#I hope it satisfies your prompt sufficiently

[running2reanimation]

For @cindersnows - for the AVA/M gift event!

Formality

"It's a formality," Victim reassured, gesturing with a glove-covered hand to the bespectacled stick, "We all know I'll be hiring your crew no matter how this dinner goes."

"Of course, sir."

--

Striker was pretty sure this was actually yet another test from the enigmatic head of the Rocket Corporation. Inviting a bunch of mercenaries to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Stick City could be nothing less than the ultimate test of his leadership abilities.

Could he make these idiots presentable? Behave in ways that were at least semi-appropriate?

"I want to wear my cape; the nobility of the past used to, it counts as formal wear, right?" Ballista folded his arms as his summoned cape billowed behind him as Primal nodded in agreement;

"They did, so it should count."

"No, you will wear a suit or dress. Those are your options," Striker could already feel the pressure pulsing behind his shades, "That goes for you too, Primal. Suit or dress only."

"I refuse, they both hinder my movement too much," Primal shook her head stubbornly, "What if this is some sort of trap? Or what if we have to defend our new client from would be assassins?"

"It isn't a trap," Striker put his foot down resolutely, though he couldn't discount the possibility of assassins. Or that there would be some type of test of their abilities mid-dining. Victim was capricious like that, "You can wear a loose dress with a slit for more mobility, but you have to wear a dress."

"..." Primal at the very least didn't flat out refuse, so Striker was going to count that as a win.

"Any crazy requests from you, Logo?" Striker turned to the bulky yet-paper-thin stick who shook his head in two quick frames.

"I have a suit from the last undercover thing we did."

Striker heaved a small sigh of relief - at least one of them could be reasonable and logical and knew how to behave in public.

"I'm gonna wear my cape!" Ballista insisted, intentionally billowing it into their leader's face.

"You'd better not," Striker warned, pausing the cape's movement and stepping out of it.

--

"Lemme wear my cape!" Was the refrain Striker got to listen to for the next several days, every single time he laid eyes on the bitcrushed warrior.

The smaller stick had even ambushed him from one of the upper cupboards - Striker suspected Primal had put him in there, since there was no sign of a chair he would have used to make the climb into them.

"Just let me wear my cape and I'll stop," He pleaded and Striker realized that chances were that Ballista would wear it regardless, and at least this way he might be able to set a few rules.

"On the condition that you keep it from billowing - I know you can control it."

"...Fine, even if that's half the point of wearing it," Bit sagged as though he'd not just gotten what he'd wanted.

--

"Less than 15 minutes until the transportation arrives, is everyone dressed appropriately?" Striker looked over his assorted group, adjusting the tie of his usual black suit.

Primal had worn a dress, the slit was maybe a bit higher up the thigh than was appropriate for fine dining, but it was too late to do anything about about that. The way the silky black dress caught the light looked very nice with her scribbled style. Her usual ponytail was pulled up into a bun.

Logo was in his white suit with the black tie; looking sharp literally and figuratively.

Ballista still hadn't left his room yet, "Ballista, please tell me you're almost ready."

Striker couldn't imagine what was taking him so long; it wasn't like he'd exactly gotten the impression Ballista owned a lot of formal wear to choose between. He'd probably just left getting dressed until the last moment as usual.

"Ready!" Ballista announced, throwing open the bedroom door. He'd picked out a white suit, it almost seemed somewhat military in style, but the white cape went with it at least, "Oh hey, we've got a black-and-white colour co-ordination thing going on, gang. Nice."

"Limo's here," Logo announced, heading out the door, Primal close behind them. Ballista dashed out past Striker while he grabbed the keys and locked the door.

Striker ducked into the vehicle and a grey stick closed the door behind him. The limo was surprisingly spacious inside, though still not quite tall enough to comfortably accommodate Primal.

And seated in the back with them was their new employer: Victim. He seemed dressed in the same suit as usual, but Striker made a mental note of the black cufflinks that weren't part of the usual ensemble.

"Thank you all for coming to dinner tonight. I know this is a bit unusual for you."

"Thank you for inviting us," Logo bobbed his head in gratitude, taking the lead when it came to socializing, "It's nice not to have to cook for once and I've never been to this place before, Olive and Wine?"

"Yes, I'm not surprised, it is fairly new, but I can assure you it's quite good."

"You're paying, right?" Ballista piped up from Logo's elbow and Striker and Logo both glared at the guy but Victim just laughed.

"Of course, though with your reputation for success, I'm sure you could afford it regardless."

"Oh, totally," Bit grinned, as the limo pulled to a stop, "Looks like we're here."

The exterior of the restaurant was fairly plain and unassuming, with the curtains drawn, a soft golden glow shining from beyond them and a green neon sign proclaimed the place was 'open' in flowing cursive.

The grey stick opened the door and the mercenaries stepped out single file, but they paused to let Victim pass them. Primal once again had to duck, but that was almost expected everywhere.

"Reservations for Victim and company," Victim declared and the mulberry employee guided the group to one of the private rooms in the back.

"Your server will be with you shortly," they bowed and the group was left alone with the menus, simple things with a front for food and a back side for drinks.

"Not a big menu," Primal seemed unimpressed, looking it over.

"They have a steak board for two," Logo pointed out and Primal immediately scoured the menu for it. Having found it, she set hers in the middle of the table, atop Victim's, who hadn't even looked at it.

Logo continued looking, clapping his hands in delight, "Oooh, I've never tried arancini before!"

"Go ahead, if you don't like it you can always order something else," Victim took the menu from Logo and placed it in the pile with a broad grin, "I insist."

"Alright, sir, thank you," Logo smiled back at little nervously and glanced at Ballista who was still reading the menu, "What about you Ballista.

"I think I'm gonna get the cannelloni," Bit said, tossing his menu into the growing pile, "What about you, Striker?"

Striker had been so focused on making sure everyone else knew what they were ordering he hadn't even looked at the menu, "I'm still looking."

"Surely something appeals to you?" Victim asked and Striker could feel the pressure of the older stick's gaze upon him.

"Of course - I'll get the charcuterie board," Striker placed his menu upon the stack as Victim nodded in approval.

"An excellent choice when one is feeling indecisive."

Almost as if summoned by the stack of menus the server appeared, another reddish stick whose smile was too wide, "Have you all decided what you'd like to order?"

"Yes," Victim confirmed, "I'll have the pan fried haddock with potatoes with a Godfather and a glass of water, please and thank you."

After going around the table, the server took the menus and left to go place their orders.

"So, I got a question, Boss," Ballista piped up as soon as the server left and Striker and Logo tensed. Ballista wasn't exactly... good at polite conversation or asking appropriate questions.

"Yes?" Victim tilted his head, either oblivious to the tension or perhaps enjoying it.

"Why is every stick that works for you grey - not only that, they're all the exact same shade. They come from a game or something? Thought you couldn't discriminate like that."

"Oh, you can get away with any form of discrimination if you have enough money... but that's not the case here. Think of it like a uniform of sorts - we dye our workers grey and then at the end of the day we return their colour to them."

"Seems like that might make infiltration easy," Logo frowned, a hand to his chin.

"Never had a problem with it before," Victim shrugged as the server placed their meals down, confirmed they didn't need anything else and left.

Once the food was in front of them, the mercenaries all went quiet - not that most of them were particularly talkative in the first place, but they all focused on their meals intensely.

"Do you not get enough to eat?" Victim asked, and Logo looked up from their meal.

"Oh, yes, but this is a real treat, so we're really making sure we take it all in, you know? Speaking of, thank you for convincing me to try them, the arancini are fantastic."

"Ah, well, good, I'm glad," Victim nodded, going back to his plate.

At the midpoint of the meal a server came in again and asked how everything was.

Striker stared at the server, and immediately noticed that something was off - this one wasn't green or red, the only two colours he'd seen the staff here possess. They were a pale brown and their uniform didn't match the other one's he'd seen earlier in the night, the buttons were simple black, instead of the red roses the rest of the staff sported.

"You're not staff," Striker commented, getting to his feet, Primal immediately following suit with a growl.

In the time it took Striker to draw a line and Primal to vault over the table, three more non-staff members came through the door - these ones were armed with guns.

"Ballista, Logo, get Victim back to the limo and wait for us," Striker directed, deflecting a spray of bullets with his select tool, "As non-lethally as possible."

"You got it, sir," Ballista gave a salute and charged ahead, sword drawn, clearing a path for Logo and Victim to follow while Primal and Striker dealt with the initial ambush.

By the time Striker and Primal made it to the limo, Primal was only a little blood-soaked and her dress a little torn.

Logo sat in the driver's seat, the original grey driver unconscious in the chair next to him, while Ballista kept watch out of the sunroof.

"The driver was an impostor too. I'd appreciate it if you tied them up, please," Logo explained, starting the vehicle.

"Do you know how to drive a limo?" Victim asked as Striker tied up the driver as suggested and Primal joined Ballista, keeping watch out of the sunroof.

"Do I know how to drive a limo? Yes. Do I have a license for it? No," Logo laughed as they started moving.

--

The drive back to Victim's penthouse was quiet. They turned the driver over to Victim's security, "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own? How confident are you in your security?"

"...You know, maybe I should hire you for the occasional security detail too. But for tonight, I think I have it handled, though you all have clearly shown your aptitude," Ballista grinned with pride and Striker couldn't help his own proud smile. The team had done well tonight.

"Of course, we'll talk the contract over tomorrow, sir," Striker bowed, and nudging the others out.

"Primal, how'd you know there'd be assassins?" Ballista shook his head with a chuckle as they opened the gate and she shrugged with a little laugh of her own.

"Lucky guess."

"Hey guys, we didn't bring our car," Logo pointed out once the gate shut behind them.

"Dammit!"

[cilil]

AN: Back again with @angbangweek! Sorry I couldn't make it yesterday, but all the remaining ones are written now. Maybe I'll also get you a little surprise... :)

This one is a gift for the wonderful @neldeathstar, inspired by this artwork. I took some creative liberties with the timeline and all, but I hope I captured the energy of the piece regardless. Thanks for all your hard work and enjoy!

⚡︎ Prompt(s): Fire & lava ⚡︎ Synopsis: Melkor and Mairon engage in a fun roleplaying (and fucking) session in the depths of Utumno ⚡︎ Warnings: Smut, kinky roleplay, light bondage ⚡︎ Short oneshot (~700 words) | AO3

"How do you want me, my lord?"

"Chained within the deepest pits of Utumno, where Arda's blood runs through her veins." 

Melkor looked at him with burning eyes.

"Naked. Ready for me. All mine."

~ 

Those had been the words exchanged between the two of them before Mairon had descended into the deepest dungeons of Utumno to make that fantasy become reality. 

Everything had to be perfect for his precious. 

Thus he was now standing in the middle of a lava lake, his wrists chained to a rocky column, his neck adored with a black collar. Attached to it, as well as to the golden bars piercing his nipples, was a thin golden chain that went around his hips and thighs. Mairon coyly crossed his legs to hide what lay between and pretended to squirm in his bindings. 

Melkor was regarding him from the entrance of the cavern, silent, but with an appreciative smirk. His icy blue eyes seemed to be on fire, smouldering and wild, fueled by the lovely image presenting itself to him.

He approached in swift, long strides, and Mairon suppressed a self-satisfied smile. His precious was always so impatient, but he wasn't going to complain. At least he wouldn't have to wait. 

"Such a pretty thing, all alone and helpless in my dungeons," Melkor purred and began caressing his hair. "Should I free you from such a predicament before evil things find you and take advantage?" 

"Yes, my lord, please," Mairon said, demurely lowering his gaze to play the part of a shy, lost Maia. 

"Of course, little flame." He could hear Melkor's grin in his voice. "But first I shall have you, as is my right as lord of this fortress." 

Before Mairon could pretend to protest, he was swiftly and forcibly turned around and pushed forward, his palms coming to rest on the rock's jagged surface. One of Melkor's hands came to rest on his neck, keeping him bent over, while the other grabbed his hip. 

"Now spread your legs like a good little Maia..." 

He did, spreading them as far as he could and keeping his hips raised, utterly shameless. His beloved adored seeing him in positions like this, he knew, all obedient and submissive. 

Melkor had begun to examine him by reaching between his legs. Instead of a proudly erect cock like his own, his fingers glided over soft folds, wet from sweat and arousal alike. 

"So excited for me already. What a lovely little flame you are." 

He wasted no time taking what was his. Mairon cried out in feigned anguish when he was penetrated in one swift thrust, speared on the Vala's cock as it tore into him mercilessly. Fortunately, his ever-faithful fána had prepared itself with sufficient lubrication and recognised his lover, eagerly taking him inside. 

Any pain he felt seemed like pure bliss to him. 

Melkor took him fast and hard, as if he was merely intending to quench his lust by using a helpless prisoner. The mere thought of being treated as such sent a powerful wave of arousal through Mairon, slick dripping all over the Vala's cock and down his legs. He was being used and possessed by a being mightier than he, one who would toy with him as he saw fit. His fána trembled with raw thrill. 

A large hand reached around him now, grasping his chin to turn his head. Obediently, he looked over his shoulder and opened his mouth when Melkor's thumb brushed demandingly against his bottom lip. 

"Suck," he ordered, pushing it inside, and Mairon did. 

Lips closing around the digit, his tongue caressed the pad of the thumb. He licked and sucked on it as if his life depended on it, imagining that he was servicing the Vala's cock instead. 

The effect of his eagerness and efforts was both powerful and immediate. Melkor came inside him with a low growl of satisfaction, filling him so thoroughly that seed spurted out of him and ran down his legs. 

Mairon glanced up at him, and his heart leapt with joy when he saw just how pleased he was. 

"I lied to you earlier," Melkor said then, his thumb pressing against his tongue to keep him from protesting. "I think I shall keep you here after all."

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @saintstars @sauron-kraut @urwendii @wandererindreams

[skyler10fic]

Alter Ego

Summary: Daisy Johnson might be falling for her new roommate, but she has to hide her secret identity as the masked vigilante Quake. Her superhero rival, Captain Marvel, gets hurt one night on the job, and behind the helmet lies a surprise!

Notes: For @ficwip All Ships Ship Week. Prompts: Domesticity / living together, Sickfic / hurt/comfort / whump, Double life, and “Who did this to you?” Yup. I worked all of the prompts into this one!

Read on Ao3

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

Quake may have been the city's most mysterious vigilante hero, but that didn't pay the rent. In her normal life, Daisy Johnson was just an IT girl at Stark Industries during the day and she needed a roommate if she was going to keep her apartment. She sighed at the bills piling up on the dining room table. 

A notification pinged on her phone. “Hi, this is Carol Danvers. Are you still looking for someone to sublease your second bedroom? My uncle is Nick Fury. He said it was exactly what I'm looking for.” 

Daisy sat up straighter and typed a response back that yes she was and that Fury had mentioned he might know of someone but hadn't said who, which ended up in Carol scheduling a day to come over. Fury was Daisy’s dad's friend, former boss, and longtime mentor at “the US State Department” aka the top secret spy agency Shield. She'd assumed Fury was just being polite when she mentioned her roommate search at a family barbeque and he seemed to have someone in mind. Now his own niece was on her way over. 

Daisy just hoped Carol didn’t ask too many questions if she noticed Daisy went out at night. The last thing Daisy needed was for Carol to mention it to her uncle and then for Fury to pass the suspicion along to Daisy’s retired spy dad and agency-contractor pilot mom. No one could know about Quake and her illegal vigilante crime fighting.

—---- Carol loved the apartment, but as Daisy finished the tour, Carol’s phone beeped at her. She enjoyed being Captain Marvel, but her uncle emphasized no one could know, for her own safety and that of their spy agency that she technically worked for. Her paychecks said the US State Department, and the story she told everyone, including Daisy, was that she was a low-ranking assistant to the physics specialist of the federal scientific policy advisory board. That was usually sufficiently impressive and complicated enough to satisfy other people without having to answer too many questions. Meanwhile, she was flying around the world and beyond as her alter ego defending earth from terrestrial and extraterrestrial villains. 

Today, however, she wished she didn't have to answer the call to duty. At least not right this second. They were having far too much fun already after a few hours of conversation and coffee. Daisy was so smart, kind, and generous, not to mention exactly Carol’s type, and Carol could already picture her bedroom furniture in the empty room Daisy had to offer. 

“I am so, so sorry,” Carol said, glancing at her phone. “I have to go, but send me the lease and I'll get it back to you ASAP.”

“That's a yes then? Good. I was hoping you liked it. We have to have that Mario Kart tournament after all. If you're brave enough to challenge me.” 

Carol didn't miss the hope in Daisy's teasing smile. 

“Oh it's a plan.” Carol stopped herself from pecking a kiss to Daisy's cheek. She'd never done that with anyone else before, and it would be even weirder to start now with a near-stranger she was about to move in with. 

—----------------------- 

An exasperated sigh sounded from behind Quake in a dark alley where she’d just prevented a hate group member from setting off a shrink ray. “Not you again.” 

“You’re welcome!” Quake retorted, voice muffled by the black mask covering her mouth and nose. She finished hogtying the criminal and he grunted, nearly coming back to consciousness. 

“I’m serious.” Of course she was. It was Captain Marvel, the head-to-toe red, blue, and gold do-gooder. She was like the stereotype of Supergirl, Wonder Woman, and “truth, justice, and the American way” comic book perfection come to life. She stood watching Quake from the roof of a parked delivery truck, as if to show off that she could fly and Quake couldn’t.

“Oh I know. Captain Mighty here to save the poor criminal,” Quake sassed.

“It’s Marvel,” the blonde annoyance grumbled. “And I have to take him in. Ever heard of the justice system? A fair trial?” 

“Don’t need a civics lesson, Girl Scout. He’s all yours.” Quake built up vibrations with her palms toward the ground and blasted off to the rooftop of the nearest building, high above the alley and even Captain Marvel, who was now checking that tonight’s evil henchman was still alive. He always was. Quake knew her own power. She could take out the whole city, maybe more, if she tried. She’d taken down a dozen of these ordinary criminals and never left them with fatal damage. Not that they didn’t deserve it. But that was the vigilante in her talking. 

She’d dropped out of Shield agent training as she hit against protocol again and again, ashamed she couldn’t live up to her family legacy but unable to excuse the politics driving who got their help and who didn’t. Her father’s retirement and subsequent declassification of several of his missions in which he had similar concerns only reinforced her choice. She was better on her own. 

When she got home, Carol was in the shower and it was easy to sneak in unnoticed. Having a roommate added difficulty to the whole secrecy thing, but Carol was so easygoing and fun, she probably wouldn’t even be phased by the truth. Daisy realized she was considering telling Carol, if nothing else, just to make herself feel less ridiculous when sneaking into her own home.

—------------------- 

Home from superhero duty, Carol couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew Quake’s voice. She could never hear it clearly because of the mask, but there was something about her that niggled at Carol’s sense of familiarity, beyond their crime-fighting run-ins of course. Carol had never gotten close enough to see Quake’s eyes, and besides that, they were heavily lined with black makeup. The pain in the ass usually wore a hooded leather jacket or hoodie as well, covering her ears and hair. Carol hated that the vigilante got into her head like this. Sometimes the obsession felt like jealousy over Quake’s freedom, and other times it felt like lust, if she even dared admit it to herself alone in the shower. Seeing Quake use her powers, even in frustrating ways that made Captain Marvel’s job harder, was just plain hot in all the ways that turned Carol on. Which made Quake even more obnoxious. 

