#and i skim through it for a line that sparks an idea and then

[reynahendrix]

reyna’s eyes tracked dayn’s movements, following his lead with measured curiosity. her frustration still simmered beneath the surface—having to babysit a grown man was hardly her idea of a productive evening. yet there was something satisfying, almost primal, in watching her light demands met without hesitation. control hummed at the tip of her tongue, a weight she wielded with ease. intimacy had always been a comfortable game for reyna, a mutual exchange to fill the void of idle time. vulnerable heartstrings ? those were territories she never dared venture into. physicality ? that was different. simple. tangible. moments without the burden of emotional entanglements or overthought meanings—a reprieve.

she sat still in her chair. a slow arch of her brow, head tilted just slightly to the side, reyna's gaze softened, inviting whatever came next between them. the tension was palpable, simmering like a spark waiting to catch fire. what about me... the words lingering in the charged air between them. her arm extended, index finger deftly hooking through one of dayn’s belt loops. she tugged him closer, the anticipation curling warmth through her chest, rising to flush her cheeks. simplicity reigned—a game of nearness, desire, and silent understanding.

breath caught as his lips grazed her jawline, igniting a tension she struggled to suppress. a groan threatened to escape, but she swallowed it down, determined not to yield. dayn's willingness to submit to her touch sent a surge of heat through reyna, compelling her hands to explore the hard planes of his chest, craving more — craving him closer. with a deliberate push, she guided him lower. "on your knees," she commanded again, her voice low but resolute, every syllable charged with authority. her head tilted slightly, as though savoring the lingering echo of her own words.

reyna’s legs parted, curling around dayn, enclosing the dwindling space between them. the press of their clothing was an unbearable boundary, frustrating her need for contact. so close, his breath warm against her skin, fingers mapping the curve of her waist as though memorizing her. her own hands traced the strong lines of his arms, appreciating the power beneath his skin, yet delicate with her. the thin thread of control she clung to frayed with each ragged breath, each tremor of her chest.

"i want you," she murmured against his cheek, her voice raw with need. nuzzling into dayn, seeking his lips until they met in a kiss steeped in fervor. there was nothing timid about it — no hesitation. reyna's tongue skimmed his bottom lip before slipping past, exploring, claiming against his own. one hand wove through the silky strands of his hair, anchoring him to the intensity of the moment as her body demanded more, dissolving the last remnants of restraint.

Dayn was surely playing with fire, he knew that much. He didn't know much about the guards, the hunters, the scouts, other than they had a type of responsibility he both didn't want and was ill-equipped to handle. To him, they felt in a different league. Four years was a long time to keep people safe day in and day out, at the potential expense of one's own. He sure couldn't do it. She could have easily told him to shove off and cuff him against something for the night like they did the first night he arrived here, when he was too unruly for logical thinking. In a way, he probably wasn't thinking logically here, and was definitely not doing a great job at keeping himself together.

His eyes followed her face as she stood from her chair, easily letting himself get pushed backwards. A hand found her arm, light and inviting, while his other found the underside of her thigh. Hips over his, he grinned, unabashedly, the little smirk almost inviting her fingers over his throat to squeeze - he would gladly cave under that sort of pressure. Dayn laughed then, low and agreeable, waiting until she had stood off of him before he got up himself. "You don't have to tell me twice." That closet was right past the bar, and it took him very little time at all to stride across the floor of the room, to the rapidly falling asleep patron and sling an arm over his shoulders, leading him into the closet. Though he had to treat this with some care, given that this was a whole other person, the temptation to just toss him in there and lock the door was strong. But Dayn let him down gently onto the old tile, rushing to the back of the bar where he left spare blankets and pillows and tossing one of each to the closet. The chair was pushed against the door, under the doorknob, just like she commanded requested.

When it was finally just the two of them, standing further apart now, his brows quirked up a bit, stepping forward with the corners of his mouth slowly turning upward. "So then what about me?" he asked, inching closer, until he was close enough to gently slide his hands over hips, leaning his head down. "What do you want from me?" Control could be all hers, here, so long as he didn't end up in a closet somewhere himself. All bets were off then. His head dipped down a bit to kiss at her jaw, right under her ear, fingers grazing up her ribs. "Something like this?"

[wrencatte]

mini-fic 6(ish!) post-Fallen Order. Mantis Crew. Cal & Merrin. Omniscient POV (Mostly Merrin). 1.1k words Cal...has a beard??? ao3 mini fic link - chapter 6 (ponchos)

Cal plops down on the couch with a loud, drawn-out satisfied sound, relishing in the first comfortable seat in literal days. Merrin looks up from her holonovel, blinks once, twice, and bluntly asks, “What is wrong with your face?”

He slaps a hand to his chin. “There’s nothing wrong with my face.”

“No, there is,” she insists, abandoning her novel to grab hold of his wrist and wrench his hand away – or at least she tries to wrench it away, but Cal resists valiantly, muscles straining with the effort. He leans as far back from the Nightsister as possible until he yelps, and they both go tumbling off the couch to land in a groaning heap on the floor.

Cere watches them, eyebrows raised, and lifting not a single finger to assist either one of them. BD chirrups from his spot over the Master’s shoulder, something distinctly mocking in his tone even without knowing binary, and Cal groans again, louder and more obnoxiously.

“Thanks, buddy, knew I could count on you,” he snarks. The droid whistles something else that just makes him laugh.

“What did he say?” Merrin asks even as she resorts to prying Cal’s hand off his face, fingers digging under his palm. He tries to smack her hand away with his free one, but she just grabs it and pins it awkwardly to the side out of the way. She pauses, head tilted in contemplation, then drops her entire body weight on the Jedi. He lets out a wheezing oof! at the suddenness, eyes wide. BD laughs at him. “This would be easier if you just gave in.”

“Doubt it,” he grunts.

They grapple – no, actually, tussle is really a better word to describe it. Neither of them are actually trying at all. Cal’s stuck arching his face away from Merrin since he can use his hand, and Merrin could easily hurt him in this position, so her efforts are half-hearted at best. Both of them are laughing like children, little hushed, breathless giggles. Cere doesn’t hide her smile, thoroughly enjoying the sight of them acting so care-free, and secretly recording the whole thing. Even though they have BD for that, there’s something about having a version all to herself that she can’t resist.

Cal finally gives up and removes his hand. Merrin makes a noise of triumphant – that gets cut off when he (gently) smacks his hand against Merrin’s face instead, effectively blinding her. He uses the surprise attack as leverage to shove her back against the base of the couch and he scrambles to his feet, putting distance between the two of them quickly, and…goes back to covering his chin.

“It is not that embarrassing,” Merrin tells him.

Cal scowls. “You said there was something wrong with my face!”

She makes a conceding expression. “Fair, but I did not mean it in that way. It merely…caught me by surprise.”

Cal had been gone for the last few days, exploring a nearby mountain pass in hopes it was what they were looking for (it wasn’t), so forgive her shock when he came back looking like that. He changed out of his regular poncho and new vest combo in favor of a pair of loose pants with far too many belts and his ratty training top that Greez has tried to throw out several times – though not as many times he’s tried to throw out some of his older, more…pungent ponchos. His hair longer than when she first met him, long enough to tuck behind his ears, and when you add that to what’s going on with his face…

He eyes her warily then semi-reluctantly drops his hand, putting it on his hip instead in a sort of are you happy now? pose. Merrin stares at him. He stares back, weight shifting as if he’s about to bolt.

“It looks good,” she declares finally.

Cal rolls his eyes. “You literally said – .”

“I did not get a proper look! You surprised me!” Merrin snaps. Cal throws his hands up in a huff.

He has a beard.

Or…almost a beard. Barely a beard, it’s still growing in and all. But it’s there and it, and it adds a maturity to his face she wasn’t expecting. Before, his old, world-weary soul could only be felt in the Force when he dropped his shields and let them help him. Now, though, Merrin looks at him and she can see the weight he carries far too easily. The beard looks good, yes, but it makes her heart ache just a little.

Cal scrubs a hand over the short, scratchy-looking beard. It makes his freckles stand out, somehow, or maybe that’s because they’ve been hopping from sunny planet to sunny planet these last few months and he’s no longer stuck under the perpetually gloomy clouds of Bracca. He burns instead of tans, but he seems to get new freckles every day.

“I didn’t mean to grow one in,” he admits. “But I’m kinda attached now.”

“Literally,” Cere adds.

He sticks his tongue out at her then jumps with a strangled yelp when she thrums their bond in admonishment like he’s a twelve-year-old apprentice all over again. “Hey! That’s a cheap shot!”

“What’s a cheap shot?” Greez asks, walking onto the Mantis. He looks up from the holopad he was consulting. “Oh. Hey, Cal, welcome back…What’s wrong with your face?”

Cal swears at him in Huttese as Merrin laughs. “All of you! All of you are against me! It’s not that bad!”

“It truly isn’t,” Merrin assures him, sounding only half-sincere to his ears.

Cere shrugs. “It’s not too bad,” she agrees. “I think it needs another day or two before it really works for you, though. Right now it’s…” She wiggles her hand with a wince.

“Ehhh,” is Greez’s contribution.

Cal hides his face with both hands this time, sighing very, very loudly. “You are all so mean to me. Fine, I’ll kriffin’ shave it off. Greez, got anything I can use? My kit got lost somewhere.” He glares BD-1 from between his fingers and the droid chitters in response, sounding offended. “I am not! You’re the one who went over the ledge! I told you not to scan it!” BD-1 beeps something decidedly rude.

“Nothin’ for your human sensitivity. You’re gonna have to wait until our next supply stop, kid.”

He groans. “Unbelievable. That’s a week from now.”

Merrin pats his shoulder consolingly. “You will survive,” she says seriously. “And if you do not, I know several rituals that will bring you back with minimal…side-effects.”

“Thanks, Merrin, you really know how to make a guy feel better.”

She smiles. “You are welcome!”

[peachiejeongin]

Mind-Numbing Melody | Bang Chan

Synopsis: Chan has been unmotivated lately when it comes to producing; however, he comes across a melodic idea that he just cannot resist. He just needs your help to fulfill it.

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, Slight Fluff

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (18+ Recommended), dom!Bang Chan, sub!reader, pet names (pretty girl, darling, good girl, etc.), biting, marking, fingering, slight edging, teasing, begging, unprotective penetrative sex (please use protection), Chan uses reader's moans in a song

Notice: Hello, my darlings! I know it has been weeks since the release of SKZHOP, but Railway has been driving me absolutely bonkers, so enjoy this fiction I wrote when I discovered you could hear Chan moaning in the background of the song :,D

Divider By: @anitalenia

Smut under the cut!

The studio was steeped in a familiar glow, its dim lighting wrapping around stacks of forgotten notes, tangled cords, and empty coffee cups that lined the console like weary sentinels. Chan hunched over the keyboard, fingers tapping an irregular, impatient rhythm. It had been days, weeks even, of this same cycle—blank stares at a blank screen, fleeting sparks of inspiration that fizzled out as quickly as they arrived.

The room smelled faintly of espresso and something sharper, a sort of musk as if Chan's frustration was materializing into a smell. The scent was Chan's constant companion these days, a reminder that no matter how hard he pushed, the music would remain just out of reach.

You watched him from the warm leather couch in the corner, your legs curled beneath you as your phone rested forgotten on your lap. He was quiet, but not in the comforting way he usually was. This silence was heavy, nearly oppressive.

"You're going to burn a hole into that screen," you finally said, your voice teasing but soft, careful not to break him entirely out of whatever fragile trance he was in.

Chan glanced over his shoulder at you, a faint, tired smile curving his lips upwards in a manner that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Maybe I can burn some inspiration into it," he murmured, turning back to the keyboard. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that let you know how sore it was from hours of tensing.

He absentmindedly clicked through the tabs open on his browser, hoping something would reignite his motivation. A playlist was open on his monitor, softly blaring tracks from artists he admired; most of them were songs that sparked awe and envy in an equal measure. But it was the headline of an article on trends in modern music that caught his eyes, words he had previously skimmed earlier in the day: "Personal Touch: The Rise of Intimacy in Music Production."

He had not thought much of it at the time, dismissing it as another gimmick. Now, in the late-night haze of desperation and coffee-stained reality, the concept felt like a thread to cling to. The idea of creating something raw, something undeniably intimate, grew in his mind. When he looked at you, lounging on that couch as if you were a calm in the storm, an idea began to crystalize.

You caught his gaze, brows furrowing slightly in concern as you noticed the shift in his expression—an intense focus, almost predatory, like he had just discovered something precious.

"What?" you asked, nerves and curiosity blending in your tone.

Chan stood slowly, the chair rolling back with a low creak. When he crossed the room, every step deliberate, your heart began to beat just a bit faster. He dropped to one knee in front of you, the studio's ambient light casting shadows against the defined angles of his jawline. His fingers found your thighs, resting there lightly at first, then gripping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

"I need your help," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through you.

"With what, my love?" You tilted your head, trying to read the intent behind his lustful, dark eyes.

"There's this idea I have," he began, thumb absently stroking the fabric of your sweatpants. "I read this article—something about artists using intimate sounds from their partners in songs. Breaths, moans, everything. I can't stop thinking about how you would sound in one of my songs." His gaze dropped to where his fingers rested against your thighs, almost reverent in a way.

"Your voice, the way you sound when it's just us...I think it could be the spark I'm missing."

Your breath caught in your throat. The idea was audacious, bordering on the verge of scandalous, yet it held an allure you could not deny. You imagined it— your moans hidden between beats and chords only you could notice.

"You're serious?" you questioned, voice barely reaching above a whisper. Chan nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a certain vulnerability that made your heart clench.

