#I grinded for several hours to get the coins for these parts

[xxxdragonfucker69xxx]

I'M BEHIND SCHEDULE

HOUR IN BLACK, PART THREE : THE UNDERWORLD

im skimming really fast because CHARMS have already dropped and i need to get there

!! the outline: lethe and the sea of shadows, but now islands jut out from it which are afterlives. some afterlives are ritual afterlives formed by funerary ceremony and ancestor worship, some are primeval afterlives about the manner of your death. big change! it's full of ghosts, who you mostly know. ghosts aren't their full living selves, death takes a lot from them and theyre defined by their passions and grow weirder after death,

soulsteel.....

phantom beasts! vesper-wolves and pyre-maggots.... cool

prehuman ghosts! omg even dragon king ghosts.... yes yes yes

the history of the underworld is so incredible. im usually sort of tepid on these sections, even though i like the idea of having a history, but for whatever reason this one is soooo cool to me

stygian archipelago!!!

"Bereft of stable stars or predictable trade winds, ghostly sailors develop other means of charting  their course, whether following in the wake of phantom leviathans, piloting their ships under the  auspice of oracular trances, or reconciling the movements of the Calendar of Setesh with local  geomancy" BANGIN!!!!

the old laws are so fascinating to e... the little hints have me a little bit obsessed. man imagine playing stories like the fallen london stories about correspondence and discordance but to repair the old laws... mmm

ugh i looove the different aterlives so much

whispers... and the labyrinth

"Specters in the thrall of Thundering Dissolution join their minds  with his in the Symphony of Omnipresence, a psychic whirlpool that shears away the borders  between their consciousnesses" oh y god i have to use this shit somehow

stygia!!! hot damn... extreme politics at the heart of the underworld

i have a soft spot for the calendar of setesh ever since i made The Wheel And Weight of Grinding Time Crushes All Beneath Its Passage, an abyssal obsessed with hijacking the calendar via pirate radio to install a new constellation

"Each district’s boundaries are reinforced on the first day of each year with a ceremonial  procession. The regent must touch each of the district’s ancient boundary-stones, and shifting  those stones as part of the rite allows one district to expand at another’s expense. Whoever  completes the procession is the regent; regents surround themselves with bodyguards to prevent  coups during that vulnerable time. " OH my fucking god. what a heist movie. holy shit

GFKDNGDSG GENTRIFIED BY THE SILVER PRINCE

theres a whole subsection for the sewers. this is worldbuilding.

culture... architecture... a dole of black bread and white cheese...

"Weeds signify  persistence and thriving in the Underworld; a dandelion represents passage into Lethe. Fish  symbolize ghosts, while a fishhook means either love or money, depending on who you ask. And  blood — or, indeed, anything crimson — holds many meanings depending on context, including  power, food, artistic fervor, endings, new beginnings, and Creation itself." why was this made specifically to caer to me

"A few places  specialize in stoking negative emotions, luring perverse customers with discordant choirs,  noisome odors, or the like. Several wineshops on Seawall offer bone-dry hardtack and skunked  beer; the Kudzu Bell’s boarding house specializes in stale bread, mildewed cheese, and  vegetables boiled into a sulfurous mass." oh my god

"Some ghosts hoard coins whose psychic residue resonates with their own feelings; money  changers sort obols by emotion for arbitrage." to me this is what exalted is about. this is what no other game has. lets take a wacky fantasy concept and do irl economics about it

:000 mausoleums! places where prayer distills down and bathes ghosts... sort of like a pseudo manse?

....huh! people heard of stygia as a heaven, expected to go there as a ritual afterlife, and now there are spots in stygia for them

collegia! the ultimate in dark academia. ghosts who keep ancient traditions and skills, and are doing quite a lot of politics about it

and the mansions, which are pimeval afterlives of sudden death. these and the collegia alone give stygia such incredible depth already

"In the Underworld’s first days, the Resplendent Mansion stood  foremost among its peers, comprised of a host of Exalted and other  heroic ghosts who’d died in battle against the world’s makers. But  new members slowed to a trickle, then stopped entirely before the  First Age’s end. Today, their ancient seat atop Shining Hill stands all  but empty, inhabited by a few reclusive timeworn ghosts and a host  of guardian spirits and automata." .... so now that primordials and neverborn are out in the world beefing again someone might suddenly take up that seat huh

oh wow i love the transcendent course as a cult. it feels so, ironically, alive. and the DUAL MONARCHS

"The Incarnadine Path was Stygia’s native religion before the Dual Monarchs. Its creed reveres  the River of Blood as the literal and metaphorical lifeblood of Creation and Underworld alike.  Ghosts of the Mansions find a sense of superiority in their ancient ties to the faith, while the  collegia uphold it in opposition to the Transcendent Course. Its stronghold is the rust-red steeple  of the Cruor, where Incarnadine blood-priests sacrifice animals brought at great difficulty from  the living world to anoint the faithful in gore. Since Stygia’s founding, the Cruor’s priests have  been a law unto themselves, offering sanctuary to fugitives; the Signatories show little respect  for these traditions, but citywide rioting the last time the Legion Sanguinary violated Cruor  sanctuary makes them cautious." MORE CULTS. MORE

and now the stygian pact, with thirteen signatories, wich do not correspond to al deathlords! which i thought was fun. skull pirate aikeret! fathom hermit puppet for the underwater eemi!!! ukhala enlightened-in-blood... i am free on thursday... white thyrsus the youth pastor for a cult to a ghost-eating forest, sesim ruseka the bird bitch. god frankly any of these guys would be fun deathlords as well

WOW namtar is fun

ok im gonna cut myself off before dari of the mists... charms one day i will reach you...

[writerpeach]

Drained

Dreamcatcher SuA x Male Reader

2246 words

categories: smut, rope bondage, mommy kink, femdom

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

masterlist

Over the past few weeks I’ve tried to slowly get back into writing, but finding I don’t have much interest in it still. I’m not sure if the spark I had for writing will ever come back, but I wrote this in the brief time I was inspired.

This was supposed to be a two-parter, but I lost motivation in finishing the second part so I decided to post the first part. It’s possible this is the last thing I write, so I wanted to write something that featured all of my favorite things.

Just like there are two sides to a coin, there are often two different sides to a person. Kim Bora was no different. One side was the sweet, loving girlfriend who you loved spending romantic evenings together cuddled up on the couch. The other was a lust-filled vixen, clouded by a strong need to be in control and have everything she desired. 

You loved both sides, and just like a coin flip you weren’t sure which side you were going to get.

On this night, Kim Bora had you just where she wanted. 

It wasn’t the first time you had found yourself in such a familiar situation. The all too familiar, almost routine act of thick dark rope wrapped around each of your wrists that Bora expertly tied to the bed the same way she had done dozens of times before. 

If that wasn’t enough you were stripped of your clothes, your shirt ripped and disposed of as if it were tissue paper, pants finding a similar fate as you were left in nothing but your boxers. You couldn’t help but form a bulge through the cotton of your underwear at the fact that you were under Bora’s control. 

You lost track of time, you could have been there for five minutes or five hours. Bora was a master of teasing, keeping your restricted cock nestled in its prison knowing it desperately needed to be freed and refused to give in. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bora said, flashing a devilish smirk on her lips as she cupped your face, bringing her lips to yours for a brief moment before pulling away before you could have any satisfaction. 

“And what are you going to do with me, Bora?” 

“Bora? You know better than that, it’s mommy to you now,” she said as she delivered a hard slap to your cheek, causing it to sting right away. Her eyes glared deeply at you as you felt a mixture of fear and arousal.

“I’m going to ruin you. You’re going to be mommy’s little fucktoy for me to tease and play with for the next few hours,” Bora said as she bit her lip and licked the side of your neck.

Bora smirked wider and leaned back, letting you see the perfect view of her amazing body in the lacy black lingerie she had chosen that sent blood to your loins. 

She tested you right away as her hands ran her hands all over her tight body, squeezing her covered supple breasts and knowing you were desperate to do the same to her.

Each and every move was carefully made as Bora’s thighs wrapped around your waist as she traced your chest with one finger, drawing her name into your bare skin as she looked deep into your eyes. 

“This is going to be fun. Let's see how fast mommy can drain you.” 

Bora moved quickly as a cat, and before you could take your next breath your boxers were stripped off and your shaft was freed, throbbing as it was exposed to the cool air. 

"Hard as a fucking rock. Are you that turned on for mommy?” Bora asked as her slim fingers wrapped tightly around your needy cock and she gave a firm squeeze, touching your bare cock for the first time of the night. You could only moan in response. 

Bora gave a handful of painfully slow strokes, rubbing the underside of your swollen tip with her thumb before she released your throbbing shaft, causing a whine to involuntarily escape from your lips. She licked your tip once, gathering the plentiful precum around your slit as your hips bucked. 

Bora looked up with evil intentions in her eyes, slowly swirling around your cockhead and giving a quick peck on your tip. Bora didn’t give in one bit as she rubbed that sensitive area of your cock with her thumb again that drove you crazy, giving several slow licks before withdrawing completely as she gave one more kiss. 

"That's all you get for now, baby. You need to earn this."

Bora got off on control, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't equally as turned on at being stripped naked and tied up at her mercy. 

You waited with deep anticipation for Bora's next move as you felt small delicate hands caressing your bare thighs and nails digging into your skin as you laid there helplessly. Bora kissed the tip of your cock, unwillingly to do anything else as she blew hot breath against your sensitive balls, causing a shiver to shoot up your spine.

“Such a needy boy, aren’t you, baby? You want mommy to suck this hard throbbing cock don’t you?” 

“Y-yes, mommy. P-please.” 

“Are you begging already? Need my pretty lips wrapped around your shaft that bad?” Bora asked, as she let out an evil laugh, kissing each of your thighs deeply enough to leave her lipstick imprinted on your skin. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter what you want. Your cock belongs to mommy tonight.” 

Bora kept her gaze on you, biting her lip deeply again as you waited for her next torturous step, always keeping you guessing. With one hand she grabbed your stiff cock, squeezing it hard as she slid her panties to the side with the other. You let out a deep breath at the sight of Bora’s exposed pussy, moaning softly as she rubbed your needy tip against her wet pink flesh as you felt the slickness of her hole already. 

“Fuck, I’m so wet already. I’m going to use you, and I won’t stop until I’m satisfied.” 

Bora didn’t give you much of a chance to prepare as she lifted her hips, lined herself up with your cock and impaled herself to the hilt, letting out a loud moan that was louder than expected. 

“Baby...fuck,” Bora moaned as she began to move, rocking her hips back and forth. She braced her hands on your chest, keeping her eyes locked on you as you felt her tight walls clenching around your cock.

“Ride my cock, mommy,” you said, moaning at the pleasure that was filling up your body. Bora glared and slapped your cheek again, a loud smack echoing as you felt an even harsher sting. 

“Shut the fuck up, don’t tell mommy what to do. You’re just a toy for me to cum on, understand?” 

“Y-yes, mommy.” 

You groaned loudly, cursing the restraints that stopped your wrists in place. You wanted nothing but to touch Bora’s body and run your hands all over her soft bare skin. Bora sensed your frustrations. 

“You want to touch mommy so badly don’t you?” Bora asked, lips curling into a devilish smile that you had seen many times. 

“It’s too bad you can’t,” Bora said, giving another harsh slap to your cheek.”You’re just going to lie there while I use you.” 

You certainly weren’t going to complain about that. Bora began to ride you as she finished her sentence, finding a rhythm as her hips rose and slammed down harshly. You felt extreme tightness squeezing your cock as Bora bounced on your cock. Every movement of her wide hips created more wetness as she impaled herself repeatedly on your shaft, moaning with every movement. 

“You like that baby? You like when mommy uses your cock? ” Bora asked as she upped her pace, slamming her thick thighs against your own. 

“Y-yes, mommy. I love when you fuck me like this.” 

“Good, baby, mommy loves it too. You’re doing so well for me, I’ll give you a little reward,” Bora said, pulling her bra down enough to expose her full round breasts. You were hypnotized by the way they bounced beautifully, trying to focus on them instead of the tightness and wetness hugging your cock that was driving you insane. 

“Your cock feels so fucking good inside me, baby. I’m going to ride you until you can’t take anymore,” Bora said as she repeatedly slammed her wet pussy on your cock, not caring if she was hurting you. The bed creaked loudly with every bounce, matching the volume of her loud moans as you felt even more wetness drenching your shaft. 

“Fuck, baby, mommy is going to cum soon,” Bora moaned, as she wrapped one hand around your throat, squeezing with a firm pressure that restricted your airflow. You could only watch as she rode you mercilessly, her breasts bouncing up and down as her eyes filled with lust and only was interested in her own pleasure. 

Bora rode you even much harder, bouncing her ass on your crotch and impaling herself repeatedly on your cock as she threw her head back, keeping her mouth agape as she neared her peak. You clenched your teeth as you could feel your own climax sneaking up on you, trying your best to hold out to at least let Bora finish first, knowing the consequences would be dire if you didn’t. 

The small hand around your throat squeezed tighter while Bora’s hips never stopped moving, taking you deep in and out of her tight wet cunt as chased her release. Moans and the squelch of Bora’s wetness filled your ears as your bodies combined and the loud sounds of hot flesh on flesh filled the room. It took little time at all as you felt the tight walls around your needy cock pulsating, signaling Bora’s limits had been reached.

“Baby, I’m cumming!” Bora cried out as she slammed herself on your cock as hard as possible, instantly feeling more wetness dripping down her thighs as she came hard. You watched as her eyes closed shut for a moment as her juices drowned your cock with slick more as her delicious thighs trembled violently around your body, her toes curled as she screamed out in pleasure. 

You wanted nothing but to guide her, to hold on to her perfect hips and take you as deep as possible but you were at her mercy. Bora didn’t let up as she selfishly came a second time, the intense tightness surrounding yourself queuing up your own orgasm and you nothing could prevent you giving in.

“M-mommy, I’m going to cum too,” you desperately moaned out. Bora slowly moved her hips, grinding out every ounce of pleasure before her eyes opened, filled with desire and wanting even more. 

“Do think you deserve that, baby?” Bora asked, the tone of her voice considerably softer and quieter. You kept quiet as she rode out her climax, trying to anchor herself on your chest carefully as her nails sharply clawed at your skin. 

“Answer me, baby,” Bora said, as you expected another slap and could only give a nervous nod as she smiled widely in return. 

“You do deserve it baby. You made me feel good with that cock, so I’m going to return the favor. You’re going to cum inside mommy.”

There wasn’t much you could do either way, not that you ever would have rejected her demands. Bora returned to her ruthless pace as she rode your cock until you felt that tightness in your stomach that meant only one thing. 

“Cum for mommy, right now. Fill me up,” Bora demanded, as you could only focus on her tight body and the bare skin your eyes roamed, her breasts bouncing with every movement and equal amounts of loud lustful moans.

“M-mommy...I’m going to-” 

Unable to finish your sentence Bora had every intent on draining you as promised, rendering you powerless to hold out any longer as your cock throbbed inside Bora’s tight pussy and you began sending thick hot semen inside her, emptying everything you had deep into her womb. 

“That’s a good boy,” Bora said, continuing to milk your cock dry with her tight cunt. She always knew when you had finished, but she wasn’t ready to end things as she kept on riding you with her pussy filled with your thick warmth, causing your quivering body to cry out in protest. 

“M-mommy, please s-stop, I can’t take it,” you said, and were immediately met with a slap across your other cheek. 

“What did I say about telling me what to do?” Bora said, backhanding you one more time. “I told you I was going to ride you until you couldn’t take it.” 

The mixture of painful pleasure was too much to take, and you could only lie there incapable of doing anything but being used by Bora as she kept riding your sensitive cock for what felt like hours until mercifully winding down her motion little by little.

“Had enough?” Bora asked as her mood changed and she smiled sweetly, returning back to her usual self. 

“Y-yes, mommy.” 

“Good, you did well,” Bora said and slowly began to lift her hips, letting your cock plop out of her as your load dripped down her thighs and down onto your crotch. Bora took the opportunity to clean off what she could, lips attacking your shaft for the first time as you whined as you felt her lips go deep, pulling against your restraints and gritting your teeth. 

“All empty,” Bora said as she gave your balls a gentle squeeze and removed the ropes from your wrist, checking for any marks as your circulation slowly began returning. 

“You can rest for ten minutes, then mommy will be back for round two. If you can make it, then tomorrow will be a special surprise.” 

“Surprise?” 

“Yes, I think you’ll enjoy it.“

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Imagine Being a Musician and Losing the Ability to Play

(Alternative title: Music in You)

Word Count: 950

A/N: Requested by anonymous. Wound up longer than most imagines, so enjoy!

If your parents were to be believed, then your love of music had started when you were a baby. They could rock, bounce, coo, and talk until their arms were sore and their throats hoarse, but sometimes you would never settle. The only thing that calmed you every single time was a melody.

Elementary school brought a slew of potential interests and new experiences, but the one that you remembered most clearly was seeing the music students perform during an assembly. Starry-eyed, you knew exactly what you wanted to do. Knowing your affinity for music, your guardians let you take your pick of the instruments and invested in your skills.

That investment paid off in the end. Musical talent and hard-earned skill paid most of your tuition through a college scholarship, and some years after graduating, you landed a full-time position with a professional ensemble. Now you played for hours every night, from Thursday to Sunday, and practiced even more. You were living comfortably while doing what you loved.

The day a doctor came into your hospital room and told you the prognosis of your injuries, you felt like your entire world was crumbling down around you. The very foundation of not just your livelihood, but your life, was shattered by the same accident that had shattered several bones in your hand, including fingers. The extensive hand trauma ensured you wouldn’t be playing your instrument for weeks, but more realistically, months.

“Even then,” the doctor cautioned, sympathetically frowning, “Full recovery is not the same as new condition. You’ll likely find you have difficulty carrying out the same motions, particularly over extended periods of time.”

“No,” you denied flatly. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. “No, I’m a musician, I need both of my hands. Whatever it costs. Fix it.”

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m afraid it isn’t a question of expense. It’s a question of human anatomy.” The doctor was firm as she refused to let you get your hopes up. You needed to make your mental adjustments now so that mind and body were on the same page as you healed. Briskly, but not unkindly, she added, “The insertion site of the pins may feel very itchy soon. Don’t itch; call for a nurse. We can get you a topical numbing agent.”

You sat there in shock after she left. Part of you wanted to scream after her but the other part wanted to curl in a ball and sob until you woke up in bed, safe and sound and with both hands completely functional.

A kind nurse, worried by your quietness and stillness, offered to call someone for you, so you gave her Neal’s phone number. She left the room, presumably to call him, and your mind slowly began grinding into motion again. What were you going to do? You had the savings for a few months, but not much longer. How were you going to tell your coworkers, your employer? What about the terms of your contract – was there a clause letting you out if you were too injured, or would you be in breach for not playing? How were you ever going to be happy when your strongest passion was being taken away by force, through something that wasn’t your fault?

By the time Neal arrived, you were crying to yourself, consciously choosing not to scratch at your very itchy bandaged hand and trying to self-soothe with the melody of your favorite classical piece. Your humming wasn’t working; it was too broken up by your sobs. The melody itself reminded you that you wouldn’t be able to play it for a very long time, and possibly never play professionally again. The hours you spent practicing every day were going to be painfully empty. There went the peace and the joy of creating aural beauty.

It took a lot of gentle coaxing and patience, but Neal was able to wring the whole story from you about what had happened and what the doctor warned. As an artist who relied on his hands, you knew that he would understand better than most how crippled, frightened, and robbed you felt. After all, paint and sculpture were the visual versions of the stories you told through music. Your crafts were opposite sides of the same coin.

“My whole life is gone,” you whimpered, barely holding in more cries. Any embarrassment you might have felt about Neal seeing you bawl like a kid was overridden by your devastation and anxiety.

“Your whole life isn’t gone,” Neal comforted patiently, putting his hand on your back and slowly rubbing in circles. He scooted his chair closer to your bedside with a screeching sound that made him wince. “Music enriches your life, but it doesn’t create you. You have other interests, friends, and ambitions. You can still listen and sing to music, and no one said you can never play again, either.”

“But my hand!” You gasped for air, leaning to the side. Neal wrapped his other arm around you in a hug, holding you against his chest. “I can’t do the one thing I’ve always loved!”

“You can’t do it professionally,” Neal corrected you sternly. His touch was the opposite – soft and gentle. “At least not right now.” The hand on your back stilled. He put his fingers under your chin until you looked up at him, and then he met your eyes with his calm, clear, and certain blue ones. “Rigorous professional or passionate hobbyist, it doesn’t matter. You’re a musician and music is in you.” Neal kissed your forehead as you sniffled, his words striking a chord inside you and helping you to finally start to settle. “Nothing can take that away.”

[asweetprologue]

Geralt decides to retire to Toussaint. He takes Jaskier with him.

Words: 4360, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Retirement, Getting Together, Domestic, Fluff

I promise I’m still writing stuff!! this is a soft little one shot I wrote a while ago and just cleaned up. read on tumblr below the cut!

In the end, it’s the weariness that does him in.

Once when they were both younger men, Jaskier had asked him about retirement for witchers. If they retreated to Kaer Morhen in their old age to train the new pups, or if they settled down across the Continent, or gave up the hunt to have families of their own. Geralt had snorted. “We don’t retire,” he’d said, mixing potion ingredients by the light of their camp fire. Jaskier had looked at him with wide, curious eyes. “We get old, and slow, and something kills us. We don’t - buy seaside cottages, or whatever.”

Jaskier had hummed at that, a mournful note that seemed to resonate in the air. It was unfair, Geralt had thought, that his friend managed to convey so much in such a sound while the witcher always managed to say so little. “Seems a bit unfair,” Jaskier added.

Geralt had blown out an amused breath, not quite a laugh. “That’s life, bard.”

But now, three decades and countless battles older, he just felt tired. Jaskier no longer traveled with him as frequently, and the Path was a lonely place. He and his brothers no longer met at Kaer Morhen to winter, not once Vesemir had passed. They would stop occasionally to meet up on the road, but never for too long. Even Ciri was going her own way nowadays, though he saw her the most frequently. As the years wore on, Geralt found himself visiting Oxenfurt more and more often. Itching for companionship, for a cease in the ever grinding motion of the Path. The routine that had once been a comfort was now grating.

Maybe it was time to take a break.