She heard Daisy come in and hurried to get out of the shower. After dealing with Quake the Reckless, it was refreshing to think about Daisy’s gentle smile and quick wit. She grounded and comforted Carol in ways no one else did. Even when she couldn’t know why Carol needed it. 

—-------------------

Quake heard the telltale thump behind her of Captain Marvel landing forcefully on a car roof. 

“Ugh, I didn’t even get there in time tonight—” Quake spun around to defend herself from Captain Marvel’s scolding. By the time she had arrived at the top-secret lab, the glass greenhouse roof had already been shattered with black goo everywhere. A hovercraft was flying away, hauling a screaming alien blob covered in giant flowers. Quake was left staring up at them in the parking lot, having only just arrived and discovered the empty lab. 

Captain Marvel didn’t land on her feet, however. The thump was her body falling from high above. She cried out as she rolled to the ground. She was protecting herself by falling with her body tucked in, so she had some awareness of what was happening, but by the time she hit the asphalt and Quake rushed over, she was slipping in and out of consciousness. 

“Who did this to you?” Quake panicked as she looked over a bleeding, prone Captain Marvel. While she wished they stayed out of each other’s business, she certainly didn’t want any harm to come to Little Miss Perfect. The bleeding seemed to come from the neck, under Captain Marvel’s helmet. 

“Shit,” Quake swore. “I’m going to have to take off your helmet. Is that okay?” 

Captain Marvel groaned and slowly crossed one hand over to the opposite wrist. It must have been a release button because the helmet retracted, leaving Quake in true shock.

Quake’s hands shook as she tried to find the source of the bleeding. She kept looking back to her superhero rival’s face. It was Carol. This wasn’t just a woman who resembled her. Her voice rasped out a sentence Quake didn’t quite catch. 

“It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” Quake looked around helplessly. There was no one to pass this one off to so she could maintain her cover. No nearby crowd to call to for help or off-duty nurse running their way to take over. She was alone. 

Carol tried to speak again and the lines on her brow furrowed. The bleeding had stopped, and her neck looked intact. The blood had to be seeping up from her shoulder. That was a good sign. Quake had repaired her own shoulder injuries more times than she could count. 

“What’s that?” Quake leaned down, as Carol seemed really adamant about her mumbled phrase.

“Call an ambulance, dumbass.” 

Quake almost laughed. “Right. Sorry. I forgot you are all legal and everything, not a secret from the government.” 

Carol grimaced again and pulled up a holographic number pad from her forearm. Quake dialed 911 and immediately hated herself for wondering if she should wait around. Of course she would. This was CAROL. The realization was still sinking in. Captain Marvel was Carol. Her roommate and friend and crush Carol was her greatest annoyance Captain Marvel. But Carol was so laid back and cool. And Captain Marvel was so all-business and by-the-book. 

In an effort to look more like a normal person and less like a vigilante superhero, Daisy made minor adjustments to her appearance as the ambulance loaded Carol in. Daisy noted the truck had a government license plate, not a standard one, and one of the EMTs glanced at Daisy like he knew her. 

“Are you coming?” the familiar EMT called. She placed how she knew him: Shield. He was one of her dad’s former coworkers from Shield.

“Um, yeah? Yes.” Daisy’s mind was made up. She would be there for Carol through whatever came next. And if Carol hated her for it when she realized the truth, then at least it was better than this secret eating at her alone. She sat on the bench by Carol’s feet as the EMTs sedated her and worked to get the supersuit off. It certainly wasn’t cuttable by anything they had in a standard ambulance, but with the disengaged helmet and some quick guessing on Daisy’s part at the buttons on Carol’s wrist, they managed to get the top off without causing further injury. 

Without the supersuit, Carol’s white ribbed tank top further hammered home the situation. Daisy had seen her wear it around their home a dozen times at least. She’d even folded it, or one identical to it, as they did laundry together last weekend. 

Carol was rushed off to triage care as soon as they arrived at the emergency room, leaving Daisy to pace the waiting area. Eventually, the nurse at the reception desk cleared her to go back to Carol’s newly assigned hospital room. She’d been here so many times with her parents that it took a second to realize she hadn’t needed directions. They were at the Shield ward of Walter Reed’s classified Agent Care Center. Everyone in here was current or former FBI, CIA, NSA, and the like. But only a few knew how to even access the Shield floor. She punched in the Shield-only access door code from pure muscle memory, and when the check-in desk receptionist tried to stop her, she simply kept walking and greeted a nurse by name. 

Even with her mask off, the Quake professional-badass energy was still coursing through her. That is, at least, until she saw her roommate/friend/crush bandaged and badly bruised in a hospital bed. 

A nurse stood at Carol’s bedside holding a Shield tablet, and he startled and then softened as he saw Daisy. “Hey, you’re Phil and Melinda’s kid, right? I have here you’re also on Carol’s emergency contact call sheet and approved disclosure list.” 

Daisy nodded. She hadn’t known she was one of Carol’s emergency contacts, much less on the list of safe people to communicate declassified information to. In fact, she was only just realizing that Carol’s job sounded suspiciously like a cover story for the agency. As the puzzle pieces fell into place, Daisy watched as Carol’s body glowed slightly, healing itself.

“Damn, I’m jealous of you even when you’re sedated in a hospital bed,” Daisy quipped, more Quake than roommate. 

Carol grumbled as she awoke but didn’t open her eyes yet. “And it’s still somehow never you taking the hits.”      

“I’ve got bruises to prove that’s not true,” Daisy countered.

The nurse, satisfied with Carol’s slow waking, said, “I’ll leave you to it” and closed the door discreetly behind him. 

Daisy scooted closer and took Carol’s hand to coax Carol to stay awake. This time her voice came out softer, more love-smitten friend than bitter rival. “Hey there, Girl Scout. Turns out we need to talk. Roommate to roommate.” 

Carol struggled to open her eyes, but then blinked hard when she did. “Daisy? But I thought…?” 

She was about to say “never mind,” to blow off the confusion as part of her injuries, but Daisy watched the excuse die on Carol’s lips as she took in Daisy’s outfit and makeup. Black eyeliner, hooded leather jacket, tight black ripped skinny jeans and dark grey shirt. The hood was off and the gloved gauntlets were stored securely in her inner jacket pocket, but recognition clearly passed over Carol’s face. 

“You’re? But you can’t… You wouldn’t.” Carol’s glowing body, meanwhile, was rapidly fading her many bruises and repairing the damage as they spoke. She tried and succeeded with great effort to push herself up to sitting. 

Daisy choked back a half-laugh half-cry. Carol was going to be okay. “I’ll tell you the story later, but it’s really me, both your Daisy and the Quake you chase around, making sure I am always doing the right thing, even when we disagree on what that is.” 

“My Daisy,” Carol sighed and laid down again. The IV in her arm sent painkillers that along with the super-healing was sending Carol back to dreamland. 

“We’ll talk when you’re better. Just get well okay? Maybe we can even find a way to work together.” 

For now, Carol didn’t fully process these words as she slipped back into recovery rest. But eventually, Daisy would make good on that promise. 

—-------------- 

Fury had known the enhanced division couldn’t operate as ordinary Shield agents forever. This latest development proved it was time. Phil had always told him he needed to let superheroes be superheroes, as dangerous as they could be. It’d be more dangerous to have them out there unsupervised with no backup. His thorough, proposed revisions to Shield policy had recently been unanimously accepted by the governing board as well. 

That said, no one was more shocked than Phil to find out his sweet baby adopted daughter turned fully grown superpowered adult was the masked vigilante no media outlet could get a picture of. Humble pie was eaten by all that day, as Fury reinstated Daisy as a provisional agent of Shield’s enhanced division, with full honors upon finishing her remaining training courses. Only this time, the training was suited to her learning style and experience as a hero. The mutual compromise came with maturity on Daisy’s part as well as she learned to work as part of a team and put trust above impulsivity, even when she offered constructive, instead of explosive, feedback. 

The key in all this, of course, was the newly mellowed Captain Marvel. Whether it was the time in physical therapy rehab or making things official with her roommate/girlfriend/superhero partner, Carol and Captain Marvel blended more seamlessly into one another, with Carol more confident and Captain Marvel more flexible and less anxious about perfection and pushing herself beyond her limits. Daisy helped her bring her full self to the job, and Carol helped Daisy find belonging and attachment, each helping to heal part of the other. 

The only people who didn’t enjoy this partnership were the villains, henchmen, and run-of-the-mill supernatural criminals they encountered. For them, it was a nightmare ending behind bars as two superhero girlfriends holding hands walked away into the sunrise of a safer, happier new day for all.

[writerman]

"Why are you so cold?"

From the 150 prompts list, you can find that here!

Thank you for sending a prompt in!

----

Record snowfall, that’s what they had said on TV, right after the news reports about schools closing and the elderly being snowed into their homes. 

Garrett hadn’t ever seen so much snow in his life before that, and he didn’t particularly enjoy it- the knee-deep icy cold drifts that slowed him to a snail's pace just to put the garbage out.

As if the garbage would even be collected when the roads and sidewalks blended into a pristine white carpet with no indication where one ended and the other began. 

And now it was nearly midnight and Garrett was trying his best to shovel as much snow as he could from the driveway and off of Aro’s car. The more snow he shovelled the easier it was for Aro to get to his office in the morning. 

Sure, Aro did have the luxury of working from home or taking a few days off, but if he knew Aro, and he knew him pretty damn well, the man would not be happy sitting back and waiting for the snow to melt to a more acceptable level. 

There was no talking to him about the dangers of driving in such weather either, stubborn, headstrong and argumentative everything that could put you off a person was what drew Garrett to him. 

So now he laboured with nothing but the security light on the driveway to guide him and an eerie orange hue across the sky that looked as though dawn was fast approaching when it was hours away yet. 

The temperature seemed to drop suddenly and Garrett’s arms and legs began to seize up from the amount of effort it took to walk through the snow and shovel it from one point to another, it had been slow going from the start and he knew he had to stop. 

He hoped that in the morning the city would send snow ploughs to clear up the roads, but for now, his job was done and he was going to get some well-deserved rest before he got frostbite. 

With the snow shovel in one hand and his free hand wiping the fast-cooling sweat from his brow he surveyed his work, the car was free of snow as was the drive, and the kids of the neighbourhood would surely love the snow mountain he created. 

Satisfied with this he heads inside and peels off the many layers before padding through the house and up the stairs to where his sleeping husband lay unaware he had been in bed alone for several hours. 

As quietly as he could, Garrett slid into bed and lay on his side watching Aro sleep for a moment, the man beside him stirred and shifted closer to him before recoiling, sleepy eyes opened with a tired disgusted expression painted over his face.

“Why are you so cold?” Voice gravelled from disuse, mind still addled by sleep as he tries to curl up against him before remembering how icy cold his husband is and recoils once again.

“I was making sure you could get to work, give me your body heat.” Garrett reaches over and slings an arm around Aro’s waist pulling him close, the reaction is the most muted shriek Garrett has ever beheld while a soft hand is firmly placed on his face as he is pushed away.

What Aro lacked in strength he made up for with a long string of very creative curses until Garrett relinquished his hold on him and there was at least a foot of space between them in the bed. 

“You are a vile beast, horrible and terrible. An awful creature who has no love for peace.” Aro went on for a few minutes in the same vein but by this time Garrett had sufficiently warmed up and was pressed against the older man with his face buried in his long dark hair. 

He smelled of roses and sandalwood and soap, he was still pleasantly sleepy warm, alluring and soft. 

“Hmm, I love you. Tomorrow you can tell me how much of a prick I am for clearing the driveway for you.” He cannot help but smile to himself as Aro mumbled incoherently sleep already taking hold of him and leading him back to the world of slumber. 

In the morning this conversation would not be remembered and Aro will simply do what he always did before work. 

He would tell Garrett he loved him, that he would see him later and that there was coffee left in the pot for him. 

And then the snow would fall again and Garrett would be out in the dead of night clearing it away in hopes his icy touch would illicit such shrieks again.

[cantwritethetword]

SS2k22 - The Devil’s in the Details

(originally posted December 25th 2022)

~A/N  - Happy Squealing Santa everybody!

And surprise gaybananabread I am your secret writer for 2022! And thank you to hypahticklish for hosting this year’s event, you are absolutely amazing and I hope you have a fantastic Christmas!

This was a lucifer prompt of “Lee!Lucifer/Ler!Chloe” and honestly TOP TIER taste with your prompt suggestions, I LOVE THESE TROPES so I decided to put both of them in the same fic lol.

We have “messing around turns to a ticklish discovery” and “playful chasing around before being caught and tickled to pieces”.

Hope you like it, and happy holidays everybody!

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: 

Masterpost Link 

When Chloe had first approached Lucifer with the idea of Christmas Baking, he had given her a very simple answer. Something about not having time for such mortal pleasures, nor the desire to celebrate Christmas in the first place.

But Chloe was never one to take no for an answer. So here he was, the devil himself, painstakingly removing individual cookies from their baking sheet. One at a time, cookie after cookie, god was there nothing better he could be doing. This could be a whole new level of hell. Endless cookie moving, finger burning, and hand slapping if he even thought about taking a bite of one.

“Perfect!” Chloe smiled as he finally finished, a slight tease in her voice. “Now that they’re cooling, we can get the icing ready!”

Lucifer scoffed. “I am the king of hell.” He gave her a look. “I don’t ice.”

Brushing him off with a laugh, Chloe began mixing the sugar and milk in a bowl. Once it had been sufficiently combined, and the cookies had cooled significantly, she handed a bag of icing to Lucifer with a beaming smile.

“Here.” She said. “Just cover each one lightly.”

With an eye roll, Lucifer began squeezing pools of icing over the cookies. Completely ignoring which ones were spilling over the edges and which were barely given enough to cover half. As long as there was icing on every one, he had technically ‘iced’ all the cookies (and would maybe earn his freedom).

“Lucifer!” She half-gasped half-laughed. “I thought you’d be more careful about this. More precise…”

He glared playfully. “Whatever would give you that idea?”

“You know the old saying, the Devil’s in the details!” She smirked, looking back at her own batch.

“I’ll show you detail!” He muttered under his breath.

Grinning, Lucifer flicked a blob of icing at Chloe’s face. With a satisfying splat, it had smeared itself across her right cheek. He looked back down at his work, but almost immediately he felt a wet dollop of retaliation bounce off his temple.

“That was childish.” He stated, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You started it.” She bantered back, throwing another smear of icing.

Oh she was really asking for it. Lucifer took a scoop with the mixing spoon and thumped it onto Chloe’s forehead. He let out a strangled laugh, before his eyes went wide as Chloe initiated a chase.

The two of them ran laps and laps around the kitchen table, Chloe with the spoon ready to launch an assault of sugary syrup onto the devil, and Lucifer just trying to make it out alive (and relatively clean).

With a move of pure agility, Chloe managed to close the gap between her and Lucifer and slide the spoon down his neck. What happened next was just as much of a surprise to Lucifer himself as it was to Chloe.

As the silky half-liquid slid down his neck, and the spoon grazed against the hairs on his nape, Lucifer let out a screech and scrunched his head to his shoulders like a turtle.

Both of them locked eyes for a moment in confusion. Well… Chloe’s was more a look of excitement, and Lucifer’s was one of pure fear.

“Now Detective, let’s not make any rash decisions here…” Lucifer began to back away nervously, hands outstretched.

“Oh I’ve already decided.” She grinned. “I had no idea you were ticklish Luci.”

“Detective…”

“Come here!”

And they were off again, but this time with a far greater drive for both sides. There were few opportunities to turn an all powerful archangel into a giggly puddle, and Chloe was determined to grab this one with both hands - literally.

“Chloe stohohop!” Lucifer pleaded, laughing before she had even caught him.

There was no response, but the devil could feel her right on his heels. In a mad bout of panic and adrenaline, Lucifer managed to pull a chair behind him to block her path. She stumbled, giving him the much-needed advantage. He could finally put some distance between them…

That didn’t last long, however, as with a quick trick-step Chloe had managed to turn the other direction and latch a hand round Lucifer’s waist. As her other hand swung round his back, she began squeezing into the muscle just above his hip.

And Lucifer broke.

“CHLOEHEHEHE!” He shrieked, high pitched chuckles bursting out of his mouth.

“Whaaaat?” She teased in a sing-song voice. “It’s just tickling, surely that’s nothing for an immortal such as yourself?”

“WAHAHAIT!” He begged, grabbing at whatever hand was closest to his own to stop the assault.

The pair were locked in a tickly tango. Each claw of Chloe’s hand sent Lucifer’s waist in a desperate wiggle of freedom, and his head into a tailspin of giggle-filled agony.

“Oh this is just everything.” Chloe grinned. “How much will the King of Hell giggle if I tickle his ribs, hmm?”

“STOHOHOP IHIHIT!” Lucifer cackled, feet stomping in a laughter-filled tap dance as ten fingers wriggled their way along his torso.

“Oh I have no intention of stopping.” She laughed. “ This is just too much fun!”

She emphasised the last three words with three solid squeezes, making the man in her arms jump at every one.

“THIHIHIS IS RIDICULOHOHOUS!”

“Who knew the devil himself has such ticklish sides, hmmm?” Chloe smirked, intentionally ignoring his pleas. “Devilishly ticklish, perhaps?”

“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP!” Lucifer squeaked out between bouts of laughter.

His legs could barely keep himself upright, constantly stumbling and swaying with every poke and prod Chloe’s fingers produced. With her hands rapidly climbing towards his armpits, his knees finally buckled. The pair took two steps backwards before falling onto the luckily-placed couch.

At last, his torment was over. The fall had given them enough of a shock to cease any further ticklish activity (much to Lucifer’s relief), and instead their limbs were locked in an incredibly comfortable embrace (something Lucifer was almost used to by this point… almost…).

“Merry Christmas Lucifer.” Chloe smiled, cuddling into his chest. With a breathy chuckle, Lucifer reciprocated - resting his chin on her head.

“Merry Christmas Detective.”

[blindmagdalena]

I hope you are taking care good care of yourself! I was just thinking about taking care of a sick Homelander, maybe another supe that can make other supers fall ill accidentally used their powers on Homelander, the supe gave him the equivalent of the flu, but Homelander being Homelander is needy and dramatic as fuck, forcing you to take care of him.

It's been two days since Homelander had a nasty run-in with a supe terrorist—sorry, super villain—who calls themselves Contagion. As the name implies, their power is the spread of disease through contact. At the time, Homelander had been dismissive of it, certain he would be immune. As it turns out, he absolutely is not. Luckily, it isn't lethal for him in the way it would be for just about anyone else. However, it has left him suffering side-effects the likes of which he has never experienced. On the bright side, it isn't contagious beyond initial infection, and you've been allowed to care for him while the malady wears off. In fact, he insisted upon it. He thoroughly refused to stay in Vought's medical ward.

