly good work here, and you’re counting stars.”

“Just one.” Reaching up, he pulled Astarion back down, kissing him as deeply as he knew how, the other hand grabbing a handful of luscious- that was another-curve of ass, pressing them together. 

“Pwha.” Astarion laughed against his lips. “Like I’ve never heard that one before.” 

“Very well, doing something else with my mouth then.” 

Later, when the sweat was drying, and their breathing was less joyfully ragged, Gale managed to enforce a certain amount of cuddling by the simple mechanism of rolling on top of Astarion and staying there. He was fairly sure the other man could get loose if he really wanted to, but took the excuse. One of Gale’s hands was tucked around  Astarion and his fingers traced the edges of a raised scar that he’d gotten glimpses of while bathing. In retrospect, his earlier self consciousness was ridiculous as by now he was sure he didn’t have anything the others hadn’t seen. It did remove the mystery a bit, especially given that both Astarion (and Wyll for some reason) were oddly shy. 

“Ugh. well that’s ruined the mood.” true to his estimation, Astarion rolled the both of them over, and went to get up. This accidentally gave Gale a solid look at the scar he’d been stroking. 

“Maker bless.” He muttered, and as Astarion started to stand up, he rolled up onto his knees, and put his hands on his shoulders. “What in the world?”

“If you don’t mind not ogling my marks of torture-” 

“This… it looks like infernal but-”

Astarion froze. 

“You’re telling me you can read it?” 

“I should be able to but the… It’s stylized. Very stylized. The syntax is odd. You must understand, I only studied it academically, fiends and devils are not my area of expertise.”  wary of upsetting him, Gale didn’t trace the pattern with his fingers. 

“Well he was certainly a fiend, though I don’t think the way you mean.” 

“Something about souls? Power?” He frowned, hands still hovering. “And I’m only mostly sure because those words come up in infernal a great deal in the infernal writings I've seen. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

“More than I knew before, I suppose. I just need to find someone who can read it.” he paused and made a thoughtful noise. “Who I wonder...” 

“That being said-” Gale tugged gently on his shoulder, away from the scars. “Why don’t you spend that time thinking lying back down here with me for a bit.” 

“Ugh, if you insist.” Astarion settled down against Gale, face cushioned on his chest, hand laying on his stomach. In a matter of moments his fingers were kneading again, stroking and gently pulling at chest hair, while Gale was petting his hair. 

“Since you’re indulging me;” Gale said several minutes later; causing Astarion to blink rapidly and raise his head, glaring at the disruption. “If you wanted to feed from me- properly I suppose, you can. Never let it be said I’d turn down a new experience.”

“Well it’s a good experience for me- still working on sharing that.” He rose on his arms and hovered over Gale for a moment, looking down at him. “But maybe-”

There was a cool sort of press and twitch in Gale’s mind, connection, the tadpole- something he tried to avoid for the most part; it ached sometimes- but this he knew was Astarion, trying… something. He relaxed and let the connection swim into being. He saw, for a moment, his own face, eyes slightly squinched shut, pale in the starlight.  Amusement perhaps? Fondness? Then the image blurred, darkened and sensation welled up, the feeling of flesh under his lips, echoing and mirroring the brush of teeth against his throat. Then a sharp, jolt of pain, stabbing at him, only to be overwhelmed with pleasure, contentment, fulfillment, hunger. He bit his own lip, grounding him outside of the shared feeling, fingers scrabbling at the short hairs at the back of Astarion’s neck. He could feel blood, and that small spark of magic always under his skin flowing out and something- twitched, not in his mind, but in his chest. It burned.

“Wait- stop.” 

There was a brief pause between him croaking the words out and the actual stop, a long lick up the muscle of his neck and the connection fading, leaving him worn as well as a bit dizzy. The added space as Astarion sat up, gave Gale a chance to press the palm of his hand to his sternum and rub a bit- a different kind of pain, clearing his head. 

“I was under the impression your heart condition was purely magical.” 

“It is. It’s fine, I’m fine.” 

“Hmn. Well, rather than let you pass out here, let’s get our pants back on- wait those are yours ah here we are- and you can suck on a ring or something and I’ll go out and feed my own little hunger.” 

Gale huffed a laugh, sitting up himself. 

“That shouldn’t be necessary, but I do appreciate the concern.”

“Oh is that what it is.” Despite the dismissive tone he did (very chivalrously, Gale thought) walk Gale back to his tent. Now that the moment had passed, Gale felt, well a little dizzy still honestly, but whatever it had been in the moment- and while he was absolutely going to be looking into it it wasn’t as if there were resources for this particular situation. Or frankly, even one aspect of it. 

No one paid them any attention when they got back to camp. The fire had been banked, and Shadowheart looked like she was either meditating or praying, and Tav, bless them had started snoring, so Astarion nudged them with a foot on their way past. 

Before Astarion could slip away, Gale grabbed his hand.

“When you’re done with your nightly walk;”

“Let’s call it that.” 

“Will you come back-”

“I always do.”

“Here. To my tent.”

“Why?” 

Suspecting that ‘to cuddle’ was not the right answer, Gale made something up on the spot. 

“Well, to check and make sure nothing odd happened to you. From drinking my blood I mean.” 

“...” there was a distinctly skeptical expression on the other man’s face. 

Well lying had never really been one of Gale’s primary skills

“And I’ll admit it because I liked lying together and petting your hair.” 

“For a bit. To see if you’re awake.” despite the light tone, Gale was fairly sure he saw a bit of a genuine smile as Astarion turned away. “And tomorrow night we’ll see if you remember how to throw knifes properly.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” 

Talking Tav: in fic I address the player character as Tav and gender neutral, and while they don’t display many traits, there’s a definite ‘I can’t believe I love this idiot’ feeling shared by all the companions. Yes, even when they’re kissing eachother.