"I've been so stuck, but the thought of creating something with you that's so raw and real...it just feels right."

You swallowed, the weight of his request pressing down on you in the best possible way. The trust, the intimacy—it was more than you had ever imagined sharing with Chan, moreso the audience that would be tuning into the song.

"Okay," you agreed softly, the word containing every ounce of trust and anticipation you felt.

Chan's lips curved into a slow, sincere smile, and he leaned foreward to press a kiss against your forehead. It was warm, lingering, a promise as much as it was a kiss.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," he mumbled as he pulled away.

Before you could reply, he captured your lips with his, a kiss that was at first gentle, exploratory; it then deepened into something that made the studio air feel heavy, electric. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as you melted into him, a symphony in the making.

This kiss grew hungrier, if that was possible, your hands tangling roughly into Chan's hair as he remained steady on your thighs. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and the soft gasp it elicited made him groan against your mouth.

"Just like that, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice hoarse as his lips brushed against yours.

Chan pulled away from you briefly, striding to his computer and clicking open an audio-recording tab; the faint glow of the monitor casted a faint shadow on the walls. You repositioned yourself as he opened the taper, falling back onto the cushions; he made his way back over to you, climbing over top of you on the couch, his hands tracing an agonizingly slow path up your sides.

Every movement and every touch was unhurried, deliberate as though he was tuning you, finding the exact pitch that made you hum beneath his touch. His fingers danced over your skin, like he was learning the contours of an instrument. The press of his lips ignited sparks at every point of contact.

"Channie," you whispered as you intertwined one of his warm hands with yours; he stroked your cheek gently, smiling ever so lovingly at you.

"Relax for me," he purred before nipping his teeth at your neck ever so slightly. The motion caused you to shiver, your breath hitching in your throat as his lips travel from your neck slowly to your chest. There, he sucked small markings into your skin until purple and red adorned your chest. Welts became present due to his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before Chan moved to fiddle with the hem of your top.

"Are you alright with taking this further?" Chan questioned, assuring that he had your full consent before going farther.

"Yes," you breathed out, the words nearly getting stuck in your throat; your gaze flickers to the computer screen, watching as the speakers picked up each noise, the audio receptor's lines expanding with each recipient.

With your approval, Chan stripped you of your top, agonizingly slow albeit, his fingers moving their way to the clasp of your bra. He managed to undo the latch in one, swift motion, and before giving you time to think, his lips wrapped around your nipple.

You moaned as the warmth from his mouth and the wetness of his tongue sucked, kissed, and bit at your nipple, his tongue gliding over the sensitive region. His hands caressed your hips slowly before the right one moved up to attend to the neglected breast; his fingers rolled the bud, pinching, flicking and eliciting beautiful sounds from you.

"Don't hold back" Chan breathed out. "I want to hear everything."

At this point, your body was burning, both from Chan's actions and from the awareness that this was all going to be on tape; you felt a coating of arousal pool up at your core, causing you to rub your clothed thighs together in attempts to gain some sort of friction. Chan noticed the action almost instantly, grinding his hips slightly into yours; you sighed almost out of relief as you felt his own arousal poking through the black fabric of his loose shorts.

Chan lifts off of you, his hands reaching for the bottom of his hoodie; however, you stopped him, your hands mirroring his actions. You wanted to strip him, wanted to be the one to revel in revealing his perfection. Chan sighed out of contenment as you lifted the sweatshirt over his head, messing up his hair in the process and discarding the article somewhere on the studio floor.

Ridding the hoodie revealed a toned torso, with glimmering, slightly-tanned abs sparkling in the glow of the studio. You instinctually moved your hands to lay upon his chest, just as you had done so many times before, sliding your palms down his body smoothly and causing him to shiver. He positioned his body back above you, leaning over your smaller frame.

"Let me take care of you, Love," he lightly growled out as he moved his hands down to hook under the waistband of your pants, flicking his gaze to meet yours for approval. You nodded repeatedly, causing Chan to giggle as he slid your pants and underwear down, throwing the clothing alongside his hoodie.

He relished at your arousal, his eyes looking blown out before any sexual act had been committed.

"Look at you, Darling," he whispered, sliding a fingers through your wetness and causing you to whine. "Always so pretty for me."

Before you could comprehend his words, your mind increasingly numbing at his actions, Chan inserted his pointer fingers, pumping the digit in and out of you slowly. The contact elicited a string of hearty, genuine moans from you; admittedly, you were louder than you usually were during sex. You were not sure if it was because of the arousal of being recorded or if you just felt particularly frustrated that day.

Whatever it was, the sounds escaping you were particularly tumultuous, and Chan thought the octave was perfect for what he wanted to accomplish.

Chan inserted his middle finger minutes after his first digit, his pace quickening along with the speed of your whines. He maneuvered his hands, reaching to where his thumb could brush against your clit and allowing you to feel as if you were on cloud nine. You repeatedly clenched around him, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you slowly but surely; however, Chan removed his fingers before you could reach the finish line, which earned a loud, aggravated whine from you.

"Channie!" you groaned, your pussy clenching around nothing as you bucked your hips up instinctively, attempting to receive any type of contact, even the slightest motion, that would bring you to your end.

"Why?"

"Adds an element of fun," Chan responded, his lips quirked into a smug smirk, "both to the music and to our little moments."

"I can't wait anymore, Chan," you whimpered out in response, making your boyfriend tsk at you appraisingly before he slid off his own bottoms.

He quickly lined his cock up with your entrance, rubbing through your folds teasingly; he complimented the prior action poking at the hole.

"Are you ready, Darling?" he questioned.

"Yes!" you yelped out, positioning your legs to wrap around Chan's torso.

"Beg for it, then," he commanded, causing your eyes to widen and your cheeks to flush from embarassment.

"This wasn't apart of the plan," you quietly mewled as Chan halted his teasing motions.

"Mm, maybe not, but I know what gets a reaction out of you," Chan admitted leaning down to whisper in your ear, his hot breath fanning your ears. "I gotta make sure this melody encapsulates as much of your perfection as possible. So, baby girl, if you want the same thing, I suggest you get to begging."

You let out an annoyed huff, your lips pursing into a sheepish pout as you reluctantly did as demanded of you.

"Please, Channie," you pleaded, your arms gripping his shoulders. "I need you so bad please. Please, please, please, baby." Chan chuckled lightly at your beseeching as he placed his hands on either side of your face.

"Good girl," he praised gently.

With that, he gently pushed himself inside of you. You both gasped at the feeling; Chan's length filled you completely, causing you to tingle with excitement as the familiar stretch swiftly morphed from pain into pleasure.

You gave Chan the go-ahead to move, and he held your hips tightly as he thrusted in and out of you; his lips parted, making their way to kiss and nip at your skin, the tips of his canines lightly poking you.

"You always feel so amazing, my love," he moaned out; you simply sighed in pleasure, clenching yourself around him as you melted into his stature. Rushes of pleasure shot throughout your body as Chan tighlty gripped onto your hips, his nails causing indents in your flesh.

The knot tightening in your stomach returns throughout Chan's thrusts, and you are unable to comprehend the sudden change in his demeanor from gentle to hazy. All you know is that it feels good and that you are losing yourself within his darkened gaze.

"Chan, oh my," you moan out, your voice high pitched and hoarse.

"You like that, Darling?" Chan questions as your noises pick up in pace. "Keep moaning for me. You're doing so well."

"'M close," you whimper out, holding onto Chan for dear life. Chan mandhandles your body upwards, still holding onto you in the new positions and burying his head in the crook of your neck.

"Cum for me then, Love," he commands; as soon as he gives the approval , your orgasm hits. Your brain becomes like mush, and your eyes flutter shut as the pleasure rocks through you.

You feel Chan halt in his movements and he slowly pulls out of you, allowing himself to finish on your stomach before laying beside you.

"Still with me?" he questions, pulling you into his arms.

"Mhm," you mumble, just barely able to hear his words. You feel tired all of a sudden, tangling your hands in Chan's hair, albeit much lighter this time.

"You did so good, Baby," Chan praised, holding you tightly against him. "Wait until you hear how beautiful you sound."

A week had passed since that night in the studio. You had not been allowed to hear the song yet, as Chan insisted it was, "not ready." His process was meticulous, almost obsessive, and though your curiosity burned, you let him do his thing.

Now, you were back in the studio, perched on the same couch where it had all happened. Chan stood by the mixing console, his headphones draped around his neck, a spark of nervous energy buzzing in his movements.

“It’s done,” he said, running a tired hand through his hair.

You shifted in your seat, heart thudding with anticipation.

“You’re making it sound like I should be scared,” you teased, though the slight tremble in your words told him part of you was nervous.

He shot you a lopsided grin, approaching you and sitting beside you on the couch. Strangely, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“You don’t have to listen if you’re not ready," he explained, his tone laced with a sense of reluctance. "It’s...intimate.” The way his voice dipped sensually on the last word made your pulse quicken and you instantly shook your head.

“No, I want to hear it,” you declined his offer, your words uttered softly. "Play it, please."

He nodded, a faint smile present as he slid his headphones over your ears and pressed play on the monitor. The room went silent, save for the faint hum of the equipment. As the first notes filled your ears, everything else slowly faded away.

The song started softly; it was a deep, pulsing rhythm that felt like a heartbeat, layered with delicate chords that swept over you like a whisper. Then, beneath the music, you heard it.

You.

It was a faint gasp, so quiet it almost blended into the background vocals, followed by the softest of moans mixed into the melody. The sounds sent a rush of heat to your cheeks as your mind flashed back to that night, to Chan’s hands, his lips, and the way he had coaxed those very sounds from you.

Your breath caught as the track built, the sensual undertones unmistakable. Every layer of the song felt personal, your breaths and your voice intertwined with the raw intensity of Chan's production. It was not overtly explicit, but the sensuality was undeniable, a secret language only the two of you could speak woven into the music.

When the track ended, you pulled the headphones off and stared at him, your mouth slightly agape.

“Chan...” You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw the headphones at him. “That’s me.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, though his eyes searched yours for any sign of disapproval.

“It’s us,” he corrected. “I wanted it to feel sincere, like it replicated us to a tee.”

Your cheeks burned, contrasting the thrill that coursed through your veins. Chan scooted closer, leaning in front of you so his face was mere inches away from yours.

“You’re my muse,” he told you simply. “Every sound, every breath—it’s you. You inspire me.”

You shook your head, laughing softly.

“If people hear this-”

“They won’t know it’s you, if they even notice it's there,” he reassured, his voice gentle. “It’s subtle. Just for us.”

Your lips parted, still processing, but before you could say anything else, he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin.

"You don't hate it, do you?"

“Hate it?” you echoed, shaking your head on denial. “I could never hate anything you create. The song is absolutely beautiful. It’s just...”

“Just?”

“...Really hot,” you admitted, biting your lip.

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because it’s the most personal thing I’ve ever made, and I want it to be for you as much as it is for me or for the fans.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Well,” you began, your voice dropping to a playful whisper, “if you ever need more inspiration..” Your voice trailed off as your fiddled with the chain of his necklace, your forehead still pressed gently against his. Chan grinned, his fingers tightening on your waist.

“Don’t tempt me, y/n.”

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[driverlando]

sending lando ✨️spicy✨️ pictures while he's at the gym training

“Really? Right now?” Lando murmured to himself, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket as he finished a set of bench presses. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and reached for his phone, anticipating a quick glance before diving back into his workout.

The screen lit up with a notification from you, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He opened the message and his breath hitched. The image of you in nothing but lace, sprawled across the bed, greeted him. Your sultry gaze seemed to pierce through the screen, sending a shiver down his spine.

His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly as he took in the sight. He could almost feel the softness of the lace, the heat radiating from your skin. He swallowed hard, feeling a rush of desire pooling low in his abdomen.

“You’re killing me, love,” he muttered, glancing around the gym. The clatter of weights and hum of conversation seemed distant, his focus solely on you. He quickly typed a response, fingers almost fumbling over the keys.

Lando: What are you trying to do to me? 😮‍💨

He hit send and pocketed his phone, trying to shake off the images that danced in his mind. Each movement felt heavier, more labored as if you had stolen every ounce of his concentration. He managed a few more reps before another buzz pulled him back to his phone.

You: Just a little motivation. Are you motivated, baby? 😘

Lando’s jaw clenched, a low growl escaping his lips. Motivation was an understatement. His mind raced with thoughts of you, your body, the promise in your eyes. He could almost hear your teasing laughter, feel the ghost of your touch.

His fingers moved quickly over the screen.

Lando: You have no idea. Can’t wait to get back to you.

He glanced up, catching his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself, but the heat wouldn’t dissipate. Another buzz. He didn’t hesitate this time, opening your message immediately.

You: Why wait? Come home now 🤭

Lando’s resolve shattered. The weights, the gym, the routine—all of it faded into the background. He grabbed his bag, muttering quick goodbyes to his teammates as he made his way to the exit and back home. His heart pounded, each step closer to you a pulse of anticipation and longing.

He fumbled with his keys, finally managing to unlock the door. The house was quiet, but the air was charged with expectation.

Lando’s hands trembled as he pushed open the bedroom door. The sight of you draped in that tantalizing lace, a wicked smile playing on your lips, was almost too much for him to handle.

“Lando,” you purred, stretching languidly on the bed, your body a siren’s call. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.”

“Couldn’t stay away,” he murmured, voice rough with need. His gym bag hit the floor with a dull thud, and in two long strides, he was by your side.

His lips crashed against yours with an urgency that stole your breath. He tasted of salt and heat, a heady mix that made you moan against his mouth. Your hands roamed over his sweat-dampened shirt, feeling the hard muscles beneath, each touch igniting a spark.