"Babe," Homelander groans weakly. He's sprawled out on the couch, too stubborn to be resting by himself in the bedroom while you cook dinner, but too sick to be self-sufficient. You know it's serious because he's wearing pajamas. "My ice pack melted." Never have you heard him sound so full of self-pity. He's been relentlessly mopey through this experience. While you can't blame him, the flu is wretched, the theatrics are a little funny. You give a quiet laugh under your breath. Not quiet enough. "You're laughing," Homelander says flatly, still holding up that melted little ice pack. "I'm dying a slow, miserable death, and you're laughing." "You're not dying," you assure him, biting back a smile. You turn off the heat, cover the pot of soup, and retrieve a new ice pack from the freezer. You walk it to him, taking the lukewarm one from his extended hand. "The doctor said your system is fighting it exceptionally well. You're going to be alright." Homelander is quiet. He's pouting at you, you realize. His lips are pursed, brows deeply furrowed. His fever has improved, but his cheeks still have a pronounced flush to them.

He doesn't want facts. He wants comfort. "...But I know that it feels like you're dying," you continue, softening your tone. "Here, up," you say, gesturing for him to lift his head. He does so without hesitation, giving you just enough space to sit before he's crowding back down against you, nuzzling grumpily into your stomach. He slips his arm under your legs, wrapping it around to grip your thighs like a pillow. You press the cold gel pack to his forehead with one hand, and stroke through his hair with the other. He makes a soft, sad little noise, but it fades off into a sigh of relief. "There we go. I've got you, darling," you coo, brushing your thumb over his temple in soothing circles. He glances up sidelong at you, ill and with a deeply wounded ego. You smile sympathetically. "This will pass. I promise." "Don't laugh at me," he says, quiet and morose. "Okay," you relent, sincere. "I didn't mean it. Honest." Satisfied, he closes his eyes, turning his head into your touch. After a few moments, he opens his eyes, staring up at you, though his gaze seems distant. "I used to have dreams like this. Of being sick. Being taken care of. Eating chicken noodle soup. Just like in the movies." You hum, caressing his cheek with your knuckles. It makes your heart ache to think of him yearning for something like this. Dreaming of a taste of the normalcy he saw in fiction. "How does the reality compare?" "Awful," he says, pitch dropping. "But there's one part of it that's better." "Oh?" You prompt, intrigued. "What's that?" "You." It makes your heart skip a beat. Warmly, you smile down at him. "I love you." He smiles back weakly, but earnest nonetheless. "Love you, too." It makes all the more sense now why he was so adamant about being home with you, and not tended to by a dozen faceless professionals in a sterile hospital. For as miserable as this is, a small part of you is glad that he's been allowed this one deeply human experience, and that you have been the one to see him through it.

[parkersbliss]

Fourteen | K. Brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x female reader

warnings: blood, death, angst, torture(?), crooked kingdom spoilers

wc; 2.5K

synopsis: some things are better left unsaid. you learned that the hard way.

prompts: 003: I’ll never love you 010: I just want the pain to stop 017: “Just tell me that you love me! Please…”

a/n: I uh… sorry in advance? I just read a heartbreaking story before this so now there’s this

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

Decisions, decisions.

They weren’t easy to make, but they had to be.

It was one or nothing.

Make a choice, or you get neither.

Perhaps, not making a choice is better in this case, but you already know what the decision is.

It’s clear in your mind, and though you don’t want it to be, you’re not naive.

The world was cruel. It didn’t care for mercy.

Mercy was a luxury in Ketterdam. It was a luxury no one could afford.

Most things were unaffordable in Ketterdam, but you stayed anyway. You could leave, could’ve. Past tense. It was too late now.

And yet, you didn’t.

You stayed for the boy in the coat with a troubled past. You stayed for the hope.

Of course, you paid the price now. Mercy was expensive enough, but hope… hope simply didn’t exist. Surviving Ketterdam was a matter of kill or be killed, which is not an exaggeration. Knives are at your throat every day, and if you don’t make the choice to grab them and put them in the enemy's eyes, then you don’t survive to see the next blood bath.

For some people, that might be a relief, but others had unfinished business. The people in Ketterdam were driven by two things: money and revenge.

Both sweet and hard to retrieve, but to some, it was worth it. Every casualty was worth it if it meant getting what they wanted.

“Be ruthless, and don’t let anyone tell you what you can and can’t do.”

Even now, you could still hear his voice in your head. At the time, it was good advice. You hadn’t expected it to be used against you.

“You should have no attachment to anything, and especially anyone. You have to be willing to let them go.”

That should’ve been the first sign. You had regarded his words with a grain of salt. You didn’t realize the meaning behind them because you thought he could learn to grow out of it. He didn’t really mean that.

Everyone says things they don’t mean in an attempt to seem stronger.

Everyone was lying.

Lies, lies, lies.

Oh, how everyone lied.

Just like how Kaz lied. He did that a lot, but never in a way that would hurt any of his crows. At least, you had thought.

“It’s a simple plan,” Kaz said, laying out the blueprints on the table. “Jesper, you will come in from this entrance, Inej and (Y/N), the roof, and I will come through the back.”

It was just the three of you.

Matthias… you didn’t speak of him. It was too sensitive of a topic. Well, it had been for Nina, at least, but then she left to return home to Ravka.

And there wasn’t a need to not speak of it, but you had all gotten used to it. Some things were better left unsaid.

Wylan was out on business, though he didn’t speak of what. Inej was often gone to traversing the seas. When she returned home, Kaz always planned the biggest heists. She was the best one here.

Jesper was still Jesper, young as ever, but that’s the plus of being Grisha. Most days, he was with Wylan, salvaging what time they had left.

Though it was plenty.

Which left you with Kaz a lot of the time. It wasn’t a bad thing, but spending too much time with someone is dangerous.

But you were drawn to him like that of a moth to the flame. Maybe it was an effort to try and fix his broken parts because you couldn’t fix your own.

You would learn soon enough Kaz didn’t want to be fixed. There was only one person that could do that.

It wasn’t you.

It never would be.

“What about the guards?” Jesper inquired, leaning against the polished wood.

“Two shots is all you’ll need. He doesn’t keep it heavily guarded,” Kaz replied.

“What if there are more?” You asked. “I doubt Black doesn’t have a few personal.”

Kaz glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “There won’t be more,” he spat. “Don’t question me.”

You wince at his tone, mumbling a sorry under your breath and letting your gaze slide to your boots.

“Jesper takes out the guards, I’ll take out any extra, and Inej and (Y/N) will head straight for the safe room. Then, Jesper will stand guard while I keep Black at bay with a deal he can’t refuse. Inej will pull the fire alarm, and then we run.”

“Will we have enough time between here and the exit?” Inej asked, using her finger to trace the space between the safe room and the central doorway. “I don’t think it’ll work, Kaz. You won’t have enough time.”

Kaz doesn’t lash out at her. His eyes linger on her face, drawing all the features he already knows in his mind. He’d memorized them before she left so that he could see her in his dreams. He did not want to forget her.

“You’re right,” He said softly, like a hushed whisper between them. An intimate moment that you shouldn’t be a witness to. “Is there a window nearby?”

“There’s one here.”

“Can you get out that way?”

You don’t bother to call him out when he only asks Inej when it’s the two of you that need to escape.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll count in my head. You have exactly 130 seconds to get in and out.”

“Understood.”

Kaz nods, satisfied, and rolls up the blueprints and tucks them under his arm. “Be here at midnight, sharp. I’m looking at you, Jesper.”

The said boy winks, “Wouldn’t miss it, boss.”

“You would,” Inej quipped.

“Well, guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Jesper.”

“Fine. Midnight sharp.”

Kaz exits the room after that, Inej trailing after him and Jesper swings his revolvers around, instantly drawn to a gambling crowd.

That would occupy him until midnight.

You stand at the empty table, feeling just that. It was lonely.

What used to be six felt more like three, someday two. If you were lucky, four.

“Kaz,” You muttered. “When was the last time you slept?”

He shrugs. “Am I supposed to keep track?”

“Yes.”

He exhales, gripping his desk before meeting your eyes. His face softens. “I don’t know.”

“Kaz-”

He holds a hand up. “I know, I know. Coffee isn’t sufficient enough to keep me awake.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you know, why do you still do it?”

“It’s addictive,” he hums.

“Addiction is bad.”

“Is it?” Kaz inquired, grabbing a stack of Kruge off his desk and flipping through it. “Addiction drives us all. It’s the root of every being.”

“So what?” You snorted. “Your addiction is coffee?”

Kaz falls back into his leather seat. “Greed is my addiction. I supposed coffee as well. What’s yours?”

“You,” You breathe out. The answer had slipped from your lips with such ease. You didn't even notice.

Kaz freezes, his pen staggers in the middle of a signature.

“To be like you,” You add for good measure.

“That’s impossible.”

“So is living off coffee.”

“Then it seems we are both at an impasse.”

“It would seem so.”

Kaz’s gaze lingers on you, making your heart pound madly in your chest. “Then let’s come to an agreement.”

“What do you propose?”

“I will attempt to get a good night’s sleep if you try to be yourself.” He sticks his hand out for you to shake. You grab it, making sure it’s quick, but when you try to pull back, Kaz grips it and pulls you towards him.

“And for the record, you are my addiction as well.”

“Me?”

“To be more like you.”

He lets go after that, and you’re unsure if he’s mocking you or if he’s serious.

“Have a goodnight, (Y/N).”

“You too, Kaz.”

Jesper isn’t late. He makes it on time. Courtesy of Kaz grabbing the collar of his shirt and dragging him away from the gambler’s table.

“Do we need to review?” Kaz asked.

You all shake your heads.

“Good because I wasn’t going to.”

Kaz turns sharply on his heels and walks into the Ketterdam night. It’s no different from the day, in fact, the night is more lively. It was better for thieves and mischief. The shadows were in their favor here. The people part for the basted of the barrel; it’s common knowledge to them. They don’t think twice about it; they just move.

It makes for a quick walk to the Mercher’s house.

Jesper takes the front, Kaz the back, and Inej throws you a rope to get onto the roof. Her footsteps are silent as she looks for a way in. She finds a latch on one of the windows and calls you over.

You were always better at picking locks than her. She was better on her feet, and though Kaz tried to teach her, he had gotten fair luckier with you.

In a few clicks, the latch pops open and Inej dives in. You wait for her to clear it before dropping in. You’re not as stealthy as the wraith.

Inej was one of a kind.

You land with a soft thump, both of you waiting five seconds before making any kind of movement. Inej cracks open the door, a stream of light filling the room.

It’s empty. There's nothing except cold, bare walls and a plush rug in the center.

It doesn’t appear to be in use.

Oddly enough, it looks like it’s waiting for someone or something.

Inej taps your shoulder, using your head to gesture to the hallway. You follow after her, staying pressed up against the walls just in case.

But there’s no one; the house is eerily quiet. There are no servants, no guards, and no wife or children. You didn’t know much about Black, other than the fact that he was a wealthy merchant. He mostly kept to himself. Sometimes you’d see him at The Crow Club. He was a cold and calculated man, every move he made was planned out ten in advance.

You could tell by the way he played his cards.

“It should be right about here,” Inej said, opening the door.

At the same thing you can hear Kaz’s voice, slight panic evident. “What did you-,”

As you open the door, your legs are being kicked in, and you drop to the floor next to Inej. Two guards from behind you are quick to bound your hands together as you both push against them.

Black tuts, laughing at the fear on Kaz’s face.

Poor Jesper was knocked out on the floor at his feet.

“Did you really think you could outsmart me?” Black asked, “The power is getting to your head.”

Kaz doesn’t say anything, but his nostrils flare in anger.

“Take them,” Black dismissed, clearly speaking to the guards. “Put… Brekker in a room with the girl, not the Suli one. And put the Zemeni boy and her together.”

The guards nod, roughly seizing you all. Inej shouts in protest, trying to hit them, but she’s unsuccessful.

Kaz grunts when they lay his hands on him, but he obeys because he knows it’ll be worse if he doesn’t. They throw you and Kaz into the room you dropped into earlier. They put you back to back, and you know it’s for Kaz because he hisses every time your hand's brush.

You try not to move as much as possible because it pains you each time you hear it.

Black strolls in a moment later, leaning against the door. He wears a satisfied smirk when you and Kaz glare at him.

“Confess.”

“What?” Kaz said with a snarl.

Black holds a knife between two fingers, spinning it. “Confess something. Your deepest, darkest secret, and maybe you’ll make it out with all your limbs. The Suli girl was quick to do so, and naturally, I’m curious what you two have to offer.”

“What did she say?” Kaz asked.

“Well, maybe if yours is just as good, I’ll tell you.”

“What if it’s not interesting?”

Black pretends to think about it for a moment before throwing the knife at you. You scream when it lands itself in your leg.

Kaz flinches, hard, screwing his eyes shut.

“That,” Black taunts. “So, confession time.”

When neither of you says anything, he grabs another knife. It’s only then that you notice their Inej’s. He had at least twelve more.

“I-,” Kaz starts, but he chokes on his words. They never make it out of his mouth and Black raises his dagger.

“I’m in love with Kaz,” You blurt.

The said boy stiffens against you.

Black lowers his dagger. “Now that is juicy.”

“I’ve been in love with him since we were fourteen," You whisper, letting your head fall. It was good to get it off your chest, but you'd prefer to not have a knife sticking out of you when doing so.

“Brekker?” Black inquired. “Reply?”

Kaz doesn’t say anything.

Black rolls his eyes, tossing another knife at you, and a muffled sob leaves your lips.

“I’ll keep going.”

“Kaz, say something, pl-”

Another one, this time your stomach. You cry out, thankful that at least they’re keeping the blood from rushing out.

“These things are so fun,” Black said. “Where ever did she get them?”

More knives are thrown your way each minute Kaz doesn’t say anything. You feel like a pin doll, except alive and with knives sticking out of you.

Many knives because Kaz couldn’t open his damn mouth.

“I just want the pain to stop,” You sob, unknowingly letting your head fall on his shoulder. You’re exhausted, your body is exhausted as it fights the intrusion. It’s a losing battle. “Kaz, please.”

“I can’t.”

“Just tell me that you love me, please!” You’re begging at this point. You just want to hear those words, even when you know they aren’t true. You knew they weren’t true the moment the third knife landed itself.

“Give the girl what she wants, Brekker. Or the other one gets it.”

“I’ll never love you,” Kaz said, milliseconds after Black had threatened Inej. Somehow, that hurts more than the fourteen knives sticking out of you.

“Don’t touch her,” Kaz shouts when Black backs out of the room.

“You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

Black smiles. “Well, today is your lucky day. That was her confession as well. Since you two are so cute together, I’ll let you leave. All limbs intact.”

“What?” Kaz asked.

Black walks over to you, grabbing the knife from your stomach and pulling it out roughly as you cry.

“Oh yes,” He said, “You two - three - I forgot about the Zemeni boy,” He cuts Kaz’s ties. He’s quick to be on his feet and away from the contact.

“You can leave, you can live out the rest of your lives happily.”

“Three?”

Blood rushes from your open wound. He had nicked an artery when drawing it out. You were somehow thankful for that because at least death came quicker.

It came in fourteen agonizing seconds.

It came knowing that Kaz never loved you. He never cared. And he would sacrifice anything and anyone for Inej.

You were just the first.

Addiction will kill you. You just proved it right.

“My bad,” Black apologizes. “You and the Suli girl can love each other for as long as the saints may deem, but just know, you made that choice.”

“I didn’t choose anything.”

“You did, Brekker. I’ll leave the guilty conscience to you, Dirtyhands.”

The name stings Kaz more than it usually did.

“You chose Inej,” Black said simply. “And you’ll pay the price. And do send me an invite to the wedding.”

Black is gone before Kaz can do anything, and when he looks to you.

You’re already dead.

And he wonders what the lasts words you heard were.

If it was up to him, he would’ve said: I love you too.

— END —

🏷 Kaz taglist: @kaqua

want to be added? click here!

[breadoffoxy]

As Seen on TV

Summary: You want a scarf and your crush has one. So does Minho, but he is not at all jealous or thinking murderous thoughts at your romantic fantasy straight out of a drama.

Love Galore - K-Vanity Event, Prompt: “Quickly end your one-sided crush. I think I like you.” Strong Girl Bong-Soon

Pairing: Minho (SKZ) x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,129

A/N: Wow, I’m alive! I blame life and Genshin Impact for my absence. I’m hoping to get back into writing, and thought this event may be a good kickstart. Thanks @yoongsgguktae​ for the read over and support! Hope yall enjoy!

A puff of air is visibly seen when you sigh longingly with a dreamy look on your face. Your companion glances at you from the corner of his eyes with a look anyone would take as disdain. To you though, if you were paying attention, you’d say he’d look like a sad dog dejected by his owner. You’ve said that statement to him many times now.

At first, Minho didn’t know how to take it. Annoyed and flustered at your oblivious implication, he now only rolls his eyes and pinches your cheek. Other than in the dramas you watch, any sort of flirting or innuendo could come and slap you in the face and you wouldn’t know it. Minho swears your brain is filled with half rocks and the other half cotton candy. Though, he guesses it’s part of your charm. Minho has no idea why or how he caught feelings for someone like you until he was in too deep.

Minho’s grip tightens on his warm cup of coffee that sits on the snow littered wooden railing. He ignores the part of his brain that imagines his hands are wringing Hyunjin. He’s a good guy, but is the unknown object of your affections. Why does he have to be surrounded by oblivious idiots?

“Don’t you think it would be romantic to have someone wrap their scarf around you?” You take a pause to drink your own coffee and Minho is quick to notice your scarfless neck. While bundled up, it’s still quite cold outside. His scarf feels noticeably heavier after your words and he hates to notice Hyunjin’s scarf trail behind him as he runs away from Jisung and Felix's snowball assault. 

With a satisfied gulp, you continue, “They’d be standing so close, carefully wrapping the scarf around you while staring into your eyes. Then Hy-” you cough, “their eyes would lower to your lips and it’d be so easy to just pull them closer with the scarf and lean in for a kiss.”

Another wistful sigh leaves you and Miho can’t help but roll his eyes. “You’ve been watching too many dramas again.”

“I have not!” Your hand swiftly slaps his arm as if that is sufficient defense against his claim. “Ok, maybe the longful staring is awfully drawn out, but come on. Even you, Mr. Grumpy Pants, have to think even that it's  just a little romantic?”

Minho huffs and pulls thoughtfully on the end of his scarf. His heart jumps a little at imagining the sweet cliched scene with you. Your cheesy brain cells are rubbing off on him because he has half the mind to rip his scarf off here and now and wrap it around you like some love sick fool. That’s supposed to be you, not him. “As if.”

“Fine.” Determined, you slam down your coffee cup on the railing. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Minho’s eyes trail over you, making you shiver not just from the cold. “You don’t have a scarf, idiot.”

Your eyes narrow in annoyance and you cross your arms, but your smile turns smug. “Yeah, which is why I am going to ask Hyunjin for his.”

Your smile widens at Minho’s glare. Your mutual friend has made Minho grumpier than usual and you have no idea why, but it makes this a double win for you. You love Minho, but you also love getting on his nerves. Chan’s even mentioned once that the two of you bicker like an old married couple. Even though he’s never said it again after the combined glare Minho and you gave him, you can still see it clearly on his face when he looks at the two of you. 

Minho shifts, copying your stance with his signature disapproving face. “He’s going to hand it to you like a normal person and ruin your dreams.”

“I- well…” Clearly, you didn’t think of that. Your smirk morphs into a pout as you glance over again at Hyunjin.

If there’s one thing Minho doesn’t like, it is your dejected, crest-fallen face. He sighs, knowing he’s partially to blame this time. There’s a tug at his heart which he does his best to ignore, but when he sees you look down at your cup of coffee with a pathetic frown, he curses internally. He’s definitely in way too deep with you.

