#(also this kind of sucks but i wanted to write it)

[briwhosaysni]

Also, ao3 doesn't have an algorithm! In some cases, "liking" or "disliking" something will influence what content is shown to you, but since ao3 doesn't have an algorithm, that's irrelevant! The same pool of fics is available to everyone, and you are 100% in charge of searching and filtering to find the kinds of fics you want to read.

Kudos exist purely to let authors know that you appreciate their work, and therefore the only purpose of a "dislike" button would be to say "Hey, I don't appreciate your work. I know you made it for free and shared it out of the goodness of your heart, but I think it sucks and you should feel bad." Which would be a really rude thing to do, and a really fast way to make people not want to share their writing anymore!

heard someone say archive of our own should install a "dislike" button and I thought I should say this: no, there's absolutely no need for archive of our own to install a "dislike" button.

why? because archive of our own isn't tiktok or youtube or twitter/x where users can monetize their content. archive of our own is a nonprofit site run by fans for fans, which means every content — every fanfic — you see on archive of our own was made out of pure love and passion from the artists/authors.

ao3 authors write because writing about these characters is their happiness and passion. they write for themselves, but they were generous enough to share with you their creations.

they're not "content creators" the way tiktokers or youtubers or instagram models are. they don't "make content" for views and engagements that can be monetized.

so no, you don't get to "grade their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "say what you dislike about their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "dislike" works that are not made specifically to please you in the first place. you're just a guest in someone's house, a house in which they let you in because they were kind, you don't get to roam around their house and say what you dislike about their furniture. you don't get to roam around their house and say you "dislike their house".

of course, you can have your opinion about the house its host invites you in. but if it's a negative one and you find yourself not liking the house, the polite things for you to do is excuse yourself and leave without telling them you dislike their house.

and just because you personally dislike the house doesn't mean the house is "ugly" either. the house you dislike could be a favorite, most luxurious place to many others.

my point is, don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that you get to enjoy for free. don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that were made out of love and passion — things the artists made for themselves for fun.

it makes you look like an entitled jerk with main character syndrome. the universe does not revolve around you.

now repeat after me: don't like don't read. no one forces you to continue reading a fic you don't like. quietly leave instead of being rude to authors who write for free because writing is their source of comfort.

people are so used to contents that were made because it's a trend / contents like tiktok that were made with the main purpose of reaching high engagement and making profits that they forget sometimes things can be made out of love and be made just for fun. sometimes things are supposed to just be for people to enjoy, and if some people don't enjoy them, then they can simply leave without being unnecessary unkind.

[moonstruckme]

Here’s my idea for Spencer and intern!reader if you’d be so kind to write it <3 something like Spencer comforting reader after she saw/experienced something rough and is trying not to show emotion bc she thinks that’s what being on the team is

Thank you for requesting!

cw: crime scene, no descriptions but there is a body and the killing is discussed in vague terms, nausea, reader is a bau intern but also an adult

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re all bottled up. Spencer should be listening to the police officer telling them about witnesses who discovered the victim, but you’re distracting him. You’re breathing deep and slow, intentionally, and your gaze flickers between the cop and the body like you’re not sure which deserves your attention more. Your skin looks waxy in the morning light. 

Spencer is able to step away fairly easily, leaving JJ and Morgan with the officer as he grasps your elbow to pull you with him. 

Closer, your breaths are audibly stilted. “What’s up?” you ask, sounding remarkably composed despite how your eyes are still moving between Spencer and the victim. 

He walks you away from the crowd, back towards the SUV. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” 

You say it too fast. Spencer watches you realize this, and in the same moment you know of course he has too. 

Still, he says gently, “You look like you’re going to faint. If you are, it’s better if you tell me.” 

You reach the SUV. Spencer opens the passenger side, expecting you to sit in the seat to steady yourself, but you only take refuge behind the door. Away from the eyes of the rest of the team, you close your eyes, sucking in another deep breath. 

“I’m not going to faint,” you say on the exhale. This time, with enough conviction that Spencer believes you. “I’m really sorry, I just—I feel sort of sick.” 

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. 

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine in a minute.” 

“Do you want some water?” Spencer reaches into the glove box to find an unopened bottle. “Here, drink small sips of this.” 

“I’m okay,” you say, twisting the cap off to do as he says. 

“It’s okay if you’re not,” he offers. “I know it’s not your first crime scene, but it can be disturbing, the things we see. You know, for most people, even smelling a dead body without seeing it is enough to…” He slows when he can hear his team groaning at him in his head. Spence, JJ would say, in her fond and motherly way, not helping. “...to…well, you know. It’s a lot.” 

You give a little laugh. Fortunately, you seem not to be affected by Spencer reminding you of the smell. Unfortunately, you now look closer to tears than vomiting. 

“I know we have to see this stuff all the time.” Your voice is choked down to a whisper, face pointed at the ground. Spencer finds himself leaning closer to hear you. “And I know that none of the deaths are pretty, or…or easy. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to let it affect me.” 

“That’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re all affected.” 

“But you don’t show it.” 

“We have…we have practice. But we all show it sometimes. Some cases are worse for some of us than others.” 

“I guess I just haven’t—” Your voice splinters, and Spencer’s heart does a poor mimicry of the sound. “—haven’t seen one this…intentional yet.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as two tears streak down your cheeks. You look frustrated and afraid, and even younger than usual. Spencer has his arms around you without knowing how he got there. 

He understands what you mean. The cases you’ve worked so far have been awful in their own ways, but this killer took his time in a way the others didn’t. He left his victim mutilated, torn apart with a cold-hearted meticulousness that would be enough to horrify even the most seasoned agent. By your anguish, Spencer knows you’ve probably seen it all play out in your mind a dozen times. 

Spencer thinks of himself as an empathetic person. He’s seen some terrible things, but he still tries to meet people, especially people at his job, with compassion and kindness. It doesn’t explain why he’s so startlingly desperate to soothe you. 

He holds the back of your head and keeps you folded into him, his other hand rubbing your back as you take in a wet, shuddering inhale. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” 

Your voice is a choked, fraught thing. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“I want to be professional.” 

“Sweetheart” —it slips out without him meaning for it to; Spencer ploughs ahead before either of you can think about it— “you’re not being unprofessional. This is…this is what we do. It’s hard sometimes. Everyone here understands that. Everyone on our team has done what you’re doing.” 

Another short, soft laugh, followed by a sniffle. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is that why you’re so good at this?” 

Spencer pauses. “No, I’m…well, I wouldn’t say I am good at this, actually. I’m glad you think so, though.” 

“Yeah, you are.” You straighten, wiping underneath your eyes with a knuckle. “God, everyone is going to know I cried.” 

He can’t deny that. “They won’t care,” he promises you instead. “No one will ask questions if you don’t want them to. We all get it.” 

“I knew there were some really fucked up people out there,” you say in a small voice. “I just haven’t really thought as much about the people who…” Your gaze shifts, as if drawn by a magnet, through the tinted window of the SUV and back toward the crime scene. Your expression goes haunted. “...who they…” 

Spencer puts his hand to the side of your face. It’s not like him, and your eyes widen at the contact but you let him direct your attention away. Your skin is warm and tacky against his fingertips.

“It might help to sit down for a minute,” he suggests gently. You’re pliable, allowing him to nudge you back into the passenger seat. “Drink some more, okay? Do you still feel sick?” 

You think about it, then shake your head. “Not really.” 

“Let’s wait a bit anyway.” 

You swallow some water. Worry your lip. “You shouldn't have to coddle me.” 

“It’s not coddling,” Spencer says quickly. Too quickly, maybe. Luckily, you’re not as skilled a profiler and you don’t catch him. “It’s okay to step away sometimes. They don’t need us over there right now.” 

“Yeah.” You breathe out. “Yeah, okay. Thank you, Spencer.” 

He gets called lots of things. Spencer is one of them, of course, along with Reid, Spence, Kid, Boy Genius, and sometimes even Professor. None of them sounds as heavy sweet as his name on your lips. 

“We can wait here.” He decides it as it comes out of his mouth. He’ll have to get the details of the crime scene secondhand, might even make a trip to the coroner’s later to inspect the body himself, but in this moment Spencer can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do to make you comfortable. Inconveniences are trivial. “They’ll come find us when they’re ready to go to the station.” 

You look conflicted, your dedication to the team warring with your obvious desire to avoid being near the victim again. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Spencer’s own voice sounds distant as he tries to make sense of the unfamiliar tug in his middle. “I’m sure.”

[robertsfloyd]

can you please write something with owner oscar and bunny reader?

bunny is a lil cute and silly but i love her

oscar didn't look like the kind of guy to own a hybrid. he'd grown up with dogs, fully fledged, on all fours dogs, not hybrids.

but then he saw you.

lounging in a shop window, ears over your face. a pink bow had been tied around your ear and your little bunny nose was twitching as a kid approached the fence separating you from them.

you raised your head, and oscar watched as you approached the fencing. painted pink. everything around you seemed to be pink. you were gentle as you took the carrot from the child's hand and bounded back over to the window.

you didn't see him as you nibbled on your carrot. but oscar saw you and he couldn't let you go.

the adoption process was lengthy, but that wasn't a bad thing. they were making sure you were going to a good home. you were going to the best home with oscar. he got you everything you could have needed.

a nice big bed with plenty of blankets and pillows, a collar (mandatory for hybrids), fridge stocked with all of the food a bunny like you could need.

and then he went to go and pick you up.

you were paraded out, hand holding that of someone that worked there. he had your paperwork already. all he needed to do was take you home with him.

you stared at him, wide eyed.

"off you go," the employee said and patted your shoulder, sending you on your way.

you walked over to him, never taking your eyes off of him. "ready to go home?" he asked.

you nodded and reached for his hand. oscar stared down for your hand for a moment before he placed it into yours. you kept hold of him as he led you out of the adoption centre. standing so close to him that you nearly tripped him up.

you were quiet for the car journey. oscar kept gazing at you as you sat there quietly, obediently.

he led you from the car and into his apartment. clean, not all that homely, though. no rug on the floor. pillows all perfectly against the cushion.

this wouldn't do.

"hungry, bunny?" Oscar asked as you sat at his kitchen table, hands folded in your lap.

you shook your head. "What's your name?" you asked in a moment of bravery.

"oscar," he answered as he pulled a ready made salad from the fridge.

"oscar what?" you probed, watching as he pulled off the plastic lid. now it was in front of you, the food was tempting.

he pulled out two forks, sharing it with you. "oscar piastri," he replied and stabbed a slice of cucumber.

"yes please."

he furrowed his brow at you. "huh?"

"I'd like a pastry, please."

he laughed at you, his bunny teeth on display. "it's my last name," he answered.

"oh," you mumbled and put your fork down. "your name is Oscar pastry?" you asked and he laughed again.

"close enough."

***

it was three days before you joined him on the sofa. you rearranged his pillows and settled down beside him, legs tucked beneath you.

you were still quiet, but your personality was beginning to shine through.

your ears were so expressive, giggles so cute. your nose twitched at something you didn't like, ears flopping down when you got sad.

when be brought you that pastry you wanted, you lit up.

every day he learnt more and more about you. you hopped around when you were happy, loved to rub your nose against his, loved to kiss him when you walked past.

at first, it had terrified Oscar. why were you kissing him? did you need a bunny companion and sought out the next best thing? (I.e. him)

but then he googled it.

you were happy, that was why you were kissing him. you were happy and you liked his company. that much was clear when you climbed on top of him in the evenings, nuzzled your face against his shoulder.