It was with this mentality that he turned to Jaskier on the last day of his stay in Oxenfurt and said, “Come to Toussaint with me.”

Jaskier blinked at him owlishly, the expression making him look ten years younger. These days his hair was streaked with gray at the temples, and when he chose to grow out a beard it was as silver as Geralt’s. “What’s so important in Toussaint?” he asked. They were seated at a table in the rooms Jaskier had been provided, for accepting a temporary lecturing position. The term had ended a few weeks ago, hence Geralt’s visit. Jaskier shuffled his gwent deck as he spoke, the cards weaving together like a cascade. Geralt found himself watching the bard’s slim fingers dance through the motions with an old fascination.

“I have an estate there,” he replied, pulling his gaze from the cards. He meant to look Jaskier in the eye, but a brief moment of contact with the bright cerulean had him turning his head, his heartbeat growing ever so slightly faster. It was too hard to ask this if he could see Jaskier’s face. Instead, he looked out the small window, overlooking the red tiled roofs of Oxenfurt. The city was painted a rich gold in the light of the evening sun, reflected warmly off of the river beyond the docks.

Jaskier spluttered across the table. “You have an estate? Since when?”

Geralt felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “It was payment for a job,” he said. “There’s a vineyard, gardens. I can send word ahead for them to start renovations on the guest bedroom. Come with me,” he said again, softly. He wasn’t above begging, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Jaskier looked at him with a confused but affectionate look spread across his fine features, and said, “Okay.”

~

Geralt sent a letter ahead to warn the staff of their plans to summer at the estate, and they began their journey to the Duchy.

It was a long journey, but not an arduous one. For once, Geralt allowed them to stick to the main roads, and at this time of year even Velen was bearable. The sweeping fields spread out around them in swaths of green and gold, punctuated here and there by defiant patches of wildflowers. Jaskier wasn’t as quick as he used to be following Geralt on the Path, but they weren’t on the Path anymore. They purchased a second horse and rode side by side at a leisurely pace. When the day grew hot, they would post up in a convenient spot of shade and let the horses graze, lunching on sun warmed bread and sweetmeats. Jaskier rambled the hours away with stories of his students and old antics at Oxenfurt, and Geralt responded with his own tales of hunts and growing up in the keep with his brothers. It was good to have another voice on the road again after months of traveling alone. It was good that it was Jaskier. Geralt had missed him. Once he wouldn’t have been able to admit it, even to himself, but it seemed silly now to hide it. A wall put up against someone who had been inside for years.

They slept beneath the stars and in cramped inns, sharing small spaces like they had for decades. It was different, Geralt thought. Something had released in his shoulders when Jaskier had agreed to come with him. They weren’t in a rush - there were no contracts to fill, no galas to play at. Jaskier’s purse was heavy from his time spent lecturing, and Geralt was able to pick up a few simple contracts as they went. Easy jobs that would put some extra coin in his pocket and lift the tension from the shoulders of the locals. But for the most part it was just the two of them, drinking sweet summer mead and browsing morning markets, getting accustomed to each other’s presence again.

Sitting across the fire from him one night as they camped, Jaskier said, “You’re different, you know.”

Geralt lifted his head from where he’d been skinning the pheasants for supper. “Hmm?”

Jaskier smiled, his eyes soft. “Well, maybe not that different.” At Geralt’s odd look, he went on. “You told me once that witchers never change. That they’re set in their ways. I think you were talking about something like your potions routine when you said it at the time, but I thought it applied to the whole of the witcher experience.”

Geralt hummed again. “It’s true. We age slowly. Get set in our habits.”

“But you changed,” Jaskier said. “I’ve seen it. After Ciri, and now, since we’ve left Oxenfurt. You’re different.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. They’d never been on the road together like this, just the two of them as companions. Before Geralt had been focused on the Path, and Jaskier had been cataloguing his deeds as if he were some kind of hero of legend. He knew Jaskier admired Geralt’s drive, his ability to push on towards the next contract. Maybe the bard would think less of him, knowing that he was content to leave the Path behind for so long. “I’m still me,” he said aloud.

Jaskier gave him another smile, warm and honeyed. “I know it’s you, daft man,” he said. “It’s good. To see you… put down the torch for a bit.”

Geralt wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just gave an agreeable rumble in his chest. And then, because he’d spent so long learning how to use his words around his daughter, he said, “I’m glad you’re here, Jaskier.”

A brief moment of surprise passed over Jaskier’s features, his eyes widening. Though Geralt had become better at voicing his affections over the years, he knew that the bard was always taken aback by the behavior. After a second Jaskier’s smile became a grin, and Geralt felt something in him relax even further. “I’m glad to be here, my friend. You know I can’t resist an adventure.”

~

They arrived in Toussaint quickly after that, both eager to end their days on the road. The countryside spread out around them slowly transformed from the muted colors of the north into the vibrant greens, purples and reds of the vineyards and forests. Geralt always forgot how stunning the Duchy was, with its colorful houses and flashy clothes. For once Jaskier fit in with the crowd flawlessly; it would take more than a bright doublet to stand out in Toussaint. Geralt had always liked it here. The peasants tended to be less prejudiced against non-humans, witchers included, and the knights he’d met always treated him as a brother in arms rather than pest control. The winters were mild and the summers sweet, and the wines were rich even if they were impossible for him to pronounce at times.

Of course Jaskier proved to be fluent in the local language - “What do you think the Seven Liberal Arts even entail, Geralt?” - which was helpful when they passed through smaller villages. Those away from the common crossroads or larger settlements tended to have fewer people who spoke the common northern tongue. They made their way to Geralt’s estate through a series of inns, barns and guest bedrooms as Jaskier relentlessly charmed the locals in grandiose displays of hospitality.

As they approached the estate, Geralt pulled Roach to a stop at the top of a hill. “This is it,” he said, nodding to indicate the view.

Jaskier gaped, craning to look out over the small collection of buildings and the dozens and dozens of grapevines that were nestled in the valley below. Geralt could see several workers out tending to the fields; his majordomo must have been overseeing things as agreed upon. They would have to get to know the rest of the staff while they were here. “This is all yours?” Jaskier asked, snapping Geralt’s attention back to the present.

“The house, most of the fields. I’ve not paid all that much attention to it before now, honestly. The house needs work. Never had any reason to sink funds into it before now.” He’d sent a fair sum of gold ahead to Barnabas-Basil to get started on renovations, but it likely would have only been enough to make the main complex habitable. Geralt was confident that he could undertake much of the repairs himself, in time. It would be good to have a project.

“It’s expansive. You produce wine here?” Jaskier asked, turning back towards him.

“Yes, but you’ll have to ask the majordomo which ones.”

Jaskier nodded to himself as they continued down the hill, soon approaching the main gate to the small villa. Members of the staff bustled throughout the property, though many stopped to look as the two of them passed by. As they settled their horses near a storage shed, the majordomo approached them, apparently already made aware of their arrival.

“Ah, Master Geralt, I trust that your travels were smooth? Please, come inside - I will have someone come and tend to the horses.” Barnabas-Basil Foulty was a clean shaven, bald man with sharp, almost bird-like features, and the head of the estate in Geralt’s stead. He stood at perfect attention at all times, shoulders back and head held high. A proud man, if not also an extremely polite one. Geralt liked him immensely, because he was good at his job and could keep up in the cups the one time the two had drank together.

“Ah, this must be the famous Barnabas-Basil. Fantastic to finally meet your acquaintance, my good man,” Jaskier said, jumping in to give the majordomo’s hand a firm shake. “Geralt has praised your skills from here to Redania and back.”

Barnabas-Basil inclined his head towards Geralt, though his spine did not stray an inch. “I thank you, sir, for your kind words. Please, allow me to show you the progress that we have made on the main house so you might get settled.”

The domo walked them through the estate, giving Jaskier a brief tour and pointing out new additions to Geralt. He’d not been to the estate in at least two years, but it was clear that the workers were making good use of the space. The small collection of colorful houses down the road had fresh coats of paint, and children played in the courtyard below the main house. A garden flourished in the space between the manor and the vineyard, dominated by root vegetables and herbs.

“If you would like, we can have it cleared out so that you might use it for your own purposes,” Barnabas-Basil said. His face betrayed no feelings on the issue.

Geralt grunted. “No need. The staff can use it as they wish.” He refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze as the bard beamed at him proudly. After decades of friendship Jaskier still seemed to find it a delight anytime Geralt did something he thought was particularly chivalrous. Geralt was not eager for him to meet the knights, with their virtues and heroic deeds.

The house, as he suspected, was functional but only just. “We’ve done what we could in a short amount of time, sir,” Barnabas-Basil said, his tone politely apologetic. “I assure you renovations are far from complete.”

“It’s fantastic,” Jaskier said, already darting off to explore the other rooms. There was a small kitchen, a bedroom, bathroom and an upstairs loft that could be made into a second bedroom. The additional bed wouldn’t arrive for another week or two.

“We can share,” Geralt said without looking at Jaskier, and did not elaborate further. “Show me what else needs done.”

~

They fell quickly into a routine. Geralt spent his days working with the locals on renovations, slowly breathing vitality back into the old manor. When he grew tired of working with lumber, he waded into the vineyards, to help pluck the delicate grapes from their twisting vines. A pair of women admonished him for his sloppy work on the first day and taught him how to gently cut the branches away and check the grapes for ripeness. Jaskier fluctuated between helping out with the building work and composing, though he also made the occasional day trip into the city to perform. In the evening they would retire to the house to eat, drink and chat over games of cards. At night they would curl up in Geralt’s bed, as they had when sharing quarters on the road.

It was a strange new intimacy, to learn what Jaskier was like in his bed. They had shared bedrolls many times over the years, but never with any consistency. When the nights were too cold or the inn too full, they would sigh and grumble and agree to share a space for the night, as a matter of convenience. But as soon as they had the coin or the resources to do so, they would always put distance between themselves again. Geralt supposed it had been a kind of self preservation instinct, but he now found little threat in the warmth of Jaskier next to him at night. He learned that some days Jaskier woke before the sunrise, throwing himself out of bed in a tangle of limbs to scramble for a quill. Other days he slept late, sprawled out across the sheets and dozing until the heat of the day forced him up. Often Geralt woke to the bard curled around him, an arm thrown across his broad chest, nose tucked under the witcher’s jaw. Those times always made something tighten in Geralt’s throat. No one should trust a witcher like Jaskier did, but he was grateful for the bard’s foolishness. Jaskier had always believed that Geralt would keep him safe, even when the witcher had refused to even admit that they were friends. Jaskier deserved better, but it didn’t stop Geralt from turning into his warmth each morning, wishing to reach out.

When the second bed came, Jaskier made no effort to relocate to the guest room. Geralt didn’t bring it up.

It only took a month for him to openly think about it, but when he finally did he was surprised it hadn’t come sooner. He looked up from where he was carving a notch in a new post for one of the fences and saw Jaskier sitting on the steps of the manor, the end of his quill hovering near his lips. His mouth moved around abstract syllables as he reached for the next lyric in a new song. The soft, repetitive notes rose and fell in the still summer air, and Geralt could see a small spot of ink on Jaskier’s cheek where he’d tapped himself with the quill by accident. Later that night, Geralt would point it out and they would both laugh, and Jaskier would play at being angry Geralt hadn’t brought it up sooner, and then Geralt would offer to help him clean up. Jaskier looked up from his place on the stairs and met his eye, feeling the attention on him as he always did. When he saw Geralt looking he smiled, as brightly as if he’d not seen the witcher in months, instead of moments. Geralt’s chest swelled with an unspeakable feeling, thick and heady affection and trust and something else even beyond that, and he thought, Oh, I love him.

~

Geralt suggested a picnic. Jaskier was ecstatic, though he tried to act as if he had to consider the notion.

“Will there be wine?” he asked, eyebrows raised playfully.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, fondly exasperated, “we live on a vineyard.”

So they grabbed some bottles from the storeroom, packed a light cotton blanket and some food leftover from lunch and set off up the nearby hill. It took them about twenty minutes to reach the top, but once they did they were quite near the place they’d first stopped to look over the estate. It was nearing evening, the sun hanging low in the sky and making the shadows of the workers coming in stretch out long across the fields. The two men spread out their things, sitting to watch the landscape move below them as they uncorked one of the bottles.

Geralt let Jaskier chatter away about nothing for a while, letting the sound wash over him as they shared the bread and wine. After a while Jaskier fell quiet, leaving them both to gaze out at the beauty of the land around them. Geralt turned to look at Jaskier. The sweep of his brow, the soft bow of his lips. The smattering of freckles he’d collected from weeks on the road, lying in fields and letting the sun kiss his cheeks. To be jealous of the sun, Geralt thought wryly.

Jaskier turned to meet his gaze, realizing that he was being watched. “What is it?” he asked.

“Why did you come with me?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier chuckled a bit, leaning back on one hand. His shirt was unlaced a ways down the front, leaving his dark chest hair exposed. Geralt wanted to put his nose in the hollow of his throat and just breathe there for a while. “I’m not one to turn down a free holiday, my dear.”

“No,” Geralt said, trying to ignore the way the pet name made his stomach flip. “I mean, why did you always come with me? Everyone… People come and go. But you always came back. Why?”

Jaskier gave him an admonishing look. Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. “You know the answer to that,” he said, and his tone held a warning that the witcher didn’t understand.

“I know you value our friendship,” Geralt replied, “but I could say that of many. It’s not the same.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, his face full of fondness and exasperation and, strangely, an old sort of grief. “You truly are the most unobservant man in the land. You’ve been far more than a friend to me for many years.”

Geralt felt his heart rate pick up at that, the slow thud speeding up to match Jaskier’s. “You’re saying…” He found himself unable to complete the thought. Even after so many years of trying to do better, it was still impossible to form words past the thundering in his ears. This moment felt delicate, like the wrong phrase might shatter it apart.

“I assumed you knew,” Jaskier said with a shrug. The line of his shoulders was just slightly too tense, his body radiating faux casualness. Anyone else may have been fooled, but Geralt had been watching Jaskier for years. “I would never have let it change anything between us, you must know that. You were always involved with someone else - Yennefer, and then Triss and Shani… I didn’t want to get in the way of that. Something that could make you happy.”

“I thought it would,” Geralt said honestly. His gaze flickered over Jaskier’s impassive face. The bard rarely showed his nerves in his expressions, too much a performer for that. Instead it made its way to his hands, twitching over his thighs and worrying the fabric of the blanket, and his heart, which raced in his chest. “I wanted to be the right person for them. Yen wanted me to be useful. Triss wanted me to be a knight in shining armor. They made me feel like I was better than just a witcher.” Jaskier’s lovely mouth twisted slightly, a note of bitterness in his gaze as he looked out over the vineyards. Geralt hurried on. “But you’re the one who made me feel like being a witcher was already good enough.”

Jaskier turned back to him, blinking in surprise. “Well of course it is,” he said, and naturally the bard had missed the point, honing in on his favorite subject: the reputation of witchers and Geralt’s sense of self worth. “You’re already useful, and noble, and good and kind besides all that. You don’t have to be more than what you are to deserve - fuck, basic human connection and love.” He settled slightly, his gesturing hands falling into his lap once more. “Is that why you left them?”

“The Path always calls,” Geralt said with a shrug. “No one but you ever wanted to follow me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, blushing. Geralt watched the color rise up over his cheek bones with something like fascination, or maybe hunger. “Well, now you know why,” he continued, with obviously false cheer. He gave Geralt a rueful smile. “I promise I won’t make things awkward. I’ve had decades to practice. I mean, it’s been thirty years. If you were going to fall in love with me you probably would have done so already, hmm?”

“You’d think so,” Geralt agreed. “Sorry it took me so long.” And then he leaned into Jaskier’s space and kissed him.

It wasn’t a very good kiss. Barely a kiss at all, really, considering that Jaskier had frozen under him. Geralt pulled back, lifting a hand to run it gently over Jaskier’s side. The bard was absolutely still, his eyes closed tight. There was a small crease between his eyebrows that Geralt wanted to kiss away, but he wasn’t sure if he should. “Sorry,” he said softly.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. It was unfair that a man could have beautiful eyelashes, Geralt mused, but here they were. “You mustn’t toy with me, witcher,” Jaskier croaked. His voice was raw, as if he’d been singing for hours.

Geralt moved his hand to the bard’s face, his thumb following along the line of his jaw and up to trace across his cheekbone. Freckles like stars under his fingers. “I’m not,” he rumbled. “I swear it, Jaskier. I just -” He paused, trying to marshal his thoughts. “You were always there. No matter how shitty the Path was, or how miserable people were to you because of me, or how much I pushed you away. You stayed. You made me feel like I was worth something, and you made other people think that way too. Every day without you on the Path was always misery. I should have realized sooner, but I’m not… good at this. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier’s head dropped forward, his brow resting on Geralt’s collarbone. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you apologize in the span of a minute,” he said, voice thin. “This is a lot to take in. Are you saying that you… that you love me? You, Geralt of Rivia, are in love with me?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, smiling into Jaskier’s hair. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Jaskier pulled away to stare at him. Geralt tried to let his affection through, drinking in Jaskier’s beloved face like he hadn’t allowed himself before. The last rays of the sun played over Jaskier’s hair, turning some of the strands to brilliant amber. His eyes were over bright. Whatever the bard saw in Geralt’s expression must have been enough, because the next moment they were kissing again.

It was, Geralt thought, a miracle that he had ever gone so long without doing so. Now that they’d begun, he never wanted to stop. Jaskier’s lips were warm and soft against his, and when Geralt licked slowly into his mouth he tasted of old wine. They stayed like that for a long time, Geralt holding Jaskier close, decades of tension not so much breaking as releasing like a quiet sigh of relief.

Finally they pulled apart, Geralt nosing at Jaskier’s cheek as he hummed contentment into the bard’s skin. He could feel deft fingers petting through his hair, easily working around the tangles that had formed on the walk up the hill. “I love you,” he said, pressing the words below Jaskier’s ear as if he could speak them into his core that way.

Jaskier shivered once under him. “I love you too,” he said, and Geralt could feel him smiling in the way his jaw moved. He knew Jaskier in his bones. “I’ll follow you wherever you go, you know.”

Geralt pulled back, pushing Jaskier’s fringe back with one hand as he met his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just stop running from you,” he said, smiling. Jaskier grinned back, and neither of them mentioned that his eyes were slightly damp. Geralt pushed himself to his feet and reached down a hand to his bard. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

[butternuggets-blog]

OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER [MA18+, NSFW CHAPTER]

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @adowbaldwin @profoundme444 @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont

Part Fourteen

Summary: Baldwin de Clermont manages to upset an ancient hag. He wakes up.. different.

Author’s Notes: They take a trip to pound town, they bump uglies, they knock boots, they check the oil, feed the kitty, do the no pants dance, do two person push ups..

THEY HAVE SEX. I CANNOT OVERSTATE IT ENOUGH, THIS IS THE NOT FAMILY FRIENDLY CHAPTER SO CHILDREN, LOOK AWAY NOW

________________________________________________________________

It had been five days since Liv had returned home and she had been busy re-opening the shop. She had spoken to Baldwin several times on the phone, and sent him numerous text messages, but she desperately wanted to see him again in person so she had invited him over for breakfast.

-Bzzztt...bzztt-

‘The door’s open’ Liv pressed the intercom button, fidgeting with excitement. Baldwin looked up into the camera and waved, then stepped forward out of frame. She fixed her hair one last time, grinned, and bounced her way downstairs.

‘Hello you’ Liv bundled Baldwin into a bear hug, then took a step back to look at him properly. ‘You look good’

Baldwin beamed. He had put on a little weight since Christmas but still fit comfortably into his black jeans, and a cherry-red collared shirt he’d feverishly dug out of the wardrobe five minutes before he left Sept Tours.

‘So do you’ 

Liv did a small half-twirl, smiling. She had been flip-flopping since she woke up between wearing her green slacks with a cream turtleneck, or her old burgundy skirt and blouse. In the end, because it was newer (and she’d tossed a coin), she picked the pants.

"Shall we go upstairs?"

"By all means, lead the way!"

Liv led Baldwin through the sliding wall panel behind the counter and up the servant's steps. As they reached the landing, Baldwin noticed something hanging on the wall in front of him, and stopped short.

The bouquet he had sent to Liv had been mounted on the wall, hanging in a simple wooden frame. The arrangement had been dried and pressed, then preserved in a thick layer of clear resin. It would have taken hours.

Liv turned back around, then smiled when she realised what Baldwin was staring at. He blinked furiously, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

'May I kiss you?' Baldwin asked, hoarsely.

Liv nodded, suddenly shy, and stepped back down the stairs to stand on the landing beside him.

'You may'

They had both brushed their teeth so the taste was mostly peppermint. While Baldwin’s lips were chapped and still cold from being outside, Liv’s were soft and warm. Baldwin felt his toes curl, and raised a hand to cup the side of Liv’s face. She leant into the kiss, and gently wrapped her arms around Baldwin’s waist.

They broke the kiss, both dizzy and a little breathless.

‘Do you want to skip breakfast and go straight to making love?’

‘If you’d said ‘desert’, I would have had to spank you’ Baldwin deadpanned.

Liv grinned. 

‘Promises, promises..’

________________________________________________________________

They made it up into the flat without tripping, pausing briefly in the living room after Baldwin insisted on carefully draping his jacket over the back of a chair. Liv giggled into his shoulder at the ridiculousness of the moment.

Baldwin lost both shoes in the hallway, Liv mockingly trying to put them neatly to one side until he backed her into a wall, kissing her thoroughly. She was really regretting not choosing to wear a skirt.

By the time they reached the bedroom they were both down to their underwear and panting like they'd just run a marathon. Baldwin tried to back Liv up onto the bed but she grinned and flipped him, so that he was underneath her.

'Got-uh-any-uh-condoms?' Baldwin wheezed, slightly winded.

'Nope' Liv straddled his lap, and ran her fingers up his sides, pressing soft kisses along his jaw while he got his breath back.

'We should probably get some'

'Oh absolutely'

Liv slipped a hand down the front of Baldwin's boxers and slowly wrapped a hand around his cock. It twitched and Baldwin moaned softly, lying still, with his hands curled into the sheet beneath him She gave a languid pump; a prickling, tingling sensation rolled up through Baldwin, from his toes to his neck, and he had to focus intently on federal income tax so he didn't spill immediately.

He was busy. It had been a while.