You look up startled when you hear the sound of clothes rustling. “What are you doing?”

Having unwrapped the scarf from around his neck, Minho grumbles, “shut up,” as he lifts it over your head to lay behind your neck.

Your eyes are wide and your mouth is parted slightly from the shock of Minho helping you live out your fantasy. Your chest clenches at the look in his eyes, something unknown and intense, as he carefully wraps the scarf around you. The moment seems to slow everything down except the rapid beating of your heart. Minho’s actions seem to take forever, but somehow the scarf is wrapped around your neck with the ends hanging over your shoulders all too soon. Yet, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he pulls the scarf and you along with it. Gloved hands grip your arms to catch you as you stumble forward, and you swear you can feel the heat of his touch through all of your layers. 

Warm breath tickles your ear as Minho leans in to whisper, “Quickly end your one-sided crush. I think I like you.”

Then Minho pulls away far too quickly, making you stumble again. By the time you regain your balance he’s already moving down the porch. Wiping his hand along the rail as he walks away, Minho scoops up enough snow to form a ball and quickly packs it together. Taking aim, he chucks it out into the yard, squarely hitting Hyunjin on the top of the head. The young man twirls around, ready to throw hands, but when he realizes it is a glaring Minho, a frightened expression overtakes him and he flinches away. 

You ignore the scene of your rowdy friends and are too busy breathing in the scarf around your neck. It doesn’t help your shock that you realize it smells nice, like Minho, and then you end up spiraling on the thought that apparently you think Minho smells nice. His warmth also lingers behind, keeping your heart warm at his gesture. Then his words slowly sink in and you think your heart may stop but it only skips a beat. For a man who doesn’t like your dramas, he seems like he just stepped right out of one. You watch him go down the steps to join your friends in a new light and wonder how in the world you feel so deep without even realizing it.

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

okay ficlets prompts! "graffiti" for rose

- 🐸

@arolou Thanks for the prompts my friend! This one takes place in the Rags and Riches verse/series I have with @a-tomb-with-a-view. Gist is Modern AU, Bobby and Willie are very rich, Ray and Rose are very poor, they all love each other (though this particular fic doesn't have Willie in it). This is some of the origins! I hope you enjoy :) TW: mentions of a gun, but it's unloaded and not fired.

Send me prompts!

In the starry silence of an L.A. night, Rose shakes their can of spray paint with practiced ease.

“All clear,” Ray murmurs in her ear, standing back to back with her as he stands guard, camera in hand. “For now.”

Rose knows he has faith in her, because he always has and always will, but faith doesn’t make him any less apprehensive about her latest venture: graffiti-ing an anti-capitalist manifesto onto Trevor Wilson’s garage door.

“He’s a musician,” they remind Ray, as if they didn’t give him her whole rant on the subject three times already. “He should be using his money and influence for good, not to fund right-wing homophobic pigs. Especially—”

“Especially when his son is so visibly closeted it hurts,” Ray finishes for her. “I know, tesoro. Just finish up, please?”

She hmmphs, mock-annoyed, but obediently starts her work. She used to need stencils for a project of this size— even just a handful of words needed to be centered and spaced correctly or it drove them up the walls, but they quickly learned that putting up the stencils and taking them down again wasted precious not getting caught time, so she trained herself to sufficiently eyeball it.

Now, a swirly rainbow Capitalism is Cruel and Unusual Punishment only takes her five minutes and a steady hand.

Their hand is plenty steady, but apparently five minutes on Trevor Wilson’s property is too many.

She doesn’t hear the window open. Ray must not either, focus on the front door, the end of the driveway, and capturing Rose’s latest masterpiece at just the right angle.

“There,” she says, satisfied, as she steps back to admire her handiwork. “Perfect.”

“You won’t make it on the news,” a voice says from above them.

Rose jumps, an involuntary squeak escaping the back of her throat. Ray almost drops his camera in his haste to draw his dad’s gun from his waistband, but even once he’s got the weapon in his hands, they tremble.

It’s not loaded, anyway, and even if it were, Ray wouldn’t know how to shoot it. The boy leaning out the open window above the garage does not look intimidated.

“If that’s what you’re going for,” he continues flatly. “Trevor’s groundskeeper gets here at 4am, he’ll wash that off before anyone ever sees it.”

“Rose,” Ray whispers urgently. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

But Rose is nothing if not impulsive. Worse than that, they’re intrigued. This boy doesn’t sound scared of them, or even angry. If anything, he sounds bored.

Plus, Rose recognizes him, even in the dark. She knows his voice from MTV.

“Aleja esa cosa,” she hisses, gesturing at Ray’s useless pistol. Then she calls softly up to the window, “Why aren’t you calling the police? Or waking up your father?”

His shadowed form tenses. Ray’s breath catches audibly.

Rose grins, a certainty flowing though her that things are about to get interesting. “Well, Bobby Wilson?” they call up to the rich boy in the window. “Aren’t you going to invite us in?”

--

Taglist:  @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles  @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs

[writing-in-april]

Birthday Spankings

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: A normally shy reader decides to tease Spencer on his birthday thinking she could get away with it. Based on this request

A/N: who am I? Releasing two dom Spencer smut fics in a row 😱 lmao 😂 this is all for MGG’s birthday! Happy birthday to The Gubes 🥳 Actually pretty cool day cause both MGG and Oscar Isaac both actually have the same birthday 🥳 I decided to use this request that I’ve been meaning to write and add it with a bit of a birthday twist!! Thanks for reading and requests are open!!!

Warnings: 18+, Dom!Spencer, Shy reader that acts unexpectedly bratty, Reader wears glasses, Impact play, Degredation, Penetrative sex, Use of the nicknames Doll & Sir

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.6k

“Hey, birthday boy.” There was no need for me to speak quietly as it was still quite early in the morning, but my default voice was still at a soft volume.

Spencer looked up from the crossword puzzle he had been solving like a race with a soft smile directed at me. He definitely did help me come out of my comfort zone a lot, but whenever he looked at me with softness as if he was adoring me I couldn't help but feel a bit of shyness bubbling up.

I was painfully shy around almost everyone in my life, except Spencer. When I had joined as an assistant technical analyst for Garcia I was in stark contrast to her bright and bubbly demeanor. For a long time I didn’t connect with anyone on the team, just did my job as was described to me and only spoke when I needed to.

The event that had gotten me to come out of my shell a little happened to be when I was reading a book that Spencer had loved. He launched into a full rant about the book that I had barely even started immediately when he saw the cover. When he had realized he’d spoiled the book he had apologized profusely. In a rare moment of bravery I told him he could take me to a bookstore and buy me another book as repayment, albeit with my head hanging low speaking so softly that Spencer had to ask me to repeat myself 3 times. Though, it was really just an excuse to get him to talk again, I loved listening to him talk. Ever since then we had been joined at the hip, even beginning to date two years ago. I often helped him become more grounded in the world he often said and it was quite obvious to everyone around me that Spencer helped my confidence bloom.

I will admit he could be a little possessive as of late though not in a bad way, especially after coming back from prison. But, I was still extremely surprised when he came up behind me subtly in the room while I was making the first cup of coffee for the both of us in the morning and I felt a tap on my ass. He must have finished his crossword puzzle.

I yelped quietly in surprise, it didn’t hurt, it had just been unexpected. I turned to face him with a bemused look on my face quirking my eyebrows up shyly in question. My shy befuddled look was in stark contrast to his smirking face making me peek up and smile a little. At least no one had been around, Spencer was brave just not that brave.

I wasn’t sure what made me a little bit more bold today, maybe I thought I’d get some leeway for brattiness because it was his birthday. Honestly, I don’t know why I thought I could get away with it, it was his birthday after all, not mine. I still decided to push up my glasses a little before speaking smoothly with a little more confidence than normal,

“Isn’t it the tradition that the birthday boy is the one that’s supposed to get the spankings?” Spencer’s face was one of shock at first, not used to a snap back from me. Once he recovered from my unexpected remark a dark look that I almost never saw directed at me came over his face letting me know without any words that I was in for it tonight. I wasn’t going to get my normal soft but dominant boyfriend tonight.

Spencer then confirmed my thoughts when he leaned in closer behind me slightly pushing me into the counter and then whispering into my ear, “ I hope you know what you just got yourself into, Doll.”

His presence then left me to go back to his desk, making sure to grab his sweetened coffee I had been making for him along with mine. Making sure he did make sure to spank my ass one last time, this time much harder than the first. Yeah, I was definitely in for it tonight.

I looked around to make sure that no one had been looking towards the break room, luckily no one had been. My cheeks were hot with residual embarrassment and my heart still pumping loudly with adrenaline from getting the courage to say a sassy sentence to Spencer. I tried to mask my embarrassment by bringing up my own coffee to hide my face which also fogged up my glasses a little. I will admit that the rush I felt when I had finally gained the courage to sass back to Spencer made any punishment I was going to get tonight worth it. I even was slightly looking forward to the birthday spankings I was definitely going to be getting.

——

When work came to a close I was soaked through my panties already in anticipation. Spencer had been casting me looks throughout the rest of the day, it had made me so desperate I had wished I had gotten the courage to make a snarky comment later in the day so I wouldn’t have had to wait for some relief. Though, to be honest I was partially anticipating not being able to have any relief at all tonight by the way Spencer had been looking at me. Even when everyone had been singing happy birthday he had been looking at me as if he was deciding how he was going to take me apart later.

When I got the text at the end of the day that he wanted me to come to his apartment I felt myself get increasingly flustered. I knew I should’ve just stayed in my lane as a good girl who did everything for her dom. My flustered state was so noticeable that the rest of my co-workers had even noticed, which was telling considering my normally shy demeanor translated to flustered.

As soon as I shakily opened the door with the spare key Spencer had given to me on our last anniversary I was greeted with the tall imposing figure of him standing at the end of the entryway.

His slow walk over to me caused me to drop my purse over being intimidated, it was a good thing though because I was positive I had never been so soaked before.

Once he reached me he tilted up my chin with one finger and spoke with a calmness as cool as steel, “You’re going to do as I say tonight, I’m going to punish you. If you speak out of turn once I won’t let you cum for a week.”

Your confidence in your bratty behavior from early had all but completely deflated at those words. He had edged me before too and I had done it many times before, never for so long though. I definitely knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Yes, Sir.” I spoke firmly to emphasize that I wasn’t playing around anymore, I was ready to listen like I normally did.

“Just a few simple words and you’re so easy to tame?” You nodded with a whimper and averted your eyes away, embarrassed with how quickly he could bring you back to your usual behavior. He reached forward to push up your glasses that had slipped down your nose a little which also refocused your gaze back on him before he spoke again, “I knew you’d be so easy, you’re always so desperate to please me and- yourself. I knew as soon as I threatened to take it all away you’d come crawling back doll. ”

He enveloped me into a harsh all consuming kiss that there was no escape from, not that I wanted to though. He easily dominanted the kiss while also running his large hands through my hair and tugging harshly to pull me closer. Suddenly he broke the kiss, leaving us both panting and he touched me jaw again. This time he gripped it hard before giving me another command that I was ready and willing to follow,

“I want you to ride me tonight, it is my birthday after all. I want you above me while I look at you fucking yourself on my cock, just desperate to cum while you service me.” I whined at his words, hoping that I’d get to cum. But, I had never really been bratty, the only spankings I had gotten before this was because I asked for it. I whimpered in wonder about whether or not Spencer was going to give me the chance to cum or not. Spencer seemed to understand my nonsensical plea then speaking with a condescending tone, “Oh no, you’re not going to get to cum tonight until I see if you regret your bratty behavior, little doll.”

He hauled me up onto his lap after basically ripping down my panties and skirt to straddle him when he sat down onto the couch, which happened to be the closest surface suitable for what Spencer wanted to do to me right then and right now.

He ran his fingers through my folds collecting my juices, teasingly rubbing my clit for a second of relief before popping his fingers into his mouth to get a taste. “Mmm, you taste wonderful. Want to taste?”

“Y-yes, Sir.” He already knew my answer though considering he had already pulled my hair to tilt my jaw back causing me to stutter while running his hands through my folds again. Once he got his finger sufficiently wet again he shoved his fingers into my mouth with no warning, gagging a little in response. He pumped his fingers in and out of my mouth until he was completely satisfied how I had sucked the juices off of his fingers, until drool had been escaping the corners of your mouth.

Again he rubbed my clit in a teasing manner before speaking, “You’re already so wet you're practically dripping, I could just slide right in.”

It wasn’t too long until he had and he was right he did slide right in, my walls gripping him like a glove.

I was only allowed a moment to adjust before he prompted me to start moving by saying, “I’d like my birthday present now.”

I began to bounce on top of him as I had done many times before. At one point I had tried to take my glasses off to make myself perhaps more comfortable but was met with a light growl telling me that he wanted them to stay on. After a while I had created a rhythm for long enough that I was wondering when my punishment was going to come, I already had a pretty good idea what it was going to be.

A harsh sound cracked through the room suddenly confirming my suspicion, he had spanked me hard. My hips stuttered from shock, then stopping completely reeling from the harsh slap.

“Call them out, Doll.” He sharply spoke after landing the second blow onto my other cheek.

“2-2!”

“I’ll let that one slide but call them out clearly next time.”

My hips were burning as I tried to focus on rotating them properly while he started to lay in on my ass. It also was difficult to focus on making sure I was calling out the spanks with some semblance of clarity.

“12!” “13!” “14!”

Number 14 had been the harshest one yet making me cry out so loud in the back of my mind I was concerned that maybe his neighbors would call the cops. Though the burning pleasure echoing through me wasn’t letting me voice my concern to Spencer, all I cared about was trying to hold off my orgasm that I was already dangerously close too despite being so far off from the finishing number.

When tears started to prickle in my eyes Spencer looked up at me with slight worry, breaking the scene a little. I hadn’t gotten near my breaking point yet so I nodded for him to continue, I only had about 10 more to go.

“24! 25! 26!”

When my hips started to slow down slightly because of the stinging pain from his spanks he gripped my hips hard which I was sure would leave another kind of mark that I’d wear for a while.

He released his hard grip with one hand to continue the count to the magic number, how many years old he was today. I willed myself to continue counting because I knew I’d just get myself signed up for more, maybe even starting back from zero— I didn’t know if I could handle that and successfully hold off my orgasm.

“36!”

“37!”

“38!” The last stinging slap cracked down like a whip to my ass that was no doubt probably would make it hard to sit for the next week, hopefully not more.

I was hoping to get relief from Spencer by letting me have permission to cum but, when he asked the next question I realized he wouldn’t let me off so easy, “Do you think you’ve earned it?”

“No, sir I haven’t but I’d really like to cum please?!” I knew I hadn’t begged enough in his eyes, I knew I hadn’t earned it yet, but I was just so desperate to finish. His cock was running up perfectly against my g spot hurtling me precariously close to the edge.

“Say your sorry.”

“I- I’m sorry, S-sir!” I stuttered out in desperation which was usually not something Spencer would have tolerated, I think he sensed that I wasn’t going to last any longer with the edging and being no longer physically able to control it.

“Ok, Doll you can cum, since you decided to follow my directions so well.” As soon as ‘ok’ had left his lips I stopped holding my orgasm back out of pure exhaustion. It was so devastatingly good, ripping through every nerve in my body, that I barely noticed Spencer finishing as well. I only felt the last few ropes being pumped into me after the majority of my orgasm had passed.

Our panting breaths mingled as I leant over to kiss him while I rocked my hips to drag out the last dregs of our orgasms. The kiss ended up being more messy than I intended but I was just desperate to feel his lips on mine again.

Spencer gripped my lightly jaw once he had caught his breath some and turned my head to the side to press a kiss below my ear before speaking softly, “Such a good girl.”

“Thank you, sir.” I whispered back with another characteristic whine from me that was a little pathetic on my part, I had been ruined by him for sure.

We basked in the presence of each other for a little while, just enjoying being tangled all together. Though after a while the stickiness between my thighs got a little too uncomfortable and Spencer started the main part of aftercare for me. He seemed a little caught up in his thoughts while he started to clean me up so I prompted him with a little boop on the nose to silently ask what’s wrong.

“Did I go too far?” The worry he felt was evident by the tensing in his shoulders where he often seemed to hold his worry.

You quickly interjected as he began to stutter out the beginnings of an apology despite not letting you answer yet, “If you had, I would’ve used my safe word.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief as he resumed my aftercare, making sure I was well taken care of and pampered to perfection. We were sitting in a bubble bath when I finally realized something, I hadn’t said Happy Birthday to him yet.

“Happy Birthday, Spencer.”

I said while I was straddling him and I could already feeling him getting ready for another round, though this one would surely be gentler than the last as to not irritate my ass anymore. Despite my still stinging backside I was glad I stole Spencer’s birthday spankings.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Dom Spencer (new tag list):

[4dtk]

more than a bet (cont. from a sweet bet)

anon: “ohmygod i loved that sub!jae work sm😭😭 would you be able to do more?? maybe with a soft femdom and whiny jae? its truly heartbreaking seeing the lack of sub!jae on here 😔” i’m glad you liked it!!!!! hope u like this one too <3 i might have made reader a bit of a mean dom i’m sorry ;;

ps was gonna make jae orgasm untouched but…. aha / you don't have to read the previous part to understand but anon is talking about this fic!

warnings/tags: pegging, bit of dacryphilia, handjob, sub!jaehyun, soft femdom!reader, brief face-sitting, brief cunnilingus

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI!

“back for more already?” you laughed, eyeing the timid boy standing in front of you with fists clenched onto the straps of his book bag. his knuckles turn white from how tight he’s holding it and you don’t miss the nervous shifting he does with his feet.

all jaehyun lets out is a dreamy sigh, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips as he ignores the calls of his friends a metre from him.

he’s tall, although all the male wants to do right now is turn to mush with the uncomfortable rub of his thighs against each other and the gaze you’re looking down at him with.

it’s no different when you have him in your bed later and in the palm of your hand, literally, as the other clutches onto the sheets with the same intensity earlier, the skin of his neck exposed from how far he’s dropped his head back in pleasure.

jaehyun’s dick leaks pre-cum like no other while his tip throbs red, begging to be touched impatiently by your rather patient hand. it stays at the base of his cock, squeezing and unsqueezing as the other’s whines reach your ears.

“(y-y/n)… hurts s’bad!” jaehyun groans, eyes which were scrunched tight opening as they plead with you. it was shameless in the way his legs were spread to accommodate you in between, with the occasional buck of his hips that made the rustling of sheets ever resonant in the room. he was at your mercy, from day one in the quiet classroom, and he was at your mercy, now, with mouth parted as delicious moans spilled from his lips.

“what does, baby?” you ask, knowing full well what he was hinting at before leaning down to place a harmless kiss on his tip. you relish in the way you make him feel, the gesture making his thighs almost close, something that he does out of habit if not for your hands holding them open.

“t-that! that hurts, (y/n)-ssi!” he chokes on the moan he lets out, twitching with sensitivity when you finally move your hand along his shaft, giving him what he wants. your hand moves easily with how much he’s leaking, the lewd noises increasing in volume as you increase your pace. you make sure to pump his full length, up, down, up, down, with his arousal providing for sufficient lube.

jaehyun lets out a sob, slapping a hand over his mouth as the knot in his stomach tightens and tightens, threatening to release at any moment with how good you’re making him feel. your lips feel dry with the desperation in his movements, sounds and noises alike bringing much wetness to your underwear. it’s not the priority on your mind for now, rather more fixated on helping jaehyun to his high.