Oscar was so find of you, he held you through the night. he pet your soft ears, straightened your collar and kissed you back.

his bunny.

my dinner sucks and I wanna order in but I also don't wanna bc unhealthy but I'm gonna be hungry but I should save money but

[illbegottenfaith]

kiss me better, love

as the two of you stumble into bed after a Valentine's dinner date, theo realises it's not fair how much he loves you (theo nott x reader)

a/n - valentines fic #2 !!!! thought of this idea in a class literally 5 hours ago and idk if its the sleep deprivation but this is sooo self-indulgent writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet frfr 😭 all I have to say is if this isnt me and my future partner I dont want him I send him BACK

tropes/warnings - physical touch as a love language, angry theo but also soft theo 🥰🥰 no (read: minimal) proof reading we die like men etc etc

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @ebriton @thaliashifts @friedfreyfries @allie-sturns

The door shuts behind you both, plunging the room into near-darkness. You barely take a step before bumping into Theo, your knee knocking against his thigh, your hands flying to his shoulders as you stumble.

"Merlin,” he mutters, steadying you with a grip at your waist. “Can you - ”

“You're the one barging into me,” you shoot back, tucking a lock behind your ear as you tighten your grip on Theo’s shoulder, making him wince.

“Anyway, like I was saying, it hasn’t even been a week since Missy - ”

Theo exhales sharply, blindly reaching for the zipper at your back. “Is this something I really need to be hearing right now?” he asks somewhat waspishly.

“Yes.” You barely register his tone, still preoccupied. “So I walk into Charms in Tuesday, expecting to find Josh understandably distraught and/or in mourning. But who do I see him chatting up instead?"

"Hair."

You gather your hair up in one hand to hold it up and go right on talking. You barely notice Theo's largely ineffective attempts at pushing your sleeves off your shoulders.

"Pansy Parkinson! Pansy flipping Parkinson. What, does he think he's a free man now or something? Melissa's halfway across the world, she's not dead."

"Mhm."

You sigh exaggeratedly at his lackluster responses.

“Well? Don't you have to anything to add?"

“Yeah - hold still.” You This is just ridiculous, Theo was thinking. What kind of dress needed buttons and a zip?

You huff, switching your hair to your other hand. “Honestly, Theo, have you listened to a single thing I’ve been saying the past hour?”

Theo groans, still fumbling at your lower back. He had figured out the buttons were decorative, bless him, but your dress was on the more delicate side, and if he ripped it, he'd never hear the end of it. “Uh, yeah, that Abernathy guy...he’s two-timing Melissa?"

“He is not,” you say, peering over your shoulder to see what was taking Theo so long. Seriously, what was going on back there? It doesn't help, though, not when you can barely make him out in the dark. “not yet at least. He might. And if he's going to, well, isn't it better she finds out now rather than ten years down the road? Or am I an awful friend for thinking that?"

"Thinking what?" Theo asks distractedly.

"Willing my best friend's boyfriend into cheating on her."

Before he can formulate a response, your stubborn zipper finally decides to cooperate and moves down an inch - snagging at his finger. A sharp hiss cuts through the dark, followed by some emphatic, muttered swearing.

You pause.

“…what was that?”

Theo slips his injured finger out of his mouth briefly, his voice strained as he struggles to keep the pain out of his tone. “Nothing.”

You shift slightly, trying to catch his expression in the dark, but he’s suspiciously still now, his hands nowhere on you anymore.

“Theo.”

“I’m fine.”

Your brow furrows. Then, his suddenly subdued demeanour and oddly neutral tone clicks in your head.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

There’s an immediate rustle, followed by Theo’s very delayed attempt at nonchalance.

“…no.”

Oh, you could throttle him. “Was it the zip again?”

“You keep saying that like I do it intentionally - I never mean to-”

“And now you're trying to suck the pain away like a child?”

“Would you rather I bleed all over your dress?”

“I’d rather you watch what you’re doing so you don’t get maimed by a bloody zip in the first place!”

Theo exhales sharply, his frustration palpable. “I keep telling you - I don't-”

“You never mean to, but here we are.” You cross your arms. “Third time in two weeks, Theo. This is getting ridiculous. Should I hire a nurse for our dates? A medic? Do you need to start taking my clothes off under medical supervision? Is that what we've come to?"

Theo glares at you (or the shadowy figure he was mostly sure was you), trying to pull his attention away from the stinging pain. “Oh, don’t start - ”

“You don’t think before you do things.”

Theo groans. “I think plenty.”

“No, you rush plenty. Really, it’s a miracle you still have all your limbs -”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“First, you burn yourself on my curling iron -”

“Okay, one, you shouldn't be leaving your things out like that.”

“Then you cut yourself opening a tin of biscuits -”

Theo tips his head back in exasperation. “You sh - you literally shoved it at me!”

“ - and now my zipper is out to get you?” You throw your hands up. “What are you telling me, Teddy? That every item I own has a personal vendetta against you?”

"Mattheo agrees with me, you know," you continue smugly, in a so-there kind of tone. "He told me about that time you nearly broke your neck falling down that flight of stairs on the way to Transfiguration, which wouldn't have happened if you weren't - "

"Rushing, I know." Theo steps back as if to escape. “Merlin, you are insufferable - ”

“And you are reckless.”

“I don't need you to lecture me.”

“You’d be fine if you just listened to m - show me your finger.”

A brief struggle ensues.

You lunge; he sidesteps. You fumble blindly for his hand; he twists out of reach.

“For fuck’s sake -”

“Stop being so difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, you’re being a menace.”

“At least I don't get mauled by zippers.”

“I'm telling you, that zipper has it out for me."

“Well, maybe if you weren’t always in such a bloody rus - ”

“Enough with the rushing!”

“I can't help it if you never learn - ”

“I do learn,” he snaps, stepping back further - only for you to grab onto his wrist and pull.

There’s a shuffle, a scuffle as Theo stumbles back into the dresser with a thud.

“Oi - ”

“Oh, stop squirming, you big baby.”

“You stop grabbing- ”

“Theodore, you are injured. Act like it.”

“I am n- ”

“Then give me your hand.”

A long, heavy pause. Then -

“No.”

You groan, exasperated. “Merlin, you are the most - ”

“And you are relentless - ”

But at last, in an impressive show of determination, you manage to latch onto his wrist, wrenching his hand towards you before he can twist away again. Theo groans in frustration, but you’ve already found the wound—his fingertip, warm and damp against yours.

“Oh, for - ” You tighten your grip as he tries to pull away. “You are bleeding!”

Theo tenses, his entire body bristling. “It’s nothing.”

“On my zipper,” you say incredulously. “Again.”

He exhales sharply as if this is somehow your fault. “You don’t need to make a whole production of it - ”

“I told you to be careful - ”

“And I was - ”

“Clearly not enough!”

Theo groans, tipping his head back against the dresser. “I’m buying you a tear-away dress next Valentine’s.”

You bite back a smirk. “I’d like to see you figure that one out.”

He mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you’re already bringing his hand up, brushing your lips over the wound.

He stills.

The fight, the irritation, the tension - all of it dissolves instantly under your touch.

You press another kiss there, softer this time. Through a sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, he sees your face - your impish expression, your eyes, alight with amusement and plain adoration. You watch his face too - his furrowed brows relaxing, the slight part of his lips, his sharp features softened by something indiscernible.

His eyes flick to yours.

And Merlin, it’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair how you can drive him to the brink of insanity one second and then look at him like that the next, like you could never get your fill. It's enough to make him think you're worth all the trouble you put him through. It's enough to make him want to slow down. Merlin knows the last thing he wants is to rush through his days with you.

“…better?” you murmur against his skin after a moment.

Theo exhales, rolling his eyes as though he isn’t already relenting. "It's a start," he says grudgingly.

Your smile widens as you bring his hand up again, pressing another kiss there, then another, then another.

Theo groans, tipping his head back again, his frustration dwindling with every sympathetic brush of your lips.

“You like this,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but his voice has softened, his body relaxing into yours.

You grin, pressing a kiss to his wrist. Then his palm.

Theo groans again, for reasons unrelated to his earlier irritation, his fingers curling at your waist.

You laugh softly. “Want me to kiss you better everywhere?”

Theo smiles weakly, pulling you closer. “That's the best idea you've had all night."

[faiszt]

⠀⠀⭑⠀𝆬⠀⠀CLOSE ENOUGH:⠀✴⠀ r. cameron.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ minors do not interact.

PAIRING:⠀s2!rafe x stalker!reader.

†⠀⠀LISTEN TO:⠀close enough by ava morse.

wordcount: 3.7k⠀⠀|⠀⠀CONTAINS: ⠀ smut content. violent behavior. obsessive behavior. hard / strong language. drug mentions. kidnapping. face sitting. rough sex. slightly size kink. p in v. unprotected sex. dirty talk. face fucking & tits sucking.⠀ minors who interact with this will be blocked.

꒰ SILLY NOTES:⠀hi, sweets! i still don’t have a masterlist and stuff, i know, but i just really needed to write this. also, this is my first time writing a smut in my life, so... forgive me for any mistakes, i swear i'm trying and i’d be so happy if you could tell me what you think of it.⠀⠀⠀⠀(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 💬 ♡

there were two perfect words to describe you from what rafe thought: kind and sweet. so sweet, the kind that made him stop and think ‘what hole did you crawl out of?’ well, in a honest answer, the hole you crawled out of was hell. this isn't a silly little joke, it's reality, your sweetness was the perfect counterpart to the kind of obsessive and insane devil you've become since the day you laid eyes on him.

it took rafe longer to figure this out than you had anticipated before starting this freak game between you.

if he needed someone lovely, you'd be her. if he needed someone gentle, you'd be her. but, if he needs someone as crazy and fucked up as he is? his lucky day, you were all of that without even having to hide it with cute clothes and a damsel in distress demeanor.

150 days that you knew him, 150 photos of him kept in the last drawer of your dresser, right under your panties like a stupid plan not very calculated, but existing. a photo a day that you wisely chose every time you followed him around like an abandoned puppy, finding out things about him and his life was part of the shameless fun.

and each time he accidentally noticed you, you acted as he expected you to act. a confused expression and a gentle smile, pretending you were doing anything that a weirdo would, acting like it was purely fate putting you in the same place as him. what kind of shitty fate was this? god could only be punishing you for putting you in each other's lives.

but, no siege was impossible to close, and eventually, the pieces fell right into place in his mind. too late, he was the little mouse that bit the cheese in the mousetrap.

not that his insanity had reached its limit—you were never any different from that—it was just something you wanted to do and felt he needed, given how much stress you'd watched him go through lately. it wasn't wrong, was it? it was just love, no matter how strange, violent, and intense.

just a little help, you wouldn't hurt him... you'd just show that you can take care of him as well as anyone else since no one would take care of him if not you. plus, in the meantime, he could taste his own medicine with someone just like him, or worse.

“what the...” his eyes opened with difficulty, a throbbing pain in his head and his body limp, tingling, almost struggling to move. a dimly lit room, definitely not his room, unless he had been drugged enough to forget how he got there—which was what it looked like. “that’s all i needed now.” rafe thought he was talking to himself.

until he notices you there, sitting in front of your desk, swinging your feet with only one side of the earphone in your left ear, scribbling something. how cute, he thought, not thinking really much about it and when he did, well, he knew he was so fucked.

hands tied to the headboard, he wouldn't even question how you managed to drag him there, but there he was, gagged on a girl's bed. he could kick you if you came near, if it weren't for the clear fact that you both knew he wouldn't do it, first 'cause he wasn't afraid of you, second 'cause he wanted to know how far you'd go.

honestly, if you didn't go all the way, he'd make you go all the way with him since you were the one who brought him here, you had to do something about it now.

“are you plannin’ to make me die here or just playin’ some insane weirdo game, princess?” he shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position—even though nothing felt comfortable when his wrists were gagged. he was just trying to get your attention. was it strange that he was finding this too interesting and appealing to simply want to run away?

you turned in your chair, taking the earphone out as you left your pencil on the table. his eyebrows slowly rose when he noticed you was you, the acting was good, he had to admit, not every girl who was into him would simply gag him in her bed like he was her own doll. it was confusing, arousing, a lot of things his mind was trying to think about.