“Lace, huh?” he murmured against your lips, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric. “You know what this does to me.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers slipped under the lace, skimming over your heated skin. “I wanted to motivate you,” you whispered, arching into his touch. “Did it work?”

Lando’s chuckle was dark, almost a growl. “You have no idea.”

With a swift movement, he pulled your body flush against his, the hard lines of his form pressing into your softness. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. You gasped, fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer.

“Lando, please,” you breathed, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. “I need you.”

His eyes darkened, the raw desire in them making your heart race. “I need you too,” he replied, voice thick with longing. He pulled back just enough to strip off his shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and arms, slick with sweat. You reached out, tracing the lines of his abs, reveling in the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

“Patience,” he murmured, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. He made quick work of his gym shorts, letting them fall to the floor. He stood before you, eyes raking over your body, the lace barely concealing the curves he craved.

He moved to the bed, crawling over you with a predatory grace. His hands slid down your sides, hooking under the lace and pulling it off with a slow, deliberate motion that left you trembling with anticipation. The cool air hit your skin, a stark contrast to the heat building between you.

Lando’s mouth followed the path of his hands, kissing and sucking at the newly exposed skin. When his lips closed around a hardened nipple, you cried out, the sensation shooting straight to your core. His hands continued their exploration, fingers dancing over your hips, your thighs, before finally slipping between your legs.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. “So ready for me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, hips bucking against his hand. “Please, Lando.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your folds. “Look at me,” he commanded, and when your eyes met his, he thrust into you, filling you completely. You both moaned, the sensation overwhelming.

He started to move, slow at first, each thrust deep and deliberate. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, needing him deeper. His pace quickened, the sound of your bodies moving together filling the room.

“God, you feel so good,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. You could feel the tension building, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“Lando, I’m gonna—” The words were cut off by a cry as your orgasm crashed over you, your body tightening around him.

Lando followed soon after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his release. With a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling into you with a groan.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, hearts racing. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling you against his chest. “Guess I’ll be coming home early more often,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your slightly sweaty forehead.

You smiled, snuggling closer. “I’ll make sure to have more surprises waiting,” you whispered, already planning the next time.

[heejake-hoon]

Enhypen Hyung line when you wear their shirt (suggestive)

Heeseung: Heeseung stops dead in his tracks when he walks into the bedroom and sees you lounging on the bed in nothing but his button-down shirt. His eyes darken as they rake over your form, taking in the way the fabric swamps your smaller frame, the hem riding high on your thighs. "Well well well," he drawls, voice pitched low. "What do we have here?" he teased voice playful You smile up at him coyly, stretching languidly in a way that makes the shirt ride up even further. "I missed you," you say simply. "Wanted to feel close to you while you were gone." Heeseung's expression softens for a moment before heat sparks in his gaze once more. He stalks towards the bed, already loosening his tie. "And you thought wearing my clothes was the best way to do that, hmm?" You bite your lip, peering up at him through your lashes. "Don't you like it?" He groans, knee hitting the mattress as he crawls over you predatorily. "Oh I like it alright," he rasps, palming your bare thigh possessively. "Like seeing you in my shirt, smelling like me, marked as mine. Fuck baby, you have no idea what you do to me." You grin, winding your arms around his neck and arching up into him. "Why don't you show me then?" you purr, nipping at his jaw.  Heeseung growls, low in his throat, before claiming your mouth in a filthy kiss. "Gladly," he mutters against your lips. "Hope you weren't planning on getting much sleep tonight. Cause you're not leaving this bed until I've thoroughly ruined you in this shirt." 

Jay:

Jay chokes on his coffee when you saunter into the kitchen wearing his flannel, the garment barely skimming the tops of your thighs. His eyes nearly bug out of his head as he takes in your bare legs, gaze zeroing in on the tantalizing glimpse of collarbone peeking out from where you've left the top few buttons undone. "Morning," you chirp brightly, reaching past him for a mug and giving him an eyeful of cleavage in the process.  Jay makes a strangled noise, hands flexing on the countertop. "Is that my shirt?" he asks, voice strained. You glance down at yourself as if just noticing, all faux innocence. "Oh this? Yeah, I hope you don't mind. I couldn't find mine this morning and yours was the closest." He clears his throat roughly, shifting in his seat as his pants suddenly feel a bit too tight. "Right. And uh, did your pants go missing too or...?" You shrug nonchalantly, leaning back against the counter and crossing your legs. The movement makes the hem of the shirt ride up dangerously high and Jay has to physically bite his tongue to keep from whimpering.  "They're in the wash," you say casually. "Why, is this bothering you? I can go change..." You make it as if to leave but Jay's hand shoots out, fingers circling your wrist. "Don't you fucking dare," he growls, already tugging you towards him.  You stumble forward with a gasp, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you fall into his lap. Jay's grip immediately goes to your hips, large hands palming your ass greedily.  "You little tease," he breathes, nosing along the column of your throat. "Parading around in my clothes, barely covered, fucking begging for it. You're in so much trouble." You moan as he bites down on your pulse point, marking you. "Promise?" Jay's answering grin is positively wicked. "Oh you have no idea, baby. I'm going to wreck you in this shirt. And then I'm going to wreck you out of it. Repeatedly."

Jake: Jake nearly swallows his tongue when he sees you curled up on the couch in his hoodie, the oversized garment making you look soft and adorably rumpled. There's just something about seeing you in his clothes, all wrapped up in his scent, that makes his chest feel too tight. "Comfy?" he asks, aiming for casual and missing by a mile if the way his voice cracks is any indication. You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, a small, secretive smile playing on your lips. "Very. You don't mind, do you?" Mind? Jake's pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven. He clears his throat, trying to get ahold of himself. "No, no of course not. What's mine is yours and all that." Your smile widens, turning distinctly mischievous. "Oh? Does that mean I can raid your closet more often then?" Jake's jaw goes slack, arousal slamming into him like a freight train at the thought of you wearing his clothes on the regular, staking your claim on him in the most primal way. "I- uh, I mean- yes?" he stammers, brain short-circuiting.  You giggle, rising languidly from the couch and sauntering over to him. Jake's eyes nearly fall out of his head when he realizes you're not wearing anything under his hoodie, miles of bare leg on display.  "Good to know," you murmur, draping your arms over his shoulders and pressing your body flush against his. "Cause I really like wearing your clothes. Makes me feel close to you. Owned by you. Like I'm yours." you whispered the last part. Jake inhales shakily, hands flexing on your hips as he struggles for control. "Fuck. You can't just say things like that unless you want me to-" "To what?" you interrupt, eyes sparkling with challenge. "Take me? Claim me? Make me scream your name until the whole block knows who I belong to?" He growls, walking you backwards until your legs hit the couch and you tumble down onto the cushions. "All of the above," Jake rasps, already working at the zipper of his hoodie and shoving the fabric aside impatiently. "Gonna mark you up, ruin you for anyone else, make sure the whole fucking world knows you're mine." You moan, arching up into his touch wantonly. "Yes, Jake, please. Want that, want you, only you." "Fuck," he grits out, before descending on you in a flurry of desperate hands and filthy kisses, intent on turning you inside out and remaking you as his, thoroughly debauched and utterly owned. Just the way you both like it.

Sunghoon: Sunghoon freezes when he enters the bedroom to find you sprawled across the bed in his favorite silk shirt, the expensive fabric straining obscenely across your chest and riding high on your hips. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the expanse of skin on display, the way the dark cloth contrasts against your skin tone. "What's all this?" he asks, voice husky with desire. You stretch lazily, the movement causing the shirt to bunch and shift, revealing even more tantalizing glimpses of flesh. "Just thought I'd slip into something a bit more comfortable," you purr, eyeing him from beneath lowered lashes. Sunghoon swallows hard, arousal simmering slow and hot in his veins. He takes a measured step forward, then another, until he's standing at the foot of the bed, looming over you with a heated gaze. "And you thought my shirt was the best option?" His tone is low, dangerous, the kind of calm that comes before a storm. You bite your lip coyly, reaching up to fiddle with the buttons, popping one open and then another. Sunghoon tracks the movement hungrily, hands clenching into fists at his sides.  "Don't you like it?" you ask, all feigned innocence. "I thought you might appreciate seeing me in your clothes. Wrapped up in your scent, branded as yours..." He snarls, something possessive and primal unfurling in his chest at your words. In one swift movement, he's on the bed, caging you beneath him, hands pinning your wrists above your head. "You're playing a dangerous game, baby," Sunghoon warns, nipping sharply at your pulse point. "Teasing me like this, flaunting what's mine, practically begging to be taken..." You moan, arching up into him as best you can. "Maybe that was the point," you gasp. "Maybe I want you to take me, claim me, remind me who I belong to." Sunghoon groans, rocking his hips forward to grind his hardness against you pointedly. "Careful what you wish for, love," he grits out. "Keep this up and I won't be held responsible for my actions." You grin, a filthy, wicked thing, as you wrap your legs around his waist and use the leverage to flip your positions, straddling him and pinning his hands above his head in turn.  "Oh, I'm counting on it," you purr, rolling your hips sinuously. "I want you to lose control, Hoonie. I want you to fuck me like you own me. Because you do. I'm yours, utterly and completely. So prove it." Sunghoon's eyes flash, dark and hungry, and then he's surging up to claim your mouth in a brutal kiss, hands ripping at the fabric of the shirt urgently.  "Mine," he snarls against your lips, the word a vow and a prayer all at once. "My pretty baby, so fucking perfect for me, such a good little tease. Gonna ruin you, wreck you, make it so you never forget who you belong to."

[kathlare]

interrupted magic

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amid the glittering aftermath of the Wicked premiere in London, Lando and Amelie find themselves caught in a magnetic and intimate moment, only to have reality intrude at the most inconvenient time.

Wordcount: 1.4 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

December 24th, 2024 - London, United Kingdom

The night had been filled with the glitter of flashing cameras, the clink of champagne glasses, and the excitement of the Wicked premiere in London. But now, as the evening's chaos faded into the soft hum of the city, Lando and Amelie found themselves stepping into the quieter world of his sleek apartment.

Amelie, still in her long, bright yellow dress—its soft silk pooling at her feet—was trying to steady herself after the whirlwind of the event. She laughed softly, her fingers brushing Lando's tuxedo jacket as he closed the door behind them. He was still dressed impeccably, his shirt slightly undone at the collar, and she couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked.

—You look stunning, Ames,— Lando whispered as he slid his hands to her waist, his fingers skimming the smooth fabric of her dress. His voice was low, and his breath felt warm against her ear. She smiled softly up at him, tilting her head to meet his gaze.

—You too,— she said, her voice a little breathless as her eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes, both full of mischief. It was as if all the tension from the night was suddenly gone, replaced by an undeniable magnetism that had always been there.

Before she could say another word, Lando leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened, a reminder of how easily they fell back into each other. His hands roamed down her back, and her hands found their way to his chest, feeling the hard lines of his muscles beneath the tuxedo.

Amelie let out a soft sigh as Lando’s lips moved from hers to her neck, his hands tightening around her waist as he gently pulled her toward the bed. Her heart raced, each touch sparking a current that shot through her veins. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, the tension that had been building throughout the night finally breaking free in this intimate moment.

Lando’s hands slid along the sides of her dress, the fabric smooth and cool under his touch as he laid her down on the bed. He hovered above her, his lips trailing from her neck to her collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Amelie’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she arched her back, wanting more of the warmth and intensity he was giving her.

—Lan,— she murmured, her breath shaky as her fingers traced his jawline. —You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting this.—

Lando grinned against her skin, his lips curving up as he pressed a kiss just below her ear, causing her to shiver. —I think I’ve got a pretty good idea, Ames,— he teased, his voice a soft growl. He moved to kiss her again, this time more urgently, his body pressing into hers as if he couldn’t get close enough.

But just as their kisses became more heated, Lando’s phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, breaking the moment in a harsh, jarring ring.

—Are you fucking serious?— Lando groaned dramatically, pulling back from her with a frustrated sigh. He reached over, grabbing his phone, his expression turning from sultry to irritated in a heartbeat.

Lando glanced at the screen, his irritation deepening when he saw the caller ID.

—It’s my dad,— he muttered, tossing the phone in the air as if considering throwing it out the window. —I swear, this is the worst timing.—

Amelie chuckled softly, the tension in the air easing slightly, even though both of them were now caught in this awkward interruption. She reached up, running her fingers through his messy hair, offering a small smile.

Lando sighed dramatically, throwing his head back slightly, clearly annoyed at the interruption but unable to hide the small smile that tugged at his lips. Amelie, never one to miss an opportunity, slid herself onto his lap, her legs draped over his, her yellow dress pooling around them like a soft cloud of silk. She leaned in, planting delicate kisses along his neck, her lips grazing his skin, sending an electric shiver down his spine.

Lando's hands instinctively gripped her hips as her kisses grew more persistent. His breath hitched slightly, the warmth of her body pressing so close to his making it increasingly harder to stay composed. But the phone rang again, its insistent buzzing pulling him back to reality.

—Ames,— he whispered, barely able to get the words out as she continued her delicate assault on his neck, —I swear if I could just ignore this...— He let out a shaky breath, trying to maintain focus as she pressed her lips closer to his skin, her kisses gentle yet teasing.

He struggled, biting his lip, forcing himself to push her off just enough to answer the call.

—Hello?— he managed to say, his voice betraying the tension he was feeling as his dad's voice crackled through the speaker.

—Lando, where are you?— Adam's voice was calm but authoritative, the sound of background chatter audible, suggesting they were already downstairs in the lobby of the building.