Liv rolled her hand up and Baldwin arched slightly, eyes closed. She took advantage of the moment to slip his boxers down below his knees; Baldwin kicked them off and opened his eyes in time to see Liv pulling off her briefs and guiding him inside.

Liv fell forward onto her elbows, shivering. It had been a while, and Baldwin wasn't small. She took a moment to adjust to the wave of sensation sending goosebumps rippling up her back, her breathing shallow.

'Move'

Baldwin grabbed her hips and thrust, making Liv choke on the moan forced between her lips. The second time he sat up, now fully seated inside her, both trembling. The third time, Liv wrapped her legs around Baldwin's waist, raking red lines down his back with her nails.

Baldwin set a steady pace and Liv matched it, grinding down every time he pushed. Soon, Liv was panting into his mouth, moaning and kissing him desperately between shallow gasps of breath.

‘-UH-UH-NEARLY-’

Baldwin sped up, pounding inside her. He gently scraped his teeth against a sensitive spot behind Liv’s ear and her entire body clenched, twitching, as she tipped over the edge. Two more quick thrusts had Baldwin seeing stars as he came, fingers clutching Liv’s sides.

They stayed locked together for a while, Liv slumped breathlessly in the crook of Baldwin’s neck, his head resting on her shoulder. When he felt like he could speak again,  he stood, carefully cradling Liv as he picked her up and then lowered her down onto the bed on her back.

‘Do you want to go again?’ Baldwin asked, gently nuzzling Liv’s nose.

Liv smiled, and stretched.

‘Ok’

________________________________________________________________

They made love two more times, and Baldwin managed to find the energy to eat Liv out to a fourth, and final, orgasm. They cleaned up with aching, burning muscles, and slumped beside each other, legs entwined.

Baldwin’s hair hung limply in his eyes, while Liv’s was plastered to her face. Her face was flushed and her eyes were closing, a dreamy smile on her lips. Baldwin hurt in places he hadn’t felt in years, but in a pleasant, warm way. He pulled a blanket over them and curled in closer to Liv, reaching out and wrapping an arm protectively around her as he, too, drifted off to sleep.

[deathsmallcaps]

@boopboopboopbadoop

April’s Story

Shrek premiered 20 years ago this month! So I decided to honor it with my own illustrated version of the movie for my Win A Commission Contest! If you’d like to see the illustrations in context with the text, please

Once upon a time, there was a lovely Princess

But she had an enchantment upon her of an awful sort, that could only be broken by True Love's First Kiss

She was Locked away in a tower, guarded by a terrible fire-breathing Dragon

Many brave Knights had attempted to free from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed

She waited in the Dragon's keep, in the tallest room of the tallest tower. Where she waited for her True Love and True Love's First Kiss...

A large green hand ripped a page from the Book and revealed another part involving the whole kingdom celebrating on the Princess and her True Love's wedding day, laughing heartily as he slammed it shut.

"Like that's ever gonna happen!" A Scottish voice said dismissively. "What a load of-" A flush of a Toilet drowned out the last part of the sentence.

We look and see an outhouse. It was made of white birch wood, lashed together with a rope for a handle and a black crescent moon facing the right. There was some hanging moss on the tilted roof growing and a pathway of stones, weeds crowding in between. It was set right in front of a thick wood, facing towards a house. The strange thing about all of this is that the outhouse had plumbing with a flushing toilet.

The door slammed open, revealing no Prince Charming nor a Frog, but an Unlikely Hero: an Ogre. Yawning and stretching out before fixing his wedgie, he shook off a ripped page that was sticking to his shoe and stared at his house.

He lived in a giant, white, hollowed out mangrove tree, the trunk thinning out into a perfect chimney. Moss, ivy and weeds grew all around or on top of it, and there was a crude door and some small windows set into the side.

The Ogre breathed in and left the outhouse with the door slamming behind him as he began his day.

Using a bucket and scraping up some mud, he carried it over to a branch. The ogre undressed and pulled on a rope, causing the mud to pour onto him. He made an “Oof!” sound when it first hit him, but continued scrubbing himself with the mud like it was soap. He drank the last dregs of the mud and then spat it out, ending the shower.

Then the Ogre brushed his teeth. He grabbed a red caterpillar, and squeezing it like a tube of toothpaste, pushed its innards onto a bone. He scrubbed well, getting the insides of his teeth, then the outsides. It turned his already unhealthy teeth greener, and the putrid goo shown in his hideous smile caused his mirror to shatter and fall onto the floor.

Next, he plunged himself into a lake and made a huge splash, turning himself right and getting ready; the Ogre let out a loud, horrendous and terrible gaseous fart that bubbled behind him. Feeling relieved and making an “innocent” pose with his finger to his lip, he turned to see that there was not one, not two but three red salmon floating up to the surface; murdered by the deadliness of the stench that continued to plague the rest of the underwater native wildlife. He grabbed the one next to him and proceeded to leave.

Later army crawling into a hollowed husk of a fallen tree, pointing diagonally skywards, the Ogre pushed out a ton of mud as he climbed his way forward like a commando in the trenches of a battlefield. The final mud slopped out as his stained face popped out.

He smiled as he found a green slug right outside the tree trunk. The Ogre grabbed it and the slug squirmed in alarm as it was picked up by a giant green hand, leaving the small maggots once underneath the slug exposed to the air.

Closer to sunset, near a lake with verdant hills in the distance, the Ogre began painting a new sign. Having picked out a broken off- plank of moldy wood form his outhouse, he didn’t bother with a base coat of white. He spent several hours painting. Once he finished, the Ogre placed his palette down, took a good look at his newest masterpiece, and out of sheer joy of satisfaction he kissed the ogre in the picture on the lips. It left red paint all across his lips as he posted it next to an older sign that said, "STAY OUT". It was a rather hideous portrayal of his face with red eyes and red writing that stated, “BEWARE OGRE".

After The Ogre had ate his fishy and sluggy dinner and had lit a fire with the strength of his belch, he sat back on the crocodile flesh recliner. Just as he was settling in, the Ogre's tiny trumpet ears picked up a disturbance in the Swamp.

It was the sounds of people trespassing. With a groan he lurched to his feet and glanced out his window, spotting a group of Ogre Hunters in the far distance, mostly visible due to their torches. Within moments, the Ogre snuck outside his home and was tiptoeing behind them.

The Ogre Hunters, dressed mostly in green and sporting crappy haircuts, pushed aside the tall grass and foliage as they watched the Swamp House, lit from within by The Ogre’s Belch-Fire.

"Think it's in there?" The one with a bowl cut asked

"Alright... let's get it!" The one in the a tall hat declared, holding a torch and about to make a charge forward before he was stopped short by the one with the mustache next to him.

"Hold on, you know what that thing could do to you?" the mustached one said with fear.

"Yeah, it'll grind your bones for it's bread!" The one with the bowl cut told him.

They all froze when a loud chuckle echoed behind them.

Turning around, they saw the Ogre towering over them. He spoke in an almost friendly manner, but what he said was the opposite of friendly. “Ha, yes, well actually; that would be a giant!" He exclaimed, causing the men to back off. The Ogre stepped forward each time they stepped back. "Now Ogres, oh.. they're much worse! They'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin!"

"No!" A man was horrified

"They'll shave your livers!"

“No!”

"And squeeze the jelly from your eyes!" The Ogre Hunters were cornered as the Ogre added, thoughtfully, "Actually it's quite good on toast."

The bearded Ogre Hunter swung torch at The Ogre’s face. "Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya!"

The Ogre simply raised an eyebrow before calmly licking his fingers and putting out his torch with a pinch and a smile.

"Right..." the Ogre Hunter dropped the extinguished torch.

The Ogre let loose an horrible and fearsome ear bursting roar directly into the faces of the cowering Ogre Hunters. Spit flew in their faces as their hair and hats were thrown back. They screamed in response as their torches extinguished as the roar continued. After a long moment, he stopped and wiped his mouth, but the Hunters continued to scream; when they finally stopped they looked like their wits had long been scared out of them.

The Ogre leaned in and whispered to them as the crickets and other hidden wildlife in the night went on in the silence. "This is the part where you run away..."

With a yelp they immediately dropped all their pitchforks and weapons and bolted out of the swamp as the Ogre chortled to himself. The bowl cut Ogre Hunter tripped but kept running in desperation.

The Ogre laughed whole heartily and yelled after the retreating party. "And stay out!"

A piece of paper they must’ve left behind caught his attention. He picked it up, and saw that it had the face of a solemn elf with a green leaf hat and white beard. There were bags of gold drawn around it, but no explicit price was given, just the word, “Reward” written in red. Above it he read, "Wanted: Fairy Tale Creatures...".

He realized they had wanted to capture him for the reward money. He looked towards the fleeing villagers in disgust and shook his head, throwing the paper to the ground as he went back inside to spend the rest of the night in peace.

The next day, as part of his new plan to get people to leave him alone, The Ogre set up some new new signs, even farther from his home. Just as he was setting up his last one (it had a green skull with the words ‘Keep Out!’ in the pupils), something ran into his butt.

The Ogre turned around to face what appeared to be a terrified mini-donkey.

Someone yelled, "He's getting away! Get him!" and the sounds of guards in armor scared the little donkey into hiding behind The Ogre. "This way! Turn!"

The local Captain of the Guard and his men ran up, stopping when they all saw the tall Ogre who stood before them. "You there... Ogre" The Captain grabbed a scroll his waist

"Aye?" Was The Ogre’s reply, hands on his hips and now seemingly irritated that his day was once again involving contact with humans.

"By the order of Lord Farquaad... I am authorized to place you both under arrest and transport you to a designated resettlement... facility...?" The Captain's voice was shaking and nervous due to the face that the Ogre was walking towards him slowly, now standing right in front of him as a deafening silence fell.

"Oh really?" He asked, leaning down so he was face to face with the Captain. "You and what army?" He asked as his teeth glittered with a smile, glancing behind him.

The Captain turned around to see what was once left of his men as their halberds fell down and a shield spun around onto the ground like a coin. He turned back to the Ogre; the mini-donkey smiled as the Captain took his men's example and made a run for it.

Now that confrontation is over with, the Ogre shook his head and walked away; but the mini-donkey had nowhere else to go and decided to follow his accidental savior. He trotted behind him.

"Can I say something to you?" He asked with the Ogre walking on. "Listen, you were really, really, really somethin' back here. Incredible!"

Now fully irritated, The Ogre turned around. "Are you talkin' to..." The Ogre saw no one else, just the ground lit by the sunlight within the forest of the tall trees. The voice was clearly gone. "Me?" He blinked and shrugged, turning before giving out a startled yell as the Donkey now stood before him.

"Yes I was talkin' to you. Can I tell you that you was great back here? Those guards! They thought they were all of that. Then you showed up and bam!" The little donkey caught up to The Ogre before getting up onto his hoofs in front of The Ogre and made a martial arts move with his right hoof, stopping him again. "They were trippin' over themselves like babes in the wood. I loved seeing that, made me feel happy seeing that"

"Oh, that's great. Really." The Ogre sarcastically replied

"Man, it's good to be free!" The burrito declared as the Ogre turned to him.

"Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom with own friends? Hmm?" He suggested, leaning down to the little donkey, before walking off again.

"But... I don't have any friends, and I'm NOT going out there by myself!" Exclaimed the creature. A flash of inspiration came to him. "Hey wait a minute, I got a great idea! I'll stick with you" Donkey returned happily to the Ogre, deaf to his annoyance. "You're a mean green fighting machine! With you, we'll scare the spit out of anybody who crosses us!"

The Ogre halted and regarded Donkey for a moment. Then seemingly out of the blue, he fully turned and gave off an all might roar right into the animal’s face; hoping this would scare him.

The mini-donkey just stared, now with an impressed look drawn on his face. "Oh, wow! That was really scary!"

The Ogre just frowned and stomped away.

"Now if that doesn’t work, your breath will certainly get the job done, 'cause you definitely need some Tic Tacs or something 'cause your breath STINKS!"

The Ogre continued walking, but then looked back when he didn’t hear the none-stop chatterbox for about five seconds, to his relief and hope that he lost the annoyance.

To his irritation and surprise, the donkey appeared looking down at him from above; atop of a fallen tree over The Ogre’s path.

"You almost burned the hair outta my nose, just like the time..."

The Ogre covered the donkey's mouth, muffling his little obnoxious tale. The donkey still did not shut up as he kept it held there; continuing to talk either way; The Ogre removed his hand. "Then I ate some berries, man I had some strong gasses leaking out of my butt that day!"

"WHY are you following me?!" The Ogre asked, losing patience; nothing could shut this donkey up and he just needed to get away right now.

"I'll tell you why!" The animal leaped off the tree as he followed the Ogre, before breaking out into obnoxious song. "Cause I'm all alone, there's no here beside meeeee." He stopped in front of the Ogre as he wiggled his butt, the Ogre's right eye was half closed and his left eye was twitching in madness as the mini-donkey continued. "My problems have all gone, there's no one to deride me... but you gotta have faith-"

"Stop singing!" The Ogre yelled, he grabbed the burrito by the ears and tail as he moved him out of his way. "It's no wonder you don't have any friends!"

"Wow, only a true friend would be that truly honest!" The small donkey claimed.

The Ogre only groaned "Listen, little donkey. Take a look at me: What am I?" He held out his arms and stood tall before him.

The burrito looked from the Ogre's shoes to his head, whose face looked irritated while he thought to himself. "Really tall?" was his first guess. The mini-donkey wasn’t sure what The Ogre was asking.

"No! I'm an Ogre, you know. ‘Grab your torch and Pitchforks!’ Doesn't that bother you?" He imitated an Ogre Hunter before asking.

Donkey shook his head

"Nope." came the response

"Really?" The Ogre was a bit surprised.

"Really, really" The creature happily assured.

"Oh," The Ogre was not too sure on what to say next.

"Man, I like you, what's your name?"

The Ogre looked a little surprised. For all his time living alone in the Swamp, no one had ever asked him of his name. He had always been The Ogre, not a true individual to the people around him.

"Uhh... Shrek." He replied after a moment, before continuing his walk home.

"Shrek?" Th little donkey echoed, seeing if he got it right before following the now and forever named Ogre himself. "Well, you know what I like about you Shrek? You got that kind of I-don't-care-what-nobody-thinks-of-me-thing I like that. I respect that Shrek. You all right."

He continued to follow Shrek up the hill as they came overhead across a small grassy meadow hill above that overlooked Shrek's Swamp. Donkey (for that was his name) stared looked at the scene before him.

"Whoa! Look at that. Who'd want to live in a place a like that?" He asked with a hint of disgust, mostly discomfort, in his voice.

"That... would be my home" Shrek claimed, his hands on his hips before heading down the other side of the hill.

Donkey could only blink in response, he had really put his hoof in it now. "Oh! And it is lovely! Just beautiful. You know you are quite a decorator. It's amazing what you've done with such a modest budget!"

Shrek only shook his head as he continued downwards.

"I like that boulder, that is a nice boulder." Donkey followed him down. He continued after Shrek once again and stopped in front of the three signs: "BEWARE OGRE", "STAY OUT" and "DANGER". Donkey took a look at each of them all and asked,"I guess you don't uh.. entertain that much do you?"

"I like my privacy." Shrek claimed as he kept walking to his front door, Donkey trotting after him.

"You know, I do too. That's another thing we have in common. Like I hate it when you got somebody in your face. You've trying to give them a hint and they won't leave. Then there's that big awkward silence you know?"

Shrek turned to face him, silently willing Donkey to understand that the creature had just described their exact situation.

"Can I stay with you?" Clearly Donkey did not receive the hint.

"Uh, what?"

"Can I stay with you, please?" He added in the magic word.

"Of course!" Shrek declared lightheartedly as he smiled.

"Really?" Donkey asked.

"No." Shrek bluntly denied.

"PLEASE! I don't wanna go back there! You know what it's like to be living like a freak!" Donkey reconsidered for a moment as he looked at the large green humanoid before him as he pushed Shrek onto his front door with his hooves. "Well, maybe you do. But that's why we gotta stick together! You gotta let me stay, please, please!" Donkey was getting hysterical.

"OKAY! Okay..." Donkey dropped to the floor as Shrek opened his door inwards as he gave his one little stipulation. "But one night only." He was about to enter before Donkey bolted in.

"Ah! Thank you!"

"What are you...?" Donkey leapt onto Shrek's crocodile skin recliner. "No, no!"

"This is gonna be fun! We can stay up late, swappin' manly stories and in the mornin," He trotted around on the chair before sitting down as he finished with: "I'm makin' waffles!"

"Oh!" Shrek groaned as he held his hands out, as though he was planning to strangle the noisy intruder.

Donkey looked around and asked him. "Where do, uh... I sleep?"

"Outside!" Shrek screamed irritably.

Donkey's ears drooped upon hearing that response. "Oh, well, I guess that's cool. I mean, I don't know you and you don't know me, so I guess outside is best, you know. Here I go." He sniffled as got off his recliner and walked out sadly,"Goodnight..." He told him as Shrek slammed the door on him.

The mini-donkey kept talking, of course. "You know, I do like the outdoors. I'm a Donkey. I was born outside. I'll just be sitting by myself outside, I guess, you know. By myself, outside!"

Shrek looked out before shaking his head and sighing to himself, walking away from the door to enjoy himself for the rest of the day as Donkey began singing the same annoyingsong again; although more sorrowfully.

"I'm all alone, there's no one here besides me..."

That night, as the cauldron hanging by chains over the firepit bubbled solemnly; Shrek was enjoying himself with a nice dinner while Donkey was locked outside of his home. He dropped a eye on a stick into his martini glass and slurped it down as he looked at his dinner before him. There was a slug with orange eyes, what appeared to be green grapes, a jar of eyes, spice, worm stuffed pumpkin and a nice large piece of cooked skinless meat on his plate.

These were the times he enjoyed the most out of his solitary life, he was home, nice and warm and he wasn't bothered by anyone at all. Though he had to pause and glance at his front door. Shrek had ... mixed feelings about his new acquaintance. He talked WAY too much, but he was also the first person in a very long time to actually treat Shrek like a person.

He shook his head and sighed, scooting in further to his table as he felt that there was just something missing from the layout of the table. The man he figured out what ir was. He brought his hand to his ear and started to pull hard and painfully as the earwax built up came out like a spear and placed it atop a candle platform; lighting the wick made of ear hair afterwards with a match. Now he can enjoy his meal alone.

The same could not be said for Donkey, who peeked sadly into the window before making his way back to the front door. He laid down as he smiled bittersweetly and went to sleep at his new friend's doorstep.

Shrek continued to eat and enjoy his meal until the sound of his door creaking interrupted his silence.

He put his fork and knife on the table as he got up. "I thought I told you to stay outside." He was hoping to shove Donkey back outside, if that was what had come in.

"I am outside." Donkey’s voice came from the window.

In confusion, Shrek turned and saw a shadow move across the wall. Who was now moving around near his table? He returned and observed it. Everything was normal underneath the table, but then he heard voices from above.

"Well, gents, it's a farcry from the farm, but what choice do we have?" A blind mouse asked, tripping over Shrek's fork.

"It's not home, but it'll do just fine!" The second of the blind mice knocked over the jar full of eyeballs, spilling out the contents.

"What a lovely bed" The third of the blind mice was bouncing on the Slug, Shrek immediately caught him.

"Got ya!" However it escaped his grasp.

"I found some cheese" the third mouse said, biting Shrek's left ear.

"OW!" He cried in pain, grabbing at the mouse again who was now on his other shoulder.

"Blah! Awful stuff!" The tiny rodent jumped down onto the spoon and inadvertently launched a piece of gravy towards Shrek's left eye, which he wiped away immediately.

"Is that you Gordon?" One of them asked.

"How did you know?" A different one asked back.

"Enough!" Shrek grabbed all three of them by the tail, flipping the wooden spoon off the left side of the table as he turned his back and demanded angrily.

"What are you doing in my house?" The dinner on his table was then violently shoved off and Shrek's back was hit with an gold and glass fashioned coffin, labeled, ‘Here lies Snow White, under the curse by the Poison Apple infected by the Sleeping Death curse’.

"Hey!" He turned and saw the Seven Dwarves, one of the waved at Shrek.

"Oh, no, no, no. Dead broad OFF the table!" He shoved her coffin back to the Dwarves

"Where are we supposed to put her? The Bed's taken!" They shoved the coffin back to him.

"Huh?" Shrek stopped short. He hurried to his bed and opened the curtain separating the rooms and gasped. There laid comfortably and in grandmother's clothing, was a wolf of all creatures.

"What?" The Wolf asked irritably.

Shrek was now on the verge of rage, he dragged the Wolf out of bed and held him in the air through his house as the Seven Dwarves made themselves comfortable.

"I live in a swamp, I put up signs! I'm a terrifying Ogre!" He shoved his door open outwards. "What do I have to do to get a little privacy?!" He screamed as he threw the Wolf out of his house.

Then he saw a sight that would haunt him forever. "Oh no... oh no!" Shrek bellowed.

His Swamp. His lovely, silent, peaceful Swamp was no longer the way he intended it to be. It was now swarming with many, many Fairytale Creatures; many, many beings now living in his precious Swamp. Even the old woman brought her entire shoe to his Swamp, with many children running around. Tents were set up, fairies roamed around in the air, Pinocchio and a short yellow elf with a cone shaped hat were arguing and many people were conversing with each other.

“No!" A witch flew past him. "NO!" He screamed out, three more witches came zooming past him and Shrek had to jump for cover as they came flying down with elves helping them land.

"Wha?" Shrek turned his head to the side with the old woman hanging her clothes with a child and two other children pushing each other.

"Hey, don't push!" A girl in the blue shrieked.

The Pied Piper in red was calling over rats with his flute while many other Fairytale Creatures were waiting in line towards Shrek's Outhouse.

In the meantime, Papa and Baby Bear were sitting by the fire, the latter upset and being comforted by his father; no Mama Bear in sight, as many other Fairytale Creatures warmed themselves up by the fire before them. Elves, Lepricons, Dwarves, Fairies, Witches, Pigs, Wolves, a Unicorn and any Fairytale Creature you can think of were all there in Shrek's Swamp; shattering his peace.

"What are you doing in my Swamp?!" Shrek roared out as he got up, his voice echoed all over the sound of his Swamp; everyone and everything came an abrupt half as it was followed by screams and gasps. The Dwarves who held bowls to be fed with soup from the cauldron by the witch dropped them, the three fairies of Sleeping Beauty flew in the tent to hide and two Dwarves ducked out of sight and appeared holding each other out of fear behind a branch.