“you looked stressed, i just wanted to make you relax.” you mumbled with a sweet, albeit fake, smile, still swinging your feet in the air. so handsome, you thought, watching him with his disheveled hair and looking so vulnerable to you. “are you relaxed, rafe? or you need me to help you again?” 'cause there wasn't a single thing you wouldn't do for him at this point.

your smile only made him let out a nasal laugh, looking away for a brief moment as he stared at the ceiling. “nice way to relax someone, huh?” he scoffed. “but, since you’re offering... i think i’d be more relaxed if you let my wrists go from that rope.” he tried to suggest, blue eyes looking at you again with a disguised pleading, as if he could actually convince you like that.

“you look better this way.” you grumbled, standing up and walking over to sit on the edge of your bed, his knee lightly brushing against you for a moment. “but, if you wanna leave, i’m not really stopping you. just say the word and we both pretend it never happened.”

“but, i don’t wanna pretend it didn't happen... and i don’t wanna leave either.” he wouldn't say it out loud, but secretly he thought you were kinda wimp. what? you just do all of it and brought him here to... well, nothing? no, no, he knew you could do better than that. “i want you to do what you wanna do, or have you bitten off more than you can chew? don’t tell me you’re that stupid, princess.”

for a man gagged in your bed, he sounded very confident and intimidating in every word. he wanted you to do it so badly, whatever the fuck you had in mind, 'cause it was turning him on to see you do this to him. “come on, you know you didn’t gagged me in your bed to let me leave.”

and, as expected, what he said had exactly the effect he wanted. in less than a minute, your legs were on either side of his hips, straddling him as he looked up at you with a smug little smirk, not caring about the darkness in your eyes. you looked hot like that, he didn't really care about the implications of fucking you without using his hands.

“you talk too much, cameron.”

“then, you should shut my mouth.”

the implication of his words had almost immediate consequences. you bent over him, hands on both sides of his head, pinning him even further into the mattress as you pressed your lips hard against his. there wasn't one percent of delicacy in that messy kiss, just hunger and desire and rafe noticed it, feeling his blood rush to his lower half.

he moaned softly against your lips as he returned the not-so-loving affection, letting your tongue invade his mouth as if he was completely at your mercy—and he, actually, was. not that rafe had ever agreed to be on the bottom very often, but if it ended with you riding him, then it was for a good cause.

when you had the urge to separate your lips from his, it was like being woken up from a trance, he didn't say anything and if his wrists weren't gagged, his hands would be saying something for him. he ran his tongue over his reddened lips, slightly swollen from the inner contact, as if he wanted to know if the remnants of your taste were still there.

“y’know,” rafe started talking after a few seconds, noticing how breathless you looked from just one kiss. it was kinda cute, he'd give you credit for that. “if i wasn’t gagged here, you’d already be face down in that pillow.” he said with such conviction that you had to roll your eyes, thrusting your hips down only to see his facade tremble at the small contact over your clothes.

“yeah, yeah, but you’re gagged and i’m on top.” you gave him a mocking smile, gently patting his cheek before grabbing his chin, making him look straight into your eyes. “and that’s a lose-lose, for you, not for me.”

“lose-lose? i don’t see it that way, sweetheart,” his blue eyes dropped downwards, indirectly giving you the message that it wasn't bad for him when you were the one straddling him in your bed on any given day. “i’m just wonderin’ when you’re actually gonna act beyond these boring little kisses and put that pussy to sit on somethin’.”

“you’re talking too much again, cameron.” you shook your head in disapproval, sighing deeply as you pretended to think about what you were going to do to him. “but, since you want me to do something and i want you to shut up...”

you let the words hang in the air as you got off his lap, standing in the corner taking off your shorts and panties quickly, but to rafe it looked more like you were doing it in slow motion. every second counted and he was already missing your weight against his lap.

kinda ironic... that he was so comfortable being gagged in the bed of a girl he must have seen less than five times in his life. but, rafe never thought straight and he wouldn't start doing that now. it was even pleasurable for him to know that you were obsessed with him to that point. you might have been in physical control, but you both knew better than that.

despite the tension, you were on top of him again. knees on the mattress, your hands holding onto the headboard, the best way to shut him up and he wasn't really complaining about it, in fact, this was exactly what he wanted from the moment he thought of the possibility. a devious smile formed on his lips, his tongue moistening them for a brief moment as you graced him with that sight. shit, he wanted to touch you so badly, but he'd have to do it only with his tongue for now.

his tongue slowly passed through your wet folds like a tease of power, you might be on top, but he had his share of power too and he'd make sure to remind you of that. “you taste so good, princess...” he smirked against your cunt, giving it a brief suck before running his tongue over it again, only to see your expression falter and a shiver run through your body. “like a fuckin’ lollipop, so sweet.”

you placed more of your weight on his face, closing your eyes gently as you rubbed your clit against the tip of his nose, feeling his tongue suck hungrily between your wet folds. “mmhm...” you allowed yourself to let out a moan, looking down as your hips rocked over his face, his blue eyes fixed on you, attentively wanting to see you break under the touch of his tongue. he didn't want to miss a single detail of it.

rafe's pants were tightening around his crotch, his thoughts were hazy and he could only think of one thing: you and the dirty little noises that escaped your throat. he wanted to hear each of those and he wanted to be the reason for them. no one else, just him and he hoped you had used your weird obsessive behavior to understand that he was possessive as hell.

but, you were going far, he could feel it, pressing yourself harder and harder against his face and suddenly, the sound of the rope coming loose. your eyes opened in confusion, still numb from the brief pleasure he gave you, only for you to notice his hands loose from the rope, his wrists not even red. “what...? how?” you whispered, looking between his wrists and his face between your legs.

then, he pushed you back, not too hard, just enough to make you fall back onto the mattress and get off of him. “y’know... you’re bad at tying ropes, really bad,” he grumbled, sitting down on the bed before using one of his hands to pull you closer, climbing on top of you with an even more sinister smirk than before. “but, that’s good, it means i can touch that pretty little body of yours now.”

rafe didn't want to wait for you to have any reaction to that, he already waited for too long pretending to really be gagged in your bed, he didn't give a damn if he should've waited a little longer, he got what he wanted.

he pinned you against him and the mattress, crashing his lips against yours as he kissed you violently, as if he was trying to mark you or, maybe, he just really wanted to mark you. his tongue didn't ask for entry, it just invaded your mouth, making you feel your own taste, exactly as he wanted.

“did you like to taste your own sweetness, baby?” he whispered against your lips, sucking your bottom lip before kissing you again. “guess i have to take care of you now, don’t i? you’ve been following me around like a good puppy... i think you deserve a reward.” he pulled away from your face a little, only for his hands to go towards your shirt, pulling it over your head.

on a normal day, he'd take more of his time with you, but not today. today he was a little too eager for this, today you wouldn't go unnoticed by him.

“so sweet...” his fingers caressed your belly before he moved his lips down your neck, making sure to press wet kisses against it before moving down a little further and lightly biting your collarbone. you heard the sound of one of his hands going down to his pants, undoing his belt without any difficulty, as if he had done it many times before, and he did.

pants and boxers on the floor, he was hovering over you with an expression of hunger and desire, one of his fingers running over your cunt, he wanted to feel with his fingers how wet and ready for him you were. he patted your thigh, a warning for you to open it wider for him. you looked so pretty like that that he even felt like sucking you again. but, no, this time he wanted to make you feel everything.

rafe bent over you again, lips against yours, a cheap deception only for him to thrust his fully hard cock inside you. you opened your legs wider in shock, but you didn't push him away, you just moaned painfully against the sudden impact and he liked it, he really liked the way you lost your composure when he had no mercy on your tight little pussy.

no niceties or "just the tip", you were a weirdo who stalked him and he'd give you exactly what you wanted when you drugged him and took him to your bed. the kind of fuck that would leave you sore for days, and when you forgot about the pain, then he'd fuck you again... and again... and again.

he lifted your body a little, holding your legs as he slammed relentlessly inside your tight cunt, his cock was having trouble getting all the way inside you, but he didn't really care, he'd make it fit. “what happened to all that attitude, pretty girl? where did that "lose-lose" go?” he went deeper, making you sink into the mattress as you tried to contain the loud moans that wanted to escape your mouth.

“no, no holdin’ back your little noises, i wanna hear ‘em all.” he roared, his hand letting go of one of your legs as he held your chin firmly. “and eyes on me. if you close them or hold back your moans, i’ll stop and you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

you couldn't say a single word, you just nodded, agreeing with what he was saying, even though you didn't know how long you could keep your eyes open. “good girl.” he released your chin, his hand trailing down your neck and collarbone until he reached your bra.

just fucking you could be enough, but it wasn't, not for a greedy man like him. he wanted more and your tits looked so inviting to his eyes, he wanted everything he could get of you. everyone knew, if he wanted it, he could get it. so, he didn't ask, he just pulled one of your tits out of the bra. his fingers pinching your swollen nipple and circling it as he stared at you, wondering if this would make you go further over the edge or not.

him being too big for you was already something, but rafe knew perfectly where to push your buttons and he'd make you tremble without needing much, he wanted to break you so you'd know better before you thought you could leave him in a position like that. your legs locked around his waist, just so he could go balls deep, feeling you squeezing him tighter and tighter as your tight walls clenched in pleasure.

“mmgmh, rafe, fuck...” you whimpered, biting your bottom lip hard as you looked down to see his rhythm. thrusts so rough that the bed began to creak and he had no intention of being discreet about how good and hard he was fucking that sweet pussy of yours. “rafe... i need to... i need to come...”

a mocking laugh came out of him as he slowly thrust inside you again, really much slower than before, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. “yeah, princess? you wanna come that fast? this pretty little cunt can’t handle such a big cock, can it?” he continued with the slow thrusts, like a tease that he was really enjoying doing.

“but, it’s okay... i said i’d take care of you.” rafe whispered, leaning over you again, his tongue flicking over your nipple that he had been pinching moments before. “then, come for me, princess, come while i suck your tit.”

his thrusts gradually increased again, making you see stars as he sucked on your nipple hungrily, his eyes flicking up to see your expression of pleasure. your loud moans and whimpers were music to his ears, like fuel that only motivated him to go deeper.

and when you got to the edge, by god, you squeezed him so hard and moaned like you were in heaven; and he enjoyed every second of it, pressing himself against you as he felt your legs tremble for him. “you did so well for me...” he licked your nipple once more before moving kisses up to your neck. “but, we still have one thing before we finish... and you’re gonna be a good girl and do it.”

“what? what’s left?” you mumbled, tired and breathless, your legs still shaking as he grabbed your body and made you sit on the bed. not understanding what he meant when you noticed him standing up, right next to you.