Lando’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his mind still caught in the whirlwind of what Amelie was doing to him. He had to focus, or this whole situation would turn into a disaster.

—Yeah, we’re coming down now, Dad,— he replied, trying to control his breathing. He glanced at Amelie, who had her head resting on his shoulder, looking entirely too cute with her innocent expression as if she didn’t know the effect she was having on him.

—Are you ready? The chauffeur’s waiting downstairs. We don’t want to miss our flight to Mexico, right?— Adam added, making sure to remind him of the time crunch.

Lando sighed, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. —Of course, I forgot. Let me just... I’ll be down in five.—

He hung up the phone, his mind still spinning with the mess of emotions he was feeling from the night, the premiere, and most of all, the beautiful girl on his lap. But reality was quickly sinking in.

Amelie pulled away slightly, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she looked up at him.

—So, we need to get dressed and head downstairs now, huh?— she asked softly, still close enough that her breath fanned across his neck.

Lando groaned, his hand running through his hair as he tried to suppress the frustration building inside him. —Yeah. Looks like it, Ames. I swear to God, the universe is fucking with us tonight. We had the perfect moment, and then my dad calls to ruin it.—

Amelie’s eyes twinkled with mischief, and she leaned in to plant a small kiss on his lips, savoring the brief contact. —You know I love when you get all dramatic, Lan. You really know how to make things interesting.—

Lando sighed dramatically, throwing his head back slightly, clearly annoyed at the interruption but unable to hide the small smile that tugged at his lips. Amelie, never one to miss an opportunity, slid herself onto his lap, her legs draped over his, her yellow dress pooling around them like a soft cloud of silk. She leaned in, planting delicate kisses along his neck, her lips grazing his skin, sending an electric shiver down his spine.

Lando's hands instinctively gripped her hips as her kisses grew more persistent. His breath hitched slightly, the warmth of her body pressing so close to his making it increasingly harder to stay composed. But the phone rang again, its insistent buzzing pulling him back to reality.

—Ames,— he whispered, barely able to get the words out as she continued her delicate assault on his neck, —I swear if I could just ignore this...— He let out a shaky breath, trying to maintain focus as she pressed her lips closer to his skin, her kisses gentle yet teasing.

He struggled, biting his lip, forcing himself to push her off just enough to answer the call.

—Hello?— he managed to say, his voice betraying the tension he was feeling as his dad's voice crackled through the speaker.

—Lando, where are you?— Adam's voice was calm but authoritative, the sound of background chatter audible, suggesting they were already downstairs in the lobby of the building.

Lando’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his mind still caught in the whirlwind of what Amelie was doing to him. He had to focus, or this whole situation would turn into a disaster.

—Yeah, we’re coming down now, Dad,— he replied, trying to control his breathing. He glanced at Amelie, who had her head resting on his shoulder, looking entirely too cute with her innocent expression as if she didn’t know the effect she was having on him.

—Are you ready? The chauffeur’s waiting downstairs. We don’t want to miss our flight to Mexico, right?— Adam added, making sure to remind him of the time crunch.

Lando sighed, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. —Of course, I forgot. Let me just... I’ll be down in five.—

He hung up the phone, his mind still spinning with the mess of emotions he was feeling from the night, the premiere, and most of all, the beautiful girl on his lap. But reality was quickly sinking in.

Amelie pulled away slightly, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she looked up at him.

—So, we need to get dressed and head downstairs now, huh?— she asked softly, still close enough that her breath fanned across his neck.

Lando groaned, his hand running through his hair as he tried to suppress the frustration building inside him. —Yeah. Looks like it, Ames. I swear to God, the universe is fucking with us tonight. We had the perfect moment, and then my dad calls to ruin it.—

Amelie’s eyes twinkled with mischief, and she leaned in to plant a small kiss on his lips, savoring the brief contact. —You know I love when you get all dramatic, Lan. You really know how to make things interesting.—

Lando pulled a face, his lips twitching as he tried to suppress a grin. —I swear, if the universe has a sense of humor, it’s got a sick one.—

Amelie chuckled softly, her fingers brushing along his jaw, making it clear that she wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment either. She was still perched comfortably on his lap, and her dress had twisted around them both like a golden halo. She loved seeing him like this—half-irritated but still trying to keep his cool for her. It was adorable.

But they both knew they couldn’t stay in this intimate little bubble forever. The reality of their impending flight hit them hard. They still had to travel to Mexico for Christmas Eve dinner, which meant they needed to get their act together fast.

—Alright, alright, no more messing around,— Lando said with a sigh as he reluctantly helped Amelie off his lap. He grabbed his phone again, checking the time. —We need to get dressed and head downstairs, or we’re really gonna miss the flight. My family’s not gonna let me hear the end of it if we do.—

Amelie, with her usual playful smile, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. —No worries, Lan. I’ll try not to make it worse for you.— She got up from the bed, smoothing down her dress as she started to move toward the bathroom to freshen up a bit before they left.

Lando got up too, but before he could even walk to the closet, he glanced at her, still in awe of how beautiful she looked even with everything rushing around them. She had a certain glow about her, something magnetic that always made his heart race.

—You’re still the most beautiful thing in the room, Ames,— he said, his voice soft but with that trademark sincerity that made her heart skip a beat.

Amelie smirked, catching his gaze in the mirror. —You’re such a charmer, Lan,— she teased, stepping into the bathroom. She glanced at her phone, a few texts from her family popping up. They’d been expecting her for days now.

Lando took a few deep breaths, trying to snap out of his flustered state. He needed to focus. Getting ready for a flight was hard enough without his mind wandering back to their stolen moments.

As he was rummaging through his clothes, trying to find something more casual for the long flight, he heard the sound of Amelie’s voice in the other room, followed by the rustling of clothes. A few moments later, she reappeared in a hoodie and leggings, looking effortlessly cute despite the rushed change. The hoodie was one of Lando’s, from an old race weekend, and it hung loosely on her, the sleeves rolled up slightly.

—Well, I guess this will have to do,— she said, flashing him a playful grin as she adjusted the hood.

—You look perfect,— he said, his eyes softening as he took her in. His voice was full of warmth, mixed with a hint of admiration. —I love how you always manage to look stunning, no matter what.—

Amelie chuckled, the sound light and musical. —You just say that because you’re biased, Lan. But I’ll take it.—

They quickly gathered their things, Lando grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder before leading her to the door. The tension from before was still there, lingering between them, but now there was an excited energy in the air. They were about to embark on a journey to Mexico, where they’d spend Christmas with both of their families. For Lando, it was a huge step—his family had never met Amelie’s, and this would be the first time they all came together.

As they stepped out of the apartment, the elevator ride down felt like the longest few moments of Lando’s life. The air between them was thick with anticipation. When the doors opened to the lobby, Lando’s family was already waiting, their excited chatter filling the room.

—Lan!— his younger sister, Flo, squealed as she rushed over to hug him. —You two look great tonight. Hope you didn’t keep us waiting too long.—

Amelie smiled at her, always finding comfort in the warmth of Lando’s family. —Sorry, we got caught up,— she said, smiling softly. —You guys ready for the flight?—

—Absolutely,— Oliver, Lando’s older brother, said with a grin. His wife, Sav, was holding their two young children, Mila and Anthena, who were both busy tugging at Amelie’s hands, eager for attention. The sight made Amelie’s heart melt as she leaned down to scoop up Mila, kissing the little girl’s cheek.

Amelie’s heart swelled at the thought of her family meeting Lando’s. She had heard so much about them and had been eagerly anticipating this moment. For her, it wasn’t just a holiday; it was a chance to bridge the gap between two worlds, to show Lando the warmth and joy of her family.

As they made their way out to the waiting chauffeur, Lando slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it gently. —Ready for this?— he whispered, his voice full of affection and excitement.

Amelie squeezed back, her heart racing. —Yeah. Let’s go make some memories, Lan.—

They stepped into the car, the lights of London fading away as the night unfolded into the promise of a new chapter—together.

[tswaney17]

Happy New Year Tay! You are one of my favorite writers in this fandom. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your writing process:

What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

How do you find new fic to read?

Who do you read?

How do you decide what to write?

Are there any tropes you dislike?

What's your favorite AU that you've written?

What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve?

If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

f you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?

What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?

Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process.

Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?

Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

Do you visualize what you read/write?

Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

Link a fic that made you think, "Wow, I want to write like that."

Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

What's something you've improved on since you started writing fic?

Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?

What's the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Aww, nonnie. 🥲 Thank you so much! And Happy New Year to you too!! 🥂 I hope I answered these okay. LOL.

What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?) Oh man, that's hard. I'd say Secret Sessions for canon-related, and IDBTWY or Accidental Chemistry for modern.

What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics? Probably slow burn. And pregnancy AU. I know it's not everyone's favorite, but I always end up writing Elriel pregnant. LMAO.

How do you find new fic to read? Frankly, since I've stopped writing, I've been devouring fanfic. I hit up AO3 nearly every day to see if there's anything new. And I have this logic that if I subscribe to a crap ton of fics, I'll hopefully get an update to at least one of them weekly. It's not a flawless system but I get the most out of it.

Who do you read? I honestly read everybody as long as I am confident that Elriel is endgame. I will side-eye anything that as El*cien or Gw*nriel as a potential pairing and will skim first to ensure I'll be able to make it through the story. But I have my go-to's like @nikethestatue and @dottielovegood (amongst many others), and I've found some newbies (or new to me) on AO3 and have been devouring their fics. A few that come to mind are @jasmineandcedar and @merakimoonglade but there are many more.

How do you decide what to write? Through utter chaos that is my brain. Sometimes I'll see little things on Insta or Pinterest that'll spark ideas while others will just kind of hit me out of nowhere. Kind of like this feral Az/Elriel miscarriage that's been floating around in my brain for weeks.

Are there any tropes you dislike? I am over the girlboss warrior trope. There's so much of that written that it's just boring to me. I also hate the cheating trope. I just can't read those.

What's your favorite AU that you've written? Honestly, that's hard. IDBTWY has a very special place in my heart, but Secret Sessions might be the best writing I've ever done. I'm also a sucker for Accidental Chemistry too.

What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it? Probably that feral Az/Elriel miscarriage I mentioned above. It'd be very angsty and heartbreaking but so delicious. Oh! I also have this Archeron-witch AU that's been wracking my brain forever that's based on The Originals. I have a few scenes of it written but just couldn't get into the right headspace to bust it out completely.

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve? Hmm. Secret Sessions deserves an epilogue and I did start to write one a long time ago. But the idea sputtered out and I never got more than a page written. Also, my fic Queen of Monsters would definitely benefit from a sequel but I'm just going to leave that one alone.

If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve? I could see writing a spin-off for IDBTWY for each of the other siblings tbh. I have no idea what those stories would include, but I think it's the best setup for any sort of spin-off. Or maybe a next-gen for IDBTWY. I have thought of things for the kids if that ever came to pass.

If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve? Frenemies would probably benefit from a prequel. You very much jump right into the mess but elaborating on how Elain and Az worked together before they fucked would've been interesting.

If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be? Lucien realizing the bond is broken in Secret Sessions. I had so many people ask about what he felt and if the bond was gone and I just left it up to interpretation.

What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write? I honestly don't use a lot of resources when I write. I Google things when I need to do some research and I have Grammarly to assist with the grammar side of things (which is far from perfect), but other than that, I really don't have much else. Big fics get inspo boards on Pinterest though.

Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue? No dialogue. There are some really amazing writers in this fandom that can invoke such an intense emotional response from readers simply by describing the scene without having the characters speak at all. I feel like both @dottielovegood and @violetasteracademic are exceptional at this. I would love to be able to do this as well as them.

How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process. IDBTWY took four years and it was chaos. I didn't really have an outline that went further than chapter 7 until I was well into the 20s and finally outlined the remaining 15 chapters. Do not recommend at all. I'm honestly surprised how much I was able to loop back in later on in the fic despite my unorganization of it. @nikethestatue can tell you I often went to her and asked if something occurred in my fic because I couldn't even remember. LOL.

Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who? No, I don't have a beta reader and I probably should. I do give out snippets to friends though, but mostly to be a tease.

Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter? LMAO. Unholy (my Azriel priest fic) was so far outside my comfort zone. Not just because I'm not religious and likely wrote phrases and scenes that didn't make sense to the setting, but just the idea of having Azriel as a priest fuck Elain on the goddamn altar of the church. Good lord, I blushed writing it and I blushed reading it even to this day. I honestly haven't written anything since this, but I think it helped me to push through my mental barriers of writing something so outrageous.

What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life? I know I've said this a few times, but Accidental Chemistry is loosely based on my best friend. Some of the things Elain experienced happened with her and the fic honestly hit home because of the close, personal ties. Also, Elain's obsession with creamer in every fic is my self-insert and you can't take that away from me. LOL.

Do you visualize what you read/write? Always. I often think of scenes when I'm laying in bed trying to sleep at night. I don't know if it helps put me to sleep or keeps me up because I'm constantly turning things over in my mind.

Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it? Who's Afraid of Little Old Me, my Tangled Retelling fic. I absolutely loved writing this one and doing the role reversal swap on Elain and Az was such an interesting story to write. It barely got any traction in comparison to others and I was honestly surprised by it.

Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful? IDBTWY became fairly popular tbh, likely because the fandom was wildly engaged at the time when I first started writing it. But A Surprise Bun got more popularity than I thought it would. Enough so that I wrote two extra parts for it (technically three since it was originally intended to be a one-shot). I loved writing the dynamic between Elriel and Cassian.