Shrek wasn't going to have all this; he eyed everyone and began to walk to some Elves and Dwarves. "Alright, get out of here. All of you, move it! Come on! Let's go! Hapaya! Hapaya! Hey! Quickly, come on!" He shooed them all backwards but some of the Dwarves and fairies ran into his home as Shrek turned back. "No, no! No, no. Not there, not there!" He ran after them as they slammed the door on him and a little green fairy, the door now unable to open despite his best efforts.

He stopped and turned to face the large group before them, especially on Donkey.

"Hey don't look at me, I didn't invite them!" Donkey replied.

"Oh, gosh, no one invited us" Pinocchio confirmed.

"What?!" Shrek came over, demanding to know what happened.

"We were forced to come here" He told the Ogre.

"By who?" He was flabbergasted until one of the Three Pigs told him.

“Lord Farquaad. He huffed and he puffed and he... signed an eviction notice." His brothers nodded in agreement.

"Alright. Who knows where this Farquaad guy is?" Shrek asked.

Everyone looked around at each other with no answer, until Donkey answered. "Oh, I do. I know where he is!"

"Does anybody ELSE know where to find him? Anyone at all?" Shrek was desperate to not to go with Donkey of all people.

"Me! Me!" Donkey tried to get his attention, jumping comically into the air. Baby Bear held his paw up, but was stopped by his father.

"Anyone?" Big Bad Wolf and a Green Wizard pointed to each other while Donkey continued

"Oh! Oh, pick me! Oh, I know! I know! Me, me!"

"Okay... fine." He reigned himself to being annoyed; Shrek knew that he would either go with Donkey or risk asking a human. "Attention, all Fairytale... things. Do not get comfortable, your welcome is officially worn out. In fact, I'm going to see this guy Farquaad right now and get you all off my land and back where you came from!" He pointed to the left before the entire crowd went wild.

Shrek shook his head and groaned before walking, four birds draping him in a flower cloak. "Doh!" He swatted them away as he sharply pointed directly at Donkey. "You. You're comin' with me" He told him darkly as he shoved the cape off him and started walking, the birds returning and dropping a flower crown on his head.

"Alright, that's what I like to hear man: Shrek and Donkey, two stalwart friends, off on a whirlwind big-city adventure. I love it!" Donkey rushed after the ogre.

Shrek tried to grab torch from a Dwarf while walking. He refused to let go, so Shrek simply shook him and then dropped the dwarf into the water where the dwarf resurfaced moments later.

"On the road again, sing it with me, Shrek. I can't to get on the road again!"

“What did I say about singing?" Shrek sharply turned to Donkey and grabbed his flower crown before throwing it off of him. They crossed a log that bridged the area between Shrek’s little island and the rest of the swamp.

"Can I whistle?" Donkey asked.

"No."

"Can I hum it?"

"Alright, hum it."

Donkey continued to hum ‘On the Road Again’ while Shrek

focused on the road ahead.

The two heroes marched off into the woodlands while being waved off by all creatures.

Art Explanation

So, it’s obvious I copied the title from the movie! It sure did make my life easier!

And I used a lot of references for my pictures. I hoped to make them true to the movie as possible.

The second picture is possibly my favorite, although I didn’t enjoy drawing all the scenery. It isn’t my specialty.

The third picture was fun! I remember being very jealous of Shrek’s belch power when I was little, lol.

To be honest, the fourth picture was my least favorite. It felt too busy.

The fifth picture is my other favorite, because it has Donkey!

The last picture was hard, for sure. I wanted to ge their reflections right, and not make the background look too crappy. It’s hard to adapt things from such a dark scene. But I think it turned out alright, although the scaling is a little funny :).

So, I was hoping to not have to write out these scenes myself, because it’s ten whole minutes of a movie and let me tell you, it’s hard to do from scratch. Luckily, I found a version, which I’ve left a link for below. I just polished it a bit.

Anyways, I hope you’ve enjoyed!

SOURCE

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/450448/1/Shrek-Adaptation

[mrobrotzly]

✨ and lighting the fuse might result in a bang ✨

so today is my birthday and i decided it would be a great gift to myself (and maybe to you) to write more geraskier smut!

(link on AO3)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

Tags: Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Light Dom/sub, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, (slightly jealous tbh), Spanking, Jaskier is a tease, PWP without Porn

Summary: [...] "You're a fucking tease, you know it?" he said burying his face in the curve of Jaskier's neck, taking a deep breath and making the troubadour shiver.

"I don't know what you're talking about" he wrapped his arms around the Witcher's body, tilting his head to the side, giving Geralt better access to brush his lips on the skin.

"You can't tease me like that and expect not to be punished" he snarled in the bard's ear, Jaskier tried not to moan "You know what that means, don't you?"

"Geralt..." he whispered, whimpering when he felt a light bite on his neck.

“Bed. On your hands and knees. Now." [...]

Geralt was sitting at a table in the corner while the music was playing, Jaskier had been singing for over an hour, wandering around the room and dancing with the people who were standing, occasionally swirling around the barmaid with a smirk. The bard winked, silently flirting with anyone who came close.

Geralt had left early that day and when he returned, Jaskier was already starting the performance, the Witcher just nodded and went up to the room to take a shower, with the atmosphere as it was, the room full of people - and him attracting attention for being covered in mud and blood - Geralt didn't look at Jaskier twice, but now, hiding part of his face behind a tankard, his attention was all on the bard.

His attention was on his fingers playing the lute strings, graceful and experienced, on how the tip of his tongue occasionally appeared between his lips, on how the yellowish light of the candles reflected in the immensity of blue that was his eyes and in how he made the room more vibrant with energy, cheering everyone around while more coins were thrown in the lute's case.

But what really made Geralt want to growl was the way he moved around, strategically to never leave the Witcher's visual field, but precisely, to almost always keep his back to him, because Jaskier was wearing pants that hugged every part of him, tight on his ass and thighs, showing how the years of traveling on foot have done him well - oh, very well - and the bastard knew that Geralt was looking, he knew that he was practically irresistible not only for the Witcher, but for most of the people who were in the room, and obviously he took advantage of that.

Geralt tightened his fingers around the tankard, watching the troubadour bend over - raising his ass a little 'cause of course he would that - to sing some of the lyrics to a young woman who was sitting next to him and practically drooling while watching the performance, not only she but the man beside her flushed, bright red, with the bard's sudden approach.

But what was really torture wasn't seeing Jaskier flirting or not being able to touch him or lick his lips and mark every part of his neck, no, the torture was the short breaks the bard did to drink or eat something before start to play again. Every time he approached Geralt's table, sitting absurdly close, sliding his hands on the Witcher's thigh in a false innocence, speaking in a lower than normal voice, the same voice he used in the bedroom (or in the open, against a tree, or lying on the ground or even in the stable for not wanting to wait to get to the room, well…).

And, fuck, he sat on Geralt's lap, grinding his hips, smelling strongly of arousal and lust, saying casually that he might have forgotten to wear underwear, making Geralt's blood boil and the bulge in his pants grow, but before the Witcher could pull him up the stairs, the bard stood up and continued to perform as if nothing had happened. The Witcher asked for another ale, feeling his control fading as he imagined tearing up those pants.

Another 30 minutes of this before Jaskier finished his performance and Geralt was ready to get up and lock both of them in their room until dawn, but Jaskier was still a bastard and decided it would be best to continue chatting, laughing and flirting, whispering things for men and women, drinking ale that he certainly hadn't paid for.

Geralt didn't consider himself jealous - not when he knew that Jaskier wasn't really interested in the people around him, that everything was part of the bard's persona - but watching the amount of fierce looks from people who seemed to want to devour every part of Jaskier's body didn’t ease the growl stuck in his chest, he wanted to pull the bard to him, bite and suck his neck, mark it to make it clear that he was accompanied.

The bard must have noticed that his grip on the tankard tightened, a smirked spreading across his face and he winked, it was at that moment that Geralt gave up, Jaskier would continue that performance for hours if he allowed it. The Witcher got up, going to the table where the troubadour was sitting (sitting on the table, sometimes the bard didn't know what chairs were for) and immediately the people around him stopped talking.

"Bedtime" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier laughed.

"Okay, mom" the people around him chuckled and he leaned over to whisper something to a young man in front of him, something that obviously Geralt also could hear "Thank you dor the ale, hope we meet again sometime" he winked, leaving the table and following a Witcher who did everything he could to keep the last remnants of control.

Less than five seconds after Jaskier closed the door to their room, Geralt pushed him against the wall, pressing his body to the bard's.

"You're a fucking tease, you know it?" he said burying his face in the curve of Jaskier's neck, taking a deep breath and making the troubadour shiver.

"I don't know what you're talking about" he wrapped his arms around the Witcher's body, tilting his head to the side, giving Geralt better access to brush his lips on the skin.

"You can't tease me like that and expect not to be punished" he snarled in the bard's ear, Jaskier tried not to moan "You know what that means, don't you?"

"Geralt..." he whispered, whimpering when he felt a light bite on his neck.

“Bed. On your hands and knees. Now."

He stepped aside, making room for the bard, Jaskier bit his lip pretending to be nervous, but the strong smell of his arousal, sweet and spicy, made it clear that this was exactly what he wanted.

"You do it on purpose, don't you?" the bard shrugged, trying not to smile, going to the bed. Geralt grunted, watching his ass on display and, finally, the Witcher pulled the cloth with both hands, tearing his trousers, hearing a yelp in response.

“You brute! I liked those pants!” Jaskier turned his head to look at Geralt, clearly offended.

"Well, this is supposed to be a punishment."

“For me, not for my clothes!” he pouted, but soon afterwards he let out a whimper as the Witcher tightly gripped his butt.

"Ten" he said hoarsely, making the bard shiver, eyes fixed on the exposed skin - he really wasn't wearing underwear "You count."

Jaskier only had time to nod before Geralt's heavy palm hit his ass, he whinned, lowering his head and feeling his cock throb.

"Count" the Witcher said in a grunt, repeating the act, the sound of his hand hitting the skin was loud this time.

"Two" Jaskier said and took a deep breath, they had just started he didn't want to show how affected he was and how much he liked it - even though he knew Geralt knew.

Geralt murmured, running his thumb over the smooth skin that gradually became red and marked and while doing so, without warning, he slapped the other cheek, causing Jaskier to let out a surprised groan.

"Not fair" he said breathlessly "Three."

"This is really not a punishment for you, right?" he slid his hand in front of the bard's body, feeling the bulge in his pants (at least the front of the trousers was intact, but he didn't think the rest could be fixed).

"Geralt..." Jaskier moaned weakly, trying to go forward with his hips, wanting more of the touch.

The Witcher denied him, making the bard growl, but when he opened his mouth to complain he was surprised by the hand hitting him firmly and he groaned. Before he had a chance to continue counting Geralt started a sequence, varying the speed, sometimes letting the bard catch his breath, other times not, without changing the strength of the hits, leaving the skin red and hot.

At number ten, Jaskier moaned loudly, it was stronger than the others, a sharp pain running through his body mixed with pleasure, he felt his legs weak as he gasped, his painfully hard cock begging for release, he whimpered something that might have been the Witcher's name.

"You stopped counting" he caressed the back of the troubadour's thigh "Maybe I should punish you for that too and not let you come."

Jaskier shook his head several times.

"No?" Geralt ran his fingers lightly over the bulge in his pants, with the other hand firmly gripped his hips to keep the bard from moving.

"Please..." he said in a whisper, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the touch.

"I didn't hear you, Jaskier" Geralt grinned, going with his hips forward and pressing against the hot skin of the bard's ass.

Jaskier's moan was mixed with a whimper.

"Geralt, please!" he raised his voice a bit, feeling the Witcher grinding against him, murmuring thoughtfully.

Fortunately Geralt moved to do something, but unfortunately that made him no longer touch Jaskier.

"Don't move" the Witcher got up from the bed, looking for something in one of the bags for a moment and when he returned to stand behind Jaskier he held a vial of oil that was half full. The bard propped himself up on his elbows, raised his ass and spread his legs, Geralt grunted.

"Fucking gorgeous" he said hoarsely, Jaskier moaned softly, feeling his face heat up.

The Witcher brought both hands to the bard's ass, squeezing it tightly, watching his fingertips sink into the hot, reddish skin.

Jaskier held his breath, not knowing what Geralt's next move would be, the Witcher realized that, a wolfish smile spreading across his face, he moved his hands, opening the bard's cheeks and lowering his head, bringing his face close to his hole and licked a straight, linear stripe, receiving a surprised groan in response.

He repeated it, teasing, running his tongue around the hole, pressing the tip and threatening to penetrate, Jaskier let his body slide, laying his torso on the bed, raising his hips, face pressed against the sheet, mouth open involuntarily letting out the sounds, his hips jerked trying to find something that he could rub his cock, his pants starting to get wet with pre-cum.

“Geralt…” he moaned, muffled by the sheet “Geralt, please…”

But Geralt was also a bastard, he penetrated the tip of his tongue slowly and so briefly that Jaskier considered it torture, he heard the Witcher chuckle at the disgruntled grunt he let out.

“Always impatient” he licked again - only around the hole.

"Fuck, Geralt, stop teasing!" the bard tried to move his hips, but was still being held tightly.

"You tease me all night and can't take a few minutes of it?" Geralt smirked, pulling his face away and finally releasing Jaskier "Don't even try to move."

The bard grunted, burying his face further in the sheet.

"I fucking hate you," he said muffled, listening to the sound of the cork being pulled out of the oil vial and the Witcher's hoarse laughter.

Geralt coated his fingers with the oil and poured some of the liquid into Jaskier's rear, watching him shiver. Doing the same movement he did with his tongue, seeing how the troubadour controlled himself not to move. Slowly he penetrated a finger.

Jaskier bit his lip, whining, closing his eyes feeling the finger moving inside him, Geralt watched his reaction carefully. He thrusted his fingers once, twice, three times, until he was able to find that bundle of nerves that made Jaskier moan loudly and arch his back.

The Witcher grinned, pressing his fingertip over the same spot again, the bard already clenching, his cock throbbing. The second finger slid in, thrusting and scissoring, opening and stretching Jaskier, Geralt allowed him to roll his hips - since he was doing it involuntarily - and seeing this reminded him that his own pants were uncomfortably tight around his cock.

He increased the speed, thrusting the fingers harder, making the bard moan so beautifully for him. With the third finger in, Jaskier was already a mess, hip jerking, babbling words and the Witcher's name over and over, asking, begging, crying out for more.

Geralt groaned, watching his fingers being sucked in the heat of Jaskier's body one last time before taking them out and finally lowering his own pants only enough to let his cock free.

He brought his hands to Jaskier's waist, laying him on his back. Jaskier's lips were reddish, eyes half open, the blue being devoured by the black of his pupils and he was panting, in the front of his trousers a very noticeable bulge and a spot wet with pre-cum

"Gorgeous" he said again and the bard closed his eyes, moaning weakly.

"Geralt..." he whimpered, the Witcher smirked, tearing the rest of the pants and throwing the cloth somewhere in the room, this time Jaskier didn't say anything, a sense of pride grown in Geralt's chest for knowing that the bard was already so wrecked that he didn't even complain.

Geralt stroke his own length, spreading the oil, a groan caught in his throat.

He pulled the bard's legs toward him and instantly Jaskier crossed them around the Witcher's waist, feeling the tip of his cock pressing against his hole. Geralt leaned over the bard, foreheads touching, drinking at the sight of those eyes full of love and lust before starting a kiss and finally sliding inside. And, fuck, Jaskier felt him deep, stretching and filling him so wonderfully.

The kiss didn't stop, increasing the intensity as they both felt fire run through their veins, melting at the touches, moaning low against each other lips as Geralt slowly rolled his hips.

When Jaskier started moving too, Geralt got the message, he pressed the bodies together, the bard tightened his legs around his body and took the opportunity to wrap his arms around the Witcher's neck, moaning loudly and breaking the kiss when Geralt went forward with his hip in a sharp and quick thrust. He didn't stop, repeating the movement without rhythm or warning, swallowing every gasp, moan and cry that Jaskier let out, kissing him intensely.

When he hit that spot that made the bard see stars, Jaskier dug his nails into his back, tipping his head back and exposing his neck perfectly for Geralt to bite, kiss and suck, the speed of his thrusts increasing while he fucked Jaskier hard. The bard moaned, curling his toes, repeating Geralt's name over and over. The Witcher slid his body over his, causing a delicious friction, the bard's cock trapped between them.

Geralt groaned, low and deep, feeling Jaskier clenching tight around his lenght as they kissed desperately, his hips losing pace as the troubadour tried to move even though it was a difficult task with the Witcher on top of him.

The bard felt his orgasm coming, hitting him at the same moment that Geralt bit his neck hard, he opened his mouth, but the sound getting stuck in his throat, eyes closed as he searched for something to grab - scratching the Witcher back even more  - curling his toes as a shock went up his spine and his vision whitened with pleasure.

Geralt came seconds later, Jaskier impossibly tighter around him, his hips failed the pace of the thrusts and he buried his face in the curve of the bard's neck, going as deep as he could and feeling his whole body tremble as he came hard inside Jaskier with a hoarse, muffled groan.

Both are panting, the Witcher giving small kisses on the troubadour's neck, mainly on the mark of the bite. He moved his hip slowly, pulling out and hearing Jaskier sigh at the feeling.

They kissed slowly and lazily, the bard stretching his legs on the bed, they looked at each other for a few seconds, smiling and enjoying the afterglow.

"You're going to clean us up" Jaskier said, patting Geralt on the shoulder, the Witcher rolled his eyes. "And I want a massage, my ass deserves it."

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, kissing Jaskier's forehead.

“You know you didn't” the bard stroked Geralt's hair “I like it a little rough.”

Geralt laughed, getting up, Jaskier winced when the movement spread some of his cum over his stomach.

"This was supposed to be a punishment" he grabbed the fabric of what was once Jaskier's pants, dip it into a small bucket of water they had in the room and approached the bed to clean up the mess they made.

"Say that to my poor pants," the bard said, making no effort to help Geralt as the cloth slid down his body. "Frankly, do you know how expensive it was? I thought you would like the way it looks on my body. ”

"Hm" finished the service he discarded the fabric, throwing it somewhere in the room "I liked it a little too much."

Jaskier laughed, opening his arms and pulling him to lie with his head on his chest.

They were silent for a few seconds, one hand of the bard stroking the Witcher's hair and the other holding Geralt's.

"You know," he said, a smirk on his face "I bought two of these."

Geralt murmured, wondering where he was going with this.

"Maybe one day I'll do a private performance only for you..."

The Witcher looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"If you deserve it, obviously."

"And do you think I deserve it?" he ran his fingers through the hair on Jaskier's chest.

The bard smiled.

"Only if you give me that massage, come on, Geralt, get the chamomile!"

Geralt laughed, rolling his eyes, but still got out of bed.

♡ if you enjoy my work, you can support me & buy me a coffee ☕

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Four

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Four

Clary, it turned out, was very good at Land Mines. But so was Izzy. It only took a couple rounds for them to admit they played the game all the time, and a couple more rounds (both of which the Lightwoods lost) for Izzy to drunkenly (and loudly) explain that she thought it was hot when Clary got competitive.

Jace told her he didn’t want to hear about it, and he hoped he wasn’t tipsy enough for her to notice what a hypocrite he was in saying it. Because competitive Simon? Was so hot. And Simon was pretty much hot all the time, even when he was annoying the hell out of Jace, but Simon going all-out trying to prove himself, and doing it every damned time, was something else. It didn’t help that right now he was doing it dressed in a tighter than usual t-shirt that proclaimed him a “Jedi in the streets, Sith in the sheets” that Clary (who most definitely noticed Jace’s appreciation of how tight the shirt was) gleefully informed Jace had been a present from her.

“Another win for Team Fray-Lewis,” Simon proclaimed as his coin spun to a stop without touching any of the glasses on the table. He and Clary bumped fists without even looking at each other, and Simon flashed Jace a smug grin that did things to him. “Let’s see you top that, hotshot.”

Jace returned a cocky grin of his own. “You should know better by now than to question my skills.”

Thankfully for Jace’s ego, and his liver, his own spin came tumbling to rest right before hitting a double-size shot glass of tequila. The same shot glass Clary’s coin hit moments later.

Clary winced. “Sorry, Si.”

“All right,” Simon said, narrowing his eyes. “All right.” He downed his shot and licked the excess from his lips in a way that Jace found very distracting. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Simon was doing it on purpose. “We’ve still got this.”

“Damn right we do,” Clary agreed, knocking back her own shot and then grabbing Izzy for a messy kiss. “A kiss for luck,” she announced.

“I’m not even on your team, silly,” Izzy giggled.

By the time they finished the game, Jace and Izzy having only just squeaked by with a win, the party was in full swing, and Jace was feeling pleasantly buzzed. With several hours left to go until midnight, he decided to pass on the cocktail Magnus offered him in favor of plain soda. As much as he’d joked about hangovers, that was the last way he wanted to start the new year, especially since he had plans with Alec and Magnus the next day, and they both seemed to be somehow magically immune to hangovers.

Jace let himself get swept up in the atmosphere of the party: dancing, joking with his siblings, getting into an inane argument with Magnus’s friend Ragnor about which of Scott Joplin’s works was most influential. And somehow, he always managed to find himself back by Simon’s side. He should have been doing it as part of keeping up the appearance of being his boyfriend, but it was less that he was intentionally trying to spend time around Simon and more that he was allowing himself not to not be around Simon. The realization should have annoyed him, but somehow it didn’t.

Especially since Simon seemed just as drawn to his side. Which was probably Simon keeping up appearances, since he’d proven himself to be incredibly good at it so far. It was almost comfortable. Right up until it was something else entirely.

Jace and Simon had been chatting with Dot—a friend of Magnus’s who’d apparently been a neighbor of Clary’s and Simon’s when they were kids—when Clary, who had clearly not stopped drinking after their game, interrupted by throwing her arms over Jace and Dot’s shoulders. “You guys should come dance with me,” she told them. “Izzy’s busy talking to Magnus about shoes, and I wanna dance, and you guys are like three of my very favorite people who aren’t Izzy, so I want you to dance with me.”

“Of course,” Dot laughed, wrapping an arm around Clary’s waist and twirling her toward the makeshift dance floor Magnus and Alec had made in their living room.