“come here ’n open your mouth, i’ll show you.” it wasn't a request, it almost sounded like an order, if you didn't do it he’d make you do it anyway. “open wide.” he said again as you sat on the edge of the bed, right in front of him. one of his hands gripped the back of your head, while the other gripped his still hardened length, positioning it in front of your lips.

your eyes widened a little, but you looked up to meet rafe's gaze and he looked very confident about what he was doing. “no hands, i just need your little mouth, pretty girl.” he definitely wasn't expecting you to nod, he just shoved his cock into your mouth and waited for you to do what he wanted. “mmh, yeah, just like that...” he smirked, satisfied with your work, moving his hips back and forth, not caring if you could handle everything he put inside that sweet mouth.

he, in turn, didn't need much either, you had already given enough of a show for him to feel his balls full, he just needed a little more, your lips around his cock would solve the problem. “that got you so far, didn’t it? this stalker thing, you’re exactly where you wanna be, aren’t you? with my cock hitting your throat, so pretty.” he moaned, using his dirty words to motivate you to swallow him all the way down.

his moans started to become more frequent, he stopped moving his hips, using your head as if you were a doll, back and forth quickly, choking you, he was slowly reaching his limit and the sight really helped with that.

rafe knew he wouldn't last longer than that, he was exhausted, panting, letting out long gasps every time he sank the tip of his cock into your throat. he needed to come. so, he did it. “stay there... that’s it... stop.” he gasped once more, thrusting himself deep into the wet heat of your mouth, his length twitching as he began to spurt hot streams into the back of your throat. “fuck... fuck... mhmm.”

he didn't move his head, not until he was one hundred percent satisfied, not until you had swallowed every little drop of him.

and when it was over, you were a complete mess, falling back on your bed, dealing with the intense aftermath of what rafe gave you. he joined you at your side, as breathless as you were, not regretting a single microsecond of what had happened between you. “next time you wanna do this, remember to tie me tightly to the headboard, princess,” he suggested, lying on his back to face the ceiling like you. “just call me and i’ll bring the rope.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you'll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don't use my work without my consent.

[onlyquinns]

ONE WAY TO WAKE UP, c. keller

pairing: clayton keller x fem!reader, smut—mdni!

content: clay’s home for the four nations break and you can’t help but wake him up with a fun surprise, somnophilia (you wake him up with a blowjob), could be seen as non-con since there’s no actual conversation about consent written in the fic

notes: i literally couldn’t help myself from writing about this man after all of the kells stuff on @wannabehockeygf ‘s blog. check out her blog if you haven’t because PHEW 😵‍💫 her work is literally amazing 😮‍💨 also this is the first time i’ve written smut so it’s very tame; please be kind

sunlight pours through the open blinds, waking you with a poorly placed beam into the eye. clayton is still asleep next to you, laid flat on his back with one arm sprawled across his bare stomach and his other laid horizontally next to him from letting you lay your head on it through the night. his chest rises and falls with steady breaths, the cross on his chain tucked into his collarbones. it doesn’t matter that he’s nearly naked next to you, his apartment far too high up for anyone to see through the windows.

he looks serene like this—you never get to see him asleep, not when he’s constantly awake before you are to make morning skate. but having him home for a week for four nations is nice.

you want to let him rest but something in your lower stomach curls, suddenly needy and hungry for his sleep-laden groans and soft touch.

you pull the soft comforter off your body and make your way to clay, lifting yourself to carefully straddle his upper thighs. your hands trail lightly across his body, starting from his waist to his hips and thighs before trailing back up to his hips. he lets out a gravelly groan—a purr of your name—and shifts just slightly in his sleep that your body stills until he settles.

he’s hard in his boxers, the black fabric tented and nearly able to hide the slight twitch of his dick as you press your fingertips into his hip bone. your mouth waters at the sight, other hand falling to the elastic waistband to pull him free.

his hard cock comes free, curving toward his abdomen, a little bead of precum pooling at the tip. you run your thumb over the tip, smearing the little bead along your finger and reveling in the soft hitch of clayton’s breath. you bring your thumb to your parted lips and suck, the taste of him heady and coating your tongue.

when you finally wrap your lips around clay, you have to fight back the urge to hum, digging your fingers a little harder into his hip. your thumb traces aimless shapes along the sharp angle of his hipbone, soothing your own thoughts as you move your tongue over his slit—the small action causes him to stir again, his pretty lips parting in a gentle huff.

by the time your nose brushes his pubic hair, curly brown strands tickling, you’re unable to fight back your own hungry thoughts. your movements are faster than before, still somewhat slower than usual to hopefully keep him from waking, as you bob your head up and down. clay lets out a groan and his body all but jerks underneath you, his large palm flying to your head and tangling itself in your hair as if its second nature—and maybe it is.

tears pool along your waterline as you settle your hollowed cheeks at the base of him, once again peering up at his face only to find him awake this time.

sleep clouds clayton’s features as he grins, his blue eyes glinting darkly. “that’s one way to wake me up,” he rumbles, voice thick and sweet like molasses. “didn’t tell you to stop, now did i, pretty girl?” his grin is wolfish and the sound you accidentally let out around him makes him groan deep in the back of his throat.

you move your mouth up and down the length of him again, savoring the way clayton’s head tips backwards onto the now propped up pillow behind him. his lips part and he groans, sound deep and still intensely gravelly.

“fuck, baby,” he moans out, fingers tightening in your hair but never pressing you further down. his other arm comes up to cover his eyes, blocking the golden sunlight that halos his hair. “feels so good like this—love waking up like this.”

pride burns bright in your chest at his praise, making your movements quicker and your fingers press harder into his hip. he jerks involuntarily upwards and quickly apologizes.

“sorry, sweet girl,” he rumbles, moving his calloused fingers to your other hand and lacing them together. “jus’ feels s’good.” his hand squeezes yours, thumb running along your soft skin.

you refuse to let up, tongue sliding against the underside of his cock and tracing the thick vein that lays there. clay moans as you suck, the tip of him knocking into the back of your throat. without warning, he presses his hips upward and cums, the salty taste of him coating your tongue. you pull off him and grin up at him, making a show of swallowing and showing him your empty mouth.

clayton groans, “fuck, baby, you’re so good for me,” he murmurs and pulls you atop his chest, palms smoothing down the curve of your ass. “what should i do with you, hm?”

you bat your lashes, fingers toying with the cross tucked into the hollow of his throat. “i can think of a few things,” you tease, ducking your head to brush your lips to his neck just below the cross and its silver chain.

he lets out a soft breath at the sensation and his hands squeeze firmly on the skin just below your ass, “share your thoughts with me—keep me in the loop, yeah?” clayton says, his words rumbling in his throat and against your soft lips.

you grin into his soft skin, basking in his warm body and the scent of his body wash, knowing you’ve just booked out your entire day—but you definitely wouldn’t have it any other way.

all photos from pinterest

[osamucide]

⊹ THE FIRST TASTE

LET IT BEGIN, HEAVEN CANNOT WAIT FOREVER . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~3.6k

cw: NSFW CONTENT—MDNI (I BLOCK AGELESS+BLANK BLOGS), ada+masc!reader, reader has a tongue piercing, pet names (pretty boy and cutie for u), romantic and sexual tension, established flirtationship->new relationship?, a lil alcohol, making out, oral fixation/finger sucking, oral sex (Dazai receiving), cum eating (Dazai lol), patheticzai makes a spectacle of your shyness even though he can't just ask for what he wants good thing u have telepathy with him /j

reid: trade w my sweet friend @rossithepixie / @selfindulgentpixies who masterminded some beautiful osareid art for me <3 (if u havent seen it yet dw i will be reblogging it a million more times but also check out rossi's work neow cause he's super talented). thank you for trusting me with this rossi—it was such a blast to do a little lovesick dazai desperately chasing ur cute lil self into a corner (i listened to fiona apple's song with the same title a lot while i wrote this—is it obvious? lol). i hope u enjoy so much <3

It’s a cute little habit of yours. Unconscious, he knows, but that makes it no less cute. No less dangerous. 

Everyone notices you do it—Atsushi pointed out the jewelry poking from your mouth with awe when he first caught you fidgeting with it (“People can have piercings there? That’s so cool”)—but Osamu highly doubts anyone finds it nearly as charming, as endearing as he himself does. After all, he’s the one consistently wheeling over next to you on his chair to fold his arms under his chin on your desk and admire you unashamedly while you tie a loose end around a sentence in whatever report you’re writing before even thinking about turning your attention to him. 

So diligent. 

That’s another cute thing about you. You've been a star worker, really, since you started. In the months since you got hired, your reports have been nothing but thorough and on time; even your first steps into fieldwork as a detective have been spotless, practiced, as if you already know this work like the back of your hand. You’re personable yet serious, easygoing and dedicated all at the same time, continually proving your worth as a voice of reason and contribution around the meeting table as well as a supportive, kind, all-around more than pleasant coworker on and off of crime scenes. Not to mention, your ability’s nothing to scoff at.

You’re a true asset to the Armed Detective Agency. 

Which is why Kunikida’s glaring Osamu down again, threatening him silently with an HR department that unfortunately doesn’t exist—because, yes, you are for all intents and purposes perfect for this workplace and the blond man will simply not have you driven off by his partner’s insufferable tendencies. 

Even Kunikida’s wrath, however, is scarcely known to deter Osamu Dazai, and that is why, when he notices you doing it again—toying with the metal bar through your tongue in an absentminded display of your oh-so-coveted concentration on and application to your task, he scoots himself right over, rowing on his heels, brushing admonishing stares like he might dust off his shoulder and settling next to you, chin in his palm, feet knocking into yours beneath your desk. 

As expected, you don’t turn to him immediately. All the better. Gives him a few seconds more to admire you, your parted lips, the glint of the metal and your pretty teeth against the natural light streaming into the office on this lovely day, made all the lovelier by the vision of your adorable expression.

But when you do, it’s melt-worthy. 

“Hi, Osamu,” you mumble, turning your eyes to him and tucking your tongue back in to offer him that sweet but aware, workplace-appropriate smile that makes him grin even further. You’d have to be naive not to know he wants to strip you of that professionalism, but you make sure to give him time of day in only the most graceful way when you’re both at the office; for as charming as he is, and for as much as you must shyly admit you find him endearing just the same, you don’t turn a blind eye to his cunning nature. 

And like so many things, it’s a bit of a game that he enjoys—seeing what he can do to crack that competence of yours. 

But today he’s restless, so he punches low from the jump. 

“Hi, pretty boy,” he purrs, gaze searing into you. Signature. 

And just like he hopes, your brow raises and you look away, pursing your lips to mask your reaction to his antics. He usually toys with you a little longer before he brandishes the pet name he knows all too well gets your cheeks glowing pink in an instant—and that’s exactly what they do. Your coyness can’t hide that. 

“Eager today, are we?” you fill the silence with the lighthearted accusation, busying yourself on your keyboard so as to fight off the squirming you’re sensing will be futile to escape this afternoon.

“Yup.” When he pops the p, he nudges your ankle with his own. 

But in your busying, the tip of your tongue flicks out again, and Osamu’s seemingly-aimless display of fluster-inducing attention surges toward its goal, which he’s been contemplating for a few days now, actually: getting you out of this stuffy office (or the all-too public nearby bar you’ve started frequenting with him after hours, strictly as friends it seems—if friends tangle their fingers together after a few cocktails and then don’t make mention of it the next day, anyway) and into his dorm, which he actually tidied up because he calculated with most near-certainty there couldn’t possibly exist a world in which you’d turn down such an invitation. So he hopes, anyway. For as player as he acts, the way you make him feel sows seeds of doubt in him and his usual methods of seduction. You know full well how sincerely captivated he is by you… right? You must. You have to. 

“You know,” he continues, “I was wondering…” 

Mincing his words is never part of his plans. Unless, of course, it’ll draw a desired outcome closer than being direct will. But now, Osamu finds himself almost hesitating, with no prior inclination to do so; he’s wondering, not thinking, like he seems to do so much when you’re near him, and he doesn't know if you fully realize it, but you might have more control over… whatever this is between you than he does.

You tilt your head, still turned to your screen, as if it begins to occur to you. 

“...Drinks at my place?” he spits out—pointedly dropping the “double suicide?” intonation so it’s clear he’s serious—before he can give any more indication that he’s slipping.

When you look to him again, Osamu’s filled the space of his doubt with that low-lidded grin once more.

“Tonight?” 

“Tonight? Oh—” You clear your throat in a way that sounds oddly affirmative, as if you’re trying to keep it from bubbling out too soon. You’re so assured in everything else you do around here, so Osamu, ever the contrarian, regains his balance on the premise of your shyness. When you go to confirm, you’ve all but lost your teasing lilt. The flush on your face doesn’t miss him. “Yeah, that’d be nice, Osamu.” 

