#and that's not counting the potential stuff. and i really need to finish that outline... ack so much to do

[sainteclectic]

ask me about headcanons I won't bite :-)

[scar-crossedlvrs]

Leon S. Kennedy - Lay On Hands

Summary: Successful in his rescue attempt, Leon and Ashley travel back to the states but before they can go home one thing stands in their way. The post-mission hospital visit.

A/N: hi wow um it’s been a while. this was a request i got all the way in june that i’ve been sitting on throughout my writer’s block. i’m still not very confident right now, but I hope you guys like this fluffy mess. the title's a really lame d&d reference.

rly wanna thank @roseglazedlens for helping me outline the ending of this fic. i love her to death please go check her out, she's got some really cool stuff coming up.

ngl this was a relief to finish up and put out there~. I'm very sorry to keep the lovely anon that requested this waiting.

cw for: fluff! gn!nurse!reader, inaccurate nurse portrayal probably, one whole kiss

wc: 2.2k

gentle reminder that all of my works sfw or not are intended for 18+ audiences.

The inbox is open for requests.

“I cannot wait to get off this thing.” 

The sound of Ashley’s voice chitters in his ear, slightly distorted in the staticky headset as suddenly, her hand closes firm around his forearm, ripping him from his thoughts. 

“Hm?” a hum of acknowledgement crackles back towards her as tired eyes turn from the cityscape below to the blonde girl who had suddenly come to life beside him.

“You’re telling me you weren’t paying attention?” her head tilts, gentle smile blooming on her features as she meets his gaze. “We’re landing soon, home this time.” 

Managing a half cocked smile and a huff of a laugh, Leon shook his head while shifting his attention towards her. Stiff joints groan in protest at the ever so slight movement. The hours of inactivity after days of absolutely no rest in the days prior left his body far more sore than he’d like to admit to. 

“Left that up to you. Thought you’d want some practice.” he quipped, trying to keep his energy high for Ashley’s sake despite the screaming ache that radiated deep into his bones.

“Right, gotta be tip top shape if I’m going to be your replacement.”

She giggles, and he lets out another soft chuckle, pleased enough with her reaction. “Just tell me when we’re on solid ground again.” 

“Sure. You can count on me, Leon.”

-

Feet connect with the solid asphalt surface of the hospital’s helipad, and Leon lets out an audible sigh of relief before reaching a hand out to help the young woman off the helicopter. He’s careful, right hand in hers while the other braces her upper arm to make sure that she makes it off of the aircraft without issue. 

“You okay?” The familiar question slips from him as Ashley’s hand leaves his, the hand below her shoulder hovering for a moment longer before dropping heavy to his side.

“I’m good.” She nods, brushing her hands over her disheveled clothing. “Just ready to go home.”

“You’re almost there.”

Before either of them could say any more, they’re surrounded by the flurry of suits that had been waiting for the chopper to touch down. Muscle memory takes over as he steps in front of the girl, every instinct in his body telling him to protect her despite the miserable state he was in. He scans the faces as they approach, brows furrowing as he tenses, one arm raised to cage her behind him and the other hovering over the pistol strapped to his thigh. Ready for anything.

“Welcome back Agent Kennedy, Miss Graham.”

Shoulders stoop slightly and tense muscles relax, the arm he had raised to shield the younger woman from potential danger dropping to his side as he recognized the voice. 

“Hunnigan.” he nods, eyes turning up to meet hers. 

There’s no longer a need for the established codenames now that they’re on home soil, however being addressed as ‘Agent’ made him far prefer the comfort of condor. However, it was nice to put a face to the disembodied voice feeding him information through the earpiece he had shed once in the safety of the chopper.

“Miss Graham if you would come with me.” One of the secret servicemen took hold of Ashley’s arm now that Leon had backed down. “We’ll get you checked in and then you can see your father.” 

Green eyes flicker in excitement before flying in Leon’s direction, waiting for his instruction. A showcase of the trust she had placed in him over the duration of their time together. 

“Go.” he met her inquisition with a nod, giving her the permission she was seeking. 

She nods in turn, fingers curling around the silver pendant dangling from her neck as she hesitates for a moment. 

“Thanks, Leon.”

Before he could answer, an arm is hooked around her shoulders, leading her rather hurriedly into the depths of the hospital with the other two secret service members and leaving him alone with Hunnigan. She quickly began dumping information on him, ushering him to follow her off the windy rooftop and into the hospital himself. 

He didn’t have the energy to listen to everything she was saying, picking up only pieces here and there. Something about mission debriefing in the afternoon ( something he dreaded simply due to the fact he’d have to wear that crumpled suit in the bottom of his closet he hated so badly ), a mess of updates about the island’s explosion, vague words of thanks from President Graham and …..

“You and Ashley are going to be staying overnight, just to make sure there’s no lasting effect from the plaga.”

That was the last thing Hunnigan spoke as she ushered him into an empty examination room, the door closing quietly behind him.

-

The door to the exam room creaked open just as he finished unclipping the utility belt from his waist. Leon unceremoniously dropped the belt onto the pile of gear he had already collected in one of the spare chairs in the corner of the room, not quite ready to break the quiet lull and stream of thoughts that he had found comfort in during the wait.

“Getting comfortable Mr. Kennedy?” 

His eyes snap to the closing door to the sudden appearance in the doorway.

You.

Lively eyes glitter in amusement as you watch him shed his gear, presence lighting up the room almost immediately, melting away some of the tiredness that dared to try and consume him whole.

“Or should I say, Special Agent Kennedy?”

Lips pull into a displeased frown. That title again, even in that sugar sweet tone you always seemed to use with him it rubbed him the wrong way. He hated how it sounded in general, but coming from you seemed to make it sting. 