“You guys, come on!” Clary called over her shoulder, tripping and nearly falling before Dot caught her and turned it into a shaky dip.

Simon looked at Jace and offered his hand. “There’s really no point in arguing. She’s even more stubborn drunk than she is sober.”

“That’s a terrifying thought,” Jace said, taking Simon’s hand and following him onto the dance floor.

Jace lost track of how long they spent dancing, first with Clary and Dot, switching partners every few minutes at Clary’s enthusiastic insistence, and then just with each other after Izzy reappeared and Clary abandoned them to go cling to her girlfriend like some kind of hyper-affectionate koala.

“I honestly can’t believe she’s still standing,” Simon said. “She’s had at least three margaritas since we finished our game, and I didn’t even want to think about drinking after that many shots.”

“She was probably consoling herself after you guys lost so badly,” Jace said, moving closer than the music or space strictly demanded. “I wouldn’t know what it’s like, but losing sure seems like it would suck.”

“Uh huh,” Simon said. “Because you winning by a single shot was so very impressive.”

“It really was,” Jace agreed.

The music made a surprisingly smooth transition from pounding bass to Duke Ellington, and Simon grabbed Jace’s hand to pull him into some kind of swing dance that Jace was not at all familiar with.

“Really?” Simon asked with obvious relish. “You don’t know how to Lindy Hop?”

“I’m not an old man or terminally nerdy, so no,” Jace answered, not quite managing to follow Simon’s steps, but not making a complete fool out of himself either. He supposed that was one good thing to come out of that ridiculous mandatory high school PE swing dance unit.

“So, are you calling Magnus old or a nerd?” Simon asked, nodding to the other side of the dance floor, where Magnus was twirling Dot like they were both professional dancers.

“Magnus is a special case,” Jace said.

“Because your brother would murder you in your sleep for saying anything bad about him?” Simon suggested.

Jace snorted a laugh. “I plead the fifth.”

“You know what I think?” Simon asked, doing a rock-step then smoothly maneuvering Jace into a gentle twirl.

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Jace said.

“I think you just don’t know how to deal with not being good at something. So you’re an ass about anything you aren’t good at.”

“Nah,” Jace said, attempting to mimic Simon’s earlier move and managing to awkwardly spin him into a twirl of his own. “You just always react so well when I’m an ass to you that I can’t resist doing it.”

“Ah, got it. So you’re basically saying you never matured past middle school.”

“You’re one to talk about maturity. Do I need to remind you that the first thing you did when I introduced you to my sister was ask to see her Lego collection?”

“In my defense,” Simon said, “I was trying to save us all from probable food poisoning.” He executed another twirl, this time one that ended with his arms wrapped around Jace from behind, which Jace definitely felt no way at all about. “Also, it was a really great Lego collection.”

The music changed again, back to a modern club beat, and Jace felt some of the tension leave his body. This was the kind of music he knew how to dance to. And maybe there was just the tiniest bit of truth to what Simon had said about him not knowing how to be bad at things.

It was just natural and not at all pettiness over Simon being right that had him rolling his hips with the beat of the new song, which just consequently happened to grind his ass back against Simon’s crotch. And, okay, there was maybe just the tiniest bit of satisfaction in hearing Simon’s sharp intake of breath.

“Just try not to do that when someone you’re actually dating brings you home for the first time.”

Jace wasn’t entirely sure how to identify what he felt when Simon leaned forward to speak directly in his ear. “And what do you think I should have done?” Simon’s breath was hot against his skin. “If we were actually dating?”

Jace spun around to face him. “If we were actually dating, Alec would have been on his own defending dinner from Izzy, because I wouldn’t have taken you back downstairs until I was done very thoroughly showing you my bedroom.”

It came out sounding much less like a joke than he intended, the truth behind his words bleeding through his shaky bravado. And he knew Simon heard it, could see it in the soft surprise of his parted lips, could feel it in the faint tremor of the hand he still held.

“I guess,” Simon said, tongue darting out to wet his lips, drawing Jace’s eyes, “it’s a good thing for our digestive systems that we weren’t actually dating.”

This had been a mistake. Dancing with Simon like this, touching him like this. Inviting him to the party in the first place. This whole damned fake dating plan. Jace wanted desperately to lean in and trace the path of Simon’s tongue with his own.

“I don’t know,” he said instead. “I think it probably would have been worth it.”

They weren’t even pretending to dance now, Simon standing stock still, watching him as if trying to puzzle him out. Finally, he took a step back, loosening his hold. “Jace—”

“Attention, dearest friends and tolerated acquaintances!” Magnus’s voice rang through the loft as the music came to a sudden halt. Jace stayed as he was, unwilling to bring himself to let go of Simon entirely, unable to look away, and Simon seemingly similarly caught.

“We have invited you here this evening to help us ring in the new year, which, if you direct your attention to the clock right over there, you will see is now a mere thirty seconds away. So, grab your drink, grab your sweetie—or an attractive stranger, I won’t judge—and get ready to count down to a brand new year!”

Jace barely noticed as the countdown began around him, focused as he was on Simon. He only really caught on to what was happening when Simon’s lips began to move, softly counting down with the crowd even as his eyes never left Jace’s.

Jace had plenty of time to think through what he was about to do, with enough left over to second- and third-guess himself. Some people might have said thirty seconds wasn’t long enough to make a reasoned choice, but for someone like Jace, who made an art out of making impulsive, split-second decisions, thirty seconds was practically an eternity. He watched Simon’s lips form the final count of “one,” heard the crowd around them erupt into shouts of “Happy New Year!” and then he was surging forward.

Simon met him halfway, the kiss bruising and desperate. Jace was dimly aware of people around him laughing and cheering, but his entire world was narrowed down to this one moment, to this kiss. If their previous kisses had been chaste and family-appropriate, this was anything but. Simon kissed like he wanted to crawl inside Jace, one hand on the small of his back, pulling him close, the other tangled in his hair. Jace kind of wanted Simon to crawl inside him.

When Simon finally broke the kiss, Jace had to hold himself back from chasing his swollen, spit-slick lips. But whatever Simon saw when he looked at Jace had him muttering a soft “shit” before diving back in for more, so Jace considered it an all-around win.

Jace licked into Simon’s mouth, sliding the fingers of one hand under the hem of his shirt enough to trace along the waistband of his jeans, just above his hip. Simon shuddered and made a soft, desperate sound, and Jace made it his mission to elicit more of those sounds, to drive Simon just as crazy as those sounds were driving him.

When they broke the kiss for the second time, it was prompted by a sharp whistle that Jace would have recognized anywhere as Izzy’s followed by a cheer of, “Yeah, get it, Simon!” from Clary.

Simon looked slightly embarrassed at just how carried away they’d managed to get in the middle of a party, but Jace just smirked and threw a wink at his sister and her girlfriend.

A quick look around showed that, despite Izzy and Clary’s very loud attention, most of the partygoers were too involved in their own celebrations to be paying much attention to Jace and Simon, although it also seemed like the rest of them had long since finished up their celebratory kisses. The only other people paying them any attention at all were Magnus and Alec, who were standing nearby.

Alec wore the look of long-suffering fondness he often wore around Jace. “Please don’t have sex in my living room,” he said when he caught Jace’s eye.

“We weren’t—” Simon spluttered. “We wouldn’t—”

“At least use the guest room like civilized people,” Magnus added. Much less fondly, Jace thought.

“Oh god,” Simon muttered as Magnus swept off to speak with other guests, Alec in tow. “I’m never going to live this down. Fray is going to be teasing me about this until the day I die. And I think your brother hates me now.”

“Alec doesn’t hate you,” Jace said. “You would know if Alec hated you; he is not subtle. I’m sure he considers this one-hundred percent my fault.”

“Okay, but Magnus definitely hates me.”

“Dude,” Jace said, squeezing Simon’s shoulder, “Magnus doesn’t hate you, either. He wouldn’t have offered us his guest room if he hated you.”

Simon gave him a flat look. “Pretty sure he didn’t actually intend for us to use the guest room. We’d have to have basically no shame to just ditch the party and run off to the guest room to have sex after Clary and Izzy drew so much attention to us making out like horny teenagers in public.”

“You’ve known me how long, and you still operate under the misapprehension that I’m capable of shame?” Jace teased.

Except. Except he was only half-teasing, because he would absolutely ditch this party to go have sex with Simon in the guest room if he thought Simon was even a little bit interested in that. Hell, he’d ditch the party to have sex with Simon in the fucking closet.

And he was pretty sure Simon knew it, because Simon was staring at him again, with that same intensity he had right before they’d kissed. Jace smirked and very deliberately ran a tongue over his lower lip.

“I hate you,” Simon said without heat before dragging Jace into a quick, filthy kiss. “Where’s the guest room?”

Jace didn’t answer, just grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the hallway that led to the guest suite.

It took them several minutes to actually make it into the guest room because Jace decided halfway there that he kind of desperately needed to be kissing Simon again. It was like a dam had broken, and now that he was allowed to kiss Simon, really kiss him, he couldn’t seem to stop. But that was okay, because Simon didn’t seem interested in stopping, either.

When they finally stumbled into the guest room, Jace found himself promptly pinned against the door, Simon’s body pressing against him in a long, hard line, a situation which Jace found himself more than okay with.

“This,” Simon muttered between kisses, “is probably a terrible idea.”

“Yeah,” Jace agreed, sliding one leg between Simon’s leg to press against the bulge in his jeans and trying to ignore the bitter twist in his gut. “You want to stop?”

“Fuck,” Simon panted, grinding against Jace’s leg. “Really no.” He slid his hands beneath Jace’s shirt, pushing it up in a clear indication he wanted it off. “Just making sure we’re both on the same page with regard to our mutual terrible decision making.”

“You know me,” Jace said, raising his arms obligingly and helping Simon tug his shirt over his head. “Making terrible decisions with pretty people is kind of my thing.”

Jace’s shirt fell to the floor, and Simon just sort of froze for a second before reaching out and sliding his hands up Jace’s chest almost reverently. “God,” he muttered, “you are just unfairly hot.” His hands stilled suddenly, and he met Jace’s eyes, brows furrowed. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Yes, dumbass,” Jace said, reaching up to cup Simon’s face. “Did the last ten minutes not clue you in?”

“I—”

Jace silenced whatever Simon was about to say with another kiss. With as much as he was feeling right now, kissing was safer than talking. He’d probably said too much already.

He flipped them around so he was pressing Simon into the door, breaking the kiss just long enough to say, “Oh, hey, I found an effective way to make you stop talking. Should have thought of this sooner.”

“Fuck you,” Simon mumbled against his mouth.

“Maybe later,” Jace told him, tugging at Simon’s belt. “Right now I just need to get my hands on you.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed dazedly as Jace worked open his jeans. “Yeah, okay, that sounds really—” He broke off with an almost wounded noise as Jace reached inside his boxers and wrapped a hand around his cock.

Jace kissed him again, slow and deliberate just like the hand on Simon’s cock. Jace felt back on firmer ground, now. This, sex, was something he understood, something he was good at. Slick tongues and writhing bodies were far more straightforward—far less dangerous—than feelings.

For a few strokes, Simon seemed content to just take what Jace was giving him, but then he was kissing back with almost bruising intensity and fumbling open Jace’s pants to wrap a calloused hand around his dick, and it was everything.

Jace lost track of things at that point, lost in the feel of Simon’s deft fingers around his cock, of Simon thrusting into his hand, of Simon’s mouth on his own, of Simon. And then Simon was murmuring something unintelligible against Jace’s mouth as the movement of his hips became erratic and then he was shaking apart in Jace’s arms, coming all over his hand and abdomen, and Jace thought, as he followed Simon over the edge seconds later, it might have been the hottest thing he’d ever experienced.

“Holy shit,” Simon said after they’d both caught their breath. “That actually just happened.”

Jace let out a soft huff of laughter. “You noticed, huh?” He stepped back just enough that he could see Simon’s face and was dismayed at the wariness he found there.

“I guess,” Simon said, “I should probably get cleaned up and, like. Go?”

There was a pit forming in Jace’s stomach, and he hated it.

“Alternate plan,” he offered with far more assurance than he felt. “We both get cleaned up, and then we find out how nice the sheets are on Alec and Magnus’s guest bed. I was planning to sleep here tonight anyway.” Whatever this was, Jace wasn’t ready for it to end yet.

“Oh,” Simon said on a heavy exhale. “That’s—” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to, like, intrude, or—”

He broke off as Jace took his hand, the one covered in come, and slowly and deliberately began licking it clean, eyes never leaving Simon’s. Simon watched, entranced, barely breathing.

When Jace was satisfied he’d gotten every drop, he smirked up through lowered lashes. “Simon. Come to bed with me?”

“Yeah,” Simon said breathily. “Okay. But if Magnus decides he hates me, I’m blaming you.”

“Do me a favor, and don’t talk about my future brother-in-law when I just had my hand down your pants.” Then, because it had proven such an effective way to get Simon to stop talking in the past (and definitely not for any other reason), Jace kissed him.

By the time they’d finished cleaning up and tumbled into bed, Jace was feeling loose and sleepy. He abandoned his previous, half-formed plans of getting Simon’s dick in his mouth in favor of lazy, unhurried kisses and caresses that were maybe too gentle for what this was. There would be time for blowjobs later. In the morning, maybe. After sleep, in any case.