“you wanna cum, hm?” you mocked with a grin, speeding up your hand while the other goes up to tweak at his nipples, rolling them in between your thumb and index as his moans become more prominent and frequent. there’s multiple affirmations spilling from his lips, yes, yes, yes, i wanna c-cum!

“go on, then, cum,” you prompt with a pant and it hits. it hits like truck as a sultry groan rips from his throat while you observe how his veins pop out in frustration and quads flex when the string snaps. jaehyun’s eager to get more pleasure as he jerks into your already moving hand.

there’s endless profanities mixed in with mewls as he spills all over your hand, white hot spurts of cum dripping from his tip and down the back of his hand. you so skillfully lick it up while it’s still wrapped around his cock, deliberately avoiding the shaft.

as jaehyun catches his breath, there’s a whispered question of do you think you’re ready? you don’t push it when he shakes his head, but you realise that you’re thankful. so so thankful he’s come back a second time for you to be able to see this again.

and again.

and again.

the next time, you’re lapping at his hole, prodding and teasing with your tongue while his face stays buried in his sheets. he’s struggling to keep a quiet front even when you slip a finger in, both from embarrassment and the family movie going on outside and sticks his ass up into your face achingly.

“that’s it, baby boy, relax for me. gotta prepare you for my cock, now, yeah?” you moan at how easy his hole is sucking in your finger, no doubt doing the same to your strap later on.

jaehyun watches in awe as you remove your outfit, eyes lingering on the obvious bulge sticking out of your underwear. his mouth hangs open, both in fear and excitement with you having worn the strap-on for the whole day of university, lips turning up at the mere thought of you ruining him in the next few minutes.

“whatcha smiling about?” you grinned, guiding his chest down onto the bed again as he mumbles with a whine, something that makes you freeze up in the midst of lubing your cock.

“just thinking of how dumb you’d fuck me, (y/n)-ssi.” you’re sure it’s the innocence laced within the voice, so pure, so needy, yet so dirty.

your breath is shaky as you ease the strap-on into him. every inch that disappears into him only make you groan in the sight, while the male bites down on a finger to prevent any noise. by then, you’re unable to keep a cap on your lust, snapping your hips to deliver a hard thrust that has jaehyun’s moans hitting the walls.

“you doing okay, honey?”

jaehyun only hums, a pleased smile spreading across his lips as he turns back to you with eyes that take your breath away. they’re dilated, tinted with something you never knew you could bring out of jaehyun.

as his back arches to get more of your cock, you have to swallow. it’s the only way to take your mind off the sweat glistening off his back and the tight grip his hand has on your thigh.

“’s so good, (y/n), ’s so so good- mmh!” he drawls out his speech while you continue to thrust in and out at his confirmation, losing just a bit of control with how smoothly your name rolls of his tongue.

your hips meet his ass continuously, feeling the burn of your thighs and the roughness of the sheets below you. there’s distant chatter outside the door, fortunate enough for jaehyun’s room to be at the end of a passageway and away from the living room.

“h-harder! faster, p..pleeease-!” he almost screams when your cock meets his prostate, mouth dropped at the immense pleasure and tongue lolling out.

tears lingered at the corners of jaehyun’s eyes, making you want to cum on the spot with the expression on his face. beautiful, beautiful, all spread out for me. it repeated like a mantra in your head.

jaehyun cries out when your hand wraps around his cock and he swears he sees heaven for a second with eyes rolling back. you’re stroking with fervour, matching the pace of your satisfying thrusts and the squelching sounds only contribute to the atmosphere, room smelling like sex and musk and desperation.

“c’mon, baby boy, cum on my cock. do your worst.”

and he really does.

“hhhn- cumming, cumming, so good- so full!” jaehyun whimpers into the sheets, just loud enough for you to hear when you’re hovering over his body. it’s the most the male’s cummed since the last time, white staining both the sheets below you and your hand while his body jerks at the intense orgasm.

you hum, easing out the strap that jaehyun moans at the emptiness. nevertheless, he relaxes when you place a kiss on his shoulder, still recovering from the hypnotising high.

“what about.. you… (y/n)-ssi?” he slurs, turning his head on the pillow so his eyes could see you in your glory.

“you’re tired, aren’t you? come, let’s rest up-“

“no…” jaehyun whines, and you’re so close to edge him again, “wanna eat you out, (y/n)…”

your lips can taste his cum when you bite a finger out of nervousness, hands fumbling to remove your strap almost immediately. you’re positively soaked when you touch yourself after, caving in to your desire when jaehyun drags you closer.

“just relax, (y/n). take your seat,” he’s still delirious, giggling when your surprise shows. and when you eventually do? it’s the best fucking seat that he offers, his mouth sucking on your clit as your legs tremble around his ears.

“you’re delicious, (y/n).”

it’s the best fucking seat and jaehyun’s glad to clean up after you, worshipping you at the foot of your throne adorned with gold and velvet that he always comes back to. it’s addicting, but how could he resist when you’re a queen that never stops giving?

[five-rivers]

Now i would like to see prompts of a curious benevolent eldritch being coming to visit Amity Park and coo at the baby eldritch (Danny) and tech him how to access his eldritch powers.

I know this is probably supposed to be about some more traditional and tentacle-y eldritch abomination, but this is essentially what I’m writing Grandfather Clocks as (not to mention assorted other oneshots and everything happening in Mortified).  I’m too invested in Lost Time to clearly imagine anyone but Clockwork in the Adult Eldritch Abomination role...  at least from a more general prompt like this one.  

... on the other hand I now have Vague Ideas (tm) about a full AU where Danny has eldritch abomination powers instead of ghost powers and all the eldritch abominations he’s ‘fighting’ are just coming to play with the baby.

WARNING this is for real written as horror, since it’s from Danny’s perspective.

.

Time seemed to congeal as the shadow in Danny’s soul stretched backwards.  This one had a name.  It skittered between the dark and the part of Danny’s mind that still resembled a human’s.  He breathed in, slowly, then out, tasting it on his tongue.  Once, it had been two.  

Finally, it coalesced into something he could actually speak.  “Skultech,” he said.  

“Relative of Skulker?” asked Tucker.  “Or Technus?”  He didn’t look at them or at Danny.  He had protections, but they weren’t perfect, and he’d already taken a step away from the light.  

“Yes,” said Danny, internally translating the vibrations of air into something with meaning and weight.  

Skulker.  The hunter, fleshless and tireless.  A pursuer of the mind more than the body.  Almost sporting in his own way.  The library with all its labyrinthine but immaterial paths was the best place to lose him.  

Technus.  A horror that lurked in the depths of the internet, luring in deep-web users and more than a few unluckly click-bait and phishing victims.  Technus didn’t kill them, did very little to them, really, but there was a reason there wasn’t a computer club at Casper High anymore.  

They had been two.  Now they were one.  Part of Danny was fascinated.  Another was thrilled, happy, as it always was when these dark things manifested themselves in Amity Park.  

His shadow stretched, whispering over his features.  He could feel curl over the texture of the ground beneath him, grasping at grass and bark and soil as if it were possessed of a thousand thousand tiny fingers.  It wanted to open up and play.

(’It,’ Danny said, as if it weren’t him, an extension of himself.)

“What do we do?” asked Sam.  She, unlike Tucker, looked directly at him, even half-shrouded in shadow as he was.  She always did, even if she averted her gaze from the likes of Skulker and Technus.  

Near the beginning, Sam had made the connection between the others, especially ones like Ember, who were as beautiful as the were dark, and cults.  She had started a joke about making one for Danny.  Over time, it had become less of a joke.  

Danny tried to ignore the pleasant buzz of his skin as he imagined a cult attempting to do something as sweet as bind him to their will.  

Because, really, he shouldn’t be thinking of something like that as ‘sweet’ at all.  

“It’s still Skulker and Technus,” said Danny, even if he had never seen them like this.  “I think... the same type of thing should probably work.  I distract, Sam gets people out of the way, Tuck, you get the computers at the library ready and tell me when to lead them there?”

“Do you think it’ll really work when it’s both of them?” mumbled Tucker.  “I don’t know if I can even do both of the things at once...”

“The alternative is not doing anything,” said Sam, “and considering that they seem to be after Danny...”

Tucker made a face, the glow from his PDA reflecting from his glasses.  “Yeah, I know,” he said.  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t try.”

“Remember,” said Danny, “don’t give me the go-ahead until you and everyone else is out.”

“Yeah, I remember, I remember,” he said.

“Go do your thing,” said Sam.  

Danny nodded and left the shelter of their hiding place.  He did not stand up, or walk, or move.  He simply stopped being there and started being in front of Skultech.  

From a distance, he probably still looked human.  

They fought.  

It was hard to describe how they fought, exactly, in human terms, but they did.  Right up until one of Skultech’s three-fingered hands wrapped around Danny’s ankle and his shadow vanished.

He, breathing hard and falling, remembered what it was to be human.  To be vulnerable.  His shadow came back to him, flickering.  He came back to himself.  

There was a darkness that was himself, and he was so relieved.  Why?  How often had he wanted this gone?  But he was whole, and like that he was half, and-

He’d gotten distracted.  

Skultech had surrounded him, a hunting ground strobed with lightning.  This kind of fight was an oddity to both Skulker and Technus, this kind of movement, this kind of strategy.  Danny began to doubt that his earlier plan would work.  

What was a library but another kind of forest?

With only enough warning for his self to wrap around him protectively, Skultech yanked him down into the Dream.  The pale seaweed threads of human consciousness gave way to the dark and the other.  He fell to the floor of a midnight palace and rolled to his back, coughing up not-water from the idea of his lungs.

Here, said Skultech, in something that wasn’t quite language.  The True Voice.  Danny had seen people fall to their knees when the others used that.  Had seen sane men turn into blind faith worshippers.  Had heard lies that became true in the speaking, or near enough that it didn’t matter.  

He had never quite managed to speak that way himself, no matter Sam’s cajoling.  

Danny managed to open his eyes.  He did not come to the Dream often, no matter how much it called to him.  Both his halves agreed, here, where every place was also a person, it was dangerous even in the shallows.  

The ceiling was covered in layers upon layers of spiderwebs, and he did not like what that meant.  Skultech was nowhere to be seen.  

He pulled himself up and got to his feet.  

The floor beneath him was glass.  Beneath that was clockwork, but the gears were galaxies and solar systems, the springs were entropy and enthalpy, and the chains were the laws of physics themselves.  Clockwork.  It was...  It would do, as a name.  

The distant sense of amusement was disturbing.  

Danny looked around.  He needed a way out, a way back up, to where he could leave the Dream.  

Why did Skultech bring him here?

Spiderwebs and gears.  Symbols of control, of interconnectedness, of carefully laid plans.  Was he stuck in a web he couldn’t see?

He spun, slowly, trying to see if he could see any doors or other openings.  Something flashing, moving, in the distance caught his eye.  His first instinct was to move away, but...

But it was like he was being drawn in.  Like he couldn’t turn away.  It was a mirror.  A window.  

It showed him himself.  At first, a hundred paces away, just himself, as he was, but then at pace ninety-nine it changed.  Mirrors did that, in the Dream.  Everything did that, in the dream.  

Time sped up.  The mirror reflected not just light, but sound and feeling.  He could see himself, his shadow, and-

He felt it when all the little Loves that kept him tethered to his humanity snapped, the lives they were anchored to burning up as they met their deaths.  He screamed and heard it echoed back to him a thousand times over.  

He could not stop walking.  He could not stop watching.  Ninety steps away.  

His shadow in the mirror was wild.  Unbound and grieving.  Flesh and blood and bone existed, but his two part mind was unbalanced and divided from itself.  He sought aid from the only other like himself and received a knife, received Hate to replace love and at seventy-five steps he watched as what he had once been embraced Vlad and devoured him whole, eating and becoming everything that made him him.  

The shadow unfurled, hungry and seeking.  The memory Love it once had and the Love it had desired for so long driving it onward and outward, the center pulsing like a diseased star.  Seventy steps.  It had eyes like constellations.  

The mirror showed the Dream, now.  Veins of sickness wound through the garden of human thought, through the tangled vines and twisted paths.  What it found did not satisfy, and it sought more, and more, delving deeper.  Sixty steps, then fifty.  

It ate at the best of people, of others.  The singers fell silent.  The doctors could no longer heal.  The kind became cruel.  

Darkness fell.  Then war.  The shadow ruled all from its misery.  

It was not enough.  

Forty steps.  It’s eyes met Danny’s.  It knew he was here, knew he was watching.  It began to speak in its True Voice, and Danny could not cover his ears to keep it out.  

It spoke of the things it had done, of the things it would do.  Danny watched as it carried out its plans, and even more.  It spoke of how it, he, was Danny, and all this destruction, all this suffering was wrought by his own hands.  It spoke of Love Danny did not cherish sufficiently, of fragility, of how it was determined to Be rather than Be Not even though its every moment was loneliness and Hatred to the point of agony.  

Danny’s ears were bleeding.

Thirty steps.

It spoke of how it would hurt Danny, in particular.  How it would rend his shadow, wound so there was no hope for him to escape his fate, even with foreknowledge of it.  It spoke of how, with Danny watching, the mirror was a window, was a door it could reach through and Danny saw it reaching.  

Saw it reaching out and in and towards now and those that he Loved, those that he cherished and Danny would have pushed himself to run but he couldn’t stop walking.

Twenty steps.  It could make itself look like Danny, and even though it was wrong, Danny was wrong too, he was so, so, so, wrong and his wrongness was going to get them killed.  It was going to get everyone killed.  

They were looking at it, not him, speaking with it, not him.  His darkness was covered.  With it, these things were like staring at the sun.

It tore away the protections he had so painstakingly layered over those he Loved.  

Ten steps.

He saw his parents with a bomb made by their own hands, one that would devastate the Dream for miles around, killing anything that dared to imagine, the culmination of their work.  Nine steps.  He saw Mr. Lancer writing lesson plans with his own blood, each sentence less English than the last.  Eight steps.  He saw Sam with the ritual knife, her smile full of blood and sacrifice.  Seven steps.  He saw Tucker clawing out his eyes, surrounded by computer screens flaring with symbols humans were never meant to use.  Six steps.  He saw Jazz-

He saw Jazz notice.  

Five steps.

He could have wept.  

She armed herself with stories and legends and saltwater and truths that made Danny seize and the fact that this thing was not her brother.  Four steps.  

He watched her confront it.  

Three steps.   

He watched it toy with her, her machinations only delaying her doom.  

Two steps.

He watched it k-

One step.  

No!

For the first time, he screamed in his True Voice.  His fist snapped out, striking the mirror dead center.  It shattered.  

Was that enough?  Was he in time?  He- He couldn’t feel them.  He couldn’t-  They couldn’t be dead.  They couldn’t be gone.  

He dropped to his knees.  The shards of the mirror glittered up at him, calling him.  His hand shook as he reached out and picked one up.  Slowly, he raised it to his lips.  He opened his lips and as soon as the shard was even with his teeth, he bit down, the glass crunching like thunder.  

Already, he was reaching for another piece.  He swallowed.  His hands went out, nails scrabbling along the floor in his hurry.  Mirror shard after mirror shard was shoved into his mouth and choked down.  

There was something around his neck.  With one of his many hands he reached up, feeling up his chest to throat.  There was a collar there.  It felt like control, like ownership, like Love.  

Something liquid dripped from his eye.  

Even as he gagged on glass, two of his hands, his human hands, explored the circumference of the metal piece.  There were delicate fractal patterns on the surface that had double on the interior.  As his fingers pressed down on them, they in turn pressed on the skin of his neck, sending pleasant curls of thought down his limbs.  

His questing fingers found the collar’s lead.  It was at the same time, like the spider silk above and the clockwork chains below.  Flexible.  Strong.  Indelible.  It was as inevitable as gravity that he should Be Loved and Love in return.  

He licked the last powdery pieces of mirror off his fingers and his extra arms slowly evaporated back into the Dream as if they never were.  

Who would Love him like this?  Love him to the point that it manifested in the Dream like this?  The answer was all around him, was inside him, as his heart echoed back the Love as best it was able, but he could hardly believe it.  

The sound of footsteps on the hard floor jolted him out of his reverie.  He looked up and met the red eyes of Clockwork’s avatar.  

It had the appearance of a blue-skinned man wearing a cloak and festooned with symbols of time.  A few long white hairs peeked from beneath its hood, and a painful-looking scar laid over its eye.  

For a moment, Danny was stunned, because this was a true avatar, an extension of Clockwork himself, not a human hollowed out for use as a vessel.  For someone as powerful as Clockwork had to be to be so vast in the Dream to bestow such attention on Danny-

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the only thing that rolled off his tongue was blood.  Shame crept up his cheeks.  He didn’t know if it was his use of his True Voice when destroying the mirror, or consuming all those shards afterwards, but his normal voice was gone.

Shh, soothed Clockwork’s avatar, gloved hands cupping Danny’s cheeks and forcing his lips closed.  You need not speak, child.  Those who love you will know your intent.

Danny nodded slowly, beginning to feel dazed.  He remembered the scenes in the mirror.  Remembered what the shadow-him had done.  His fingers bent around the lead- it was almost as thick as his wrist- and looked up at Clockwork’s avatar.  

Clockwork could strike him down, now, could destroy him so completely that even the merest memory of him was gone, and he would not care, because he would know it was done out of Love.  

The lead shivered against his palms and grew.  

No need, said Clockwork’s avatar.  You have devoured your destiny and become free of it.  

That sounded reasonable.  The avatar brushed a thumb across Danny’s lips and smiled.  

You have given yourself fangs.

Danny blushed again.  He hadn’t meant to.  

The avatar released Danny’s cheeks to reach for his hands, arranging them in Danny’s lap and rubbing circles into his palms.  Then the avatar gently brought Danny’s attention to the door in its chest.  

The door was glass.  Beyond the glass laid an approximation of a heart made of the same elements as what laid beneath the floor.  A metaphor for Clockwork’s heart, Danny guessed, though what laid in the avatar’s chest couldn’t be anywhere near as grand as the real thing.  

The avatar nodded, and then leveled a gloved finger at Danny’s own chest.  He looked down.  

There was a door, there, too.  

His breath caught in his throat and he tried to scramble away, some still-human part of him objecting strenuously to whatever was going to happen.  

All at once, the whole of Clockwork’s attention turned in on him, and for an infinite moment of time he was held in a perfect embrace.  His thought from earlier returned.  Anything, and he would not object, because it was done out of Love.  

His edges, usually so sharply defined, even in the Dream, went fuzzy, almost blending with his surroundings, those surroundings being Clockwork.  

The avatar reached for Danny’s door and opened it.  It hurt, but not as much as he thought it would.  Within, laid his heart. 

The surface, the shape, of it looked human enough.  The veins and arteries were all in the right places.  The atria and chambers all looked to be the proper sizes.  It beat an even rhythm.  

But inside it was as black as night and something like a star twinkled in its depth.  

It was... odd, how closely it resembled Clockwork’s galaxies while being at the same time so different.  

Clockwork’s avatar opened the door to its own chest, pinning it to his cloak, then he reached into Danny’s chest.  