Nice. If he didn’t have an image to upkeep, he’d leap up and fistpump the air like a cartoon character. Perhaps, if he were more in tune with his hand-to-god emotions, he’d crumble to the floor in a ball wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into.

He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t clean his dorm, much less invite romantic prospects over to it. You’re new territory in the way he feels freshly determined not to mess up, so he keeps himself composed behind that smile. “When are you out of here?” 

“I can be out of here whenever you’re out of here,” you mumble, your lips pressed into a smirk you won’t let unfurl fully. He wishes you would. He’ll get you to. If he had it his way, he’d whisk you out of here now, clock be damned, and pop open that red dessert wine he picked up specifically for the event in which you would land on his uncomfortable little couch with your tongue lingering in, hopefully, closer proximity to his own. He’s seen you tipsy; you don’t suppress that air of sheepish enthrallment so much when you are, and he’s impatient for it. He needs more of you.

But it’s three in the afternoon, and Kunikida’s abruptly dragging Osamu by the collar of his shirt like a puppy on a leash to roll him back over to his own damn desk, muttering something about how if he had any decency he’d leave you the hell alone and if he wasn’t going to contribute anything of worth to the Agency’s productivity yield, the least he could do was not disturb those who are. 

This makes you chuckle fully as you shake your head. Osamu eats it up—and he doesn’t hide it, eyeing you with something most akin to yearning in his gaze. You have such an effortless knack for putting hearts in his eyes in a way he’s not used to. 

The rest of his shift dawdles by; as a way to pass the time, Osamu volunteers himself to run out and pick up the Thai takeout for those who will be clocking out later than he hopes he will. Kunikida so graciously (read: reluctantly and irritatedly) let him order on his card, so he claimed it as repayment; really, he needed to get out of his desk chair. 

He feels insane watching you play with that piercing of yours, his stack of unfinished reports (or, pre-construction paper planes) serving as no distraction. 

He delivers your spring rolls to you with a wink. He eats his pad thai and fools around on his desktop. He watches the sun streak down the window.

He actually considers getting some work done. It’s nearly torture.

He gets up to leave the second the clock strikes eight. If he was bad at focusing on work before, you’ve ruined him. 

The implication’s all too clear when you’re stepping into the evening air behind him. You don’t mind—it’s evident in your reserved but knowing smile, the one he so terribly wants to unravel. 

His place is threadbare, but cozy. You curl yourself up on one of the two couch cushions while Osamu sets two empty glasses and a bottle on the low table before you—he’s eager, too, for the wine; he’s aching to dispel both your timidity and his anxiety that it feeds. Maybe it’s just that he can’t seem to handle himself positively spiraling over you while you remain enchantingly reticent, quiet in the desire he knows flows between you both. Usually, he’s the one with all the self-control. Tonight he’s counting on you missing the tremble in his fingers as he pours. 

“Kunikida’s such a hardass, isn’t he?” he muses while he tucks a glass into your hand and draws himself up onto the couch, facing you, leaving a respectful but still considerably involved distance between you. Your knee almost touches his. “Berating me for something as little as asking such a cutie to come over for drinks. It’d be more criminal not to, I think.” 

You chuckle at his dramatics, taking a sip. It’s sweet, red. You remind him, “We are coworkers, Osamu.” 

He cocks his head, drinking deeper than you do, with a thoughtful look on his gorgeous face. He hums and reminds you, “We’re not just coworkers.” 

Your chuckle becomes a giggle—one less dubious than the short, amused headshakes you save for the office—and with your next question, he knows he’s pulling you in. You’ve been dancing around each other long enough; he’s warm, trying not to overflow when you speak—you finally sound ready to acknowledge what’s been turning him into a mess for you when you hum and press skittishly. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

“What else are we then, hm?” 

Your bashfulness reads so seamlessly as effortless wooing—he wonders if you’re so purely humble, or actually a mastermind of coquetry. The way you keep yourself veiled, thinly enough to keep him pining for more of you but staunchly too so that he constantly doubts whether the cat or the mouse has the upper hand, turns him to mush—absolute pathetic mush—and he answers a question with a question. You’ve got him going against all sorts of personal philosophy. 

“What else do you wanna be?” 

The answer gets lost between shifting hands, closing space, conversation and jokes that relax further and further as you both stabilize into one another over the following hour or so. A couple more glasses of wine are poured, drank, tasted—at some point in the blackening night you end up astride his lap in the dim lamplight with your glass in triumphant hand, tucking his hair behind his ear while he cups your face, simpers out another remark that makes you blush and wave him away; Osamu looks at you with something you can only construe through your buzz as pure want. Coming down from laughter that screws your eyes shut—he’s never short on humor, which is one of the things you think you love—love? about him, you say it aloud, tell him you do in fact love that about him and if he was all pure want a moment before, now he’s pure shock. 

But he plays it off in his way; you watch the intricate way he takes no more than a half-second to collect himself, just tipsy enough to get snagged on the words love that about you that the half-second seems a feature-length film to you—one you would watch over, over, over again. 

Osamu slides four fingers on one side of your jaw, thumb on the other—holding your chin gently but firmly in place so he can bore like fire into you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, half sincere, half flirtatious. Your gaze scatters momentarily beneath his; you take a second, copy his recovery.  

You hesitate before you say, “I think I have some idea,” fully sincere, fully flirtatious. When you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth—not an unconscious habit but an intentional move in this game—he thinks this is what middle school boys must feel like the first time they get close to their crush. It sickens him so sweetly, like he’s swallowed a lump of sugar. He wants more. 

Your breath coils around his between your noses, between your mouths. The wine in your glass sloshes and settles.  

“Can I tell you what drives me crazy?” he breathes. 

You nod like you’ve been waiting lifetimes to know. 

He answers not with words but a touch to your lip—a stroke back and forth that leaves you parting for him. He leaves feather-light fingerprints on the sharp of your front teeth, pushing, slowly, forward until the hot muscle in your mouth cradles his thumb and he’s touching that devil-sent piercing of yours, the ball all at once cool and warm as it twirls to evade him.

“This,” he whispers, chasing the metal back and forth. “This drives me crazy.” 

You don’t respond with anything but suction, a soft bob of your head like you understand, and a hmm.

Osamu thinks he might implode beneath you. 

His attention has hardly ever felt so streamlined as when you search his face, circle his thumb, wet it for him to retract and drag down your chin while you draw your brow together like you miss it—his eyes are all yours, wide and waiting and holding the answers to all the questions drifting around, surrounding both of you. 

The kiss is searing as he pulls you into him—or, hardly has to, rather, as your eyes flutter shut and you lean to meet him, five of your fingers matching his grip but on his shoulder while you suffocate that mingled breath so it becomes mingled spit, mingled tongues. He worms himself past your lips, into you—he almost moans when the tip of his own tongue brushes across the jewelry sitting on the pad of your tongue like a pearl in an oyster. He’s finally cracking you open. It makes him smile wickedly into you. 

Your arms locking around his neck leave him rolling into you hotly, asking for you with anything but words which escape him again now—so uncharacteristic, but he’s lucky you’re both too entangled to notice, for words aren’t necessary right now; he’s ushering your wine glass out of your hand, setting his, too, onto the table so you can wind your fingers in his hair and tug, prompting the sweetest gasps that you echo back into him while he guides your hips across him. The fervor either of you holds is indistinguishable from the other; you grind, he grips you, the harder he grips you the harder you grind and vice versa until he’s biting down the column of your neck toward absolution. 

He mutters your name through an umph; you pick his lips back up the second he goes for air, and he goes for your tongue. When you pull back to observe him, mirroring you in kiss-puffiness and staccato breath, he’s wild between your eyes and your lips. 

“That’s all for you,” he tells you when he grabs your wrist and guides you to palm his cock before you hit him with another question for the ages—one that will not receive a verbal answer but a noise from his throat he swears he’s never heard himself make before.

“Wanna feel it?” 

God, has he ever wanted anything more in his life? The erection he’s built up just from kissing you, moving you against him, is all the evidence either of you need. 

Regardless, Osamu’s nodding fervently, chocolate locks swaying. 

So, you take your turn kissing down him until you’re pooled at his feet, between his knees, with devoted fingers undoing the button on his pants; the task at hand, so sweetly and circularly, has your tongue poking out in concentration as you work his waistband down. Osamu twitches at the sight—he doesn’t mean to mutter you’re so fucking adorable but he does, he does. It’s your turn to grin wickedly as you take his cock out, your turn to tease with your thumb on his drooling tip, your turn to explore with your mouth. 

You’ve had the reins all this time, really—from the first day you sat at your desk, making that attentive face. He must be the luckiest sucker in the world to have ended up here, with your shining eyes watching him fall apart as your honeyed lips guide him toward sweet devastation. 

The first stripe you lick up his underside sends Osamu’s head flying back, jaw falling slack on the end of a breathy “fuck!”

And he feels every stride of your tongue piercing when you wrap your lips around his tip and swirl. 

The sounds you draw from Osamu’s open mouth are like song; diligent in this task as you are every other one, it’s hardly a minute before he’s tangling his fingers in your hair, crooning your name between broken praises that come naturally as you hold him, lick him, look up at him with eyes that he thinks could turn him to stone—if only you had been evil, that is, but realistically, you can’t be anything other than an angel. 

“Pretty boy, you—” 

At that name, you groan. Take him further. 

And through how good it feels, he laughs. 

“Oh, you like that? Huh?” He could pull you off him if he wanted a response, but you’re too heavenly to interrupt—anyway, he already knows how you feel about pretty boy. 

You hum around him—another sensation that sends him reeling with oh, god on his lips. 

“That’s it… Feels s’good on me. Unh—yeah, like that…” 

Indirectivity and grandeur has always been something Osamu considers himself a professional in—everything you do throws him for a loop and the way you bob up and down does him no favors. He whines in the way he does when he’s already going to finish all too quickly, but the fact that it’s you bringing him to his end—his cute coworker he’s been pining after since your first day on the job, the one that’s inspired such foreign feelings of wonder in his long-gone-cold heart—has him unreservedly bucking his hips into your mouth as you rake your nails down his thighs, ardent in this undertaking, bobbing frantically like all you’ve ever wanted was to have him noisy and messy underneath you like this. 

“‘m gonna—oh, fuck!” 

But he doesn’t have to tell you; you feel him, spasming on your tongue against the otherworldly friction your jewelry provides—his true downfall, that thing, and the image of you formed around it—you pursue his climax like a predator pursuing prey, pulling away to give him that false sense of security as you rise to your feet, pounce back over him and kiss him so intensely while you handle him, jerk him to orgasm between your bodies; Osamu’s hoarse, aching as he humps the hole you make with your fist and chants yes, yes, yes, please! into your mouth, tasting metal, never wanting it to leave.

He settles into soft panting as you draw your fingers up; he’s beginning to speak— “You’re so—” but you’re cutting him off so he can suck your fingers, taste himself and the way you’ve shattered him so beautifully. And he does, he laps like a man possessed, obsessed with the flavor of himself if only it’s leaving your skin, before you let him continue. “You’re incredible. You and that piercing.” 

You huff out a laugh, but it’s true. He’s convinced you’re a dream in every sense of the word—how did he get so lucky, no—how did the earth get so lucky to have you dropped upon it, right here in Yokohama, doing such scandalous things with that godly mouth of yours? 

“I try,” you quip with a half-shrug, smiling softly, kissing him just so. 

“Do you, now?” Osamu Dazai, who so often loses those good things before he can really grasp them, takes note of another new sensation—unwavering resolve, in the amorous sense—and concludes that if he can help it, this dream will not slip away so quickly. He can’t possibly send you back up to heaven.

He grabs your hips, pulls you onto him. 