Jace wasn’t aware of when kissing Simon in reality bled into dream.

~~~

Jace wasn’t hungover when he woke. He kind of wished he were hungover, because that would provide an explanation for why the world didn’t seem quite set straight and he felt vaguely nauseous that had nothing to do with the cold, empty bed he woke up in.

It was stupid to be upset Simon hadn’t stayed. Jace knew it was stupid. He’d known going in that it wouldn’t be more than a one-time thing. Simon had flat-out said it was a mistake. But there was a part of him that had thought—had hoped—maybe Simon would change his mind.

Telling himself he was just upset over having lost the chance for that morning blowjob he’d been planning, Jace forced himself out of bed and into the shower. The shower in Alec and Magnus’s guest suite was kind of amazing, with one of those rainfall shower heads and hot water that just never seemed to end. It helped ease some of Jace’s tension, and by the time he finished showering and pulled on some clothes, he was feeling almost back to his normal self.

Alec greeted him as he stepped out into the living room, already having claimed a spot on the couch. The room was back to its normal configuration, couch and loveseat facing a large, flat-screen TV. The coffee table held a giant plate of nachos, a bag of dry roast peanuts, and a disgustingly large tub of Red Vines.

“Welcome to the land of the living,” Alec said. “I was starting to worry you were going to miss the opening kick.”

“Please,” Jace said, flopping down onto the other couch. “I haven’t missed the opening kick of a bowl game since I was eleven, and that was only because you gave me the stomach flu.”

“Don’t blame me for that!” Alec protested. “Izzy was the one who started barfing first. If anyone brought that into the house, it was her.”

“Izzy didn’t give me big, sad puppy dog eyes and ask me to hold her hair back.”

“Hey,” Alec said, “we don’t talk about the hair, okay? Everyone makes at least one big mistake in their life, and mine was my seventh grade Zac Efron hair.”

“It’s my duty as your brother to make sure you never forget any terrible fashion choices you’ve made,” Jace said around a mouthful of nachos.

“You know that means it’s my duty as a brother to do the same for you, right?”

“You can try,” Jace said breezily, “but you and I both know I’ve never made any terrible fashion choices.”

“Two words for you,” Alec said. “Parachute pants.”

“They were on trend at the time,” Jace insisted. “My parachute pants were cool.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Jace. Parachute pants were never cool.”

Jace decided to be mature about the whole thing and chucked a Red Vine at Alec’s head. Alec ducked, then picked up the Red Vine from where it had landed on his shoulder and popped it into his mouth.

“That’s disgusting,” Jace told him. “I can’t believe you still eat those things.”

“It’s tradition,” Alec said with a shrug. “I only eat them on New Year’s. Besides, I like the sweetened wax aesthetic they’ve got going on.”

“Disgusting,” Jace repeated, pulling a Red Vine out of the tub for himself.

“Hey,” Alec said, suddenly serious, “you didn’t have to stay, you know.” When Jace just stared at him in confusion, he added, “You could have gone to Simon’s family thing with him. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Jace scoffed. “Of course I couldn’t.” He hadn’t even known Simon had a family thing today. “It’s tradition, like the Red Vines. Just because I’m dating someone and you’re about to get married doesn’t mean I’m going to flake on our New Year’s tradition.”

“Well, you should probably be prepared to make it up to your man when you get home,” Alec said. “He looked kinda upset when he left this morning.”

Jace’s earlier nausea returned suddenly, with full force. “He did?”

“Oh, don’t look like that. I’m sure he’ll get over it. The guy clearly adores you.”

“Yeah,” Jace said, pasting on a smile. “He does.”

“And I am glad you’re here,” Alec added. “I love Magnus, but he doesn’t understand football.”

“Not a fan, huh?”

“Worse,” Alec groaned. “He’s a Big Red fan. And he always gets so smug when they win.”

“And you’re sure you want to marry this guy?” Jace joked.

“Yeah,” Alec said, his whole demeanor softening. “I really am.”

“Which is a good thing, because our catering deposit is definitely non-refundable,” Magnus interjected, bringing a wings-laded plate to join the rest of the snacks on the table. “Besides, if I can get over the fact that you actually attended Columbia, you can deal with my allegiance to the clearly superior Ivy League team.”

“I’m not sure you can say you’re over it when you still say ‘Columbia’ like it’s a dirty word,” Alec observed.

“Nonsense,” Magnus said, settling onto the couch next to his fiancé. “I say dirty words with a great deal more relish. That was, in fact, an insult to dirty words.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Alec said, rolling his eyes.

“That, we can agree on.”

“If you two are done being sappy,” Jace said, grabbing the TV remote and unmuting the pre-game commentary, “there’s about to be a game on.”

They were not, it turned out, done being sappy, but their cheerful bickering was almost enough to distract Jace from having woken up alone. Almost.

[hecallsmehischild]

Recent Media Consumed

Books

A Knot in the Grain and Other Stories by Robin McKinley. Not bad for a fantasy short story compilation, but as I read the stories I felt like too many questions went unanswered, or the answer wasn’t clear enough. I know there’s an art to not answering questions and making that intentional, but I didn’t pick up the feeling of the author being intentionally vague. It was still fun to read. I’m really just in a fantasy binge mode.

Fire and Water by Robin McKinley and Peter Dickinson. Both books are collections of short stories based on elemental spirits. Eh…. they were okay. Didn’t like them as much as the others.

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Hard book to get through. There’s so much monologuing and it doesn’t all make sense to me. People seem to be talking trite nonsense half the time and then being unbearably deep the other half. It is an interesting look at morbid aspects of the human heart. Might be that it’s a bit over my head to appreciate fully, but I’d like to read at least one more by this author. Maybe The Brothers Karamazov.

Movies

Hello Dolly. (mini liveblogging of reactions) There are way too many musicals I have not gotten around to seeing, simply because I have old favorites and sometimes it’s hard to get out of a rut. I am two minutes and four seconds in and CLEARLY not watching this before now was a failure on my part. I am in awe of the opening sequence that is just a series of legs and feet, but they are all moving to the music and they tell a dozen different stories that are very easy to understand even without seeing anybody’s top half, this is EXCELLENT framing and shooting and I feel like I’m in for a real treat. (In the middle of “It takes a woman”) I cannot tell you how much I missed over the top satire. This very much has the feel of My Fair Lady’s “With A Little Bit of Luck”. But then it’s taken up by the protagonist with an entirely different tone and WHAM the feels hit. I’m not enjoying all of the musical numbers, but there’s this one bit in the middle of the song about dancing where Dolly accepts a dance invitation from the grizzled old groundskeeper, and seeing this high-class looking widow take his invitation without a shred of irony, and to see him take her dancing in such a way that shows he’s clearly done this for many years and may be a widower himself, it’s just this strange sweet kind of moment that’s meant to be savored. And then again WHAM this high class widow, whenever she has a musical number in private, just NAILS you with her song and performance and all her emotions. Barbara Streisand was incredible, absolutely incredible. A lot of the other characters don’t really feel real, they feel like Musical People. She slips on the clothes of a Musical Person but then she drops the facade and shows you how hard all this is for her and it’s incredible. The movie is worth it just to watch HER. Even if it is very stressful watching her manipulate conversations and move people around like pawns. I have to say I do not, for the life of me, understand why she wants a relationship with Mr. Horace Vandergelder, or why he agrees. They look like they’ll make each other miserable for life.

Honest Thief. I went in with low “dumb robbery movie” expectations and was pleasantly surprised. I think I was most surprised by the fantastic chemistry of the couple and pretty much everyone’s acting. Aside from the acting it wasn’t anything remarkable, but everyone took it up to the next level. Nice flick. Also it tickles me to hear the voice of Aslan talking about how he carried out perfect robberies.

Nezha. Holy. Cow. Okay it doesn’t make total sense to me, not all the way through, but I chalk that up to missing cultural/lit knowledge and translation issues. Setting that aside, animation was gorgeous. Story was fun, but also compelling. There was some gross-out humor, but I’ve seen worse. And the climactic fight scene? Man. It went SO LONG but I didn’t even care. Some fight scenes drag on, but this one could have been twice as long and I would have been fine with that. The creators of this film really went all out with creativity and variety all throughout the film. I don’t totally understand the ending but I would love to see more (as the credits scenes hinted that there might be more). Oh wait, there is more and it’s called Jiang Ziya…

The Mitchells vs The Machines. This movie was so full of heart and also so full of complete over the top dumb goofiness. It kind of reminded me of Despicable Me in that way. Definitely brought a smile to my face.

Shows

Star vs the Forces of Evil. I had to re-watch through Eclipsa’s and Meteora’s arc because I’d seen that much before, but too long ago to remember. I re-watched it, then settled in for the last season which I hadn’t seen before. Watching through the new content and… I’m… disappointed. Story seems to be all over the place. The conflict is so forced it hurts. People are flatter than flat. And they’re all idiots. I feel like the show is trying to reach for a moral and don’t even know what that is from episode to episode. Wow. And as I go into the final arc, it just gets worse. Ham-fisted with zero focus and twists out of the bloody blue that make zero sense. You know… this series was hard to get into because characters were annoying and gross at the start. But then it added depth to each character and made me care about them as it went along. But everything after Eclipsa became queen has flushed all of that down the toilet as fast as possible and it is maddening to see that story-trust wasted. Nothing means anything in this story, that’s the conclusion I end up coming to. Nothing means anything and there is nobody worth caring about. I am radically disappointed. And kind of angry at the sheer number of levels at which the storytelling became terrible.

Games

Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle another controller-based game after getting so accustomed to Breath of the Wild (I’m on a second re-play of that, I play it whenever my brain is on the fritz so badly that I can’t do anything else). But it turned out to be pretty easy to get into. The hardest part is getting stuck about how to solve certain puzzles and trying to figure it out over and over. Sometimes I figure it out, but sometimes I need to look up a hint online. I’m almost at the end of the game and I’ve enjoyed it quite a bit. I want to play more Zelda games...

Katamari Re-Roll. This is so stupid. I mean, SO VERY STUPID. And so much fun. You start off as this tiny little person just rolling a ball around and you can pick up anything smaller than you (thumbtacks, coins, caramel candies) and as your ball gets bigger, your options open up (mice, carrots, eggs, crabs) and open up (shoes, toys, cats, dogs) and open up (humans, food carts, cows). I hear you get to roll up houses at some point. I’m looking forward to that. For now I’m at the level where I’m rolling up a lot of people. They’re all wiggly and shrieky. It’s funny. There’s a time limit on each level, and you have to reach a certain size by the time limit, which is the only really annoying thing about it. But I’m still having a lot of fun.

World of Warcraft: Classic. Of all the games I never thought I’d play, this is probably toward the top of the list. I don’t like the concept of grinding. I like story. But after playing Breath of the Wild, I also found out that I love exploration/open world type games. My husband helped me build a character and we ran around doing quests and levelling up. Now I’m a level 17 Dwarf hunter who does skinning and leatherworking. I have a pet wolf named Chompers. I’m having a lot of fun. Probably not obsessive levels of fun, but enough fun that I’m happy to sink a couple several-hour sessions a week into playing.

[heartslogos]

no star in isolation [1]

i'm in genshin impact hell send help. also. as you know i'm live on slice of life genfic. so. *hands*

Diluc meets Aether’s gaze head on, unwilling to bend or cave to this. Not even with Paimon pouting and stomping her feet mid-air right next to him.

“And how old are you?” He asks.

“Old enough to drink!”

“And that number is?”

The Traveler hesitates and Diluc takes that opportunity to slide the cup of juice across the bar counter again.

“Until you know that number and say it in a way I can believe, it’s juice.” He says. “Angel’s Share is a reputable establishment. We don’t serve alcohol to minors. I don’t need more knights coming in here.”

“I’m not a minor,” Aether insists. “And didn’t you give some bottles to Diona?”

Diluc can't help raising his eyebrows, leaning back on his heels and crossing his arms.

“Diona,” he replies slowly, “That’s your counter argument? Diona? Did you see her drinking from any of those bottles? That was a delivery. She may work for a rival establishment, but they still have to carry Dawn winery’s vintages to some degree. Drink your juice.”

“Diluc is so stingy!” Paimon cries out. “Come on, Diluc. Aren’t you Paimon and Aether’s friend? Just one glass?”

Diluc pulls another glass out from underneath the bar and pointedly fills it with juice.

“Sure,” he says. “One glass. Enjoy.”

He turns his back on Paimon’s protests as he goes to take another order from one of the customers who had been patiently waiting while watching the exchange.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Aether quickly push up on the counter, lean forward and reach under the counter to rummage around and pull out one of the bottles he’s seen Diluc put there before.

Diluc gives credit where credit is due. Aether moves fast and quietly. And, for once, Paimon is appropriately subtle.

If Diluc hadn’t been expecting it, he might not have seen it. But Diluc’s had plenty of patrons think they can swindle him at his own bar right under his nose, before. And Aether is far from the first brat to think they’re smooth enough to sneak a drink from Angel’s Share and brag about it later.

Still. Honorary Knight, blessed by Barbatos himself, or not, no one gets away with that kind of thing on Diluc’s watch.

He’s about to turn to Aether to take the bottle back and maybe give him some kind of lecture about responsible business dealings and how Aether should know at least a little about it since he’s spent several weeks in Liyue, when blue catches his eye.

Far against the back wall Kaeya rests his chin on his hand and raises an eyebrow at him. Diluc’s teeth momentarily grind as Kaeya flips that stupid coin of his up in the air. Diluc recognizes that look.

There’s a faint twist to the corner of Kaeya’s mouth that turns the ever present half-smirk into something a little more genuine.

Kaeya would argue that all of his smirks and smiles are genuine. Diluc would argue that Kaeya’s sincerity operates on a sliding scale, capable of sliding straight off a cliff into complete falsehood.

But this one is sincere.

Against his will, Diluc is taken back. He’s taken back into the shadowed and unused hallways and corridors of his memory.

He’s young, younger than Aether looks to be now, and so is Kaeya. The exact number doesn’t matter because this is a memory that repeats. This is a moment that’s happened so often it’s become a template for memories identical to this one except for maybe one or two minor details.

It’s him and Kaeya, when they were brothers in both name and daylight. Kaeya, barely able to suppress his giggles and Diluc no better. Kaeya is flushed rosy with laughter, and Diluc is sure he’s no better. Probably worse off. He’s always been terrible at controlling his expressions. Or at the very least, worse than Kaeya.

Both of them are high on success because they’ve snagged a bottle of wine from the kitchens while everyone is distracted preparing for the big feast father is hosting for some visiting friends of his.

In the commotion of preparing for the event — the guests, the table settings, making sure the guest wing is adequately prepared, ensuring that the road up to the house is cleared and secured — no one was paying attention to two little boys.

Two little boys and a stolen bottle, giggling and hiding away in one of the little used rooms of the manor. They never even finished any of those bottles. Between the laughter and the fact that they were both so young — unable to really appreciate the taste or the feeling that comes with it — they always ended up having to figure out a way to sneak the bottle back. Usually they’d add a bit of water to make it look full and slip it back into the store room, or they’d swap it with one in their father’s study.

In retrospect, Diluc thinks that their father knew about the fate of those missing bottles, but never said anything about it. He’ll never know, now.

But in the present, Diluc knows that Kaeya knows. They’re both thinking of the same thing. Remembering the same laughter.

And when Diluc meets Kaeya’s eye he knows that he can’t turn around and face Aether and take that bottle back. If he tries to Kaeya is definitely going to comment on Diluc’s hypocrisy. Though he shouldn’t. But to tease Diluc he would definitely bend the laws and duties of being a knight of Mondstat. For a moment, at least.

Enough to make Diluc want to throw both him and the Traveler out of Angel’s Share for the night. Enough to make Diluc have to fight down a flush of embarrassment or anger — a fight Diluc knows he’d probably lose. As he does in most fights against his own feelings.

He feels his shoulders almost slump, but he pulls himself together to focus on making the next drink order.

He can’t hear Kaeya from here, but he can imagine his soft snicker as Diluc ignores the Traveler behind him.

Diluc supposes that there’s some humor to allowing the situation to unfold. After all. Diluc is going to turn around at some point. And Aether has to make that bottle go somewhere.

And knowing Aether, he’s going to want to figure out how to pay for his stolen bottle, which would require him to admit to stealing the bottle. It’s short sighted on the Traveler’s part, but maybe this will teach him a lesson.

Both Paimon and the Traveler catch onto this flaw in their little plan soon after Diluc does.

Diluc works on mixing a few more drinks and directing a few more orders of food to the back kitchen staff. But in the peripheral of his vision he can see Paimon start to flutter around. Her attempts at whispering are admirable, considering how poorly she normally does at subtlety and being discrete. They’re panicking, now.

He’s tempted to take pity on them and admit he already saw them. Maybe he’s growing soft.

Something flies towards his face and Diluc reacts on instinct to catch it.

He glares as Kaeya leans on the bar, squeezing Kaeya’s thrown coin in the palm of his hand.

“What.”

“I’m paying,” Kaeya replies, “As you do in a business establishment. For the drinks and the food.”

There was no food. Tonight Kaeya had been in the sort of mood where he wanted to sit in a corner with his cups and observe. Not unusual for him.

Kaeya pointedly flicks his eye towards Aether and Paimon before meeting Diluc’s gaze again.

Diluc sighs and slips the coin into the lock box underneath the counter.

“Fine. If you’re done get out.” Diluc jerks his head towards the two panicking thieves. Kaeya nods his understanding, smile flickering against towards familiar and sincere.

“Soft heart,” Kaeya mutters, eye crinkling a little at the corners, before rapping the the polished wood of the bar with his knuckles and straightening up and calling out to the pair.

“Oy, isn’t it bedtime for you two yet? I know we’re a city of free spirits but surely there’s some kind of curfew for the little ones, some sort of responsible bed time hour,” Kaeya says, looping an arm around Aether’s shoulders and bodily pulling him towards the door. “Come on. Time for all the good little kids of Mondstat to go to bed. You know if you stay up all night in the Angel’s Share the rest of us adults won’t be able to let loose without a guilty conscience. That’s terrible business for a bar.”

Diluc watches Aether quickly attempt to hide the bottle as he turns to watch them leave. Aether and Paimon both shoot wide eyed looks at Kaeya and Diluc, clearly distressed by their current predicament. It really doesn’t help their case in trying to convince people, Diluc, that they’re not a kid.

Kaeya calls out over his shoulder. “Put their bill on my tab, Master Diluc. It’s the least I can do for our great and noble honorary knight.”

“You don’t have a tab,” Diluc yells back as Kaeya whisks the two out the door and into the night, where they’re someone else’s problem.

[otheliame]

28?

I hope you guys don’t mind I combine your ask into something spicy? :) For this ask meme 

This takes place after they deal with Kuro but before they destroy the Castle (pretend it makes canonical sense)

...

Lance has had it up to here. 

It’s one thing for Keith to constantly run into danger without any clear exit plan, or backup, or fuck all else, but it’s quite another thing for him to do this. In fairness, he’s always been this way, even before he left for the Blades, Lance knows it. He doesn’t think he can feasibly change how Keith operates as a person, but he sure as hell isn’t gonna let this fucking slide, either. 

Lance would have gotten to him first, well before the rest of the team in fact, if he hadn’t gotten sidetracked by those Galra. It didn’t take long for him to get there, but by the time he finally arrived Keith was already surrounded by the others. He didn’t even look in Lance’s direction, too caught up in the battle plans being made for their next step, like he didn’t almost fucking-… he almost- 

So, with some serious effort, Lance bit his lip and bided his time. He waited for what felt like hours, waited for his opening, waited for Keith to excuse himself, and as soon as he did he made some bullshit excuse and went after him, steam practically hissing from Lance’s ears. He’d had enough of this selfless bastard acting like he wasn’t important enough to be kept safe, like he isn’t Lance’s whole fucking world. He’d lost him too many times to count, but after this stunt? Enough is enough. 

He manages to catch up to him just outside the containment chamber. He bangs open the door to announce his presence and right as Keith turns towards him with those stupid wide eyes, like he’s shocked to see him there, he slams his palms against the wall by his head and shouts, “What the hell was that?” 

Keith had gotten taller since his trip to the Quantum Abyss, and Lance doesn’t care for that shit at all, especially in this instance. Before, in this position, he’d have several inches over the other to look down at him with the true fire of his gaze, but now, Keith’s the one with the few inches on Lance… but he doesn’t let that deter him. He’s got shit to say.

Keith’s brows furrow and his jaw sets as he glares back at Lance indignantly. “What are you talking about?” 

Just like old times, Keith and Lance, neck and neck, at each other’s throats. 

Lance throws an arm dramatically to the side, gesturing back from hence they came, “That stunt you pulled, splitting up Voltron to go after Shiro!”

Keith sighs dismissively, making Lance bristle like an attack dog as he attempts to brush the raging Red Paladin aside, “Now is not the time, Lance-” 

Lance shoves him in the chest, hard, so hard that Keith stumbles back and slams into the far wall with a surprised gasp as he stares at him with utter shock from the blow. Lance closes the distance and grabs the front of his armor, pointing a finger in his face and shouting so maybe the fucking point might get into his stupid fucking skull- “You can’t keep doing that, man! That might be how you guys do things with the Blade, but not while you’re with us! Not while you’re our leader!” 

Keith grits his jaw and grabs Lance’s wrists in an attempt to get him to let go, “I didn’t choose to be-” 

“That’s right! The Black Lion did. We did.” Lance’s fingers dig into the material of his space suit to keep them from trembling, “I did.” 

Keith’s gaze meets Lance’s and there’s an intense moment of silence held suspended between them like a coin balanced on a wire. Finally he presses forward and snarls, glaring at Lance with antagonistic daggers, “What’s your problem?” 

Lance’s hands stall only for a brief pause as his brain stammers itself into motion. “I’m fucking pissed at you, dude! Because… because you left us.” He can’t keep the betrayal out of his voice, the hurt, the undying rage. “You keep leaving us like you think you’re… replaceable, or something, but you’re just not, Keith!” Keith grits his teeth and shifts again to break out of his grasp and in response Lance smacks his armor back against the wall, rattling him as he spits out, “You almost died! You could have died! I can’t fucking take that from you, I can’t let you just-… just-!” 

He has to stop. His words begin to warble and he can feel he’s slipping someplace dangerous, his voice cracks as he grinds his rant to a halt. 

Keith isn’t having it, however. He presses against Lance’s hold on him with an exasperated sigh, “What do you care?”

Lance sparks like a firecracker, his fingers hurt from their eternal hold, “What do you mean why- Because I care about you, you fucking asshole! I’ve always cared about you, but no, you’re too fucking-… I don’t know, emo, broody, whatever to think about how your actions affect people around you. How they affect me.” Lance’s voice cracks but this time he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He’s shaking with self-righteous fury, he can barely keep himself from trying to throttle Keith’s stubborn ass where he stands pinned against the wall, so he forges on with burning flame spitting from between his teeth, “I can’t do this without you! When you left for the Blades, it was horrible, not knowing if you were dead or alive- You never called, you never sent word, not even a, a- una jodida tarjeta de felicitación! The only way we knew if you were alright is when you would join those calls with Kolivan! But then you just had to sign up for that fucking mission and no one knew what happened to you and I thought you were dead-”

Keith’s eyes are wide as Lance goes off like a loose cannon, with a soft voice he tries to interrupt him, “Lance-”

“But then you just fucking show back up out of nowhere, like you weren’t missing for a month, taller and all grizzly with an Altean, a dog, and your mom and act like that’s not important enough to talk about because it’s not the mission-”

“-Lance-!” 

“-and then you run off to chase after Shiro, alone, like you always insist on doing and I-I just can’t fucking take that from you, Keith! I can’t fucking take it, you’re gonna be the death of me! I’m constantly worrying about whether or not you’re even alive and you don’t even care that I’m going to drive myself fucking crazy because I fucking care about you, you pequeña mierda-”  

Suddenly Keith manages to wrest himself from Lance’s grasp while he was distracted and grabs his wrists, before Lance can even take a breath between his biting words Keith whirls on him and shoves him against the wall so hard his armor audibly slams, making the room tremor with the rattling sound. Keith gets close to him, astoundingly close and Lance’s voice finally dies in his throat, tapering off and trembling as his red-rimmed eyes flicker across his features, and then to the side, to his wrists pinned on either side of his head where Keith holds them. 

Finally Keith growls, his breath hot against the exposed length of his neck, “Shut up.” 

Before Lance can open his mouth to argue, to tell him to fuck off, to fucking listen to him for once, warm lips capture his and the planets seem to snap into alignment with the violence of an earthquake. His breath catches as Keith presses closer to Lance, but otherwise he doesn’t move, his breath is baited like he’s waiting for the ceiling to fall in on them. 

Something in Lance surges, white-hot and burning, and this time when he grabs the front of Keith’s armor he yanks him forward with desperation, choking on the remains of his words as fresh lava bubbles on his lips and into Keith’s. 

The intensity in the atmosphere lights like a match. Keith’s breath catches and he presses Lance’s wrists harder against the wall, his lips parting in the exchange of hot air between them as he nips mercilessly on Lance’s lips. Lance gasps immediately, his skin flashing with pulses of heat and seized with need his hands rip from Keith’s instead to drag into his stupid mullet, Lances weaves his fingers through the abyssal hair he’s wanted to bunch his fists into for years and now he’s following that desire as far as Keith would let him, until it breaks him, dios, he wanted it to break him. When he tugs on the onyx locks Keith smirks, the proximity sweltering and smothering him in his armor as Keith responds in kind, his hands moving now to Lance’s sides, beneath the breastplate of his Voltron armor. Keith’s teeth mark and notch Lance’s bottom lip, Lance swears it’s about to bleed from the rigor, he disengages from Keith only long enough to pant, to complain or to plea for more he isn’t sure, “You’re so fucking rough-” 

“I said shut up.” Keith snarls in response, sealing his mouth back over Lance’s and drowning his voice by the skin of his teeth. For once Lance complies, balling his unyielding fists into Keith’s hair to pull him against him harder as his eyes roll into the back of his skull and Keith matches him in kind, his hands dig into his sides and tug him against his chest until they’re flushed, no space for anything but their pants and wants. Lance feels Keith’s hands invasively drag downward as his lips move in the same direction, suddenly with Lance’s mouth free from the abuse to gasp instead when Keith’s latch onto Lance’s pulse. He bites with harsh intent to bruise him, mark him, and Lance has never felt so fucking alive. Lance yields beneath him with wordless, gasping pleas, when Keith tugs on his thigh he obediently wraps his leg around his waist, his head falling back and resting against the wall as Keith sucks out his soul through his trachea like a vampire. 