There was the pain he had been expecting, radiating from his core to the very tips of his fingers and toes.  If he were not held immobile by the sheer force of Clockwork’s regard, he would have arched backwards and screamed.

Methodically, the avatar cut and tied off every one of arteries, veins, and nerves that led from the rest of Danny’s body to his heart.  Finally, the heart excised and cradled in its hands, it drew back.  

Danny should be dead.  The Dream did not follow the same rules as the reality he had been born into, but his mind would not let go of the fact that he had no heart.  He should be dead.  

The avatar inserted Danny’s heart into its chest, next to its own, and closed its door.  Slowly, the image of Danny’s heart faded into metaphor as it sunk down into the deeps to nestle next to Clockwork’s true heart.  

Danny understood, then, that from this moment on, Clockwork would decide the direction of his heart, would determine who he Loved and who he Hated.  If he should Love or Hate.  Danny rather doubted Clockwork would let Danny do anything so damaging as Hate.  

I shall keep it safe for you, said the avatar, something more profound behind its words that might have been Clockwork himself, until you are old enough to protect it on your own.

Danny understood, too, that although this promise was not a lie, he would never be old enough to reclaim his heart, no matter how much time passed or how powerful he grew.  Clockwork’s Love and protection would keep both him and it safe, young, fragile.  How could it do otherwise, when time itself would flow around him?  When Love would keep him anchored to one form?

Clockwork’s attention relaxed, then, and Danny could move again, curling around the gaping hole in his chest.  The avatar ruffled his hair and, with his other hand, held something out to Danny.  

Six paired sets of life and death glimmered against the lavender of the avatar’s glove.  Danny recognized them.  They belonged to the people he Loved.  He had not realized he Loved Mr. Lancer, but he could see now that it was true.  

Moving slowly, as if underwater, Danny held his cupped hands beneath the avatar’s.  His breath caught as the avatar tipped the lives and deaths into his hands.  

So precious.  He brought them down to his lap and, with painstaking care, began to peal the deaths away from the lives.  Each death he ate, consuming it and breaking it down into nothing.  Each life he placed in the hollow that had once housed his heart.  

Like this, they would not die, they would not leave him.  They would be with him, always, just as he would always Love them.  

Exhaustion hit him all at once, and he slumped forward to rest his head on the Avatar’s shoulder.  It laughed, lightly, and helped him close the door in his chest.  Then, it took a heart-shaped padlock from within its cloak and threaded it into the latch of Danny’s door.  The click as the padlock closed echoed off the floor and distant walls.  

With a kind of detached curiosity, Danny watched as the edges of the door, latch, padlock and all, melded into his skin and vanished as if they had never been there at all.  He knew that he would not be able to find the door again without help, and that, even then, to open the door he would need the padlock’s key.  A key he had not yet seen.

But what reason did he have to open his chest?  Others might have cause, those who wanted to hurt him, or those that he Loved.  This was another protection, another way to keep him safe.  

This time you devoured your destiny, said the avatar, petting him.  The sick futures have been cut away.  Next, we shall remove the presents where you Are Not.  After that...  The sentence trailed away in a buzz that made Danny’s thoughts go quiet.  

The avatar began to do something that could only be described as singing even though neither voice nor sound were involved.  It was a lullaby, and Danny felt himself become even heavier and softer than before.  He curled into the avatar’s side, feeling small.  The pain of his missing heart eased itself into something more bearable.  The threads of love that kept him from becoming a monster wound tighter around his limbs and sewed themselves deeper into his skin.  

His eyes drifted closed.  

When he woke, he was in his bed, in Fentonworks.  He blinked several times at his ceiling, and leapt to his feet only to be waylaid by dizziness and static across his eyes.  He brought a hand up to his neck, half expecting to feel metal.  

He didn’t.  

He shifted, pressing two fingers against an artery.  No pulse.  He switched his grip to his wrist.  Nothing.  

Right.  No heart.  

No heart but six lives and-

He stumbled out of his room and started banging wildly on her door.  Jazz threw it open and froze.  

“It’s really you?” she asked, voice quivering.  

Danny opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out.  It didn’t seem like Jazz really needed a verbal response, because she threw herself at him, enveloping him in a hug.  

“I was so scared,” she whispered.  “The- the not-you-” She sucked in a shuddering breath.  “Everyone was dying, and then- and then it was just-  It was like a dream.  Like it didn’t happen.  But you were gone.”

Danny nodded, even though she couldn’t see him.  

“I’m so glad it’s you,” she said.  “I’m so glad it’s you.”

Her love, so tenuous and slender compared to Clockwork’s, but no less genuine, wound around his wrist.  He hugged her back.  

If he had been able to speak, he would have said, Me, too.  

[iam93percentstardust]

hey alle, so for the prompts i'd love some cute and funny winteriron with bucky wanting to impress tony with his cooking, but tony being a very picky eater. which leads to a lot of frustration on bucky's side, and obliviousness on what is even going on from tony's. if you feel like it. thank you! <3

Here it is! The long-awaited His Girl FRIDAY remix! I hope you love this as much as I do!

As always, everything I write is on ao3 too

~

The first time Bucky left food in Tony’s workshop and come back to find it untouched, he’d figured it was a fluke. Tony had probably been caught up in a zone—like Steve had warned him about when Bucky had decided he was going to woo Tony with food—and hadn’t noticed the food was even there.

The second time, he made sure to catch Tony’s attention as he was dropping off the plate—lasagna because Natalia had said Tony’s mother was Italian and Bucky made a pretty decent lasagna if he did say so. Tony had glanced at him and then at the plate before turning away with a slightly bewildered frown. Bucky had taken the frown to mean that no one else had ever bothered before to take care of Tony, which was a fact that had just about broken his heart, and left the plate there. He’d gone back later that night to find the lasagna untouched. That had been a little harder to explain away, but he’d eventually decided that maybe Tony was one of those food snobs who only liked Italian food made by actual Italians.

The third time he made oatmeal with a little bit of honey and cream, perfect for someone with as much of a sweet tooth as Tony had, and brought it into the workshop for Tony, who had spent the entire night working on new arrows for Clint.

“Tony?” he called softly, not wanting to startle him. Tony was uncomfortable enough with all the new people moving into the tower after everything with SHIELD and Hydra; being Hydra’s pet assassin, he didn’t want to make it worse by sneaking up on him. “I brought you some breakfast.”

Tony popped up from underneath a table, visibly brightening. “Oh good,” he said cheerfully, making grabby hands at the bowl. “I was just starting to get hungry.” His hair was mussed, two perfect rings of black smeared around his eyes, likely where the goggles currently perched on top of his head had been resting earlier.

Bucky smiled at the adorable display and held out the bowl. Tony eagerly grabbed it, only to blink at it as soon as he saw what was in it.

“Oatmeal?” he asked delicately.

“I thought you’d appreciate having something a little more delicate after not eating for a while,” Bucky explained.

“…Oh.” After another awkward moment, Tony said carefully, “Thanks.”

Satisfied, Bucky left him to his work. This time—this time—Tony would eat it all and then he’d see what an amazing cook Bucky was and how he would absolutely be able to provide for Tony and then he’d swoon into Bucky’s arms and demand that Bucky take him right there.

Okay maybe not right there—the workshop didn’t seem like the best location for amorous activities—but that was why they called it a fantasy, right?

Too bad Tony punctured that fantasy like a balloon.

Bucky went back downstairs long to pick up the bowl after Tony had come up to the common areas, yawning widely and telling everyone he was heading to bed for the next twenty-four hours so don’t bother him unless New York was on fire. It had been a bit of a disappointment that he’d just nodded at Bucky without saying anything about the breakfast or about his everlasting feelings for him, but not nearly as much of a disappointment to walk into the workshop to find the bowl as untouched as all the other meals he’d so painstakingly prepared.

~

“I don’t get it,” he whined to Sam later that day. “I’m a good cook.”

Sam gave him an unimpressed look. “Are you sure? It’s been, what, seventy years since the last time you made anything. Maybe you’re not as good as you used to be.”

Bucky gasped dramatically. “You take that back!”

“No. You promised me you’d offer dating advice with Natasha and instead you’re sitting here mooning over Tony’s ass again so I’ll say whatever I like about your cooking.”

“Sorry,” he muttered guiltily. Sam was right. He had promised that. Or, rather, Steve had promised advice and Bucky had taken one look at him still pining over Peggy and feeling weird about his current interest being Peggy’s niece (a valid way to feel) and declared him hopeless before telling Sam that he would help him out instead. After all, he remembered Natalia from the years she’d spent training with him during her childhood. Who else would be more qualified to teach Sam how to woo her? Well, besides Clint obviously, but he was taking some personal time away from the team.

“She likes the ballet,” he said. “She wanted to be a ballerina when she was younger, said they were as graceful as any Widow only they didn’t have to kill.”

“And you’re sure that won’t just make her sad?” Sam asked dubiously.

Bucky glared at him. “I might not like you very much—” Sam rolled his eyes—"But I like Natalia a whole lot. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Take her to the ballet and take Steve and Sharon while you’re at it. A double date will help her feel less trapped and maybe Steve will stop moping and ask Sharon out.”

“It’s a little weird, you know.”

“Sure, but he kissed Peggy once and it’s not like he’s ever gonna go back to the war and live out the rest of his time there, so he might as well move on.”

Sam laughed. “Guess that’s true.” He sighed, smile fading away. “I don’t know why Tony’s ignoring your meals. Sorry about that though. It sucks.”

“If I may,” JARVIS cut in. Both of them jumped, though Bucky would deny to his dying day that he yelped. Sam, on the other hand, shrieked like a kid and Bucky reminded himself to go back and access the audio footage so he would have blackmail.

“Sorry, JARVIS,” he apologized. “Keep forgetting you’re up there. Didn’t exactly have AI back during the war.”

“Or even in other houses,” Sam added.

“My apologies,” JARVIS said, and he’ll be damned if JARVIS didn’t sound extremely apologetic. It was incredible, really, how much life Tony imbued in his creations. “I only wanted to offer my advice about Sergeant Barnes’ attempts at wooing Sir.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked. “Go right ahead. Can’t be any worse than any of the other advice I’ve gotten.” Seriously, Clint had even suggested truth serum, like that wasn’t the worst idea ever suggested.

“Sir is an extremely picky eater,” JARVIS explained. “He does not enjoy cooked tomatoes, ricotta cheese, or the texture of oatmeal.”

…All of which had been in at least one of the meals he’d prepared for Tony.

“Fuck.”

JARVIS wryly said, “Indeed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“You requested that I remain inactive on your floor while you were recovering. But you’re in Sergeant Wilson’s quarters at the moment so I may share my expertise.”

He had said that, hadn’t he? It had been in the early days when he was still having trouble remembering what he’d said moments earlier, but he had a vague recollection of being overwhelmed by the idea of constant monitoring and asking if JARVIS could be turned off.

“Wow, way to go, Barnes,” Sam commented, hiding a grin behind his hand.

“Fuck,” he said again, more emphatically. “Best tool at my disposal and I’m not even using it. JARVIS, I bet you could tell me all sorts of things about Tony.”

He got the impression that if the AI could sniff, he would have. “I would not dare to air Sir’s ‘dirty laundry’ so to speak.”

“No, no,” Bucky said, waving his metal hand. The hand made a concerning grinding sound and he frowned. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d probably need to ask someone to take a look at it. Sam was capable of performing basic maintenance, and Bucky trusted him not to sabotage the arm, but anything worse and he’d have to go ask Tony about it.

“Not what I meant,” he continued. “Just that you could tell me what Tony likes and doesn’t like. Uh, how do I turn you back on in my floor?”

“Your request is sufficient,” JARVIS said.

“Great. I’ll meet you up there in a bit. We’re gonna make something so incredible Tony will have to fall in love with me.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Sam said, kicking his feet up onto the newly vacated spot on the couch now that Bucky was standing. “I’m going to see if I can find reasonably priced tickets to the ballet.”

Bucky blinked. “I think you’re gonna have worse luck than me.”

Sam threw a shoe at him.

~

On JARVIS’ advice, he baked blueberry muffins because those were apparently Tony’s favorite fruit. Bucky didn’t really understand it. Frankly, he thought blueberries were almost as bad as bananas—nasty, taste-changing fruit that they were—but if Tony loved them, then he would be willing to have them in his kitchen for as long as it took to bake the muffins. Fortunately, he was just as good a baker as he was a cook, so it was a breeze to whip up a delicious batch that had him grateful he couldn’t get salmonella from the mix.

Unfortunately, Tony hated the muffins. Or that’s what Bucky gathered when he went to pick the plate up, hoping that it would be empty for the first time, and found it just as untouched as everything else had been.

“What the fuck, JARVIS?” he complained. “You said he liked blueberries.”

“I don’t know, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS said, sounding as baffled as Bucky felt. “Sir has always appreciated them.”

That, Bucky reflected later that night, was possibly to be expected. For all that JARVIS had the inhuman ability to remember literally everything he’d ever seen or heard, he was still just a program. He couldn’t necessarily extrapolate about preferences or tastes. For all either of them knew, Tony did like blueberries but didn’t like muffins or something. It didn’t really explain why JARVIS knew that Tony didn’t like cooked tomatoes, but maybe that could be explained by Tony mentioning it out loud and the other stuff, JARVIS had had to figure out on his own.

He sat up in bed, thinking about it. Maybe that was it: Tony didn’t like muffins. But there had to be other recipes out there that used blueberries that Tony would like. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d come across a blueberry cupcake with brown butter frosting recipe earlier that day. And Bucky didn’t know anyone who could say no to his brown butter. He was incredible at it, and that was being modest. Just the other day, Thor had declared the brown butter sauce he’d made for their chicken to be worthy of an Asgardian feast. Thor was a god. He probably knew things like that.

“JARVIS, you up?” he asked into the dark room.

“Always, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You don’t gotta keep callin’ me that. Bucky’s my name. I’d rather answer to that.”

“Very well, Bucky.”

“Could you pull up some other recipes with blueberries in the flavor profile please? Filter out anything that has something Tony doesn’t like and recipes similar enough to each other that they could be repeats, uh, let’s say anything with a higher than 85% similarity.”

When JARVIS was finished compiling his list, there was a lot less than what Bucky had hoped for, but it was still something he could work with. He looked through the list: cupcakes, pancakes, cookies, more than a few salads, something called a Panzanella. He starred the ones he thought would catch Tony’s interest the most, putting the others aside to possibly try later down the road. Content with his plan, he laid back down, falling asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

~

None of it worked. Despite his supposed love for blueberries, Tony continued to turn away everything Bucky made for him. So he branched out, trying other foods that JARVIS said Tony was fond of. Nothing came back with more than a couple bites taken out of it and Tony had taken to giving him worried looks every time he appeared at the workshop door with another plate. Bucky was starting to lose hope that he was ever going to woo Tony with food and that was… not great.

Traditional dates were pretty close to impossible. Despite his rapid recovery in the tower, going outside was still too frightening with the crowds of New York, the inability to pick out threats around him, and the lack of sightlines all driving Bucky back inside and to the highest floors of the tower where he could look out over everything.

And as for anything else, well, Bucky was an ex-brainwashed assassin with no money to his name and only half the social skills he used to have (Sam said he had more than he thought but arguing with Sam wasn’t like trying to get someone to like him). He didn’t have much else to offer other than making food and giving Tony a project to work on. The first wasn’t going well and the second made Bucky feel too much like he was taking advantage of Tony to use more than once or twice.

Disheartened, he made his way up to Natalia’s floor to ask her for advice. She and Tony got along almost as well as she got along with Clint. Maybe she would have insights that JARVIS wasn’t able to offer. As he neared her room, though, he realized that she wasn’t alone.

“—to kill me,” someone—Tony, Bucky realized almost immediately—was saying. He stiffened. Who was trying to kill Tony? Bucky would kill them first! Was murder a good way to woo Tony?

“котенок,” Natalia said patiently, “he��s not trying to kill you.”

“You don’t know that!” Tony exclaimed wildly. He sounded like he was pacing. “He could be! He keeps bringing me things everyone knows I won’t eat.”

And now Natalia sounded amused as she said, “Antoshka, I don’t think he’d be trying to feed you if he wanted to kill you. It’s more likely an honest mistake.”

“It could be poison.”

“It’s not poison.”

“You don’t know that. You haven’t tried any of it.”

“It’s not poison because that’s more my style than it is James’.”

Oh, they were talking about him. Tony thought Bucky was trying to kill him. “Fuck,” he said mournfully, leaning up against the wall. No wonder Tony wouldn’t touch any of the food he made for him.

“Well, I don’t see why else he’s bringing me food!” Tony said.

“Really? Not a single reason?”

“It’s food I won’t eat! He clearly doesn’t like me or he’d be bringing me actual food I like.”

“Does he know why you won’t eat it?”

“No, but why does that matter?”

“Tony, darling, have you ever once informed him that you have a sensory processing disorder and you won’t eat a lot of cooked foods because you can’t handle the texture?”

Bucky straightened back up. Tony has a what? He’d never even heard of that before. Why didn’t JARVIS say something? He thought back to when he’d been building the list of blueberry foods and how he’d wondered if JARVIS didn’t necessarily know about the pattern for Tony’s likes and dislikes in his food. Maybe JARVIS hadn’t known about Tony’s disorder, so he hadn’t known to tell Bucky about it. That made the most amount of sense to him though he couldn’t imagine why Tony had never told his AI about his disorder.

“Why would I tell him that?” Tony asks, sounding confused.

He could just picture Natalia shaking her head as she said, “Oh, Antoshka.”

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Armed with his new knowledge, Bucky crept away from the door, already planning out new meals to bring to Tony.

~

That very night, he went downstairs with a bowl of salad. It had nuts to provide a small amount of protein, though he’d also put some baked chicken in a Tupperware as well, in case that was something Tony could eat. Tony’s music was playing at a manageable volume by the time he got to the workshop, likely because he was drafting plans for some sort of irrigation system, rather than any sort of consideration for Bucky.

Tony caught sight of him before he got the doors open. Bucky watched as his face fell for a moment before he plastered on a bright, fake smile. Hydra’s programming was still too ingrained in him to do anything as obvious as wince, but he still felt a twinge of shame. Why hadn’t he thought to ask Tony what he would like to eat instead of relying on his own preferences?

“Uh,” he said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. In his other hand, he held up the Tupperware with the salad bowl on top of it. “I brought you some dinner. It’s just a salad, but I included some baked chicken on the side if you want that. I hope it’s something you like.”

Tony blinked at him. “What?”

“I—okay, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. I overheard you and Natalia earlier. I didn’t know you couldn’t eat anything I was making for you. I wasn’t trying to poison you or anything, just thought you might like some food since you’re down here all the time. Sorry for, you know, eavesdropping and making you think I didn’t like you.”

A cautious smile spread across Tony’s face. “You could have asked JARVIS,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I did, but I guess he didn’t know you don’t like cooked foods.”

“What?” Tony cocked his head to the side. “No, he should know that.” He spun around in his chair, waving the glowing blue drafts of the irrigation system aside in favor of pulling up JARVIS’ bright golden code. It was a beautiful display, and Bucky found himself moving closer, mesmerized by the sight. He had no idea JARVIS’ code was so complex.

“J, buddy, what happened to your code?” Tony murmured. He reached out a hand, groping for Bucky’s shirt to tug him closer. “Gimme food.”