Everything you are—all hard working, handsome face, sweet disposition, and tongue ring—he’s wanted it for so long; it would be nonsensical, a tragedy, to let the same evening air you stumbled in on steal you away again.

This is a dilemma he doesn’t have a solution to; not immediately. 

But he speaks anyway, smirking and toying with the button on your pants, overwhelming your frame to put your back to the cushions—turn you into a mess for him.

“Your turn, pretty boy.” 

[just-a-random-nerd]

I think the thing that sucks the most is that Chelliax exists. That setup is present in this world as much as its fundamental roots will permit it, and one of the defining characteristics of demon cults is that they are fundamentally cosmologically incapable of ever doing that themselves. And there's a bunch of genuine reasons why you might want to live there, and many of the reasons you wouldn't are deliberately obscured to get people in and then make it harder for them to leave. I also kind of hate how every single demon cultist is very consistently and deliberately written and characterized as an idiot. It's the easiest way to reconcile the fact that being a demon cultist is an obviously terrible choice with no reason to ever do it with the fact that it's a thing the game needs in order to function, but it also makes it harder for Ember's plotline to stick the landing when the games writing does not extend these people as much grace as she does.

anyways i have just been thinking so much about pf:wotr which i think is genuinely held back so much as a narrative by attempting to tell serious and meaningful stories while being handcuffed to the pathfinder cosmology and its cartoon nonsense morality

[moregraceful]

one take that is also going to make me a huge asshole is that persistent fandom thoroughline of, the author has disclosed that it's their first fic or if it's one of the first works on their page, so it's probably not very good or worth reading so ignore? which pisses me the FUCK off

when i was ten i posted a work on a stargate sg1 archive. in it i said i was ten and it was my first fanfic. there is NO WAY this was a good piece of fiction. first of all, i was ten. second of all, i was ten. i just wanted to share my work. and this was in the days of self-hosted archives right? so there was no comment section, people had to email you feedback directly. so i put in my little aol email address and had no concept of receiving feedback bc i was, again, ten years old.

and i got one single email about it, from a married couple. they told me they read my fic together and they really enjoyed it and they hoped i would write more because they liked my fic so much.

i cannot overstate enough that this was the work of a TEN YEAR OLD. i doubt it was readable. it certainly wasn't good. and i think that feedback sustained me all the way through high school and kept writing EVERYTHING fic, poetry, creative nonfiction EVERYTHING and kept me trying to be part of creative fandom communities online for decades after that. because one couple were kind enough to be like, let's encourage the kid.

and i think about that a lot when we talk disparagingly about works that are not very good? like idk maybe because i read pretty widely within my fandoms and tend to read mostly rarepairs, but i am always in those trenches experiencing baffling characterization issues and strange pacing issues and awkwardly written prose and basically every sin imaginable that has people turning up their noses. but there is always always always something interesting in it, or the spark of something good, or something in it showing that the author is trying to convey something important to them. i don't really think it's fair to say, well, it's the author's first work so we're just going to ignore it entirely. that's not how fandom works!!!! it just sucks so bad to me that people will dismiss works completely out of hand just because it's someone first work. how are we supposed to grow and maintain a community if we don't welcome new people into it??

[ekingston]

the gay fanfic problem: he sees him. For a moment i thought it was going to be about the lack of 'she sees her'. But no. Typical.

you said that there's good ways to work around the 'actual' problem he mentions, and now that you've mentioned it, i don't think i've ever been confused reading your fics who's doing what! Do you have any tips or advice you could share :)?

xxx adoring reader and wannabe writer

GRAND, EXCELLENT compliment for a writer who adores not only sapphic love scenes (of which I agree there SHOULD be more) but also group dialogue and very, very long sentences. I'm going to be insufferable about this one for DAYS.

And speaking of being insufferable: I do have tips! As always, grain of salt, etc. I may know the rules but I really enjoy breaking them, and I'm sure I've done it in ways that have annoyed some readers.

Which makes for a decent segue to my first (and most important) tip: don’t be afraid to annoy your readers. Fanfiction is one of the least filtered forms of media. No one can keep us from writing (and, thanks to AO3’s user policies, sharing) whatever we want, however we want. We should take that seriously! If sprinkling your work with sparkly descriptors like ‘the ravenette’ makes you happy, you absolutely need to keep doing that! Also, let’s face it—if you share your work online, somebody at some point is not going to like it. You can’t appeal to everyone. Trying to is just going to suck every bit of joy out of this whole endeavour and ultimately burn you out. JUST WRITE IT THE WAY YOU WANT TO.

That being said, you asked for practical tips. I put them below the cut. Because I can never keep anything short, apparently.

1. When in doubt, just use your characters’ names. Even when you feel you’re overdoing it. You’d be surprised by how easily names blend into the background. My fics are full of instances where I use the same character’s name seven hundred times to make it clear who I’m talking about. You just didn’t notice! (Unfortunately you’re probably going to start to, now that I've pointed it out.)

2. This is an actual rule: pronouns (tend to) refer to the most recently mentioned character or noun.

This is why, instead of having to write

Lena winks at Kara. Kara blushes. Kara knocks over three glasses when Kara stares too long at Lena’s neckline

we can write

Lena winks at Kara. She blushes. She also knocks over three glasses while staring at Lena’s neckline

without making our readers wonder who we’re referring to. So that’s how I personally roll, unless:

an action requires emphasis;

it flows better with the rhythm of my prose;

I’ve started another paragraph, and there are multiple characters using the same pronouns in the scene;

there’s only one character in this scene, but I just realized I haven't said their name for, like, the third paragraph in a row.

3. Phrasing! There’s about a million different ways to structure a sentence or paragraph. Knowing how to shuffle words around is a skill that comes in particularly handy when two or more characters using the same pronouns are involved and you feel you’re drowning in a sea of ‘she’s.

Kara blushes when Lena winks at her. She also knocks over three glasses, staring hard at Lena’s neckline.

4. Strengthen your characters’ voices, mannerisms, moods and motivations.

If you know your characters well and you’ve done the work to make sure your readers know them too, we should be able to tell which one of them you’re talking about when describing a scene.

__ winks at __, smiling—pleased with herself—when __ blushes and promptly knocks over three glasses, her eyes glued to the neckline of __’s dress.

If you’ve sufficiently established their dynamic, your reader should be able to tell who is doing what from the context you created. This is also where writing a very close third person POV kind of feels like a cheat code: when your narrator's voice is the same as your main character’s, your reader will start unconsciously assuming you’re referring to your main character when you’re not specifying otherwise.

When you keep the above in mind, navigating additional characters is like learning how to braid with four, five, six etc. strands, it just gets easier every time, and things like

Lena looks at Kara. Nia sighs. Kara and Lena both look worried. Nia knows Kara still isn’t sure about Nia’s plan, and Lena doesn’t trust Nia’s instincts either. Nia can’t blame them. She is new to their world, and Kara and Lena haven’t had a chance to get to know Nia yet. “Please,” Nia says. She just needs a chance to prove to Lena and Kara that her instincts are usually correct.

can become

Nia huffs when Lena and Kara share a worried glance. “Please,” she insists, growing more agitated with every second that ticks by. She knows she hasn’t earned their trust yet. She knows she can’t count on Lena to come to her aid the way she would if this was her world. But she’s not going to change that by letting them call all of the shots. She needs this win, needs to help, needs to prove to them that her ‘instincts’ are—at least usually—correct.

A final note regarding descriptive nouns:

The reason I personally dislike when writers refer to characters by their hair color or job title is that it makes their characters sound like complete strangers to each other. In my opinion, Maura wouldn’t kiss the detective unless it’s an AU where they’ve just met during a kiss-in protest and Jane is a nameless woman with a badge. And if you’re making Lena shiver at the touch of the older woman’s hand, I’m picturing gray hair & the last person I’m going to think you’re referring to is Kara. Queen Rhea maybe, after the mask has come off and you’ve established that Lena feels she can no longer refer to her former business partner by the name she gave her because it too was likely a lie.

Anyway: unless it’s done as a gimmick or a joke (humor would be, like, its own entire book compared to the chapter that is this ask response), I personally use descriptive nouns only when they specify a relationship & come with a possessive adjective, like 'her sister', 'her girlfriend', 'her assistant'. These emphasize connection rather than alienation, which is what I feel happens when neutral terms are used to avoid referring to characters we're supposed to know by name.

FYI, did you know it used to be extremely common for femslash (F/F fanfiction, for those of you who never owned a walkman) to be written in second person POV, avoiding this issue entirely? The fact that these days it’s used almost exclusively for the self-insert genre is a tragedy. we used to be POETS. I cut my fanfiction teeth on second person POV and it will never not feel like home to me. All of my notes for YMHW were in second person, and I'm surprised some didn’t sneak into the final version.

[blacktofade]

I am quite new to Tumblr and while I know that this isn't what you usually post you are one of the only rpf writers that I actively know of and you seem to know the community so I thought I would just ask you

But no pressure to answer if you don't want to

I am writing a nsfw fanfic of rpf Arizona Dads but it is reader insert and I have no clue how to tag these types of things on Tumblr. (Ex Twitter-User here 😬) especially since that recent discourse I am just afraid of tagging stuff incorrectly but since my blog is entirely new I don't think anyone would see this, if I don't tag it, right?

I'm just a little confused and thought I would ask, really hope you don't mind

Hello darling anon!!!! Welcome to Tumblr! I'm actually thrilled you reached out to me with this question cause I'm like a broody chicken where I want to tuck everyone under my feathers and keep them safe!

Tagging for MCYT fandoms has been a learning curve for me, so you're definitely not alone in your confusion. The advice I give is just from personal experience, so I welcome anyone reading this to offer corrections if need be!

Also, when I say maintag, I mean it's a tag on a new post you've created. Adding tags on something you reblog doesn't put that post in the tags for others to see, it's just for personal organization on your blog. (I've had people get mad at me for reblogging something with a "maintag" and honestly they can suck my dick to the base. That's not how Tumblr works.)

So, from what I can tell, if it's NSFW content, don't maintag "hermitcraft" or any CCs/characters. For example, if you're posting a fic about giving Tango the big time sloppy head he deserves, don't tag it with "tangotek". You should instead use a tagging system for your own blog. In this case, you could use the tag "t.angotek". It will stop the post appearing in Tango's maintag, but would be easy to navigate on your own blog.

RPF is a whole other can of worms, cause people don't like if you tag that with "hermitshipping". I tend to use "hermitshipping rpf", and I haven't been yelled at so far LOL

Ship tags are much harder when you get into multiple pairing territory. I think in your case, I might just be tempted to use an "arizona dad" tag. Maybe run a search and check what kind of content is in that tag first and decide if you want your post to show up there.

Then because it's reader insert fic, I'd use "reader fic" and/or "reader insert fic" tags.

Basically, sharing NSFW RPF content in this fandom is impossible in the maintags, so basically no one will see it, like you said. It really sucks. If you want it to be found, the trick is to make friends with The Perverts of the fandom, cause we all just reblog posts amongst ourselves lmfao

Start following RPF friendly blogs, cause we're a pretty small community but everyone is VERY friendly and willing to boost content.

[caesariawritesstuff]

I WOULD LIKE A SINGLE ROSE 🌹 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE RIDDLER GETTING PEGGED 🛐🛐🛐FOR THE FIRST TIME 💋 and mayhaps a whiny side?👀

but yeah him getting pegged by the detective💕💕

Also you're my favorite author💕💕😊 keep slaying in your work💅✨️

And i hope you'll have a wonderful valentines 💕💕💐✨️🍓⭐️🍷‼️‼️❗️‼️❗️

Role Reversal

Summary: Edward and you decide to try something new.