His face bursts with roses when Keith’s lips travel to his jaw, demanding more skin and more of Lance as his hands travel up and down his sides invasively, full of nothing but desperation to the point that Lance gasps his name against his better judgement, “K-Keith-!”

Keith’s hands move then, up his chest, over each notch in the white, pearly surface of the armor before they reach his throat, his jaw, where they cup him with ferocity but undeniable gentleness, it makes Lance quake. When he opens his eyes he meets Keith’s and for a moment his lips fall open to press back in but something stops him, perhaps the cautious light in Keith’s, or the hesitancy of his thumb brushing against his chin. Finally, when Keith speaks, it’s soft, a complete and polar opposite to the rash and abrasive grabs and touches from before, “I didn’t… I didn’t know that’s how you felt.” 

Lance can’t help it. The rage was almost forcibly ripped from him, leaving him nothing but vaguely giddy and breathless like a broken vessel, he lets out a harsh, untested chuckle, “Was that revelation before or after you started sucking on my throat?” 

Keith sighs, that annoyance flickering back across his face for a brief moment before he touches his nose to Lance’s. It’s soft, gentle, yielding, and Lance leans into it without question, feeling strangely light and elated like a balloon. Keith’s voice shrinks as if from itself as he murmurs softly, inches from Lance’s aching lips, “Did you mean it?” 

Lance doesn’t know specifically what he’s referring to, but his response is the same regardless. “Every word.” 

Keith’s eyes slowly slip shut, his breath deepening as he catches it in recompense to the amount that Lance stole. He knows that there’s nothing more he can say. And frankly… he’s already said enough. Lance pulls his attention back to him with a demanding hum, pulling his hand on Keith’s chin to make the violets in his eyes bloom for him, “Now you gonna kiss me again or what?” 

Keith raises an eyebrow at him in surprise, his fingertips drag through the fringes of Lance’s hair as he murmurs, “This isn’t too fast?” 

Lance snorts and shakes his head with another dry laugh, “No. For me, you’re about a year overdue.” He adds on with another laugh as he rests his forearms on Keith’s shoulders, “I would’ve yelled at you a lot sooner if this is what would’ve happened.”

Keith looks at him for a long time, the cautious light extinguished and giving away to a wanting darkness that makes Lance wanna see the moonlight within. Slowly, Keith smirks, he grows closer as he mutters in a husky undertone, “Funny… it’s been about three years for me.” 

Lance groans, letting his head fall back against the wall as he snaps, “Seriously? Still trying to one up me? I thought you were supposed to have matured or something while you were-”

“For fuck’s- shut up.” Keith growls again with that same domineering tone that’s beginning to make Lance’s knees weak, Keith once again seizing his wrists again to pin against the wall. As Lance takes a small breath Keith’s teeth brush his Adam’s apple as he snarls, “I liked you gasping my name a lot more.”

Such a gasp escapes from Lance as the space between them vanishes, leaving nothing in the air but distant, curling smoke and conjoined voices, aching for each other.  

[sinemoras09]

Solatium excerpt: elevator

@innovativestruggles another excerpt XDD Obito, Madara, and Kakashi get trapped in an elevator.

(background: Obito’s been negotiating with Tokyo-like civilians to help modernize Konoha)

-----------

1.

They're in the sleek glass lobby of a civilian high-rise building, coming in for another meeting. Their escort smiles apologetically, then opens a slim suitcase. On the velvet lining are four syringes filled with some sort of serum.

"It's a synaptic dampener," the business escort explains. "It will inhibit you from molding chakra."

"Is this really necessary?" Obito says. Kakashi glances at Obito uneasily. The escort spreads her hands.

"My apologies. But my superiors have given me clear instructions that your being in the building is contingent upon receiving these injections."

Obito is about to refuse when Madara steps forward. "Give me the injection," Madara says.

Obito starts, "Madara--"

"A true shinobi is just as deadly without chakra as he is with it," Madara says. He turns. "Consider this checking our weapons at the door."

Obito's jaw tightens. Grudgingly he pushes up his sleeve, letting them give him the injection.

*****

There are two front-facing elevators in the lobby; it's too small to fit all of them, so the escort and the backup negotiators take one elevator, while Obito, Kakashi, and Madara take the other one.

"We're meeting at the 67th floor," the escort says. "Suite 652-A."

"Thank you," Obito says. The escort nods as the elevator doors close.

Madara strides toward them. "What are we waiting for? Let us take this 'elevator' to the 67th floor."

Kakashi presses the "up" button. The lights above the elevator doors blink.

Madara crosses his arms. "What is this contraption, anyway?"

"I'm not sure, from what I understand it's a room that's pulled up several storeys. It's what civilians use instead of taking the stairs," Obito says.

The elevators open. A crowd of business people step outside.

"This is kind of small," Kakashi says. He glances at Obito, frowning.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Madara says. He steps in, bedecked in his battle gear and his hair waving from the air vent above them. Kakashi glances over.

"Obito, would you rather take the stairs?" Kakashi says.

Obito stares up at the numbers above the elevator. "It's 67 floors."

Madara smirks. "Feeling a little claustrophobic, are we?"

Obito scowls, then walks in. The elevator doors close.

Ding. First floor. Second floor. Third. Madara cranes his neck, looking at the wonders of all this modern technology, while Kakashi thumbs through their papers. Obito stands silently in the corner.

"Hm," Madara says, crossing his arms. "I suppose I was a little hasty accepting that synaptic dampener. You could have used your Kamui to teleport us up there. A pity. But I suppose it's fine to experience life as a mere civilian, at least once in awhile."

"We're almost there," Kakashi says to Obito, and he points at the numbers. 30. 31.

The elevator grinds to a stop.

"The devil is this?" Madara says, as the lights flicker before changing from normal to red. Kakashi presses the button.

"I think we've stopped," Kakashi says.

"Well that much is obvious. How do we get it to start?"

"There's an emergency button," Kakashi says, and he presses it.

Madara's eyes slide sideways as Obito stares intently at the corner of the elevator, muscles tense and not saying anything. Kakashi keeps pressing the button. "I don't think it's doing anything, I think it's just making a sound," Kakashi says.

Madara can see Obito is struggling to maintain his breathing. The muscles in his neck and shoulders are tense. Battle ready. He can see the thrum of his pulse beating rapidly at the skin of his neck.

And then the elevator rocks, the red lights flickering again. The three men stumble.

"What was that?" Kakashi says. He presses the emergency button again. The elevator is dark except for the ambient glow of red lights from the floor.

The speaker on the panel crackles. "Did somebody call for help?"

"Yes, yes." Kakashi presses the button. "Our elevator stopped moving and the lights went out."

From the corner of Madara's eye, he can see Obito fumble in his pocket, before shakily pulling out a small bottle of pills. His hands are trembling as he shakes out the anxiolytic, quickly popping it into his mouth and dry swallowing. "Calm yourself, Obito," Madara says, in a low voice. His eyes slide sideways, meeting his. "This is nothing compared to what we've faced before."

 "Okay, we've notified our technicians. They're currently offsite but they will be here shortly."

"Do you know how long it will take?" Kakashi asks the technician. The speaker crackles.

 "We don't have an ETA for their arrival, but usually a couple hours, including repairs."

Obito swallows, trying to steady his breathing. The walls around him seem to be dark and shrinking.

"I'm sorry, did you say 'a couple hours'?" Kakashi says.

 "Yes, a couple hours, unfortunately."

Obito can't breathe. His throat is constricting. He hunches over himself, sinking onto the floor, his breaths sharp and shallow and his heart beating rapidly.

"Obito?" Kakashi rushes over. "Obito, are you okay?" He runs back over to the intercom. "Hello? Hello can you hear me? My friend is having a medical emergency--"

Rocks. A thousand rocks, crashing on top of him. The feeling of helplessness. He can't move. He can't breathe--

"Obito!" Madara says, sharply, and Obito's head snaps up, jolted by the sound of Madara's voice. It's as if he's in a deep, dark pit, where above him is a sliver of light, a coin-shaped opening where he can barely see Madara's head peeking in.

"Obito, listen to me. Think of the world that we trained in. The genjutsu world of endless white space. Think of that world. What would be in it?"

"I-I can't..."

"Focus!" Madara snaps.

"Gray skies." Obito swallows, then takes a breath. "Rin."

"And what would she be doing?"

Obito imagines it. Rin in her summer dress. The wind rising. Storm clouds rolling while she holds her skirt down and laughs.

Obito's eyes lose focus. Madara snaps his fingers. "I asked you a question. What would she be doing."

"Standing in the grass, in the wind outside."

"I cannot see this scene you're describing me, what else."

"Storm clouds," Obito says, and he can see the image with his words. "Cold air, the treetops moving outside."

"Excellent," Madara says, and Kakashi watches, awestruck as Madara crouches in front of Obito, staring into his eyes. "She is the reason you've done this all for, is she not?"

In the darkness of the pit, Madara reaches out hand. Obito reaches upward and clasps it.

Madara rises. "Have you calmed yourself?"

Obito nods, taking a breath. "Thank you," he says. Madara sniffs.

"Do not thank me," Madara says. He crosses his arms. "If my idiot apprentice were to shit himself, the two of us would be in even worse of a time."

"Tch." Obito stands and glares.

*****

2.

"Does anyone have a watch in this sorry place, or must we guestimate the time?"

They're all sitting on the floor of the elevator, Obito with his elbows on his knees while Madara idly twirls his battle fan. Funnily enough, the civilians didn't recognize it as a weapon, so when Madara breezily told them it was ceremonial they believed him.

Kakashi holds out his watch. "It's been an hour and a half, now."

"Ah, excellent," Madara says. "Clearly your subordinate is more well-prepared. You would do well to learn from him, Obito."

Obito glares at him. "Obviously we wouldn't be in this mess had you not agreed to take that synaptic dampener."

Madara shrugs. "I just assumed the assassination attempt would be more interesting this way."

"Assassination attempt?" Obito and Kakashi stare. Madara stretches, eyes closing luxuriously

"Clearly, if one wanted to kill the Hokage of the Hidden Village of the Leaf, the best way would be to isolate him from his companions, deprive him of his weapons, and take away his ability to weave chakra." Madara's eyes open. "I just thought weathering an assassination attempt without our usual abilities would be interesting."

Obito balks. "Wait, you suspected this was a trap - and you willingly led us in?!"

"You are the Hokage." Madara sniffs. "You could have overruled me at any time if you wanted to."

"Why would you do that?!" Obito says. Madara shrugs.

"I thought fighting a civilian assassin on their level would be interesting." His eyes glitter. "It has been awhile since I've been challenged. Other than Hashirama, I've yet to meet a worthy opponent. The thought of it makes my war blood boil."

Obito throws an incredulous look at Kakashi, who's reading an ero novel he had snuck in his pack. "Kakashi are you hearing this?" Obito says.

Kakashi turns a page. "No one's attacked us yet," Kakashi says. Madara frowns.

"What are you reading?" Madara says. Kakashi doesn't look up.

"It's an ero novel. Do you want to see?"

He hands the book to Madara, whose eyes widen.

"What sort of trash am I reading?" Madara says.

"Oh, this is the best part," Kakashi says. "The damsel has awoken to find she's surrounded by seven princes, and--"

Kakashi stops. His eyes grow vacant, rolling back behind his head.

"Kakashi?" Obito sits up as Kakashi wobbles, then crumples onto the floor. "Kakashi!"

"He is fine." Madara flips through the novel. He looks up and Obito can see his Sharingan is activated. "The genjutsu worked. It seems my visual prowess is returning."

"You can use your Sharingan?" Obito looks around. Madara sniffs.

"Can you not activate it?" Madara says.

"No, of course not, my chakra's dampened, I couldn't mold it if my life depended on it."

"Lucky for you, you are in the company of Uchiha Madara." And Madara closes his eyes, opening them to show his Mangekyou. "Rest well, my idiot pupil. Soon we will be making our escape."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Obito says, standing. He sees Madara start to activate his Susanoo, blue chakra flaring around his body.

"Wait! You can't do that! If you activate your Susanoo you'll destroy this building!"

"Your point being?" Madara says.

"There are people here. You could kill them."

"And?" Madara says. Obito glares.

*****

"How many euphemisms for the female orifice are there?" Madara says. He flips through Kakashi's book, Sharingan spinning as he turns the pages. "Hm. I don't even know why I asked you that question. Considering up until recently, you've had no intimate experience with other women."

Obito doesn't take the bait, which disappoints him. Madara leans back against the elevator, relaxing. He stretches and puts his feet up on Kakashi's head like a foot rest. "I know well enough that you had been celibate, and before that, you were an innocent child, so clearly going into this, you were still a virgin," Madara says, pleasantly. "Which is not anything to be ashamed of, mind, but it is unusual. Suffice it to say, it is admirable how much you dedicated yourself to the cause."

Obito is still looking at the elevator buttons, ignoring him. Madara leans forward.

"You did finally do the deed, I'm assuming? Or perhaps you are waiting until you're formally married? Well. I suppose if you've waited this long, it shouldn't matter that much. Of course, I am assuming everything is in working order. I cannot remember just how much of your body was crushed...."

Kakashi groans under Madara's foot. Madara frowns and kicks him in the head again.

"Can you not kick him?" Obito says.

"Why? He will not remember."

Obito makes a frustrated sound.

"There must be some way for you to share your chakra with me," Obito says. He gets up and paces, pressing his hands along the panels of the elevator, as if there were some secret button that could get them out. "If you could lend me your chakra, I could activate my Kamui and get us out of here."

Madara flips a page. "Once again, you are letting yourself be ruled by fear. You should enjoy yourself. Read this terrible novel. Revel in the momentary peace before the inevitable assassination."

"There won't be an assassination attempt." Obito bangs on the door. "Their shitty civilian technology is what's keeping us here. Besides, they'd have nothing to gain if they killed me. We're the ones with nothing to bring to the table."

"Listen here, my dimwitted disciple, there is always something you cannot anticipate." Madara flips a page. "'Expect the unexpected,' as it were. You were the one fond of excess plans, were you not?"

Silence. Obito paces around the elevator while Madara reads.

A sound. Madara and Obito turn.

"What was that?" Obito says. Madara lowers his book.

"I sense the heat signature of someone approaching." Madara's Sharingan glitters. He stands up slowly, crouching in a defensive position.

There's the sound of metal scraping on metal, the sound of footsteps stepping inside--

Madara lunges, slams the intruder against the elevator panel. Another man comes running and Madara grabs him and flips him hard against the floor. It's only then he realizes Obito is yelling.

"You fucking idiot!" Obito says. "They're the fucking repairmen!"

"What?" Madara says. He looks down. Two civilians in overalls are groaning loudly.

Madara frowns. "Well that was unexpected," Madara says.

*****

3.

"Okay, we can still salvage this," Obito says.

He's kneeling next to the unconscious repairmen, hefting one man onto his back and checking his wounds. Madara stands towering above them, arms crossed and a smug expression on his face. "Okay," Obito says. "All we need to do is heal their wounds and genjutsu them so they don't remember the last ten minutes. We'll have to replace their memories with a false one. How is your medical ninjutsu?"

Madara sniffs. "You are asking me, Uchiha Madara, if I do not have mastery over something?"

"I'm asking you because I can't mold chakra yet and Kakashi's unconscious, you're the only one who can do this," Obito says.

Madara smirks. "Of course I can," Madara says.

"Oh, good--"

"But I fail to see why I have to."

"Because they need to fix the fucking elevator," Obito says. Madara sniffs loftily.

"How do we know they were not assassins?"

Obito spreads his hands. "Would assassins be this incompetent?"

"Certainly he is," Madara nods over to Kakashi, "and he is a trained shinobi. Isn't he one of the best in your village?"

"Fine, whatever. Can you heal them, please."

Madara's eyes narrow. "It does not suit my purposes."

"You can't do medical ninjutsu, can you?"

"How dare you," Madara says. "I kept myself alive for centuries healing myself with only the Gedou statue's chakra. I survived a battle of attrition and a stabbing by Senju Hashirama. I am a survivor of the Warring Clans Era, whose comrades fell all around him and needed medical attention. I am the reason why you are alive, and yet you question me about my medical ninjutsu."

"Then can you please heal them and genjutsu them, so when they wake up they can fix this stupid elevator?"

"What happened to your silver tongue? I was told your powers of persuasion were unmatched," Madara says. Obito huffs.

"Obviously I layered my words with genjutsu, which I can't do since someone made us get a synaptic dampener. Why won't you heal them?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Madara's mouth stretches into a malicious grin. "How often is it that I can spend time with my adorable apprentice?"

They both stare at the unconscious repairmen.

"You don't know medical ninjutsu, do you?"

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 14

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification,  mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, dub-con, nipple clamps, breath play (more warnings as the story continues)  

Words: 3.3k

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Parts 15, 16 & 17 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

The drive from your apartment to Sam’s house takes nearly an hour. The city fades into suburbs and then becomes even more rural as you escape the city. You know this route well, traveling it at least twice a week for the last several months. His modern mansion is tucked away on a sizable piece of land assuring him the privacy he craves. You can’t help but wonder what the night will hold. Your stomach is uneasy, a combination of nerves and excitement that’s all too familiar when it comes to Sam Winchester.

You can’t believe that you actually did it, you went to his office and confronted him about Lexi. It was an idiotic move. As much as you hate to admit it, you care what he thinks of you, a great deal actually. And now you’ve made yourself look like a jealous girlfriend. You can only imagine what he must think. It’s a coin toss how he’ll react once you’re in the privacy of his home. He may reprimand you or perhaps he’s been craving you just as much as you have him. After weeks away you’re hoping for some well deserved relief.

At least your unscheduled visit to his office garnered you an invitation for a Thursday night encounter. Weeknights have always been off limits, but he seemed more than willing to make an exception.

You let yourself in the front door, sliding off your shoes and padding down the hall to the living room where you find Sam sitting in an armchair, reading a book. The sun has already set and the only lights in the room are that of a dim reading lamp and the flame glowing in the electric fireplace.

“Take your clothes off,” he commands without looking up.

You watch a moment as he turns the page, fixated on his book as you begin to undress. You’re well aware there must be something wrong with you because his utter disinterest is sometimes what flips a switch inside you, turns on your need to please him.  Slipping off your dress, you unhook your bra letting it tumble to the ground, leaving you nude in the flickering firelight. Your hair is still up in today’s bun and you unpin it, letting it fall around your shoulders.

He’s moved the coffee table out of the center of the room and there’s a square black box on the floor in its place.

You wait, shifting your weight as your nipples go rock hard, cold shivers traveling from head to toe.

Sam carefully bookmarks the page and sets the book on the table beside him. Then he takes off his glasses, setting them atop the book. He examines you, head tilting as both his arms extend along the armrests of the chair.

“Seeing you in the flesh is much more satisfying than over video,” he comments, even and measured. “Tell me, do you enjoy the things I have you do to yourself?”

You swallow, the ever present blush creeping into your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whisper, eyes locked on his.

“What about it do you enjoy most?” His thumb rubs against his middle finger, a telltale sign that he’s already thinking of new ways to torture you.

“I-” You stop to think about the last few weeks and his box of toys that had you completely and utterly embarrassed and on the edge of pleasure every night. “It makes me feel like a whore, to do those things to myself. I think it’s the idea of you making me do them that gets me off.”

“You could say no,” he offers casually.

“I suppose, but I like to pretend that’s not an option,” you admit bashfully, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. Your clit is already throbbing, the conversation alone sending little waves of pleasure between your legs.

“You like to feel controlled?” he clarifies, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“By you, yes. I love it.” Your confession is not anything you’ve ever said out loud before but it’s unabashedly true. The idea of giving yourself to him for his own pleasure is what most excites you.

“Do you like to be called names? Whore? Slut?” Despite everything you’ve done up until this point he’s never directly called you names. He’s told you to suck his cock like a whore and to fuck him like a slut, but never outright used them.

“Not all the time. But sometimes I think I would like it.” You’re honest because Sam can handle the complexity of your desires. He himself has many layers and understands not everything is black and white, yes and no. “It turns me on the most when you make me say those things.”

“Would you like that tonight?”

“Yes,” you nod, squeezing your thighs together.

“Good. Thank you for your honesty,” he nods, taking a breath, glancing at the mound of your pussy. “Next we need to talk about your punishment.”

“Punishment?” you question surprised.

“Yes. I’ve been unhappy with you twice and we need to talk about both times. First, you came into my office today and questioned me about Lexi. I told you when this arrangement first started that you would be my only sexual partner. That was part of our agreement. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” you nod, looking at the floor. You want to remind him that he also jumped to conclusions about Max, but this isn’t the time or the place. And to be honest, punishments are often one of your favorite activities. "I’m true to my word. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, doing your damnedest to look apologetic.

“I hate it when you say that. Don’t be sorry, change your behavior. Which brings us to the second issue. When I tell you to do something, you do it. If I tell you to turn a vibrator on, you turn it on. I don’t like having to tell you twice.”

Something about the combination of his tone and the words makes your legs weak. You’re not sure what’s wrong with you for liking this and you’re probably going to hell for getting off on it, but fuck if he doesn’t make your pussy ache.

“It won’t happen again.” You look up, meeting his unflinching stare.

“I was going to come home and fuck you but I’ve decided that you need a reminder about who’s in charge,” he snaps, jaw ticking.  “Ask me for it.”

“Please show me you’re in charge,” you respond without hesitation. “I need to be reminded.”

“Yes, you do,” he sighs, sitting up. “Open the box.” He gestures to the shiny black box on the floor. You kneel down, taking off the lid to find a series of sex toys. There’s a thick black dildo, several butt plugs in various sizes, a small vibrator, a ball gag, and a ring gag. “We’re only going to use one of these tonight, we’ll save the rest. Take out the largest plug.”

You look up at him, then down into the box picking up the thick, cold metal plug, feeling the weight of it in your hand.

“Now, turn around, get down on your hands and knees. Spread your legs wide so I can see your cunt and your ass.”

There’s that conflicted feeling, the one that all your encounters start with. You turn around, getting into position and presenting your backside to him, knees grinding into the carpet.

“I would say you could use lube, but it doesn’t look like you need it you’re so wet. Stick it in your pussy, get it wet enough to slide up that tight little ass.”

You whimper, a shaky sound erupting from your throat as you reach between your legs and ease the metal into the slick between your folds. You rub the tip over your clit, bringing a jolt of pleasure before pushing it into your dripping sex.

On hands and knees in his living room is about as submissive as things have gotten up until this point but you’re not surprised at the way your body is reacting. This is a vulnerable and shameful position, but also thrilling.

You make slow circles feeling the plug in your pussy before pulling it out. Suddenly his hands are on you, one hand on your hip, the other coming down on your ass cheek with a resounding crack.

“Fuck!” you wheeze, rocking forward.

He takes the plug from you, pushing it back into your cunt until it’s all the way inside, the base between your lips. He leaves it in place for a moment, rubbing your clit with his thumb as you pant, pushing back into him. Before there’s too much pleasure he pulls it out with a wet sucking sound.

“Now,” his fingers are spreading your cheeks wide and the cold wet tip of the plug meets your puckered hole. “I’m going to push this in. While I’m getting it into place I want you to tell me what a whore you are and how much you want it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you gasp, nodding enthusiastically as he begins to push hard. You can feel your body stretching open, the pain and the burn that morphs into liquid heat between your legs. “I’m a whore. I want it deep, please. Oh god, please harder.”

With a final push, the plug sinks in, popping past the ring of muscle. You groan, dropping your chest down onto the carpet as he gives your ass a couple of hard swats.

“Come,” he instructs, sitting back in the chair, spreading his legs. “Kneel here.”

You shuffle over to him, feeling the plug shift inside you, a delicious stretch that makes your empty pussy clench around nothing.

“Now, I think it’s time for something new.” He looks down at you with a dark affection, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb sliding along your lower lip. “We’re going to add a little incentive for you going forward. This weekend you’re only allowed to have an orgasm if you have my cum in your mouth. Which means if you want to cum tonight, you better start sucking.”

You stare at him, genuinely surprised, your cunt and ass tightening around the plug in arousal. Without saying a word you reach out, unbuckling his belt, easing his throbbing erection out of his trousers. He’s clearly been hard for a while, the head of his cock is almost purple and leaking pre-cum as you lean forward and seal your lips around the head.

For the first few minutes, you suck on just the tip. There are times when he insists that you deep throat him right from the get-go, but you prefer this, suckling on him like you’re starving for it as your tongue slides against the little v under the head of his cock. It’s been weeks since you’ve had him in your mouth. This is something you really do love.

With a moan and a breath, you take him deep, your pussy twitching in delight as you taste the pre-cum on your tongue and then he slides down your throat. You moan again vibrating around his shaft and he groans, taking two big handfuls of your hair.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more breathless than usual.

Bobbing up and down you keep him stuffed down your throat, breathing carefully through your nose, even and measured. It’s a skill you’ve honed over time, and now that you’ve perfected the technique and know how to fully relax your throat, you can stay like this for longer and longer stretches of time.

He tugs hard, hair yanking at your scalp and you come off him with a pop, drool dripping down your chin as you look up, waiting for further instruction. You hand is resting on his thigh and he takes it, guiding you to cup his sack.

“Do you feel how heavy my balls are?” His mouth falls open as you gently roll his package in your hand. “I haven’t jerked off in two weeks. I’ve been saving all this cum for your hot little mouth.”

“Oh god,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out in a whimpering sigh of lust and excitement. Your pussy throbs and you swear you can feel your heartbeat in your nipples now.

“Suck on them,” he instructs.