“So you like salad?” Bucky asked, relieved that he’d finally found something.

“And baked chicken,” Tony added. “But it has to be baked. Otherwise, the texture’s too rubbery for me.”

“I can do that,” he promised. “Do you like breading or marinade with the baked chicken?”

“Marinade, yes. Breading, no.”

“Okay. I’ll remember that.”

Tony paused in tearing through JARVIS’ code to give him a small, genuine smile that made Bucky’s heart light up. He returned the smile, which grew bigger when Tony’s gaze darted down to his lips, snagging there as though caught by the sight. He knew he had a nice mouth; he’d been told that plenty of times back in the forties.

“I have another confession to make,” he said once Tony’s attention returned to the code.

“Uh-huh,” Tony said distractedly.

“I was—”

“There you are!” Tony exclaimed. “J, who made those changes to lines 894 through 1036 in your code?”

JARVIS immediately said, “The last time those lines were accessed was in 2008 by Obadiah Stane.”

Tony’s face fell. “Oh.”

It took Bucky a moment remember who Obadiah Stane was. He’d appeared in one of Bucky’s mission files as the Winter Soldier. Back during the nineties, following Tony’s parents deaths, Tony had been planning on shutting down SI’s weapons manufacturing division. Hydra, who’d been buying black market weapons from Stane for years by that time, had ordered the Winter Soldier to assassinate Tony to give Stane complete control of the company. But before he’d been able to complete his mission, Stane had convinced Tony to see “reason” and Bucky had been put back in cryo. That unfulfilled mission had been one of the reasons he’d been so hesitant to move into the tower before his programming had been completely removed. Steve had tried to push for the move anyway, but before either of them could successfully argue the point, Tony had put out a call to the world’s top experts on brainwashing and three whirlwind weeks later, Bucky’s mind was programming-free. And just like that, without even meeting the guy, Bucky had developed a crush on one Tony Stark.

“Sorry, doll,” he said, dropping a hand to Tony’s shoulder and squeezing it gently.

Tony sighed frustratedly. “Every time I think I’ve taken care of everything Obie fucked up, I find something else he’s done. He was probably hoping I’d starve to death or something without anyone making food to my exacting specifications, that asshole.”

“He sounds pretty terrible,” Bucky agreed.

“J, are you able to access the last backup on those lines to restore them?” Tony asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, let’s get those fixed, and uh—”

“And we’ll go out for dinner,” Bucky interrupted.

“Huh?” Tony asked, turning to look at him.

“Seems I owe you an apology and I figure taking you out for dinner is a little nicer than a salad. ‘Sides, if I take you out, I’ll have a better understanding of what you like to eat.”

“Careful there, Buckaroo, or I’ll start thinking this is supposed to be a date.”

Bucky would probably never know what possessed him to firmly say, “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.” He certainly hadn’t planned to. He really had been planning on their dinner being a way to figure out what Tony liked so he could make it himself and continue with his wooing process from there, hopefully slowly easing Tony into believing that Bucky really did like him and wasn’t trying to poison him.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

Tony stared at him, then abruptly said, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That this is supposed to be a date.”

He could deny it and go back to his original plan. He’d probably even be able to pull off a lie like that. But there was a hopeful look in Tony’s eyes that stopped him from denying anything.

“You didn’t even know that I liked you until five minutes ago,” he pointed out cautiously.

Tony scoffed. “What, like you’ve never liked someone who hated you.”

“Uh, no. I’ve never done that.”

“Really?”

“Never.”

“Huh.”

“Are you… are you saying that you do like me?” Bucky asked.

“Well, yeah. You never mind that half of my engineering babble goes over your head and you bring me food even if you didn’t know it wasn’t something I could eat and you’re really fucking gorgeous when you’ve showered and your hair isn’t falling in greasy clumps around your face.”

“Look who’s talking,” Bucky said amusedly, reaching out to run his fingers through Tony’s hair, matted down with machine oil. Even filthy, he could feel how soft it would be when it was clean. Tony leaned into his hand, humming happily.

“So is that a yes on this being a date, Bucky babe?” Tony asked. “Cause I’ll be honest, I’m not usually left hanging.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding. “It’s a date.”

Tony grinned and turned his head just enough to kiss the inside of Bucky’s wrist, making Bucky shiver. “Let me get cleaned up.”

“You want me to join you?”

Tony winked at him. “Next time, honey.”

[bloodtroth]

If you're taking prompts, I'd love a fic with plenty of angst between them, pwp or not. Anything in the Fantastic Beasts era where Albus didn't go with Gellert but they're meeting in secret because they can't help themselves. Something set around Christmas time would be a dream come true. I love your fics so much.

A/N: thank you, anon, for the prompt and the compliment. In the FB timeline, this would take place just before the first movie, since Albus uses the deluminator in the deleted scenes in FB2, but after Gellert has been causing chaos and declared a wanted criminal in Europe. Hope that's acceptable, also hope the angst is sufficient (which is not what I say often, may how the turntables) 🙏

title from the original angsty version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, performed by Egg here

AO3 link

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"Leaving, Albus?"

Albus’ heart gave a small jump as he came to a stop on the stairs that led to outside. He had purposely chosen to leave late in the night, hoping to avoid detection. Turning around, he saw Minerva at the top of the stairs, her wand held aloft to light her path. Albus gave her a warm smile. "Yes, I'm spending Christmas with some friends this year."

Minerva looked somewhat surprised before her expression changed into an approving smile. "Good, I've thought for a while you should get out of this castle for once.” For a moment, Albus smile become more real; Minerva could be amusingly maternal even though he was much older than her. But when his thoughts flashed to what he was off to do, it threatened to fade. Only the knowledge that Minerva was watching him kept the smile on his face.

“Have fun, Albus,” Minerva said warmly, shaking Albus free of his thoughts, “Merry Christmas." She turned back towards the door.

"To you too. I will see you later," Albus called after her. Minerva gave him another smile over her shoulder, before disappearing back inside. Albus waited until the click of her heels disappeared down the hallway, making certain she was gone before he turned around.

His smile faded. As he started down the stairs again, his hand brushed against the letter on his coat pocket. It had been delivered by a small raven last night. Inside it there was a small piece of parchment with an address and the words, I want to see you, written in an elegant hand. There was no signature, but Albus didn't need one to know who it was from. Briskly, he walked over the grounds and outside the gate, checking the address one more time before turning in place and disappearing, his heart beating in a nervous, anticipatory rhythm the entire time.

He appeared in front of a small cottage in a small village west of Inverness. It was one of those small places that seemed to exist beyond time; unchanging. The cottage stood apart from the rest of the town, standing on its own on top of a small hill, from where you could just see the lights of the village. It had been snowing heavily, and the covering of snow had turned the cottage white, blending it into the landscape around it, blurring the lines until you weren't certain where anything started or ended. It was a small building, and what little could be seen of its walls under the cover of snow, was old and stained with time. It would have looked abandoned if it weren't for the soft light that shone through the narrow windows.

He is here already, Albus thought, anticipation and dread fluttering in his stomach. Getting out his wand, he waved it in a circle around him to ensure no one had followed him. The only thing his magic detected was a fox that was standing by a crumbling masonry wall that separated the yard of the house from the field surrounding it. Its ears flickered as it regarded Albus warily. As Albus turned his wand towards it to ensure it was not an Animagus, the fox slipped through a crack on the wall and ran across the snow-covered field before disappearing out of sight. Satisfied, Albus put his wand back into his pocket and walked to the door of the cottage, the snow crunching under his boots as he went. He came in to contact with the wards Gellert had already put in place, passing through them easily. When he reached the door, he did not bother to knock and just let himself in.

Warm air greeted him, pressing against him like a hug. Some of the tension swept away from Albus body. Gellert was standing by a small fireplace, the flames painting his silver hair and pale skin golden, and making his fascinatingly peculiar eyes glow. Albus’ chest ached at the sight of him, as it always did. As he closed the door behind him, he took in the rest of the cottage. There wasn't much to see. A big bed took most of the room, along with a table and a few chairs, and the fireplace along the wall that Gellert was standing next to. As Albus looked at Gellert again, he was looking back, wearing the intense look that he always wore around Albus and no one else.

"You came," Gellert said, and although it wasn't a question, Albus nodded. At this point, he wasn't sure why either of them bothered to act as if it was in doubt. He could tell himself each time that this was the last time, but it would never be true. He was drawn to Gellert and Gellert was drawn to him; neither of them could stay away for long, and neither of them could say no. It would be like trying to stop planets at their orbits. Just like the moon could not help but circle the earth, Albus could not help but return, again and again. He wished he could choose to not go. Or rather, he wished that he wished he could choose not to go. Being with Gellert went against everything he now fought for, every morale he now upheld. It made him a hypocrite, an enabler. All the things he wished he wasn't but knew he was. He knew that eventually, it would all come to an end. One day they would be forced to fight, and one of them would take the other down, and that would be the end of it. But that day was not yet here. Not now, when Albus walked across the room and embraced him. Not when they took off their clothes and fell into the bed, into each other. Not at this moment, when Albus traced out his features with his finger, memorising the feel of him.

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms, simply basking in each other’s presence. Gellert's hands were in his hair, curling it in strands around his fingers, and the fire from the fireplace was a pleasant heat against his naked skin. His ear was pressed against Gellert's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. They were silent. They often were when they met like this. And they met more often than Albus liked to think about. Words would have simply reminded them of the world outside, driving a wedge between them. At the start, Gellert had tried but had quickly given in when he realised Albus would not be swayed to join him. And Albus did not wish to initiate conversation himself, not wanting to provoke Gellert to talk of that day, not wanting to know something he was sure would break him. So, instead of talking, they simply existed together, enjoying what time they could together.

He would have liked to tell himself that he dreamed of a softer, kinder world where the both of them could simply exist and love openly, freely, but he would have been lying to himself, and lying to himself was not something he tried to make a habit of. In a softer, kinder world, Gellert would not be who he was, and Albus loved him as he was, in all his power and his darkness, even his cruelty. In a softer, kinder world, Albus would not be himself either. A soft, kind world was not meant for the likes of them. So, he would take this, what they had in this world, the secrecy and the shame, the guilt that gnawed him alive. He would take it all just for a moment with Gellert, no matter how short and not destined to last.

"I have something for you," Gellert said suddenly, breaking the silence. Albus looked at him, curious and wary. He hoped Gellert would not try and persuade him to come with him again. The truth was that Albus did not know if he could resist forever, not when Gellert was so near and real; a soft breathing thing that Albus loved.

Gellert reached out his hand, and a small object, something that looked like a silver cigarette lighter, but that Albus could immediately tell was much more, flew into his palm. He handed it to Albus, and he carefully took it, turning it around in his hand. It had a small switch on top of it. Albus looked at Gellert questioningly, who gave him an encouraging nod. Somewhat apprehensive but trusting Gellert not to give him anything that would hurt him, not now, Albus clicked it. The fire in the fireplace went out, leaving them into darkness. He clicked it again, the light returned.

"I'm assuming it's not simply a light switch?" Albus asked, inspecting it and trailing his fingers against the faint runes upon its silver surface.

Gellert shook his head, his hair brushing against Albus’ head with the movement. "No, although it can be used as such, for any light. It has the power to suck all the light from a place and restore it, with simply a click. It's a deluminator, but it also works as a homing device. It will lead you to me, no matter where you are in the world or where I am."

"Gellert- " Albus started to say but trailed off. This was a huge advantage if- when the time would come. Gellert was not a stupid man, in fact, he was the smartest man Albus knew if he did not count himself, so he must have known it. But he had still given it to him, perhaps still hoping that one day Albus would change his mind and come to him.

"You will need it one day," Gellert explained, in his eyes that faraway look he sometimes had when he was Seeing something. "I'm not certain yet why, but you will need it, and it's important that you have it."

Gellert's visions were not always clear-cut, and the future was never certain and ever-changing, but Gellert had still wished him to have it based merely on a faint impression that he would need it somewhen in time. Sometimes Albus thought that Gellert put too much stock in his visions, making him blind to everything else. He still remembered how he had trembled that day when he had received his first vision of Albus' death. How he had grasped him, desperately, and begged him to stay away from Ariana. But his sister was dead, and Albus lived. Despite these thoughts, the gesture moved him. He closed his fist around it and brought it close to his heart, craning his head to kiss Gellert gently.

"Merry Christmas, mein Schatz," Gellert whispered against his lips as they parted, his nose brushing Albus' own. Closing his eyes against the burn in them, Albus placed his hand against Gellert's heart, his other hand clutching the deluminator tightly.

"Merry Christmas, Gellert."

[mi6-cafe]

WEEK 2 DRABBLES ARE HERE!

Now, let’s refresh your memory.

For the second week of LDWS, our true l- our writers were asked to write a drabble between 150 and 200 words, based on the word deck from the point of view of an outsider.

THEY DID SUCH A GREAT JOB!

(this is a purely illustrative gif of an outside observer of the goings on at Q’s flat, not a prompt)

READ THE DRABBLES AND VOTE!

hOW?

Read the drabbles & Pick three favourites!

Vote for them on this form!

Add some feedback for the writers!

That’s it! You have done your civic duty and voted!

Vote!

Read the drabbles below the line.

#1

Title: Eulogy for the Aston Martin Author: Misha / artsytarts Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (mainly directed at vehicles) Summary: Around 007, life and death go hand in hand.

The moment I leave solid ground and fly, pointed directly at the deck of the ship, I know my life is forfeit.

I realize now why the other machines pitied me after I was assigned to the man they call 007. I see his blue eyes blazing as he concentrates, gripping my steering wheel. They say he’s careless, but judging from the few days I’ve carried him, I know different. He’s not careless. His destruction is calculated. Only once I was obsolete, once he depleted my ammunition, blew my doors off, and pushed my motor to breaking point did he make his decision: To use me as his missile.

I count the milliseconds as the deck rushes towards me. Without a word, 007 pushes the ejector button and I fling him out into the open air, out into safety and freedom.

I am to be his sacrifice.

Before I hit the ship to perish in a blaze, I decide: I have no use for resentment. Like so many machines before me, I have granted him life.

That must count for something.

#2

Title: All In Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: Bond is handy with cards, and Felix likes to watch.

There are few things as satisfying as watching James Bond clean a table in poker. Felix has learned that pretty much the moment he's met Bond, and the entertainment value hasn't changed in the years that have passed.  

On the contrary: Felix has learned some of Bond's tells. Not the kind of tells that would let him win against the insufferably unbeatable agent, but Felix recognises the spark that lights up in Bond's eyes, only seconds before he wipes the confident smirk off an opponent's face with a winning hand.  

Another thing he can see is whether Bond enjoys the game for its own sake or just really hates one of the other players. He knows it's the latter when the opponent asks for a rematch and offers the deed to a hotel in lieu of liquid funds, and Bond agrees, provided that they use a new, unopened deck of cards.  

The opponent blanches near imperceptibly, and Felix smirks into his drink. Oh, yes. Very satisfying.

#3

Title: Voyeuristic Displeasure Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: seeing everything is not so fun

Bond's hands were big and rough, stronger than they had any right to be.

He had been observing them with varying degrees of interest over the years, stuck behind his computers or out in the field - air straining in his lungs with the knowledge that the other's life depended on how fast and how smart he could be.

He watched Bond strut along the deck, hand poised low on someone's lower back, head tilted down in a way that suggested he was focusing on whatever he was being told, seemingly enraptured in them - Bond played the part well but he knew what signs to look for, to spot the seams of the almost perfect façade: he darted glances around, favoring his right side, trying to keep under the eye of the cameras that he knew to be in friendly hands.

The hand slipped lower, fingers teasingly dipping beneath the edge of the brightly colored bathing suit his companion was wearing - shameless.

Almost teasing.

He stood up with a weary sigh, empty mug held aloft: he was going to need a strongly brewed cup of tea, if he had to watch Bond flirt his way into another bed.

#4

Title: International Man Of Mystery Author: Merc / moon_of_mercury Warnings: none Summary: Some players never make it to places like Casino Royale. Others... acquire nice cars on the way.

She has encountered many interesting characters in her career, some more remarkable than others. Poker tends to attract extraordinary people. It isn’t always easily definable: something about this man arrests her attention the moment he walks up to the table, asking to join the game even though she’s already cutting the deck. 

He flashes a cocky smile at everyone, reads his opponents like a professional, and pleads with her to let the unlucky Mr. Dimitrios bet his car to win his money back. She complies, amused. Such self-sufficient arrogance would be offending if not for his friendly politeness. The way he eyes the man’s wife is not mere casual interest either. Those intense ice-blue eyes have already seen every opportunity. His body language may seem relaxed, but there’s an awareness in his movements that hints at explosive potential underneath the calm surface. 

For an exhilarating moment, she revels in being a part of this man’s story. It’s as clear as day that he’s used to playing for much higher stakes. She wonders what the real prize here is.

Dimitrios has lost again even before this stranger shows his cards. Men like him bend luck to their will. 

#5

Title: Crossroads Author: Hexiva Warnings: None Summary: James Bond visits a fortune teller.

The man’s cold blue eyes look past Serenity as he steps into her fortune-telling tent, and she shivers. His aura is like ice, a vast glacier with life frozen deep down inside it. He reminds her of a mobster from some old movie, wealthy but brutal. 

“What do you want to learn?” she asks.

“The future,” he says, distractedly. She follows his eyes to a bearded man standing at the high striker, speaking in Russian. 

She shuffles her deck. “There are two paths before everyone,” she says. “This choice is yours.” She draws two. “First path - The Lovers, the Star. Companionship and connection bringing hope. Choose the Lovers' path, and you will find a new beginning. A second chance.”

“And the other?” he asks. His tone is flat and apathetic. He doesn't believe in hope.

She draws again.  “The Emperor, the Hermit, both reversed. Rigidity and repression bringing isolation and misery. Choose the Emperor's path and you will end up alone.”

But the man is looking past her at the Russian, and he stands. “Thanks." A wry little smile. "But I think I already know what path I’m on.”

She watches him go. In his shadow, she sees the Emperor.

#6

Title: Observation Deck Author: Anyawen Warnings: none Summary: Mallory and Tanner contemplate employee relations.

Mallory surveyed the scene before him, sipping his scotch and trying, fruitlessly, to tune out the horrid rendition of 'Deck the Halls' playing overhead.

"We should do something about that," Tanner said, coming to stand beside him.

"About what?"

"That," Tanner replied, gesturing in the direction of Bond and Q. "Them."

The Quartermaster, decked out in a horrible Christmas jumper, looked exasperated. Bond, naturally, looked smug. They appeared to have entirely forgotten the holiday party happening around them as they argued. Flirted. Whatever.

"Trying to stop that from happening would be an exercise in rearranging deckchairs on the Titanic," Mallory said with a bemused smile. "Utterly futile."

"I don't want to discourage them," Tanner protested as Q cracked an unwilling smile at something Bond said.

"What, then?"

"A little push? Mistletoe? Lock them in a closet?" Tanner suggested hopefully.

"That might be construed as stacking the deck in your favor," Mallory observed mildly.

"You know about the bet?" Tanner spluttered as Q stole Bond's champagne glass and drained it to Bond's mock outrage.

"Spy," Mallory explained succinctly.

Tanner nodded wry acknowledgement.

They continued their silent observations a few minutes more, then Tanner asked, "What day did you pick?"

"April first."