Word Count: 3.7k

Content Warning: Pegging, fucking, cock sucking, NSFW

A/N: Ahh anon, I really hope you enjoy this and thank you for your kind words! I've ever written a pegging scene before, so this is a little out of my comfort zone, but I hope you enjoy!

“Are you sure about this?” you asked.

Edward stared at you for a long moment. The question was one you’d been asking consistently for weeks now – ever since the idea passed between you two one night while lying in bed together. You’d been scrolling through your phone, looking up ways to spice things up in the bedroom (not that there was anything lacking, Edward knew, but it never hurt to try new things to add variety to one’s life) when you came across the idea of pegging.

At first, Edward hadn’t thought much about it when you read it off the list of ways to spice things up in the bedroom, but something about the concept had made him…curious. He soon found himself looking into the sexual act on his own time, doing research, where he soon discovered that it could be a highly pleasurable act for the male participant, as well as a way to be quite vulnerable with one’s partner. Not that Edward particualry liked being vulnerable, but with you, well…he had found himself letting his walls down more often than not. Especially since you had allowed him the honor of having anal sex with you, Edward couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for him – which lead to him spiraling into watching several porn videos featuring the subject, which he, surprisingly, found himself quite turned on about. The very idea of surrendering control to another person, to allowing himself to be so open…it was a highly terrifying concept to him, but with you…well, he supposed there would be no other person he would allow such an intimate and vulnerable act with him.

And so, Edward had approached you with the idea one night over dinner. You’d stared at him like a deer in the headlights for a long moment, as if uncertain of what he was asking, before you shrugged and said, “I’ve never done it to someone before. But if you want to try, we can.”

He’d smirked at that, and soon found himself buying all the necessary equipment: lube, a harness for you, a strap on which he picked out: one that was beginner friendly and made of a silicone green color (because of course he had to go for green). He found a harness which would provide clitoral stimulation for you, as well, as he wanted to make sure this was just as pleasurable for you as it would be him. Edward wasn’t particularly worried; after all, his attraction for both men and women was there, even if he hadn’t leaned either way until he met you. But he’d made sure to pick out a strap on that was aesthetically pleasing to both your eyes, and you’d helped pick out one you thought the both of you would like. Edward couldn’t help but notice that you seemed particularly nervous about the whole thing, your eyes going downcast and a flush appearing on your cheeks whenever the two of you discussed how this would go. He knew you were quite open with your sexuality, but seeing you act so shy around doing this was fascinating to him – even if it meant he asked you the same question just as often.

“Are you sure, my dear?” he asked, staring at you from across the bed.

You looked down at the bed: at the array of new equipment that had arrived in the mail yesterday, laid out and on display for the both of you to inspect. Edward knew you’d done your own research, but still, he wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to.

Finally, you met his gaze again. “Yes, I’m sure. Are you?”

He nodded, smirking. “Quite sure, my dear.” His cock twitched, standing at attention in front of him, already leaking precum from the tip. His balls tightened against his skin, warm, veins throbbing along his shaft.

You glanced down at his hard on and smirked. The heavy swell of your breasts swayed as you moved around the bed, your nipples pert and at attention. Edward took in every inch of you: the dips and curves, the gentle sway to your hips as you walked towards him, the seductive look in your heavy-lidded eyes. The breath caught in his throat; he’d seen you naked a million times already, the image burned into his corneas, and yet it seemed he could never get enough of you. Every time he saw you naked, it was like the first time all over again. Excitement rumbled in his belly, his cock twitching again, as you neared him. Your hands snaked out, gently brushing against his forearms. He leaned down, capturing your lips in his own, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You tasted sweet, and a shiver ran down his spine. His cock pressed against your thigh, and his hands settled themselves on your waist, gripping tightly, digging his nails in as if he would never let you go again.

You sighed into his mouth as you tilted your head back, letting him continuing to glide his tongue against your own. He shuddered and ran his hands from your hips down to the slope of your ass, feeling the smooth skin on his fingertips. You shuddered against him, and Edward smirked, a delicious tingle creeping up his spine. His other hand came back around to tweak at your left nipple, pinching and pulling it, testing the heavy weight of you breast in his hand. You moaned lightly, arching your back further into him, before your own hands ran down his shoulders – down, down, down, until they reached his own hips. Edward held his breath as your long fingernails grazed against his sensitive skin, but soon, your hands were trailing along his backside, gently raking against his ass, and he shuddered at the sensation.

His smirk grew, his heart hammering against his ribcage, beating in time with your own as he kissed you deeper. His cock continued to pulsate with a furious need – but it wasn’t long before you dropped to your knees in front of him, taking his cock into your mouth. He groaned at the sensation of your smooth lips wrapping around his shaft, your tongue massaging along the head and glands of his penis. He tilted his head back, a soft gasp escaping his lips. Heat prickled along his skin and excitement pooled in his belly. Edward’s hands tangled themselves in your hair, twisting and pulling on the strands, as you swallowed him from base to tip; his cockhead hit the back of your throat and he groaned louder, a deep rumbling in his chest. But as you did, continuing to massage him with your tongue and mouth – he felt one of your hands snake behind him to his ass again, gently probing between his ass cheeks to probe at his tight entrance. Edward gasped at the sensation, at how sensitive his tight sphincter was, the sudden pleasurable sensation that traveled through his backside and down his thighs. You pulled away, saliva dripping from your mouth, as you snatched some lube off the side of the bed, opened it, and squirted some onto your finger. The clear substance coated your first few fingers, before you glanced up at him again, smirking, as your mouth swallowed him once more.

Edward groaned, his eyes fluttering closed, as he lost himself to the feeling of you working his cock with your mouth like magic. Your hand circled back around to his ass, and with one lubed-up finger, you probed at his back entrance. In the last few weeks, you’d done this a few times to help prepare him for this moment – and Edward sucked in a breath, helping himself relax, as you pushed one finger inside him. He hissed between his teeth at the pressure as your finger slowly slid in with ease. Within seconds, the pain began to subside, making room for the pleasure as you slowly slid your finger in and out of him. Pleasure surged through him as you stimulated his sensitive glands, and he groaned, his breath coming out in shallower pants. The combined pleasure of your mouth on his cock and finger in his ass was overwhelming, making him tremble, and his fingers tightened in your hair.

“…fuck,” he whispered, as stars danced behind his eyes.

Slowly, he felt a second finger at his tight entrance, and he gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw tight as you worked a second finger into him. He groaned at the sensation of his ass being stretched and filled – but the way your fingers moved inside of him quickly helped some of the tense, searing pain subside within moments. With two of your fingers inside of him now, he only felt another wave of intense pleasure bundle inside of him, different from the way your mouth sucked him off or how it felt when he was inside of you, but good, nonetheless.

Finally, after several minutes of working him with your mouth and fingers, you pulled away, gazing up at him with glistening eyes. Your cheeks were flushed, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth. He whined slightly as you pulled your fingers from his ass, and at the absence of your wonderfully pretty mouth sucking him off.

“Are you ready?” you asked him.

Edward hesitated; the question held so many implications. He trusted you, yes, of course he did – but this level of intimacy and vulnerability was one so far out of his own territory, that he found himself just a tad worried about how this was going to go. But he refused to show weakness, to back down from the challenge he had presented to you, and he smirked as he nodded, brushing his thumb along you mouth to wipe away a bit of the spittle on your lips.

“Of course, my dear,” he said.

You nodded and stood up, turning back to the bed. You snatched up the harness and quickly slipped into it, fastening it around yourself tightly in a way that was comfortable for you, and then secured the strap on to the base. Edward’s eyes dropped to the green dildo, a few inches long in length, with veins running throughout the shaft. His cock twitched at the sight, and excitement and nerves melded together in his belly. Seeing you standing there with a strap on hooked around yourself was quite a sight to behold, but he couldn’t help but notice the flush to your cheeks, the shyness in your gaze as you studied yourself with curiosity. Edward smirked, reaching down to give his cock a few strokes in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

“Well?” you said, turning to face him, gesturing to the bed.

Edward nodded, carefully laying down onto his stomach, on his hands and knees. He heard the squirting of lube again as you prepared yourself – but instead, he felt your fingers once more probing at his tight entrance. The first finger slid in with more ease this time, before you inserted a second finger. Edward hissed slightly at the pressure, gritting his teeth. But within seconds, pleasure replaced the pain. He arched his back slightly, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He grunted in response, his forehead falling onto the mattress. You inserted a second finger into his ass, curling them inside of him, and he groaned at the sensation. His cock brushed against the bed, but he refrained from touching himself. A moment later, he you probe his tight sphincter with a third finger, and he hissed again as he felt his asshole stretch open. The combined pressure and pleasure of your three fingers in his ass made him tense, made his insides bundle with pleasure and excitement. His cock throbbed, leaking precum, and he grinded his hips into the bed for some sense of relief.

“Ah-ah,” you said, and he could practically hear the smile in your voice. “Can’t control yourself, can you, Mr. Nigma?”’

“Be quiet,” he muttered, a rush of anger surging through his veins. Here he was, ass up, your fingers massaging his sensitive prostate, curling inside of him and making him squirm.

You laughed lightly, but after several more minutes, you pulled your fingers from him. “What’s wrong, Edward? Does it feel better than you expected?”

He was quiet for a moment while he considered your question. “Of course I knew it would feel good. You should be thrilled that I’m allowing you this honor.”

“Uh-huh,” you laughed again, but he glanced over his shoulder at you as he watched you grab the bottle of lube again. You squirted some onto your hand and rubbed it along the strap on until it was dripping. Using a little more, you slid your fingers back in between his ass cheeks and lubed him up. Edward shuddered, sucking in a breath, nerves tightening in his belly – until he felt the head of the strap on pressing against his ass.

“Are you ready?” you asked him.

“Just do it,” he muttered, unable to help the flush crawling up his throat.

And then, you pushed in. Edward clenched his jaw tight, his hands fisting around the bed sheets, the breath catching in his throat. The cockhead of the strap on was smooth and silken, and as you pushed, he felt his tight sphincter open slightly, enough to begin accepting the head – but it was bigger than your fingers, and a slight, searing pain trickled along his opening. He gritted his teeth and whined slightly at the intrusion.

You stopped your movements. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” he muttered again, refusing to back down. “I can take it.”

“I don’t think you can,” you said, and he swore he pictured your sneaky smile.

He scoffed out a laugh. “I think you’re treading on treacherous water, my dear.”

“Am I?” you asked – and you pushed in a little more.

He gasped again, feeling the head push farther into him. His knuckles turned white as he gripped tighter onto the bedsheets. “Fuck,” he whispered as another low whine escaped his lips.

You laughed again, one of your hands stroking his ass, fingernails raking against his skin. “Something wrong, Mr. Nigma? Or is this too much for you?”

Edward ground down on his teeth. “Nothing is ever “too much” for me. I can—”

You pushed in a little more, cutting him off. Edward gasped. His head slumped forward as sweat beaded on his brow, his insides aching at the continued intrusion, yet somehow giving way to a pleasure he’d never experienced before.

“You were saying?” you asked, your voice laced with a strange, authoritative tone.

Edward quirked a brow, sucking in a breath at the way your voice changed. “Are you enjoying this, my dear?” he asked.

“Are you?” you asked, pushing in even more, this time a little harder.

That elicited a low, strangle whine from his lips. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he cursed under his breath. The pressure was intense, and yet pleasurable, in a strange way he hadn’t predicted. He felt his tight sphincter open, stretching around the smooth, silken strap on. Your hands placed themselves on his waist, digging your nails in.

“…you little minx,” he whispered, a low laugh escaping his lips. “I think you are enjoying this. Enjoying that a man like me, the Riddler, is surrendering control to you—”

At that, you pushed in more, a little harder this time, cutting him off as another whine, a cry of surprise, escaped his lips. There was something about being in this position, so vulnerable and open and letting you have the control, was completely foreign to him. Sweat beaded across his skin, shimmering in the light, and he swallowed down another whine.