Leaning forward you let the weight of his spit-wet cock rest on your face as you open your mouth and carefully suck one of his testicles inside. You’re gentle but consistent, rolling him over your tongue as his cock rubs over your nose and forehead. You move to the other side, tonguing him with care until he pulls you back up, ready for you to attend to his dick again.

You engulf his cock with unbridled enthusiasm, making small eager noises as you work the entire length of his shaft.

“Ask me for it,” he grits out, fingers digging into your scalp.

You look up, popping off his cock, wiping your chin with the back of your hand.

“Please cum in my mouth,” you implore, squeezing your thighs together you look up at him, eyes blown wide with lust, one hand wrapped around his length. “I want it so bad, please cum in my mouth.”

“Such a good girl,” he praises, wrapping his giant hand around your head, angling his cock back into your mouth. “Suck. Don’t stop until you have a mouth full.”

Diving right back in, you suck and lick, desperate for his orgasm. This submissive side of you gets almost as much pleasure from him cumming as you do from your own orgasm.

When he gets close he grunts twice, his hips bucking up and tapping the back of your throat, then he finishes. He spurts thick ropes, warm and thick over your tongue as you resist the urge to swallow, keeping all of his seed in your mouth as instructed.

After several heavy breaths he pulls your mouth off him, grunting in satisfaction as you sit back on your heels.

“What do you say?” he asks, stroking his own cock base to tip.

“Hank ooo,” you garble, waiting for his next command.

“Get up here and sit on my cock.” He grabs a fist full of hair, pulling you up into his lap. There are times when he can stay hard after cumming the first time but there’s no real guarantee and that’s what he’s betting on. You’re going to work fast and hard for it if you want to ensure your orgasm.

Straddling his hips you sink down on his erection, letting him sliding into your desperate, drooling pussy.

“Let me see.” He pats your jaw. You open wide, sticking out your tongue, showing him your mouth full of creamy white. “Good girl. Now, use my cock to make yourself cum.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You begin sliding up and down his dick, letting your clit meet the base of his cock with each pass. The stretch is wonderful, between the thickness of the shaft and the plug nestled deep in your backside, it’s almost as challenging as the first time.

Sam takes your wrists, twisting both arms behind your back and pinning them together at the base of your spine. You have to concentrate, keeping your thighs and hips in balance and you ride him.

The taste of him is salty and familiar on your tongue, this new requirement only adds to the building of your own peak.

Keeping your hands in place with one hand, the other hand moves to your breast, squeezing the nipple and twisting hard. You’re there, right on the edge, everything between your legs slick and begging for release.

“An I um?” you struggle to ask for permission.

“Yes,” he twists your nipple just a little further as your orgasm sweeps through your body from head to toe. Just as the satisfaction begins to fan out he gives his final order, “swallow.”

You immediately swallow his load, gasping as your pussy pulses around his cock and your ass grips the plug. You tug at your arms out of instinct but he holds firm while you shudder and shake, cumming hard with him inside you.  

“Holy shit.” You quake, going slack, then slumping forward into him. He releases your wrists, both his hands cupping your ass as you lay your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he sighs, squeezing your ass, seemingly enjoying this part as much as you are.

-

“Tomorrow you’re coming with me to an...exclusive gathering.” He leans out of the closet, unbuttoning his dress shirt with two hands.

“That sounds ominous.” You sit back against the pillow.

“I’m assuming you’ve heard of Nick Luster?” he queries walking from the closet to the bathroom.

“Are you kidding me?” You’re suddenly uneasy. Nick Luster is a billionaire who’s made a name for himself by gaining a reputation as an eccentric recluse. “I don’t think there’s anyone who hasn’t heard of him.”

“He’s having a what he calls a ‘dinner party’ and you’ll accompany me.”

You're taken aback by the statement, but wary for what it means. “I have two questions.”

“What?” He sits on the edge of the bed, tugging his socks off one at a time.

“First, I thought us going to some high profile place together was a huge no-no. And isn’t he a total Howard Hughes type? I’ve heard he hates people and now he’s having a dinner party?”

“There couldn’t be anything lower profile than an event at his home. He’s nothing if not thorough, the guest list is vetted. Every person is scanned for electronic devices, you’ll want to leave your cell phone and purse in the car. Besides this isn’t actually a dinner party at all, Nick and I share what he likes to think of as similar interests. Tomorrow will cater to a specific crowd.”

“What does that mean?” You watch as he gets up, carefully throwing his socks into the hamper and unbuttoning his pants. “What do you mean similar interests?”

“The guests in attendance all live a certain lifestyle.” He looks up, stopping to watch your reaction. “Dominant and submissive.”

“Oh,” you gulp, conjuring up thoughts of The Marquis de Sade. “But that’s kind of...us. That is similar, isn't it?”

“Yes, that part is. But Nick takes it further. He’s deep into BDSM, sadomasochism, various forms of extreme sexual discipline. Most of it is well beyond my tastes.”

You digest this information, trying to imagine what kind of sights you’re going to see. “Why are you going if it’s not what you’re into?”

“Because he makes me a lot of money, millions over the last two years. And he likes to think of us as friends. So, once a year I go to his party and it keeps him happy. You are coming with me because I don’t want to be expected to participate in any of his little scenarios. If I’m there with someone I’ll have an excuse to abstain.”

“Okay.” You watch as he strips down to his boxers. His body is something to be appreciated, long and lean, the line of his muscles are easy to follow. He’s stronger than he appears under his suits and turtlenecks. “This isn’t a swingers type thing is it?"

“Not for us,” he confirms, disappearing into the bathroom as the shower turns on.  

You're left unsure what that means and not entirely certain you want to find out.

[smoochcal]

numb without you (part twenty-three)

a/n: well I definitely didn’t get back on my writing grind over my Christmas break but that’s okay because guess who’s back and better than ever! I am writing this right now for el because an update is well deserved. if you are new to nwoy, welcome! if you are a veteran of this series, thank you for your endless support. I don’t want this author’s note to be too long so without further ado, part 23 (read part 22 here!)

pairing: readerxluke

playlist: numb without you by the maine, mystery’s gone by speak low if you speak love, valentine by COIN, gold on tv by lennon stella & jp saxe

word count: 1.6k

rating: PG-13

summary: y/n is nesting and her and calum have a heart to heart conversation

warnings: mild language

Y/N’s POV:

Calum stopping by was a kind of unexpected surprise, but it has been two weeks since that seemingly awkward encounter and you are swiftly nesting away at Luke’s place and Calum’s. You are grateful for the fact that neither of them seems to mind too much, although you know what a hassle two cribs and two nurseries have already been before the baby is even here. You are very fortunate to have RM/N support you with your nesting at Calum’s place. In fact, she stayed out of the nursery completely the last couple times I have been over at their place, but I believe that was more on the premise of her latest binge watch of New Girl over anything else.

Calum has been in and out of the studio a lot lately with Luke, so it has mainly just been you and RM/N at the house. It is surprisingly quiet in the house without Calum there, not that he usually is one to make a lot of noise. It seems like the only sounds throughout the entire house are coming from the television in the living room and the soft shuffle of your feet throughout the nursery. Your movement has become more of a waddle within the past couple of weeks. And you are slowly but surely becoming more impatient with waiting for your little bundle of joy to make her way into the world.

With your efforts, your little girl’s nurseries are as complete as they can be. The only thing missing in both cribs in both houses are your baby sleeping within them. You have washed and folded every article of clothing you already have for her between your many shopping sprees and all the gifts you received from your baby shower. Her crib is all put together, the proudest factor of the whole ensemble being the pink and purple dinosaur sheets you found last week. You are as prepared as you are ever going to be for your firstborn child, you just hope that things won’t become too overwhelming with the fact that she basically has four adults willing to take care of her at any given moment.

Calum’s POV:

You have been in the studio tirelessly for the past several weeks. You understand why there are deadlines in the music industry, but at the same time you truly believe it somewhat stunts your creative abilities. You and Luke have been trying your best to get the melody right on your latest song, but you have been failing miserably. It doesn’t help that the studio is the last place the two of you want to be. You know that if anything happened that RM/N would call you right away and get Y/N to the hospital, but you still feel like you should be the one with her in these remaining days before the baby arrives.

-------------2 hours later---------------

You just parked in your driveway after a long day at the studio. You offered to take Luke home because the two of you carpooled there anyway, but was it really a bad thing that you hoped Y/N would still be at your place nesting by the time you got back? You know RM/N texted you twenty minutes prior that she was going to her three-hour lecture on campus and that she would be gone for most of the night. You know it would be the healthy thing to do if you talk out your issues with Y/N. She is usually a very understanding person and the only other person you usually bring up your issues to is RM/N. You don’t want RM/N to know that Luke and Y/N’s relationship is making you jealous. It would ultimately harm your current relationship with RM/N.

To your relief and simultaneously to your surprise, Y/N is sitting in the rocking chair in the nursery of your home. She is humming to herself quietly while rocking slowly back and forth, one hand on top of her very prominent baby bump. This is the kind of moment when you wished you were good at photography. You do your best to take a mental picture of this precious moment and find yourself daydreaming about all the precious moments to come with your daughter. It didn’t take long before Y/N noticed your presence and pulled you out of your own headspace.

“Calum, you’re home sooner than I thought you would be…you just missed RM/N. She had her night class tonight if I’m not mistaken,” Y/N states as she slowly makes her way up and out of the rocking chair in the corner of the room.

“Yeah, our producer let us out of the studio early since Luke and I can’t focus for the life of us haha,” you respond lightly, hoping you didn’t startle Y/N as much as you think you have.

“Well I can go home if you want to be alone and decompress, I’ve spent most of my day here anyway. I should probably get home soon,” Y/N replies with a gentle smile spread across her face.

“Actually, there was something I was hoping we could discuss before I take you home,” you start, silently hoping that she will agree to this conversation that won’t be easy for either of you.

“Yeah that’s fine, but can we talk on the couch? I have been on my feet way too much today already…” Y/N trails off as she heads to the couch, not waiting for your reply on the matter.

You join her on the couch, keeping an appropriate distance due to your want to respect her privacy and space. She is growing an entire human inside of her and that is no easy job. You don’t want to make her any more uncomfortable than she already is.

“I just wanted to talk about our current situation. Like obviously we are both in separate solid relationships with other people and I don’t want any confusion between us. Obviously, we are going to be parents soon…. I don’t know I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m happy for you and Luke, I’m glad the two of you are finally together. I mean we all saw it coming…just the timing of it all was a little concerning. And I guess you could turn that around on me as well considering how quickly I fell for RM/N… I don’t know I just feel very overwhelmed with it all ad I want to be as transparent with you as possible before the baby comes. I’m not a very open person and I know that is one of my flaws and I am trying for everyone else’s sake to get better at that, but I just wanted to let you know where I am at with all if this… I don’t want to end up resenting you or Luke or anyone in this situation. I just wanted to let you know where I’m at with all of this so you are in the loop, if that makes sense…” you trail off recognizing that you just rambled off the problem to Y/N in possibly the worst way.

She takes a while to comprehend all of what you just said, you know that you dumped a lot of information on her all at once and you do not expect a response from her right away. You hope she understands where you are coming from though with all else considered. You hear her take a deep breath in before she says the words you were anxious to hear come out of her mouth.

“I believe we will find a way to work everything out once she is here. The two of us will always be her parents, it would take a heck of a lot to change that, but you also have to understand that Luke and RM/N are going to be a big part of her life as well. As much as I hate to admit this, we made a mistake. A beautiful mistake and I would not change it for the world, but a mistake, nonetheless. We have to act like the adults we are here and evaluate our situation with where we currently are and where we want to be as parents. I am willing to coparent with you and do everything that is necessary for our daughter and I need to know that you are on board with me on all of this as well. Our days are numbered in the sense that she will be here before either of us know it and I want to make sure we, for the lack of a better phrase, have our shit together before that time comes,” Y/N concludes, which leaves you in awe with how much she has grown throughout the past eight months.

With that response alone your mind is now at ease. If the two of you could have a mature relationship on this subject matter, you are certain that you can conquer anything else that life throws at you. You thank Y/N for talking with you and most importantly for not bullshitting you on this. You offer to take her home, back to Luke, and she agrees by hugging you tight. You will be alright. Everything has its way of working out the exact way it is supposed to.

[sonicranticoot]

About CTR, Money, and Both Together

Yeah I know I took a break. Regular types of posts to resume shortly. I haven’t actually ranted in a very long time (”Why does he have rant in his name, and never actually rants?”) but today’s...uh, news about CTR is such a hot topic in the Crash community I want to talk about it.

That being yeah. Microtransactions. How quaint. It’s 2019 and Crash Bandicoot has microtransactions. Absolutely beautiful. Mostly being that, a lot of you already know this but I’m making it even more blatantly clear. They’re not ok, but it goes a bit deeper than “not ok.”

One of my main reasons for being annoyed with them is that simply put, they hurt my trust in the game. Pre-launch, it was confirmed in several interviews there would be no in-game purchases or any of the sort and all content would be available in the game itself. Now it’s always possible Beenox really did mean they didn’t want to put them in and never did and they were forced upon by Activision. Although wouldn’t be the first time it has happened in the industry (as one example, Square Enix similarly forced them into Deus Ex: Mankind Divided at the last minute). publishers being willing to blatantly break promises made by the developers still paints a pretty bad message. Regardless of how it happened, it gives me reason to put less trust into Beenox.

It’s also a bit of a skewed priority here in my opinion that microtransactions are more or less taking priority in development. Of course we don’t know everything about what will be done in the patch that adds the content from the new Grand Prix but no patch notes like the last GP is kind of concerning. There are a lot of things aside from the Wumpa Coin system that are serious issues with the game, like no host migration making it very hard to actually find games at times, long wait times between online matches, invisible items, invisible walls, lack of online options, etc.

I mention online because online is obviously a part of the game Beenox and Activision are encouraging people to play a lot - not just with coins but also the increased Nitro payouts and the incentive of the championship leaderboard that gets you a kart/decal (the latter even for who got the kart in an earlier GP, giving them incentive to make the top 5% again). But simply put, it’s barebones, has difficulty functioning well, and the fact the game uses peer-to-peer instead of its own servers is a whole ‘nother kettle of fish.

I mentioned coins before, and I know I’m not alone in expressing this fear, but with the already mangled coin handling last GP’s patch (honestly exaggerated, it’s better in some places, worse in others, it has actually encouraged me to vote for different tracks online than pre-patch but that’s just me), and the inclusion of microtransactions and them being explicitly said to help fast track coin collection, there’s...reason to believe that coin payouts are going to suck more than ever. Or they might jack up the prices to get people to grind even more, sucking out lives of people with limited time to play the game, or take the “easy way out” and get them to buy coins. Of course you also have to take into consideration that CTR is a kid friendly game that has this stuff. FIFA, rated E for Everyone, in recent years has cost parents literal thousands of dollars out of their bank accounts. Now I am unsure if CTR would ever get that bad since to my understanding FIFA has gambling and lootboxes which CTR currently lacks, but the real fear of a kid not versed in money spending too much on coins is a real thing. Or, people just wanting to catch up real quick, and with no self control, plunging into buy out the store.

Then there’s how the store actually works at the moment with its daily deals stuff that can, to a new player, actually make their cash-earned coins into either a test of luck by buying repeatedly, or just waiting forever. There’s a million ways that microtransactions can ruin people’s experiences with a game I don’t know where to begin.

I’ve heard all the excuses. “It’s all cosmetics.” “It’s optional.” “People need to watch their money.” “It funds the rest of the game!” Well some people would say, those are all pretty valid reasons at first glance, I refute:

Yes. They are cosmetics. That’s always how it starts. What if that’s a skin everyone loves? What if you’re the one person who doesn’t have it? What if that becomes a problem?

Yes. It is optional. Honestly I do think it’s the best argument, because you can do what I intend on doing: not buying into them. Sometimes, though, it’s not that simple; sometimes things feel so excessive they begin to not feel optional.

Sometimes, simply put, it’s not that simple. Today it’s easier than ever for a kid to randomly jack daddy’s credit card. Some people have genuine problems with money and have no control over how they spend it. It’s not that easy for some people. Maybe it is for you. It is for me. But it isn’t for everyone.

You know what else funds development? Game sales. You already paid $40 up front (or $60 if you wanted Robot Crunch that bad, I didn’t) and I don’t think you should be expected to pay more just to ease out of a slog that, depending on purchase date, can take months. Activision (or EA or Ubisoft or 2K or Square Enix or Warner Bros.) isn’t exactly light on money anyway.

Back to the grind for a little bit. Yes. Coin rates for offline players suck. Online sometimes gives you good coins and only does so when it wants to work in the first place. I, however, have a different take on the grind. The grind only becomes a grind if you make it into a grind. If you’re having fun playing the game, honestly? That’s what any good game does, it makes you play the game because you like playing the game. A lot of games have things that take forever to do, but are praised in spite of that because of things like strong game mechanics. CTR has amassed a dedicated community in spite of its well-documented issues because, simply put, this game is great. I’ve put god knows how many hours into it, admittedly sometimes as an active grind (I hate those battle mode challenges for the Grand Prix), but much of the time, it’s because I love playing a great racing game in my favorite gaming series.

Of course, that’s just me. Not everyone thinks a game is just a game, and sometimes the game itself these days gives off that message. Games you buy from a brick and mortar store operated completely differently before mobile phone games got big. Once those did, and devs started putting things into them, it just hasn’t been the same for a lot of people. Today, you have to log in to an account to play Doom, a game released 26 years ago, not on phones but after you pay for it with your own money on consoles current as of 2019. Mobile games and free to play games always operated differently from console games because that’s their whole thing, they generally aren’t console experiences and vice versa.

In summary:

If you love CTR, keep playing it, because without microtransactions, you have a game with a lot of good content and amazing gameplay.

However, actual issues with the game should be prioritized over trying to nickel and dime people, and with any game - not just this one - this message NEEDS to be loud and clear.

It is important for developers and publishers to see on the same terms, so they same message is given to consumers.

You don’t fucking put mobile game mechanics into video games that existed 10 years before Angry Birds and expect people to not talk about them.

Monetization is bad in so many ways it can hurt people and imply things about everything about the game in all kinds of ways. No ifs or buts about it.

Have a good night.

[canmom]

The Cheating Seeker's confession

Since Fallen London has retired the mobile app now...

I cheated. I cheated mercilessly. I could guarantee I'd pass any roll, and explore several moves in advance before committing to a decision. I could even conjure up extra actions. Not by hacking - just by exploiting the way the app worked by design (except that last part, which was a bug).

I don't regret it. I spent more subscribing, and buying Exceptional Stories, than I have on most games, bought Sunless Sea and backed Sunless Skies. It's not a competitive game, kind of infamously grindy - so Grundy I probably would never have played as much as I did if I couldn't cheat. Failbetter have acknowledged that the grind is a bit much, but it would be too much work to redesign the game's economy. So I think it was probably morally OK to cheat - it didn't ruin anyone's fun or cost the writers.

I always wanted to explain how to do it, but I guess I was a coward, because if it got fixed, I'd be back to that grind. So I never told anyone. But now they shut down the app to focus on a responsive version of the website, so...

Here's how it used to work. Fallen London is a web game where you get 'actions' every 10 minutes. You spend these actions to do things which often have a chance to succeed or fail, depending on your character's stats. You can bank up to 20 actions, or 40 more if you're a subscriber (Exceptional Friend). When you can pay money in their online shop for action refreshes, or just come back a few hours later. (Sometimes the devs would also gift all the players 'darkdrop coffee' to refresh their actions once.)

Fallen London had a mobile app, as well as its browser version. The app has a backup of the entire game text, allowing it to be played even without an internet connection. However, after every 10 actions or so, it would require you to sync your actions and their outcomes to the server.

When you logged into the app, and whenever you synced, it would download the latest updates to the game, and check your subscriber status, current action status and so on, put your character in the appropriate location, etc. This would put your account in a state of being logged into the app.

If you tried to log in to the website in this state, or indeed take any action in the browser if you were already logged in, the game would display a warning that this would invalidate any unsynced actions taken on the app. And indeed, if you clicked through that warning, then synced in the app, it would restore you to whatever state the game was in just after you last synced.

Having explained it like that, you can probably see where this is going!

Suppose you take an action, and you don't like the outcome - you fail a roll, or regret the decision you made, or are simply curious about 'what happens if'. Well, until you sync, it doesn't count. You have as many retries as you have patience.

As simple as this is, this breaks the game wide open. For example, there is a thing you can do called the Case of the Fidgeting Writer, basically a double or nothing game. Starting with a cheap item - a Tale of Terror - and you can repeatedly choose to essentially flip a virtual coin to double its value and get some prose, or cash in and get some appropriate items and different prose. The story is that you are either relentlessly pursuing a dangerous secret, or abandoning the search at the behest of devils, the Masters etc. If you get very lucky, and invest some fairly cheap items at certain points, you can turn your .5 echo item into a Brilliant Soul worth about 300 echoes. As designed, it's generally worth pursuing only by late game players with a vast stock of ToTs to risk.

If you can guarantee you win every roll, you can spend about eight actions to conjure up a Soul. Or you can cash out early for other valuable items hard to get otherwise. This is a vastly better option in terms of Echoes per Action than any of the money making 'carousel' options that are the standard ways players try to make money, which usually give a couple of EpA at best.

But it got worse. Because sometimes, when I synced the app, I noticed I had an extra action. At first I just thought it was more than ten minutes since my last sync, but at some point I realised I was getting more actions than I could account for this way. Somehow, there was a bug that meant every time I synced, I had a chance to get an extra action. So I started syncing over and over whenever I ran low on actions, and watched them climb.

Now the time economy of the game totally disintegrated. I wasn't totally free to do what I wanted - syncing took some time and didn't always give me a free action. But I had vastly more actions than I was supposed to, so I could basically click around almost at will.

The last thing that Fallen London players do is a storyline called Seeking Mr Eaten's Name. The storyline is one of your character embarking - against the best advice of everyone ever - into an obsessive, self-destructive search for the truth. In its increasingly surreal course, it calls on you to throw away the most expensive items in the game if you have them, destroy your character's relationships and social standing that you worked so hard to build, burn away your stats, and pour vast resources into a quest that will ultimately make your account permanently unusable. Your only reward is joining the short list of people who have read one of the short and cryptic endings. It's probably the best piece of writing in the game, and the one thing that really makes full thematic use of the game's relentless acquisition grind. (A reckoning will not be postponed indefinitely.)

There are points in Seeking the Name, such as Winking Isle, that depend heavily on getting a good run of luck, and facing many setbacks that put you back. I breezed through them. There are points that ask you to sacrifice expensive, difficult to acquire items, spouses, etc. I could summon up Echoes and zoom through the grinds.

I got into Fallen London precisely so I could one day Seek the Name, yet my course as a Seeker was a relatively short and blessed one, as these things go. Perhaps it cheapened the experience to know that, rather than the product of years of virtual labour and failed dice rolls, all I was throwing away was a few boring hours of syncing the app. I don't know, I don't think I'd have the patience to Seek the real way.

I still had an incredible experience Seeking, and getting deep into the game's fiction. It's a wonderful writing project, and one day, I hope it will be released in a non grinding based form.

I sometimes wondered if I'd be 'caught' - someone would see my Seeking posts and realise "hold on a minute, no way you could get through it that fast". Nobody did of course - who would care? I think I almost wanted them to though, so I could tell someone about this cool trick I found, and they could judge me, or maybe share in the fun.

I'm sure I can't be the only one who found this exploit in the app, and exploited it. But I never saw it discussed. So here you go... the sorry story of a silly exploit. Not quite the world shattering secret of what happened to Mr Eaten. But a secret I've been holding, nonetheless.

I feel like, it's a story still. Like the anarchists she associated with, who aspired to end the tyranny of sunlight, and the zee-captains I played who wielded the Red Science to rend the Great Chain of Being as the Zee made them more and more alien, my character broke the rules of her universe in her quest for an end to the Masters' rule. Did she succeed? Well, ultimately, I selected the most cryptic ending, so I have no idea. "Who is Salt?" indeed.

I thought I would roll a new character in FL after she found her ending. But going back to the start just felt hollow. Her story is done.