#7

Title: Nighttime Invasion Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: vague references to blood, swearing Summary: Q’s cat is not impressed by 3am visitors

Thunk.

A crumpled heap hit the floor. She hissed, tail bushy, ready to pounce on the intruder.

“Oof!”

Gunpowder Man was invading her space.

Again.

“Q?” Gunpowder Man whisper-shouted. He sounded different. “Are you awake?”

Something dark dripped from his nose.

She sniffed cautiously. He stank of copper and salt. Still, it was better than the strong, sour reek of last time.

A light came on in Father’s bedroom.

Gunpowder Man lifted himself up and wobbled to the sofa. Walking on two legs seemed harder for him than usual.

“Bond?” Father came traipsing up behind him, making the room light up. “What the fuck? It’s 3 in the bloody morning. You couldn’t wait?”

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” Gunpowder Man used the false-happy tone Father used when he tricked her into The Basket.

Another dark drip.

“Don’t be stupid,” Father tsked, petting Gunpowder Man softly on the shoulder. That should help; Father gave the best pets. “Why don’t I put the - Christ, Bond! What happened to your nose?”

“It’s not broken. She hit me when I told her I was staying.”

“I thought psychologists were meant to keep their cool,” Father sighed. “Come on, let’s clean you up.”

#8

Title: A confession of a deck Author: scarytheory Warnings: none Summary: James Bond would be lost without me.

I'd like to think that James and I are not just colleagues, but friends.

You know, we’ve been through a lot together. Cottages in forgotten lands, first-class casinos, important fights – I’d always been with him and helped him along the way.

But this game is different.

“That’s not fair, James,” the opponent says, watching his stack of cards.

“I’m not cheating, Q.”

The opponent snorts. “You may be the best player the MI6’s ever had, but even you can’t be THAT good, 007. Aces again? That’s not very subtle.”

“You were the one who said poker is just basic math and all about the art of reading people. So stop whinging and take off your shirt.”

Beg your pardon?

There is something disturbing in the air. I don’t think I want to give the good cards to James anymore. “Happy?”

The shirt falls to the floor.

“Immensely.”

The next round, Q loses his pants. I’m starting to think that this isn’t even about poker!

“I won.”

Finally, it’s over and I can relax again. Even though I’m not sure what this young lad can have that James Bond would be interested in… oh.

#9

Title: Camouflage Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: None Summary: A certain agent and their partner are in the field. The local perspective.

Grace's eyes were drawn to her first customers on the deck overlooking the harbor. They were as unlike as could be but Grace would have known they were together with just a glance. The subtle leaning in, the eye contact, the briefest brush of a hand. Not honeymooners but the established kind of connection that took time and patience. The younger man was dark and slender and had a tan that was honey gold. The older one was broader and blond and that one sent tingles up her spine. Her brother and his military buddies were like that, poised and watchful. She didn't see a weapon but suspected he was armed. They'd arrived three days ago in a beautifully restored vintage sailboat, walking the less traveled portions of the island.

Passing Grace, Mimi muttered “Spies posing as tourists.”

Gracie scoffed at Mimi's imagination. What were they spying on here, conch recipes? Then a new boat dropped anchor. The blond saw it first and the dark haired one checked the tablet he always seemed to have before nodding and finishing his chowder.

The pretty sailboat pulled up anchor the next dawn and the new boat was found derelict two days later.

#10

Title: Missing Him Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: Austen the cat watches as her human pines for the Blond One

From her perch on the living room sofa, Austen looks disapprovingly at her bespectacled human. He is out on the deck again, smoking and no doubt pining for the Blond One. He is a relatively new addition to the household and has been gone for several days now, as is his habit. Keats—that dummy—misses him, too, as he meows and gazes forlornly at the front door.

She herself is unsure of the Blond One, but she doesn’t like it when her human is all sad and distracted, reeking of cigarette smoke and unresponsive to feline overtures of comfort. She feels powerless to help him. How did one man become so essential to her human’s happiness?

Then a key turns, the door opens, and there he is. The Blond One dumps his bag in the foyer and heads straight for the deck, pausing only to give her a brief head scritch. She watches as he folds her human into his arms and starts grooming him in that strange way humans have, with their mouths fused.

She hears her human laugh, gladness and relief evident in his tones, and finally, she makes up her mind about the Blond One.

#11

Title: Origin of a Voyeur Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: none Summary: There was a legitimate reason to start going through all the Q Branch security footage, dammit!

After the small accidental volcano destroyed lab 7b, no one could recall who’d last checked the fire suppression system. Exasperated, R pulled up the security videos in hopes of spotting someone. The recording of Q and 007 was entirely unrelated, but she just couldn’t look away.

Q had been helping Bond dress for some formal event, tuxedo carefully tailored to conceal the equipment Q was arranging around his body. The scene resembled a squire helping his knight, except...

R bit her lip at the way Q stroked his fingertips down the front of Bond’s suit to check the drape of the fabric, evading Bond’s hungry gaze with a sly little quirk to his mouth. Then Q leaned close, reaching around to run his hands over the back of the jacket, lingering a little over Bond’s well-proportioned backside before he sank to one knee and brushed along the sides of the trousers.

“There, all decked out,” Q murmured.

Bond reached down to cradle Q’s chin in his hand and Q looked up with a provocative lick of his lips, the heat almost visibly simmering between them. Bond took a deep breath, his fingers tightening, and Q ‘s eyes widened and then slid shut as he turned to brush his lips against Bond’s thumb. When Bond made a low rough sound, both Q and Rani swallowed at the same time.

Then the outer office door slammed and she hurriedly shut her computer down, blushing. But she saved a private copy first.

#12

Title: The Bet Author: Venstar Warnings: none Summary: Bets are made, there will be blood.

Oh, yes. It was going to happen. The tension was palpable in the room, yes he said palpable in his interior monologue. Just fucking get closer. Do it already. He was going to win that bet today by fuck. He leaned forward in anticipation, eyes locked on target. Yes. Yes….Keep going...almost….

*AH-OOH-GA!! AH-OOH-GAH!! AH-OOH-GAH!!*

Fuck, goddammit. Not again! He narrowed his eyes. There was no way another attack by water was happening. Dammit. Fake or not they were going to have to clear the god damned building. He sighed heavily as he turned sad eyes back to where 007 and Q had been quietly eyeing each other. They were gone. “What the fuck?” Where? There! The orange of Q’s cardigan turned a corner.  He was not about to lose the 'THEY FINALLY MADE OUT DAY' be! He ignored the rest of Q’branch’s leads as they ordered the evacuation.

“Davis?”

Fuck. It was R.

“And just where are you going? Exit is that way.”

He turned with hunched shoulders to find R smiling at him. Her eyes flitted past him to where Q and 007 had disappeared to. “THAT bet will only be won when it’s officially my day.”

#13

Title: Specs and the Lady Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None. Summary: Louis has been a bartender for a long time, but occasionally patrons can still surprise him.

The Friday night crowd seethes around the bar in waves, laughing and calling out their orders. Louis has been a bartender a long time, which means he can keep up with the steady roll of vodka-tonic-scotch-and-soda-bottle-bottle-pint and still keep an eye on the floor for trouble.

Trouble like the man in specs and a loud jumper bumping into an over-drunk man in a worn football jersey, spilling both their drinks.

Specs’ mouth forms the word ‘sorry,’ but Jersey isn’t having it. He grabs Specs’ jumper, but before Louis can even call for Paul—their unofficial bouncer-bartender—a lady slides in between them, curly hair and cunning eyes, and pulls Jersey’s hand away.

Jersey shoves the lady, and viper-quick, she decks him. Jersey goes down.

Louis lets out a surprised laugh. The lady looks quite pleased. Specs looks exasperated, though Louis doesn’t know why; if he had someone like that in his corner, all squared shoulders and terrifying heels, he’d be delighted. Then again, from Specs’ half-laughing attempt at chastisement that carries in the surprised lull in noise (“Really, Eve?”), this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

“Just take Jersey out,” Louis bids as Paul moves in, “Specs and the lady are fine.”

#14

Title: Eyes on You Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: The Quartermaster is enjoying his afternoon and Bond is far too concerned about his garden.

She's good at her job. So good, in fact, that she's currently hidden from sight with her scope right on MI6's Quartermaster himself. He's sitting on the deck of his house, enjoying the sunny weather with a girly drink in one hand and a laptop resting on his thighs. He's typing furiously, paying no attention to his surroundings. All she has to do is take one shot.  

Then, the sprinklers turn on.  

She does her best to not make a sound even as her phone buzzes.

4:27 pm:

There are over twenty cameras on the property.

4:28 pm:

I suggest you get out of my hydrangea bush. James worked rather hard on the garden and he won't be pleased to find you there.

A click behind her — probably a gun. "You've ruined my garden."

She turns around and finds herself face to face with the legendary agent. She cringes. "I'm... very sorry?"

Bond does not look amused. "You're fixing this before you leave."

"You're not going to kill me?" she asks, heart pounding.

"Q wants you for his team." Bond sighs, looking more annoyed than anything. "Either you accept or I'll shoot you."

Well, it's not exactly a choice.

#15

Title: Over It Author: MrKsan / starrboned Warnings: Canon-Typical language Summary: Tanner is nervous.

Ferrying through the maze of the Thames tunnels was often a nerve-wracking job. More so when his passengers were nervous. More so when it was the Chief of Staff who was sitting across from him, restless, tap-tap-tapping on his cardboard box.

Tanner gave Jack an awkward smile as they docked, climbing the narrow ladder just as the Quartermaster stormed into view.

“I’m going to skin the twat alive, Bill!“ he hissed, making Tanner stumble to a stop. “Didn’t even try to cover his tracks.”

Jack grinned. Only one man could piss Q off that much.

Tanner sighed, resigned. “I’ll inform M-”

“Already did,” Q huffed.

"Oh?"

"Not risking my career for him again, Bill."

Jack dared a peek at the couple; the conversation was taking an unexpected turn.

Tanner blinked, once, twice, before seeming to come to a decision. He shoved the cardboard box at Q.

���Thought we could share breakfast, since our dinner last night was interrupted? Bad timing, of course- ”

"Bill,” Q said, and Jack saw the silver of a smirk. "I would love to."

Pulling a crumpled cigarette from under his heavy coat, Jack couldn't help but grin to himself.

MI6 and their drama.

Go vote!

[dropofgoldensun]

omg hiiiii i am here from cat (@luvdsc) wondering if you could offer any advice about college apps 🙏 especially about the uc piqs? thank you so much i hope ur doing well!!!!!!!!

yes yes hello friend !! 💝 miss cat directed you to me because i did my college apps last year !!! (yikes one year passed already?? why does that feel ages ago 🤧)

first of all, congratulations on making the decision to apply to college !! i know it’s been hard for a lot of people our age to figure out the college situation recently, so i’m proud of you for choosing to take the extra step this summer to buckle up and write those essays 💞

i’ve compiled a few tips on answering the PIQs (i was actually in the middle of typing this up when i received your ask haha), but some of them can be applied to other essays, as well !! they’re all under the cut (because, unfortunately, being brief is not my forte) 😊

(and for reference, the prompts i chose were #2 (creativity), #6 (subject), #7 (community), and #8 (anything) !!)

tip #1: understand the prompt.

before you even begin writing, it’s important to understand what the question is really asking. for the UC PIQs, this will look different depending on which four prompts you decide to do.

in question one, for example, they want to know about your skills in leading others, but notice that they’re also curious about your resolution abilities and teamwork experience. or in question two, they don’t want to know that you paint and that you love painting—they could be asking how resourceful you are, how you think outside the box when you have an idea.

once you know the question you’re going to be answering, you can move on to brainstorming!

tip #2: write down three (3) key takeaways.

these are like the most basic, not-even-a-sentence answers you would give to each question. so for me, in response to question eight (“what do you believe makes you stand out as a strong candidate for the UCs?”), my answers were perseverance, courage, and character. i had a story about that, so i wrote about my experience with martial arts.

i recommend you do something similar. decide on three things that you want to communicate to your audience, and write them in the footnote of your document. your goal is to cover all three points so that, if anyone were to read your essay, they would walk away understanding those three things about you.

i found this strategy really helpful for keeping my essay streamlined while writing—if a sentence didn’t relate to any of those main points, i would cut it since those words would take up valuable space in the word count. stay focused on what needs to be in this essay, and if you have extra words left in the word count later, you can add those details back in.

and once you’re done with your essay, make sure to refer back to your takeaways and check that you covered all of them sufficiently!

tip #3: highlight your stories.

i sent cat an ask a couple days ago with a few pictures of my response to an end-of-year college counseling survey that referenced this tip (you can find it here). basically i said that, when choosing what topics to write about, pick things that interest you! if you get excited talking about it, your audience should get excited about reading it, because they’ll pick up on the passions you have and then everyone’s excited !!! :D

i’ll tell you a secret: everyone you meet, everyone you see, has countless unique experiences that few others may have. me? i spend hours making mashups out of kpop songs. i earned my black belt years after a traumatizing experience during training. i get russian harry potter and spanish dr. seuss books from the library. and i created a collaborative online google photos album for my classmates that now has thousands of entries. although these aren’t necessarily unique to only me, they’re still special enough to the point where, when you put them all together, you get a better image of the person i am, and what i value.

so find a story, a habit, a hobby that makes you different, because i believe that everyone has them. give them some food for thought, or that one-liner that sticks in their brain and won’t go away. and remember: these stories don’t all have to be extraordinary—they should be about people or moments of special value to you, because that’s what matters.

personal tip: when i was brainstorming ideas, i decided that the best way to get ideas out there was to go on a rant (because sometimes it helps to just have a conversation with yourself !!) and i recorded myself, so i could replay what i said !! this was so so crucial to me finding my own voice for writing essays. notice the way you word things when you talk—a good line or two may make it into the final draft :)

i found it helpful to read sample essays as well! they give a lot of great ideas on the kinds of topics people write about. (also, it’s kind of fun, because who doesn’t love a good story?)

but the people reading your essay won’t be there to just enjoy your story; what they really want you to do is to tell them what you learned from your experience. they want to know whether you’re teachable and willing to grow both as a student and as a young adult. so make sure to take note of the life lessons you learned, experience you gained, character you built, etc.

minor tip on ending your essay: if you’re telling a story that happened in the past, then close with what you learned and how you can apply that to your life moving forward. if you’re telling a story that has no definite end yet (like a passion or dream you have), you probably don’t have everything figured out (and you can say that in your essay!), so it might be better to close with your hopes for the future.

tip #4: ask your family for help.

peer-editing is one of the most effective ways to detect errors and inconsistencies in your writing, because, after staring at your essay for so long, you might gloss over glaring contradictions. for all of my essays, i printed them out and asked my parents to help me revise them. we’d meet every other night (or every night, depending on how much time was left) to review and discuss improvements.

i actually kept some of those printed drafts (only the first and the final ones for comparison), and let me tell you from experience—you’re probably going to have a lot of drafts (i think the most i did was seven? but you don’t need to go that far!). this part of the process does take some time, so remember to be patient and kind to yourself :) these essays won’t happen overnight!

enlisting the help of others also helps keep you accountable. one of the struggles many seniors face while writing essays is just... setting aside time to do them. and even though the constant reminders from your parents will definitely get repetitive and a bit stress-inducing, i can tell you from personal experience that i’m so glad they did; otherwise, i don’t think i’d have my essays done in time :’)

while writing college essays is challenging, your family will be there supporting you each step of the way. chances are that they’ll have their own pointers to pass on to you, since they probably remember doing this process themselves! and, out of everyone in your life, they probably remember the most about you (because you probably don’t remember much when you were four or five), so they might have a couple starter ideas for topics when brainstorming. you can rely on them for their advice and their experience.

tip #5: self-editing.

here’s the part that takes the longest time.

use action words. this is probably something you’ve heard all throughout elementary school where they didn’t like you to say “said” because it was “boring”… but honestly, the difference between “doing my own version” and “infusing it with my personality” could go a long way. also, use words that you would actually use in an essay—then it’ll have your own special flair, and not sound like it’s taken from some stuffy 80s textbook!

here are some of the words i used (once again, you shouldn’t use these words if they don’t sound like something you’d write/say): potential, overlay, wrestle, launch, analogous, weave, infuse, experiment, outlet, revel, fascinate, satisfaction, pursue, expand, distinction, capture, range, archive, engage, beyond, build, adversity, cultivate, preserve, commit, explore, convey, naturally

also, be on the lookout for repeated words. i once wrote an essay without noticing that i used “hope” three times in the same paragraph. don’t do that! use synonyms :) personally, i tended to run short on synonyms, so i always kept a tab or two open on my computer reserved for searching up new words.

side note: unfortunately, during my search for synonyms, i discovered that thesaurus.com just didn’t give me what i was looking for. i highly recommend using wordhippo instead; it has so many more options and they’re grouped by the different definitions of your word! i found the synonyms i needed really quickly and it was very satisfying!

avoid the passive voice! my teacher gave me this tip for theses or any other college-level writing. here’s an example of the passive voice: “there was a large part of me that wanted to turn back.” that’s twelve words taking up precious space in your word count! instead, say something like, “i considered turning back.” you’ve just freed up eight words :)

tip #6: final revisions.

this is the step where you fine-tune your essays. meet that word count.

read your writing out loud. does it sound like you? it should. every writer has a different voice, and you need to ensure that yours is pervasive throughout your essay. feel free to use contractions—not only do they reduce your word count (this was a good thing for me, since i had a problem with getting under 350 words), but they also give a more casual tone to your essay, as if you’re telling a story to someone in the room.

next, pretend to be an admissions officer and have someone else read your essay to you. do you get excited hearing about this student who shares your name? if you do, there’s a good chance the real admissions officers will love your essays, too. this also gives you a chance to review to your essay as a whole. pay attention to the overall flow. is there a clear beginning and end? do you resolve the issues and overcome the trials you brought up? listen to it as if it’s a story, and take this time to enjoy what you’ve written. you worked hard!

final thoughts / encouragements.

oh my goodness, did we make it to the end? honestly if you did, thank you so much 🥺

okay but despite my relatively optimistic tone throughout this post, i’m still going to be honest with you—the college essay writing process is difficult. it requires you to look inside yourself and analyze the “why” behind some of the things that you love, and that isn’t easy to do at all. it’s intellectually and emotionally challenging, because not only do you need to use so much energy writing, but you also have to dig deeper to understand yourself, and that’s not easy, either.

but i wanted to encourage you, too. no matter what you may think of yourself at 12am, 2am, 4am writing these essays, believe you have a personality that others love and will love when they meet you. you are an interesting person with unique experiences who deserves to share your thoughts with others. you have so many people behind you, supporting you during these next few months. and when you find that you can’t write any more, remember to take time to care for yourself. have a warm shower. go to bed early. i could go on and on about why sleep is good for your brain but i’ll spare you the details in this post 😉

one last thing: keep the bigger picture in focus. remember, by december or january, you will be finished with most of the application process. that’s no small accomplishment. you can do it. 💝

i really hope you found tips that you were looking for, and that they’re applicable to your own PIQs and other essays !! if you have any other questions, feel free to send in another ask (i promise my response won’t be this lengthy LOL) 💘💓

oh, and if you feel comfortable enough reaching out about anything in particular, i’m only a DM away 💕 i wish you the best of luck on writing your essays and i hope you enjoy your final year of high school !! 💗🌸💟💖