“…I think you like letting me have the control,” you whispered.

That made him laugh again. “As if,” he muttered. “You should be grateful you’re getting this honor of fucking me like this.”

“Oh, like this? you asked, and pushed even farther in.

Edward gasped, jerking back slightly at the even further intrusion, as the cockhead of the dildo hit a particualry sensitive spot inside of him. He shuddered at the sensation and his sweaty forehead fell onto the bed, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

“What was that?” you asked, thrusting your hips slightly.

He whined again. The pain and pleasure melded into a delicious sensation he’d never experienced before. The stretch of his asshole, combined with the way the fake cock stroked against his walls, made him see stars. The way it slicked in and out of his tight hole made another low groan escape his lips.

“You know exactly how this feels,” he whispered.

“Feel good, Mr. Nigma?” you asked.

“Y – yes,” he whispered, lower and more needy than he intended.

“You’re going to have to be louder than that, sir,” you said again – as you pushed in even more, a little harder this time, and he swore his eyes rolled back in his head. It was taking all his effort to keep himself propped up on his trembling hands and knees.

“…you should keep that pretty mouth of yours shut,” he whispered.

You laughed again, and he felt you the cock slide out of him – before sliding back in again, a little harder this time. The cockhead hit another spot, one that made his back arch further and he whined even louder. His cheeks flushed as an embarrassed heat crawled across his skin. Here you were, impaling his ass with a fake cock, laughing at him – and he was not only embarrassed but beyond aroused, too. His cock throbbed harder, desperate for relief.

“I’m all the way in,” you said after a moment. “Do you want me to fuck you, Edward?”

Your question made his skin tingle and a shiver creep down his spine. “Y-yes,” he whispered again, his voice low and needy.

“What was that?” you asked. As you spoke, you rocked your hips slightly. The fake cock brushed once more against his most sensitive spot, and he groaned.

“Yes!” he grumbled, whining. “Yes, please…”

“Please what?” you whispered now, your voice taking on a husky tone.

“Please…please fuck me, detective,” he gasped out, pressing his hips backwards.

“Good boy,” you said – and those two little words almost made him cum instantly. Your praise sent lighting through his skin. You’d never praised him like this before, and something about it ignited something deep and hidden within him.

He shuddered as you pulled back – and then entered him again. The sensation of the fake cock brushing against his move sensitive spot made another low, quiet whine escape his lips. White spots danced between his eyes, his hands tightening around the bedsheets – but you pulled back and thrust into him once again. First with shallow thrusts, each one making a soft gasp escape his lips. The pleasure was like nothing he’d ever experienced before, nothing he’d felt, and heat prickled along his skin. Soft gasps left his mouth with each thrust as you pulled back and entered him, over and over again. He gritted his teeth and grunted each time you entered him, your hands digging into his hips, nails biting into his flesh.

“Fuck…fuck,” he whispered, unable to stop the curses from slipping from his mouth. His cock continued to pulse with furious need, desperate for stimulation. It brushed against the blankets, and the combined sensation of you fucking his ass and the rubbing made him groan.

Your thrusts were shallow at first, more gentle, and he could hear your own steadied breaths with each time you thrust into him. Edward’s head tilted backwards as his eyes squeezed shut, and stars danced behind his eyelids. Pleasure continued to flicker and burst inside of him, each stroke of yours growing bolder, more desperate, as if you were enjoying this just as much. Being this vulnerable, letting you have such control over him…he couldn’t describe it, couldn’t explain how it felt to just let go and lose himself to the sensations.

“…fuck, detective,” he whispered again.

“You like this, Edward?” you asked, thrusting a little harder and deeper into him – eliciting a strangled cry of pleasure from him.

His cock pulsed again. Each thrust only made more whines and curses spill from his lips. His knuckles fisted tighter into the bed, turning white – but he couldn’t control himself anymore. The bundle of nerves continued inside of him, each time the fake cock stroked against his prostate, another low whine escaped him, trembling as he shook and sweat rolled down his back. The pleasure was intense and yet overwhelming, and it continued to grow inside of him, like a balloon swelling with water.

“Gonna cum, Edward?” you asked.

“Uh-huh…” he moaned, low and whiny, deep in his throat.

“Touch yourself,” you whispered. “Cum for me, Edward.”

That was just the permission he needed. He reached in between his legs and grabbed his cock, wrapping his long fingers around the shaft, and he stroked rapidly, desperately – but all he needed was just a few strokes before that balloon of pleasure inside of him popped – and he came with a strangled cry. His cock pulsed as cum burst from the tip, soaking the bed sheets underneath him, his whole body quaking as you thrust even faster into him, helping him ride out his orgasm. His entire body tensed as he saw fireworks, and another curse escaped his lips – before his body collapsed onto the bed, sticky cum coating his stomach, pooled underneath him.

Your thrusts slowed, before coming to a stop entirely. Edward remained quiet as his body continued to pulse with pleasurable warmth, before you pulled out of him. The sudden emptiness of his asshole made him shudder, even though he felt the slick lube in between his ass cheeks. He sucked in breaths, trying to control himself, but he felt your hands on his back, nails stroking against him as you leaned over his body, your lips grazing the back of his neck.

“Good boy, Edward,” you whispered, kissing his cheek. “You did so well.”

“You be quiet,” he muttered again. “It’s an honor you get to see me like this.”

“Like what?” you laughed lightly. “Thoroughly fucked?”

He smirked, staring at you with heavy lidded eyes. “You know I’m going to pay you back for this, don’t you, my dear?”

You smirked back. “I’m counting on it.” And you pressed your lips to his.

[shepherds-of-haven]

I realized I've been enjoying and making fanart of Shepherds but I've never told you, the creator, how much I enjoy it! You've mentioned you've been writing in Blest since you were a teen and you can tell that you've been working with it for so long with how lived in it feels. I find the characters wonderful and believable, and I really enjoy your prose so I find myself getting sucked in when i re-read. I really wasn't expecting to get SO sucked in when I picked up shoh again last year but I'm glad I did. I always look forward to reading updates and the side stories (i love watching the characters interact without the MC there) when I can sub to your patreon, and am looking forward to everything ahead of this. I also really admire how you have stuck with this project for so long and that you still seem to have enthusiasm for it- I think it can really rub off on people, it does for me at least. Sorry this got a little rambly (it is very late here) but I wanted to thank you for sharing shepherds of haven with us! <3

Ahhh thank you so much, this is late but I was so incredibly pleased to receive this message, you have no idea! 🥹🫶 I truly appreciate it, it's so kind of you to pass such lovely words of encouragement along as well as supporting the game on Patreon! I also always adore seeing the content and fanart you post on behalf of Shepherds, so thank you for your contributions to the ShoH community, because it's always a bright spot in my day to see them! 💖 Thank you for everything, it's readers like you and messages like this that keep me motivated!

[utilitycaster]

This is related to last reblog but can I just say that I think Matt, while good at most other aspects of storytelling, just isn’t that good at writing compelling villains? And before you go point at the Briarwoods or Trent, remember these villains were co-written by the players who created them as part of their PC’s backstories, as were Lucien and Uk’otoa. Matt’s track record with villains is otherwise pretty lackluster, with Raishan being his only real standout example.

I actually completely disagree. I think first and most of all, the idea that co-writing doesn't count is a complete misunderstanding of the process of collaboration. Writing a compelling villain with someone else's initial concept is simply taking a writing prompt, and doing so as a DM, where the entire point is to create a world your characters care about is in fact precisely the assignment. Really, part of the problem with C3 is that I feel the characters' backstories weren't built upon, in favor of focusing on the moon plot. I'd add that also, Trent and the Briarwoods were from what I understand fairly loosely sketched out in Liam and Taliesin's backstories for Caleb and Percy; and Taliesin and Travis have both repeatedly stated they didn't create Lucien nor Uk'otoa - they said "I woke up in my own grave with no memory" or "I woke up washed up on the beach with a sword and a warlock pact". I also, for what it's worth, think that a great number of other villains (Thordak, Ripley, Vecna (who is not an original villain to be fair but his integration into Exandria is well-done), Lorenzo, Avantika, Ludinus - dumb ending aside the concept was good until it was strung out endlessly) were quite good. It really is a case of "you need to realize that bringing them back endlessly stops being fun or interesting and has greatly diminishing returns after a while." And also ngl as someone who is not per se devastated nor mad about Vaxleth so much as disappointed and scornful, it does kind of suck to hear the statement of "we did this to have a happy ending during a rough time!" when we are currently living through "unrepentant bigot who was semi-defeated came back."

Not directed specifically at you but I do want to note: whenever I express frustration/dislike of something I tend to get a spate of asks that are like, also about that thing but a totally different complaint, and sometimes I agree but a lot of the time I don't. This happened (for example) when I didn't like early FCG in which a lot of people were frankly really weird about Sam overall in my inbox and I want to encourage people to express this kind of complaint on their own blogs rather than through my inbox. If you want to ask me "how do you feel about Matt's other villains?" that's fine, but if you want to express your own opinion, that is a personal post to make.

[yandere-romanticaa]

ur feelings are absolutely valid, as much as I love being alone, it’s also sometimes so crushing to realise I’ve lived 20+ smth years in this earth and have NOT been able to be in a relationship with anyone. I feel like I’ve missed a very crucial part of life, but I also hate hearing friends talk about being treated with bare minimum respect by their partners, I want to be loved the way I love and if I can’t have that I’d rather die tbh. It also doesn’t help that I refuse to go on dating apps out of sheer crippling social anxiety. I also hate the current dating environment and how casual everyone is about it, wdym you want to boombayah and not want to intertwine our souls together after, it’s so ass. I can understand why people like it, and maybe im just not searching hard enough (most likely), but god pls I’ve seen what you’ve done for others, just one cute gf/bf pls im dying over here.

"I want to be loved the way I love and if I can't have that I'd rather die."

You hit the nail on the head perfectly. I know what I am capable of and I just don't want to settle for less. Also, I am someone who actually has tried online dating and let me tell you - it SUCKS!

Every single asshole that matched with me just wanted sex! Hell, one dude even offered to pay me 2k euros if I gave him a blowjob... And you should have seen his reaction once I started bullying him! The AUDACITY of that man is unparalleled! I did end up getting coffee with another dude but he was so bland and dull. That guy had absolutely no hobbies and only cared for his job, he was more bland that a pure white block of tofu. I've never even had tofu but I'd still pick the tofu!

I have a friend who actually found an amazing guy on Tinder. He can cook, he knows 7 languages, he's so sweet and kind to her... He writes her LOVE LETTERS! He's constantly showering her with love...

This is so embarrassing to admit but since we're already talking about it, I'll just admit that sometimes it can be too hard for me to look at them. Whenever he shows her so much love, there are times when I have to turn my head away because I am so JEALOUS. After one outing I had with them, I deadass went home crying. I cried my little heart out because I was so sad that I couldn't have that.

And here's the thing, it's not as if I'm acting like a passive princess who is locked away in a tower, just waiting for a man to pick me or whatever. I am legitimately trying, I am always looking out what sort of options I have but oh my god. I want to gouge my eyes at how I have zero options.

However, writing that bitter ass post actually made me feel so, so much better. I partially gave up complaining to my friends about this issue because they just can't understand just how deep this wound of mine is and my poor diary has been abused to Hell and back with my woes LMAO.

Thank you for making me feel better. I still feel highly embarrassed but like. The relief of getting even a fraction of that pain off my chest is just too fucking good.

[invinciblevalentine]

atp i would snort reeve tuesti fic like cocaine.

if anyone knows any fics that put reeve through the blender like “Son” by She_sees_in_the_dark or “Through Another’s Eyes” by CorsairOriginal—

i need to see that man under enough pressure to make a diamond crack. For my health.