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person? I'm a heavy rereader. I will go back and reread specific scenes, entire series, etc. Don't threaten me with a good time.

Link a fic that made you think, "Wow, I want to write like that." There are so many creative writers out there and I know that I'm missing a lot, but @impossiblescissorspeachpaper, @merakimoonglade, and @violetasteracademic have incredible prose and dialect in their writing. I am envious of their talent. Truly.

Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason? I've received such amazing comments from readers and I treasure every single one. But there's been a handful of times where somebody has said that my fic was the first they read in the acotar fandom, or that it's their favorite ever, or that they were so invested in it even though they don't ship Elain and Azriel...and just reading those comments makes me feel so valued. To say that about my writing is such an honor.

What's something you've improved on since you started writing fic? I think my style of writing has definitely improved since I started. If you compare the first part of Across the Hallway (my very first fic) to my most recent ones, especially ones like Wildest Dreams or even my A Hundred Lifetimes, A Hundred Worlds, I'd Choose You series, you can definitely see the difference in my writing.

Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write? I'm a laptop writer. If I write on my phone, I'll note it because it will likely have more errors. I've only written two fics on my phone tbh. My "fast phone fics."

What's the last fic you read? Do you recommend it? I read Wonderstruck by @mirrorballpages and it is phenomenal. Highly, highly recommend it.

What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it! Oh man. I've got wips for Accidental Chemistry, this Italy-based heartbreaker that will likely never be published. I've got pieces of a post-acosf fic that will never see the light of day. Random scenes for that witch AU. I haven't been writing fic since Elriel Month, tbh. I've been more focused on my IDBTWY rewrite for publishing. But... I suppose if I do end up writing fic again, it'll be Accidental Chemistry. So here's an unedited snippet of it.

It was something he noticed the other night when he cradled the boy to his chest, promptly getting him to finally settle enough to fall asleep. He wasn’t sure if it was the sound of his heartbeat or the warmth of his skin or the deep sound of his voice as he softly sang a lullaby his mother used to hum to him or a combination thereof, but Oliver always seemed content in his arms.

[starcrossed02]

Friend of a friend

"Lorna! right on time. I need you to do me a favor. you know that friend you were talking about who was interested in handwriting something? What is it called? whatever it is, I think it should come in handy for this one." Mickey says, handing Lorna the paper.

"yeah! graphology, right?" the blonde says, getting her fork out to start eating from Chipotle. "I'll call her after my lunch, I haven't talked to her for a while now that I think about it though."

"That's it! alright, I'll need it sometime by tomorrow, the trial is Wednesday, so I want to be able to look over it beforehand," Mickey says, grabbing his suitcase. Izzy gets up and starts following him, probably to a hearing of some sort.

"Couldn't he just look over it in the car before the trial on the way there?" cisco asks, looking toward Lorna, halfway through her bite.

"I would think so, but if it's important enough then it may be more beneficial to be able to know parts of the analyzation without referring to it." The blonde says, finishing her bite of salad.

"that makes sense." cisco says, moving his beaning to cover his eyes to get some sleep.

"Hey, Y/n! it's been a while, it's me, Lorna! from high school?"

"Oh! hey, Lorna! haven't heard from you in a while, what been going on?"

"oh," Lorna says, looking over at Cisco, "well, I'm getting married!" she says happily, flashing her ring to her fiancé like he wasn't the one to buy it for her.

"Wow, lucky you! Who is the lucky guy?" you say, sitting down from getting your coffee. you didn't care it was 4 in the afternoon, and you were gonna have a long night catching up on the studying you missed.

"Well, his name is Cisco, we got engaged about 10 months ago, so our wedding is going to be about 3 or 4 months from now."

"Well, I better be invited! especially after all that drama talk we had during senior year, it was crazy how much tea we had on people back then!" you said, sitting down from pacing your office, stuck on this one page with such conflicting evidence.

"Oh my god! I remember that! it was so much fun back then, how about you, how's life been treating you lately?" Lorna says, continuing to eat her Chipotle.

"pretty well. I've been stuck analyzing this one page someone sent in for me. everything is conflicting like everything is in this paper! left-leaning, right-leaning, curvy, and boxy Y's. it goes up and down. both versions of the 2 on the date at the top, I don't understand! I've looked through every book I own on this, and normally I don't need to, so I don't know what going on." you say, giving out a very audible huff at the end to show your frustration.

"Oh, I thought that wasn't possible. I know it's weird, but I thought I remembered you saying something that everyone is different so nobody has conflicting handwriting. at least on the scale you describing."

that sparked something in you. you skimmed over the paper, making quick estimations on each characteristic. they all looked like they were the same amount. like for every boxy Y, there was the same number of curvy ones. "Lorna, you have no idea how much you just helped me right now. it's fake! every characteristic has the same number of conflicting ones! I've figured it out!"

"oh, that's good, You welcome I guess?"

"thank you so much, Lorna. I've got to go now, thank you so much!"

"wait! hold on! I called for a reason. not just to see how you're doing. I need to send a paper your way and get you to analyze it. My boss said he needs it done by tomorrow."

"Oh," you say, slightly disappointed. "All alright then! send it on my way, I'll try to get it done tonight, and I'll drop it off at your office tomorrow, does that work?" you finish, trying to sound more positive towards the end.

"yeah, that's awesome, bye Y/n!"

"Bye Lorna, see you tomorrow!"

"wait, how do you know when-" she starts, getting cut off by the sound of the line ending. You look down at your phone, confused about what she was gonna say.

"she must have been asking how I know where her office is."you wonder aloud, standing back up.

A/N: I think I said this in the last chapter, but please link if you have any constructive criticism!!

wc- 741💜

[youngpettyqueen]

I could use a distraction too tbh so if you're in the mood for it: something with Charles and Hawkeye and hurt/comfort with either of them experiencing some non-dangerous pain (hangover, migraine, muscle cramp etc etc whatever sparks joy)

yesssssssss

Hawkeye woke up with a migraine. This isn't a common occurrence, but it's also not unheard of. His usual solution is to get a shot of morphine into himself as quickly as possible and hope for the best, but today it seems to have hit with all the speed and force of a truck on a highway, rendering him very nearly immobilized with pain.

Charles ended up getting him the shot. He's not a monster, of course he was going to help. He's also not unsympathetic to Hawkeye's plight, having suffered a few migraines himself when he first transferred here.

(He also just hates seeing Hawkeye in pain, not that he'd ever admit to that.)

So, he gave him the shot. Promised to check on him later, and thought that was the end of it. This was foolish, apparently, because before he could move away, Hawkeye had him by the sleeve. And, well, he couldn't exactly yank him down, but he did tug on his sleeve. Very pathetically and very insistently.

"Stay." Was all he managed to say.

So if anybody asks, Charles will be telling them Hawkeye strong-armed him into the cot.

He's lying on his side, and Hawkeye's tucked up against him with his face buried deep in his chest. Charles has managed to get the blanket over both of them, and he's maneuvered his robe to cover Hawkeye's face, offering him some more shelter from the daylight. Hawkeye's arms are wrapped loosely around his neck and he's got one arm around him in return, though with the other he's holding a book. One of Hawkeye's, the first non-pornographic book he found within reach. Some sort of detective noir.

It's not particularly entertaining. But it's better than nothing.

They've been here for about 20 minutes. Fortune has been kind in that it's a quiet day, no wounded expected. BJ had stopped by after breakfast to see what was keeping his tentmates, and had a grand old time very quietly teasing Charles while Hawkeye apparently slept right through it. BJ did, however, promise to keep Potter out of their hair, so he didn't hold a grudge.

Charles is skimming a passage that's going into far too much detail about legs, of all things, when Hawkeye stirs for the first time. He pauses in his reading, glancing down at his sleeping companion.

"How's your head?" He asks quietly.

"Splitting." Hawkeye replies, miserable and muffled.

Charles frowns. "I can't give you more morphine," He tells him, "Not yet, anyways. Do you want water?"

Hawkeye's arms tighten around him. "Don't go," He groans, "Don't... don't go."

Charles sighs quietly. "Alright," He agrees, easier than he's ever agreed to anything, "Go back to sleep. It'll help." He advises.

"Can't," Hawkeye mumbles, "Hurts too much."

Charles lowers the book. "You haven't slept at all?" He questions. Hawkeye makes a weak affirming sound, and he lowers his book, "You've never had one this bad before. Maybe I ought to take you to post-OP." He muses.

Hawkeye's arms tighten even more. "No," He protests, "Post-OP's... bad. Too bright."

Charles can't really argue with that. Still, he doesn't like the idea of just lying here doing nothing while Hawkeye's sleepless in agony. "I'm going to try something," He tells him, "If it doesn't work, I'm taking you to post-OP. You can wear sunglasses."

"I'll throw up on you." Hawkeye warns, though he sounds like he may be threatening him.

"You can certainly try." Charles replies, unbothered. He puts the book down and brings his hand over, slides his fingers into Hawkeye's hair and cradles the back of his head. He knows where Hawkeye holds his tension, can feel the stressed line of his neck, the rigid, hunched shape of his shoulder riding up to bump into his wrist. He presses in firmly, moving his fingers in slow, steady circles.

The reaction is immediate. Hawkeye groans again, louder, though this time the relief is obvious. He sinks into Charles, tension melting off of him as he practically liquefies. His shoulders sink a tick, his hold loosening slightly as he just... lets go.

Charles scratches into his hair, keeping the pressure steady. "Better?" He asks.

Hawkeye just groans again in response. Like an old cat purring away. He squeezes tighter again, but this time his shoulders don't hitch up so much.

Charles can feel the harsh line of his neck giving way bit by bit under his hand. So, he keeps going. Hawkeye stills completely after a few minutes, and still he doesn't stop.

(If he ends up dozing off with his hand still in Hawkeye's hair, well... that's his business.)

[bitterkarmaa]

I don't know what dialog prompt this would be, but I'd love to see one showing how your Eclipse would react/interact with Lord Eclipse, knowing what this other Eclipse had done- and that Lunar is gone. Maybe the "You look like you've seen a ghost" prompt?

Oooooo interesting idea!! I’ll give it a shot for sure! This also won’t be canon as of yet, just a “what if” scenario :)

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

-God Eclipse & KB Eclipse-

Eclipse hadn’t exactly meant to mess with inter dimensional travel today. It was just…Moon was out, and Eclipse was curious as to what that odd file was that he discovered while backing up Moon’s computer, and then he clicked on it and…ended up here.

He’s had a dull ache in his chest ever since he arrived, and, as time went on, it began to worsen. A tug inside him, trying to drag him back to his own world while also unable to force him out of this one.

He wanders aimlessly. The halls of whatever large-ass building he’s in seem endless. The walls are decorated with vague pictures, artwork depicting events completely foreign to him. The windows are fancy, tinted and such, but the view they display is a stark contrast- broken mounds of rock hover amidst the sky, surrounded by pillars, making it seem like a cage. The buildings below sit in shadow, a feeling of defeat hanging over each roof.

Each new corridor makes him want to scream. Distant whispers crowd his head, a voice that is not his own telling him to run, that it isn’t safe here. It warns him of seeing things that he doesn’t want to see. He stifles the slight discomfort in favor of a spark of indignation.

How could this voice inside him know what he wants? It is, quite obviously, not him.

But, the moment he emerges into the expansive and overbearing library, he begins to understand.

The books aren’t organized alphabetically, and very few of them have actual titles. Instead, there are dates. Each book is labeled with a day, a year, and a month. Nothing more, nothing less. They all have orange covers. They are all hardback.

They are all covered in dust.

“There is someone here. An intruder.”

A distant voice, taunt with disdain and annoyance, sounds from across the room. Eclipse looks up from his skimming of the shelves, rays retracting as he realizes just how…alike that voice sounds to his own.

His hand comes up, gliding over his vest, hovering over the place that the scar is. His claw tips grace the fractured metal, then he presses his back against the shelf nearest him, claws curling into the fabric of his clothing.

Panic rushes over him in waves.

Didn’t he already do this? Didn’t he already face his worst self?

Didn’t he already lose?

“I-I didn’t see anyone, sir. The buzzer didn’t go off, either.”

Another voice. More timid, more submissive. Sun.

“I don’t care. Search in every crack and crevasse. I don’t like uninvited guests.”

Eclipse shudders.

“Y-Yes sir.”

Oh God. Oh God. He shouldn’t be here. That voice was right, he doesn’t wanna see shit here aside from any possible exit.

He clenches his hands into fists. Closes his eyes and counts to ten in his head, like Moon taught him to help him calm down when he’s angry. He’s not angry. But he’s scared. Isn’t scared just as bad?

Soft, uncertain footsteps approach from the other side of the shelf, nearest the banister that seems to separate one section of the library from the other. Eclipse takes a step back, then another, and another, but he isn’t able to make any sort of escape before the figure turns the corner, eyes flying wide at the sight of him.

Yep. That’s Sun.

But damn, does he look like shit.

His rays are dented, some of them cracked, while others are bent in ways that would prohibit them from both rotating and shrinking in. Scratches line his plating like rivers running through a forest, endlessly reaching out in every direction. His clothing lacks the normal theme of a jester- he looks more like a homeless man going in for a job interview with the best clothes he has. Which looks to be a t-shirt, button-up, and some sad looking pants that he can’t quite make out into any style off the top of his head.

“Don’t say. A word.” Eclipse warns under his breath, watching in mild alarm as Sun’s expression shifts from disbelief to complete and utter horror. He opens his mouth, but Eclipse lunges forwards and clamps a hand over his faceplate before he can.

“Shhh!” He hisses, his own rays retracting further as he hears movement from across the room. Sun’s eyes dart from Eclipse to the direction of the noises, then back to Eclipse. He seems conflicted.

“Sun? What did you find?” The voice calls, his voice calls, sounding less patient this time around. Eclipse releases Sun, and he turns to run in another direction before coming in contact with-

What the hell?

Is that supposed to be him?

Sun falls onto the floor, scrambling away as the power-ranger-esk version of Eclipse towers over him, a clear look of disdain coating his face.

“I-I was surprised sir! You h-have to understand, I-“ Sun begins to explain, but is cut off by a simple glare from his superior.

The other Eclipse looks up, over to his more scarred counterpart with mild intrigue on his face.

Eclipse himself, on the other hand, looks petrified. This is just like before, but worse. If he was a human, he would be considerably paler by now.

But instead, his hands shake at his sides, and he clenches them into fists again to hide their tremor. He can feel his broken eye heat up behind the cracked, blank glass that covers it. Sheer terror freezes him in place.

“Ah…” The slightly larger, more intimidating Eclipse hums, stepping forwards to grab hold of Eclipse’s face as he tries to step away. He claws at his captor’s wrists, desperately trying to free himself, like a frantic cat.

“Interesting…” The other continues, making Eclipse slow his efforts in favor of looking up with big, fearful eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. But, I assure you…” His grip tightens, a crazed look dancing in his eyes. “I am very real.”

For some reason, his tone makes the terror dissipate. In it’s place, anger rises. Who does he think he is?

“Where did you come from, vermin? You must’ve lost something, because your face looks like a sad replica of mine.”

Who the fuck does he think he is?

A warmth fills his chest, burning him from the inside out in a way that only fuels his fury. His grip on his opposer’s wrist tightens, claws digging into the metal plating of what he can only assume to be some sort of battle armor. How bored is this guy?

“And you look like a bitch. Does that make you my bitch?”

The other’s eyes darken with a sick sense of pleasure, as if he was waiting for Eclipse to slip up, to lash out just enough for a viable excuse to attack.

White cracks arch up Eclipse’s chest, neck, and then come to rest on his face. His bad eye flickers, the hint of an orange pupil coming to life in it’s depths. The cracks emit a light that religious people would call holy.

The warlord’s gaze becomes tainted by confusion, just long enough for Eclipse to bite down on his hand like a rabid animal. His teeth sink in, metal breaking with harsh CRACKS and SNAPS.

Eclipse is promptly chucked into the nearest wall. He sees Sun wince in the background, as if having been rooting for him for some reason or another.

But he’s not down yet. He’s not out.

He propels himself off the wall, latching onto the power ranger with such force that it manages to bring him off his feet. The two collide with the floor, splintering the wooden boards.

Eclipse perches atop the other’s chest in a pose best suited for Blood Moon. Leaning back on his haunches, clawed hands splayed out over his opponent’s face crudely, having no target aside from whatever can be reached.

With a grunt of frustration, the overlord throws him off once more, tossing him aside like an annoying puppy.

Eclipse doesn’t collide with a wall this time around. He flies through the air like a firework, then finally begins to fall. The world is a rush of color. He can barely make out his surroundings. In one last ditch effort to save himself, he reaches his claws out towards the banister, scrambling mid-air for a hold.

He jerks. His claws find purchase, jolting him out of his free-fall.

He dangles over the edge, looking towards the odd floating bridge only a few feet away that leads off towards the other half of the library.

Footsteps approach. He looks up, into the eyes of the ruler, the God that smiles sweetly as Eclipse begins to slip.

“Such a shame,” He muses, “That I had Sun clean those this morning.”

Eclipse glowers up at him, but his expression shifts to alarm as he struggles to maintain his hold. He scrabbles vainly at the slick wood for a moment, watching the amusement gleam in his audience’s eyes, before his grip slips. Air rushes up around him, but…only for a moment.

His hand is firmly clamped in someone else’s grip.

He looks up again, gazing at Sun as Lord Eclipse stares his servant down incredulously.

“You have one.” Sun explains in a rush, almost breathlessly.

“What?” Both Eclipse’s speak at once.

“You have one!” Sun repeats, intense gaze boring into Eclipse as the beat up, abused animatronic maneuvers around, pulling Eclipse back up onto the bridge with as much effort as he can muster. Lord Eclipse has already begun to stalk towards them.

He thought this was finished. How dare his underling make him look like such a fool!

Sun presses his finger to Eclipse’s chest frantically, eyes darting down to the shimmering cracks before turning back up towards Eclipse’s eyes.

“Use it.” Sun hisses.

What?

Use it?

Use what?

Eclipse stands quickly, putting himself between Sun and the cocky bitch as said cocky bitch saunters over like he’s completing the most mundane task known to man.

Sun grabs Eclipse’s sleeve, cowering behind him.

“USE IT!” He shouts, and Eclipse’s expression hardens.

“ᴀ𝒕 𝞬𝝾𝚞𝖗 ᴡ𝘪𝜤𝙡,” The odd voice returns, sounding stern in his head, “…Ꮷ𐓪 𝗒ჿ𝝊𝒓 𝕨ᴏ𝖗ｓ𝐭.”

Eclipse raises his hand, cursing it’s tremble as the overlord looks on in pity.

Pity?

Anger submerges his fear. His hand stops shaking.

The cracks reach out further, slithering down his arm until it has reached his fingertips. Outlined against his palm, in eerie white light, sits a star emblem. A star emblem that wipes that cocky look right off the bitches’ face.

For a moment, he almost looks afraid.

“I don’t see ghosts.” Eclipse smiles. “I am one.”

And then, the world around them crumbles with a bright flash of light, and a snap of the universe righting itself once more.

Eclipse has a hard time explaining why he appears in the daycare with another Sun the next day.

Moon looks on, a knowing smile on his face. He doesn’t mention how protective Eclipse seems over this new Sun, but he knows…

He knows why.

He would never tell the tale, but he knows exactly where that Sun came from. And from the look that the dimmer, less excitable version of his brother gives him…Moon knows that Sun remembers that day, too.

But Eclipse still has a lot of questions, one of which, being:

Where was Lunar there?

Did I leave him behind?

The thought plagues him endlessly, and that voice in his head doesn’t return to tell him whether leaving then was right or wrong.

In fact…it’s been rather quiet lately…

[cappurrccino]

fic asks: 3, 7, 9!

3. What’s a fic idea that you have but haven’t written yet?

I want to put Nosk into malevolent... 👀 I want to make Arthur run into himself in some deep, dark cavern and torment John juuuuust a little bit by making him watch (the double of) his good good friend crack open as a nightmare monster comes out to try to eat them

7. What’s a troupe you love to write?

I only forgot what counted as tropes a little bit but... found family! I just... love it so much. Reading it, writing it, having it pop up in audio/visual things, love it, love it, love it, just the power and love involved in a group of people deciding "this is my family now and I'd do anything for them"... it's great!

9. What’s your favorite line(s) or scene(s) that you have written?

Oooo.... [quickly opens half a dozen fics to skim through] Ok, ok, ok, two faves, both kind of related in that I really love when I feel like I've nailed the description of a Weird landscape and found the words for the concept-art-esque image in my head!

a bit of fundament from Siren's Eye:

Something bright and pastel bloomed in the dark water in front of them and Aurash feared it was something new that wished to devour them. The ship swung to the side, sliding around the swirling, iridescent pink and green ribbons. Nothing lashed out or leapt for the ship and curiosity got the better of her. She crept to the railing and looked down into the water. It wasn’t immediately obvious if the ribbons were alive or if they were alive if they were intelligent. They were small, though, and seemingly docile. Something smaller even than the krill. She wondered how long the ribbons lived, if they knew or cared about anything outside their wave. A long, low rumbling note echoed through the sky above and she looked up to see the lightning race through the clouds. The sails caught traces of the static and swelled with the energy, propelling the ship across the tops of the deep, black waves and away from the ribbon blooms.

and a bit of the dark world from day 2: faroe:

The eternal night was… pretty, she realized. It wasn’t often that she got a moment to pause—especially not anywhere with open air overhead—but now that she had one? It was pretty in a haunted sort of way. Everything was cast in the same deep black and cold grey and inky blue, shadows on shadows on eternal void, suggesting and hinting at what the landscape might be if you were lucky enough to be seeing true. Glitter and sparks and ribbons of light of every color shot through the deep murk. Things being chased, things doing the chasing, decoys, distractions, lures. Teeth and claws and knives flashing through the dark reflecting non-existent light. She sighed heavily and her breath fogged in front of her. A kaleidoscopic cloud of every hue that shifted and twisted and drifted away on invisible currents.

[ send me a fic writer ask! ]

[redactedgoose]

Good morning goose! Is it ok if I ask about your writing process? Like - do you have an outline for your fics, how close do you stick to it, do you listen to anything in the background when you write?

Yeah, of course! And it's a miracle I caught your ask this early, since usually I'm abjectly terrible at both noticing and remembering to reply. Like I have trick or treat asks from not the last Halloween this year (2024), but the Halloween before that (2023). I think I noticed them some time in... May? April? Next year, aka this year. So. Uh. Yeah. Whoops-

Anyway. To actually answer your question (read more because this got long for some reason)-

My process/method/etc, whatever you want to call it, starts with an idea that comes out in one of two ways.

Sometimes it's just a little pop up like "oh shit it'd be cool to do an AU where Izuku has Mahito JJK's power as his quirk. Shigaraki would be pissed at him for stealing his hand gimmick and there would be parallels between Izuku and [redacted1] and [redacted2]."

But more frequently, ideas 'manifest' as snippets immediately. Or a snippet pops in my head and I write it and then figure out the overarching idea/plot.

Because of that, it's usually pretty easy to then make an outline. The au with Izuku having Mahito's power for his quirk is actually something in one of my docs... but the most I've gotten re: planning is a couple bullet points with quotes, how some major plot points would change, and a family tree connecting him and his mom and [redacted2] together.

For an idea that already has a paragraph or three of snippets, I just... keep spooling it out from there. For Raise Hell, for example, the snippet popped out after I read the post here on Tumblr, then I started (mentally) sketching out a plan for the fic after. (It's not the best example, since I don't think I've done extensive planning with most of my DP or DPxDC fic (like I have with several BNHA fics) except for Danse Macabe but anyway-

From there, I continue generating snippets as I think of the progression of events, making little bullet point notes of events that don't spark a snippet but are chronologically next in line. All those get roughly divided into chapters (with room for error because if I write a crap ton more than I was expecting to, I'll split it up, and I am Very Bad at estimating how much I'll write).

From there, snippets and already written sections (because sometimes I go Overboard) get slapped into the doc that holds the actual fic. Bullet points are transformed into written bits and I stitch together the scenes (sometimes generating new things right then and there because I've neglected to give myself any direction on a transition event/etc) into an actual narrative chapter.

Now. The actual writing of the chapter has probably taken place over several days. When I come back to a work, whether it's a few hours later or days later or longer, I read what I've got so far and (basically) edit it as I go through it to the point where I stopped.

I don't usually properly edit stuff, tbh. I'm able to write things fairly free of grammatical and convention errors on the first go because that's just the flavor of my autism. Usually (but not always, and it has bitten me in the ass before) I won't have to worry about the throughline or any plot issues thanks to my outlining. Or I've already caught it in one of the skims getting back to the place I left off.

That's all to say that the most real, dedicated editing I do is reading over a chapter one last time in the Ao3 text box before I post it, and that's mostly so I can catch weird spacing issues or formatting fuckups that come with copying and pasting in.

And I'm most always listening to some kind of music whether I'm writing or not, tbh. I've made a couple different playlists on Spotify for specific fics, but I usually always just listen to my liked songs or a Spotify-generated daily mix or Discover Weekly—nothing specific, basically. No dedicated writing playlist! But sometimes if I'm writing something that has a specific mood, I'll go and search for a playlist that fits it.

[rviner]

Bella chuckles, wrinkling her nose as soon as Felix pokes at it. "It might help to wear the dimmy thing Thea made you." she says gently, but notices the slight lack of gusto as Felix quips about his brother. They all have a long journey ahead of them, but Bella finds comfort in the fact that there's a slight lightness now surrounding the trip. And clearly, it's one change that Felix is prepared to work with rather than against. Laughter bubbles up about her Swedish, Bella watching as Felix falls into the role of a pigeon tutor. She copies the sound momentarily, before her chuckles break free. "I didn't plan on saying that to any Swedish people. They look horrified enough when I talk to them. Oh no, they probably think I'm a ignorant Americ-" her mouth instantly closes, her head tilting with a blink as Felix's comment stops her. "Oh. So, that's the tone you're going for." she quips, laughter escaping as Sprout pecks at him. "Thank you, Sprouty." Bella mutters even if she gently waves away the hummingbird and skims her thumb near the corner of Felix's eye. "What did we learn?"

She thinks she already knows the answer, but Bella often wonders if Felix can see how, regardless of what he thinks of himself, he can be a bright energy. Like a spark of life, contradicting the moodiness he moves with through it. The sound of his laughter is what sticks to her the most, bringing more of her own. "Only if they believe in karma and energy. And there's a lot of Felix's running around, so. It might find the perfect home." she grins to him, sweeping back his hair again as they prepare to shift for the oncoming venture to the store. Even Bella moves slowly and reluctantly, bracing the cooler air that will wrap around her once Felix moves from above her. "They're harmless." she says about the Sprites again, shooting him a look as she lets him tug her to her feet and she flicks on the bedside light. "But I think it's a good idea. To have our own place instead of moving into one another's spaces. It will feel more like ours instead of like we're just staying with each other." Bella suggests, pulling sweatpants and a hoodie over her pajamas and bringing out her crocs to really finish off the look.

Just as they leave the apartment, Sprout shifts to her incorperal state and Bella frowns slightly to herself at the thought that Felix can no longer see her. It makes her slide her hand into his, squeezing slightly while they walk. "I didn't mention this before because you would have wanted to change but..." Bella chuckles mischievously and nods her head to Felix and then down at herself. "We're matching." she grins, a louder laugh bubbling up but the sound catches a small echo from the empty street. Even the cars lining the small road are all parked up, as if everyone everywhere is asleep. Bella's hand flings to her mouth, a wide-eyed look shot to Felix. "Oh God, I am an ignorant American."

"Oh, that's easy, I'm..." Felix responded with an engaged tone, catching a quick kiss from Bella before he pressed a finger to the tip of her nose. "An insomniac." he grinned, a laughter escaping him about Henrik's drawing. "It starts young in this family, yeah. That'll be Oskar's influence." he quipped, but a slight frown flicked against his lips. After the conversation with his brother, jokes at Oskar's expense suddenly seemed slightly misplaced. Like most of Felix's thoughts or realizations, they were tucked away for further reflection. Something else to keep him awake at night. But, Bella's grounding presence stopped him from spiraling into endless thoughts there and then, his frown shifting into a grin at the sound of her squeak as he pulled her closer.

She could bring out genuine laughter from him as if it was second nature to her. Felix was convinced it was. Low chuckles stuck to his chest, sweeping into amusement about her American-Swedish. "I love it. Because you know Norwegian, which...there's basically no difference." he remarked in a laugh. "But, don't tell any Nords or Swedes that." Felix added quickly, feigning a serious tone. "Swedish is more-" holding himself above her with one arm, Felix waved around his other hand, conjuring a pigeon like coo. "You know, front of the mouth sort of thing." a devilish smirk moved over his lips then, his hand dropping back around Bella. "Maybe that's why you struggle. You're better with your throat." his prompt laughter was cut short by Sprout's frantic flitting around him, her long and dainty bill pecking at the corner of his eye. "Ah! Okay, I'm sorry!"

Maybe he should have been embarrassed for the hasty decision to buy an engagement ring, but Felix could only find ample humor. Even more so when the very thought was pushing Bella into rounds of laughter. "You're right, but isn't it bad luck for someone to get a second hand engagement ring? I think it's just going to become an ornament." he mused, laughing. If anything, it would become a story to tell as it seemed the two of them were certain they would both be together to tell it for years to come. And when the laughter subsided for a far more soothing moment, Felix was nodding gently to Bella's words. A slow smile crept on his face, her quip earning another chuckle. "I think that's probably a good idea, yeah." he agreed, senses adjusted to the dark as he scanned over her features. "Unfortunately, I can't move into your place because the Sprites will kill me." Felix added in a quip, purposely taking his time to peel away from Bella. It was a reluctant movement, shifting him from her so they could get dressed. "Come on then. The weirdest idea of an adventure." he teased, his hand lingering over her arm before it could capture her hand and pull her to her feet.

[regulus-blacks-lover]

Hi it's me again

72 with regulus💚

I have a story idea, if you don't like it, you don't have to answer

Sooo you are kinda innocent, like you had sex before but unspecial without feelings. And regulus founds out you are reading smut books and want to give you the special spice experience you deserve. Maybe you are reading and he starts eating you out

Lot of love to you💓

Sorry it's taken me literal ages to write this! I hope u like it!

1,329 words

#72: “there is no way anyone is that innocent”

"What's up, little dove?" Regulus asked, plopping down onto the common room couch next to you.

You glanced up from your History of Magic textbook just long enough to shoot him an annoyed look. "I've got so much to do Reg. Gotta read this whole section of the book and write two essays by tomorrow."

He leaned his head on your shoulder to look at the chapter you'd already turned back to. "Oh the magical transparency uprisings of 1754," he said. You bit back your annoyance. Regulus was so good at history, thanks to the years of private tutoring his parents had supplied him for his entire childhood.

"I've been reading this page for twenty minutes," you groaned. "It's not sinking in. I'm doomed!"

Your best friend pulled your legs into his lap. "I'll help you." he said, positioning the textbook in your lap so you could both see it. You watched Regulus skim the page before he began summarizing the entire chapter like he'd been preparing a presentation on it. As he spoke, he traced lazy lines up your calves.

You relaxed into his touch and slowly began to understand what the dry words in your textbook had been trying to say.

It was always like this, Regulus coming to your rescue. Your best friend. Never anything more than kind words and casual, platonic contact. Sometimes you thought you caught him looking at you with something beyond just friendship in his gaze, but you always told yourself you were making it up.

You made it through another finals week, thanks to Regulus. The weather outside began warming as spring approached. You'd planned to stay at the school for the short spring break with a group of friends, but several of them had gotten into relationships during the term and had abandoned those plans in favor of spending the spring outside in their lovers arms. You couldn't fault them, but you also couldn't help the bitter jealousy that burned in your chest when you thought of how lonely you were.

You'd had a few relationships, of course, each as unfulfilling and short lived as the last. You'd never felt a spark with any of your partners, never cared for them the way you wanted to. And in return, you hadn't been properly cared for.

With the castle nearly empty, you ventured into the library, ending up in the small romance section. You rifled through a few books before finding one that was properly steamy. You tucked it under your arm and made your way back to the common room.

You find a decently private corner and begin reading, crossing your legs in search of friction as you reach the first sex scene in the book.

"He was consuming her like fire, his tongue stroking in long, slow licks, curling–"

"Hello little dove," a voice says, sitting down next to you. You start, instinctively angling your book away from view. You'd been so focused on the book that you hadn't even heard Regulus come in. Glancing around, you noticed that it was just the two of you in the room. "Please tell me you aren't studying during the break? That's so sad," he said, offering you a mock-pout.

"I'm not studying." You replied, trying to move the book further out of view.

Regulus cocked an eyebrow. He knew you too well, damn him. Before you could react, he snatched the book from your grasp, flipping it back open. You could only watch as his eyes scanned the pages, taking in the smut you'd been reading.

"I knew it. I knew there was absolutely no way anyone could be that innocent." He said, turning to smirk at you.

"What?" You asked, too embarrassed to think of anything else.

Regulus placed a hand on your knee, eyes momentarily lingering on your still crossed legs before he raised his gaze to yours again. "I thought maybe you were just so innocent, the way I touched you never felt like anything beyond just friendly touches." He said quietly. "I never let it go beyond that. I always wanted... I always wanted to make you feel good, I just thought you weren't... into that kind of thing."

Your gaze darted to his hand on your knee. As you watched, he slid his hand upward, just high enough that his thumb vanished below the hem of your skirt. Out of sight, he traced a gentle line against your thigh.

He leaned into you. "Do you want me to touch you?" He purred into your ear. His warm breath fanned across your neck.

Your voice was breathy when you replied, "Yes."

He pressed a kiss against your shoulder and asked, "Do you want me to touch you in all of those filthy ways you read about?"

You felt like you couldn't breathe. "Please." You said, all bust gasping the word out.

"Good." He said, but then he pulled his warm hand out from where it had been making its way underneath your skirt.

"Regulus, what-" you began, but he cut you off by grabbing your hips to pull you to the edge of the small couch you'd been perched on.

He knelt before you, leaning forward to kiss you. His hands were back on you, one on each thigh, trailing impossibly upward until your skirt was pushed all the way up around your waist and one of his thumbs began drawing torturously slow circles over your underwear.

You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. For all the times you'd wondered what it would be like to kiss him, the real thing was so much better than you'd even imagined.

You began rocking your hips ever so slightly upwards, trying to create more pressure as he touched you so gently. You felt Regulus smile into the kiss before he pulled away.

"Lean back for me, my dove." He said, gently pushing your shoulders back so you were half lying against the back of the couch.

You watched him sink down in front of you, his hands pulling your legs apart. He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and you lifted your hips to allow him room to shimmy the fabric down your legs. Your face flushed slightly, suddenly feeling bare and vulnerable. Regulus began to kiss his way up your legs, starting at your knees and making his way upward to your core, where his thumb was already rubbing slow circles against your clit, spreading your wetness around.

You inhaled sharply as he sucked the tender flesh of your inner thigh into his mouth, sure to leave a mark behind. His gaze flicked up to you, full of desire. "Do you want me to keep going?" He asked, waiting for you to pant out a 'yes' before continuing. He replaced his thumb with his mouth and you swore you'd never felt anything so good.

A small whimper left your mouth as he pushed a finger into your entrance, keeping his mouth locked on your clit, sucking it harshly before releasing it to lick it gently over and over.

He began to increase his pace, flicking his tongue over your core faster and faster until you were shaking under his touch. Meanwhile, he added a second finger to your pussy, curling them up into your center, hitting that sweet spot and making you cry out again.

Your hands were tangled in his hair and you bucked your hips up into his mouth, meeting his every thrust with one of your own.

"Regulus," you gasped, "Regulus, 'm gonna come."

He was unrelenting, continuing to lick and kiss and suck at you until your orgasm washed over you, more powerful than any pleasure you'd ever felt before.

When at last Regulus pulled away, you were a mess before him. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to taste you." He whispered, looking up at you from his position between your thighs.

[writingsforwinter]

Writing advice to a young poet? What's your process like?

I always love messages like this because I started writing when I was 17 and in high school! :)

This is basically what my process usually looks like. Obviously this is just my personal process and all/some of it may not work for everyone! It's not "the right way" to write, just my way. In my opinion, whatever way you write is "right." Tripped myself up writing that!

Open up a link to one of my favorite literary journals or favorite poets and skim through some of the pieces to "warm up" and get my ideas flowing. Some of my favorite journals and sites to skim are Muzzle Magazine and the Academy of American Poets. Some of my favorite authors whose works I read to "warm up" are Brynn Saito, Alex Dimitrov, Robert Wood Lynn, and Marie Howe.

Think of a specific subject I want to write about, usually sparked by a specific interesting fact, historical or current event, figure from mythology, or, because I like writing about dark things, trauma.

Write the title. I hardly ever name my poems after writing them; I almost always title them first.

Begin crafting the poem.

As I write the lines of the poem, other fragments of lines, or simply single words or objects, will pop into my head simultaneously. For example, I might be in the middle of writing a poem, and the objects "pear," "moon," "vase," and "amulet" will pop into my head, as well as partial phrases. I immediately write/type these out at the bottom of the partially-finished poem and continue writing, gradually incorporating all or almost all of the half-finished lines and words. I do this because I always know there's a reason why those lines or words came into my head - I know they must hold special significance to me somehow, and I want to include them and jot them down before I forget them.

When I complete the poem, I reread and edit as needed, though I don't like editing so I usually just stick to fixing any typos.

As far as general writing advice, I think it's really important to remember that the number of social media followers/readers you might have does not speak to your value as a poet. You are a poet if you say you are. You don't have to have thousands of followers or be retweeted/screenshotted/shared by famous authors or celebrities to be a poet. You already are one.

Also, I submit to literary journals regularly. If I have a batch of 3-5 poems, I'll submit them to a journal. I also occasionally submit to contests. NewPages is a fantastic website with continually-updated calls for submissions and contests. Also, NewPages has a guide to publications for young writers! I've used NewPages as a resource so many times I've lost count.

You might also seek out local or online writing workshops too. I don't participate in too many of those, but I have participated in writing workshops for survivors of violence, which I've enjoyed. I also go to local poetry/author readings at bookstores and coffee shops every once in awhile - would recommend that too for inspiration! And if in-person events aren't accessible to you, I'm sure you can find some online.

If there's a literary journal at your school, if you attend school, you might check it out. Sometimes you can join the staff of these journals as an editor or at least submit your work there. I think it's a great opportunity. I was a staff member on my high school's literary journal and most recently in the last year on my graduate school's mental health literary journal.

Finally....read poetry! Reading others' work is one of my best mechanisms for improvement as a writer.

Over the years I've also tagged/gathered writing advice questions I've received on my blog, so if you like, you can scroll through any of my 23 pages of writing advice answers too.

I hope this helps! :) Good luck! I'm rooting for you!

[lorebite]

𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 | 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: 18+ minors dni. cursing. fem/afab reader. suggestive content (teasing, dirty talk, exhibitionism, mild degradation, use of piercings in sexual context, nipple play, grinding, cunnilingus, handjob, begging, tiny bit of cum eating, cocky dom to sweet sub back to cocky dom Jason). strangers to more. punk/badboy!Jason. mentions of Jason having tattoos and piercings.

The party became much more interesting when you saw him walking in.

He was a stranger. At least, not a man you had yet met in this lifetime. And by the simple way he carried himself – the ostentatious sway of his shoulders and his overtly confident gait – every eye in the room turned to him and so did yours.

Your gaze roved his strong build; the biker jacket draped over his white shirt and the unmistakable imprint of piercings through it. Silver chains wound his waist, the numerous loops cascading down his thighs over his dark stonewashed jeans. When his inked hand raked through his already combed back fringe, your eyes caught the small plugs in his ears. God, he looked delicious. Like a tasty bite of sin for you to swallow in one gulp.

Quite frankly put, you were already picturing yourself sinking your teeth into those thick fleshy thighs as soon as he was close to invade your periphery. And by then, his eyes were on you as well. You arched a brow and held his gaze, neither refusing to be the first to break away; even as the other partygoers crossed past your line of sight, your eyes remained locked tight on his.

The air began to crackle as he pushed off of the wall he was leaning on to come shouldering past the crowd and across the room to you. It throbbed with his heat, his showy arrogance, as he strutted languidly towards you with a hand in his pocket; taking his time to drink you in before he was close enough to have to start talking.

And the closer he got, it seemed the rest of the room fell behind a thick curtain, swallowing the obnoxious pulse of the music and the endless hum of chatter and everything else. It all parted for him like the Red Sea; only here, he was bringing the deadly waves to bring you to your knees. You could very well feel it coming.   

Anybody else and his shameless self-importance would put them right off. But not you. You fed off of it. As you turned with the drink in your hand and your coy smirk to face him, your eyes wandered up and down his form once again as though searching for weak spots in an opponent. And you already had a few ideas.

Soon you were having a conversation, necks close and voices hushed. Your eyes then could only follow the glint of metal rolling inside his mouth.

Jason, you came to learn his name, loved to play with his tongue. Especially, since knowing he had more than half of your attention on his mouth. He danced it behind his teeth, the silver barbell glistening with it as he spoke and, more often than not, grinned cockily at you. And when your eyes eventually ventured down his body, your mouth watered at the sight of his piercings poking through the thin fabric of his shirt.

That alone managed to spark something within you – a yearning heat smearing with slick between your thighs; and it only made you close the distance between you more until your chest was brushing lightly against his. Jason caught onto your intention immediately, eyes glimmering mischievously as he cocked his head, his smirk broadening.

“You’re a bold little thing, aren’t you, sweetheart? Don’t tell me you like the attention.” He motioned vaguely with his head at the bustling crowd inside the room.

You lowered your chin, eyes peering up at him from beneath your lashes as your fingers glided coyly up his chest, barely skimming past the piercing under his shirt. You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched in his throat and your smile only widened in response.

“Trust me, I can fuck you right here and make you beg for me in front of everyone.”

He scoffed, though his teasing smirk lingered on his lips. “You’re gonna make me beg?”

“Loudly,” your own lips reflected the upturn of his. “Very, very loudly.”

He cocked a brow as your hand slid between your bodies and palmed him gently over his jeans. His lip rolled back between his teeth, though his eyes burned with intensity and his hips bucked ever so gently into your touch.

His strangled moan caressed over your face with a sharp high-pitched gasp, fingers finding purchase on your waist and digging in your skin almost painfully. Your lips were so close to his, yet you refused to kiss him and so, he sought futilely after you on his own; his slack lips fluttering slowly as he tried to capture them against yours but to no avail.

He writhed slightly against you, face contorting with plea and mouth parting further as your hand squeezed him gently. His fingers gripped you more tightly and you gritted your teeth, raising another hand to wrap around his throat.

“Just – fuck – kiss me. Please just one kiss – jusmhm—”

Your lips were on his before he could finish, swallowing his whimper into your mouth. Your back thudded the wall behind you as his hand shoved your shoulder, his feverish body pressing back to yours only an instance later, locking his legs between yours.

You lifted your thigh and Jason wasted no time to begin grinding himself on it, grunting heatedly against your lips as his palms braced on the wall by your head to steady his already trembling legs.

Your hand slid underneath his shirt, soft fingertips tracing the hard lines of his muscles up to his chest. He gasped, body jolting with a shock of pleasure as your thumb barely brushed over his hard nipple. A groan scratched his throat when your nail tugged lightly on his piercing. You cooed mockingly at him.

“Aw, are you sensitive, baby?”

He whined breathlessly and you giggled, your nails pulling more at his nipple until he moaned louder and his head lolled back for the air to swallow the pathetic noise. Your tongue lapped lightly at the corner of his mouth, lips then pressing a kiss before they trailed down along his neck where your hot breaths woke goosebumps on his skin.

“Do you want me to touch you?” He nodded fervently, biting his lip as your teeth scraped across the length of his neck and a moan bubbled up his throat. “Say it—”

Jason’s eyes darted around, occasionally finding another pair that were pinned to him, pinned to you. You two were putting quite the show for them – and who knew what ignited this? That if this were only the veil of intoxication weighing heavy on the collective inhibition of the room that it moved as you both moved; hungry eyes devouring every little act, every little word or noise or anything you had to offer. And Jason found himself growing harder just as he felt the eyes bore into his body. And with it, swelled his desperation for your body.

But he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

He pawed at you, fingers frantic on your skin as he pushed them under the hem of your tight skirt, their pads toying just a few touches shy of the heat between your thighs.

You gasped at the sudden burst of confidence in his touch, your hips bucking unwittingly against his as your head pushed back to the wall. He buried his face in your neck, his lips leaving a trail of wet open-mouthed kisses up to your ear before they sucked your earlobe between them.

“You were saying?”

You growled in frustration, lifting a hand to push it in between you until Jason caught your wrist and pinned it by your head to the wall, reading into your intention before you could act on it. He tutted under your ear, his low giggle making your skin crawl with goosebumps.

“Bad, bad girl. Wrong answer.”

He kicked your feet apart and shoved his knee between yours, lifting it until the curve of it grazed against your wet heat. A quivery sigh fled past your lips, roiling then with a soft whimper before you could hold from it. Jason chuckled again and began grinding you against his knee.

“That’s more like it, baby,” he traced a wet stripe of his tongue along the side of your face, his uneven breaths leaving a cold trail in their wake on your skin. “Now moan louder for me. Let everyone hear how weak and pathetic I’m making you right now.”

You sank your fingers in his hair and tugged, rousing a low growl from the man that almost made your knees give out. You squirmed, fighting for any ounce of control to take back. Jason’s lips pressed to the ridge of your jaw, his fingers weaving with yours on the wall.

“Don’t resist it, pretty girl. Let me take care of you. I bet you want that, too, don’t you?” Your lips quivered with a whimper and your face prickled with the cold wash of embarrassment as your body betrayed your intention to take back your control over him. He snickered teasingly. “I know you do. You want a big bad guy like me to give you the best fuck of your life. So fucking adorable, baby. You’re so desperate you let a stranger touch you like this? But guess today’s your lucky day. Cos I looove naughty girls like you.”

The way he moaned longingly in your ear made you shudder. You gasped and he only breathed out another dark chuckle to tease you with. He hummed playfully against your skin.

“It’s okay, baby. I ain’t gonna tell anyone how I beat you at your own game so damn easily. You can be all cute and pathetic just for me.” His lips began moving back down your neck, heated bites and kisses left in a wet trail along your sensitive skin. “Is that what you want? Hmm? You wanna be my good girl? My good pathetic little girl.”

“Oh, fuck it, I do. So fucking bad.”

He huffed a laugh. “And you wanted to make me beg for it.”

You shoved his shoulder and he giggled, lifting his head to kiss you softly on the lips. His twinkling eyes peered into yours as he leaned back to grin at you, his lip hooked between his teeth.

“Let’s get the hell outta here.”

No sooner the words were out of his mouth, his hand clasped around yours and yanked you away with him in search for an empty room. You eventually ended up upstairs in someone’s bedroom and on your back on the bed, watching him as he frantically shrugged off his jacket to the floor.

Jason caged your body with his, his hands quickly returning upon your skin to undo you slowly from the confines of your dress. Once the article was thrown across the floor, he stopped to marvel at you; at the way your skin glowed in the low light and your chest heaved unevenly, and at the visible goosebumps creeping across your body.

His eyes, now fallen on your lace panties, gleamed with burning greed. He wet his lips and crawled down on the bed until his face was hovering over your still clothed pussy.

“Fuck, I gotta taste you,” he glanced back up at you, face distorted with a needy look. “Please, baby? Will you let me eat your pretty fucking pussy? I promise I’ll make you feel so damn good.”

“Jesus, just – just fucking do it!”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

His thumbs slipped under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down over your legs before they too went to join your dress on the floor. He curled his hands around your thighs and pulled them apart, face slowly lowering into your sex.

His tongue was first to claim you, sitting warm and flat against your clit before he made a long upward stroke. You drew a shaky breath, fingers wringing the bedsheets beneath you, your head pushing back on the mattress.

Jason moaned deliriously, lips cupping around your sensitive bud to suck it noisily into his mouth before his tongue fluttered rapidly over it; the pattern of his mouth continuing in a loop over and over until your loud whines filled the room.

Once you felt the foreign yet much welcomed pressure of his piercing on your clit, you writhed and cried out, your fingers seeking the soft mess of his hair between your legs.

“That’s it. Moan for me, baby. Mmm, fuck, you taste so fucking good.” He goaded, voice breathless, tone deep and urgent. “Come on. Let yourself go for me. You can do it. Attagirl.”

You were already tittering on the edge; his words and skilled mouth propelling you in the face of your climax within short few minutes. Air left you in a string of shallow rapid gasps, riding on the wave of your soft whimpers as pleasure built quickly to a scorching peak within your core. He had barely raised a finger to sink into your folds before you fell apart right there with a shuddering moan.

Jason peppered your pussy and your thighs with gentle kisses as you came down, the ceiling slowly spinning overhead, your vision specked with winking whites. You took large calming gulps of air, your hand finally loosening on his roots before it fell limp at your side on the bed.

When you looked down at the man, he grinned at you, face flushed and coated with your arousal. He let a hand down to the front of his jeans to palm himself, the smug look on his face then giving into one of need as he groaned heatedly. You sat halfway up on your elbow, sliding another hand between you to toy with the hem of his shirt.

“My turn now.”

He stretched his arms over his head as you tugged his shirt off. You took a moment to take him all in; his inked smooth skin, glowing and tempting to take on your tongue, the glint of his piercings and his permanently hardened nipples. Then you bit your lip and met his eyes again, a mischievous smile playing across your face.

Jason’s blush deepened as your eyes practically gobbled him up, his own eyes avoiding yours, suddenly growing bashful. You held the side of his face, your thumb swiping over his lip and the smear of slick glistening on the kiss-swollen bit of flesh. You pulled him in for another kiss before you pushed him down on the bed where you had lain only instances ago and straddled his waist.

Your mouth traversed the span of his face, his neck and down to his chest. He trembled with anticipation, fingers twitching at his sides on the bed, knowing fully well where you were next headed to as your lips drew closer to one of his nipples. He flinched with a shrill moan as your mouth closed around it, back arching and his hand flying to bury itself in your hair.

You smiled, tugging on his piercing with your teeth and he whined again, his body writhing uncontrollably underneath you, his fingers flexing in your hair and tightening their grip on your roots. You took his nipple between your teeth and pulled, raising your head to look at him before you let go of it and made him yelp.

“God, you’re so easy. Is that all it takes to make such a mess out of you?”

He didn’t respond. Or rather, his attempt to bark back at you died right in his throat as you immediately turned your attention to his unattended nipple. Then he began squirming again, his voice breaking into a helpless sob of moan.

You sucked and pulled and drew more defeated sharp noises from his lips. He was shaking by the time you leaned away to admire your work – the hot mess of a man laying beneath you.

He stared up at you with round eyes, mouth open and panting. You could feel how hard he was even through the thick fabric of his jeans, your hips rocking slowly back and forth against his to coax more whines from him and you did. He was shamelessly loud and it made that familiar grab of heat tickle its way down to your core again.

“Oh, my fu–touch me. Just—fuck—I need you. I—mhm, shit—I’m so fucking hard for you it hurts. It fucking hurts, baby—”

You shushed him gently and he sobbed again, chest hitching with the broken sound. You slowly unclasped his belt and slid his jeans down. His legs were already spread open and ready for you, his hard bulge straining against the wet spot in his boxers. They were next to be removed and you smiled as Jason groaned with satisfaction when his cock freed and hit his stomach softly.

His fingers dug into his own thighs as you patiently watched him unravel before you. His eyes pleaded you to do something – anything as his cock sat heavy and neglected between you. He whimpered in protest, his waist writhing and hips bucking futilely into the air.

“Fuck, (Y/N). Please, baby. Please.”

You grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Jason’s frustrated groan cut into a sharp wavering gasp as your hand wound around his cock, shivering at the cold touch of your fingers on his fevered skin. He pushed his head back against the bed, eyes shut tight and jaw clenched as he growled.

“Mmm, fuck, yes.” He panted. “Yesyesyes!”

His moans were already breathless and high when you finally began gliding your fist along his length. He clung tightly to the bedsheets, neck arched and mouth parted to release erratic gasps and whimpers into the air. He jerked his hips, practically fucking himself into your fist.

You were soon speeding up on his cock and with it, the string of moans and curses from his tongue. He shook his head fervently, eyes blown wide open as he lifted his head to look at you.

“No, no, slow down. Fuck. Please slow down. I’m gonna cum if you keep going like that.”

But you didn’t heed. Smirking, your hand continued its pace and firm grip around him until he was whining in defeat. He dropped his head back down on the mattress, squirming even more as he stalked closer and closer to his orgasm, his moans now turned into short needy cries.

“Oh, god! I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—”

But the vicious downpour of pleasure didn’t let him finish before he came under you, voice all noise and no word. He mewled, weak and worn as his warm cum oozed down through your fingers.

You removed your hand, lifting two fingers to your lips to taste the salty slick with a showy flick of your tongue. Jason nearly came again at the sight, closing his eyes to moan breathlessly before they opened to lock upon yours with a new found glimmering hunger.

He sat up, lips drawing close to your grinning ones as he glared at you with heated need, jaw becoming visibly clenched. You cocked your head, eyes turning round with feigned innocence, though the wolfish smile on your face made it difficult to sell the look.

“What?” You crooned, pumping a soaked finger into your mouth before releasing it with an exaggerated pop. “What’s wrong?”

Jason shoved you back down on the bed and you gasped, though you bit your lip as felt his still hard cock against your thigh.  

“I’m gonna fuck you into this mattress right now and you’re gonna be a good fucking girl for me and take it. Am I understood?”

Your smile widened. “Yes, sir.”

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