“Just Leon’s fine.” 

 “I know.” Your eyes slip to the paperwork attached to the clipboard in your hands, and a small smile appears on your face. “You’ve told me that before.”

“Consider it a reminder.” His words are growing more  playful than pointed now.

“Just being professional.”

The slight frown fades from his lips as he takes in the curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes as you tease him. Warm, familiar. It helped to put him at ease far too often in the bland white hellscape of the hospital he had found himself in far too many times over the past few years. After every too-intense training session or grueling mission, you were there with caring hands and a day-brightening smile that he couldn’t help but pretend belonged solely to him. 

And suddenly he was reminded how that look was the last thing he pictured in that chamber as Ashley was forced against her will to turn his own gun on himself, and again when he nearly succumbed to the will of the parasite. Each and every single time he danced too close to death in the cold hell he had found himself in during his time in Spain, his thoughts flickered back to you and how much he wanted to make his way back home and into your care despite everything. 

And now that he was here, everything didn’t seem quite so bad. 

“You know the drill, ‘cmon.” Your words cut through the quiet, patting the paper-covered padding of the examination table. “Up on the table.”

“You’re the boss.”

Leon nods, stiff shoulders pulling into a shrug as he backs up to the table. He offers you a fleeting half-smile before hoisting himself up and settling on the cold, uncomfortable surface with a dramatic sigh. The padding did nothing but irritate the sore ache already plaguing the base of his spine and he hunches slightly.

“Gonna be honest, Leon.” You take a moment to note his condition, leaning against the counter with furrowed brows. He shifts slightly under your warm gaze, suddenly too conscious of the way you seemed to be looking over him. 

“You look like shit.”

“Ouch.” He chuckled, head shaking ever so slightly as his body released the tension that had built up during the silence. “Is that a professional opinion?”

“Just a friendly observation.” 

“I’d hate to be your enemy.” 

Your brow arches, turning away to flop the clipboard down onto the counter with a clatter as you’re suddenly more interested in the aforementioned patient paperwork again. 

A pitiful attempt to hide the amusement dancing behind your eyes. He takes notice, lips curling upwards as he shifts, elbows resting on his knees to lean forward as a small surge of pride swells in his chest at the way your head shakes as you try and hide your reaction.

His triumph is short-lived however, as you compose yourself and take one last glance at the provided information. As you turn towards him, Leon straightens back up and watches as your hands absentmindedly move to the stethoscope draped around your neck. Fingers curling around the tubing as you take a few steps closer, attempting to look as serious as possible. 

“So, what exactly happened this time?” you question, pulling the stethoscope from around your neck. 

“Caught a nasty bug while we were in Spain, everything went to shit from there.” Leon offers a small shrug and a half smile as he speaks, certain that your documentation had everything he could tell you about the plaga already. 

This earns him an exasperated groan, and a playful thump on the shoulder. Nothing too serious, just a small jolt to his already throbbing deltoid, yet Leon clutches the spot with a dramatic whine. “Pretty sure there’s rules against abusing patients.” 

You brush off his complaints with another shake of your head. “I know about the parasite, it’s everything else I’m curious about. You’ve never been this beat up before.” 

“Hostile locals.” his words trailed off, unable to give you the whole story despite so desperately wanting to. “And others.”

“Right,” You nod, and he’s grateful that you don’t pry. “Keep your secrets, mystery man. Just let me do my job.”

“Not stopping you.” A hand raises in mock surrender as brows raise defensively.

“Good.” You clip the metal Y to your neck in one smooth motion, drawing his attention to the way it slopes into your shoulders for a moment before catching himself. 

“It’s been five minutes and I haven’t even gotten vitals because you keep distracting me.”

The drum of the stethoscope slips into the front pocket of your dark blue scrubs as you close the distance between the two of you. A gentle hand closes around the wrist of his raised arm, guiding it down as you lean past him to reach for the blood pressure cuff attached to the wall behind him. 

It wasn’t as if this was the first time you had been this close, he had gotten used to it over the years. Used to the fresh linen scent of your clothes, the warm vanilla scent of your skin and the warmth of your fingers; Leon had trained himself not to react to any of them and yet here he was, forgetting all of that as your scent filled his senses and your touch melts away any of the remaining aches.

His breath catches heavy in his throat, mind blanking completely as you work. Entranced by your practiced movements, he’s acutely aware of the way his heart hammers against his rib cage and his sudden silence. 

“That’s odd.” you murmur after a few moments. “Everything is reading normal besides your heart rate. Has it been like that for long? Could be a side effect of the parasite.” 

You’re mostly talking to yourself at this point, blissfully unaware of the effect you had on him. 

The simple act of a gentle, caring touch after one of the most taxing missions of his career sending him spiraling back to that bumbling rookie from so many years ago. Unable to form a complete, coherent sentence he simply shrugged, met with a sharp bob of your head as you turn to walk back to the counter in order to jot down your findings in his records.

The moment your fingertips left his skin, Leon could feel the cold ache creeping slowly back in as your warmth fades from his form.

Impulse kicks in this time and he moves to snag your wrist in his hand, unwilling to part with the comfort your touch brought with it. 

Wanting just a little more.

You let out a curious hum, as he pulls you back to his side, closer than you had been only moments ago. Heart thrumming in his throat, he hesitates for a moment before tugging you to meet him at eye level before leaning forward ever so slightly to close the distance between the two of you. 

Lips meet; soft, sweet and warm. He doesn’t linger more than necessary despite so desperately wanting to, just long enough to convey all the thoughts he can’t seem to form into words. 

Hoping that you understand the feelings behind the motion.

The first thing he notices when he pulls away is the pretty flush in your cheeks, the next being how tightly he’s gripping your wrist.

“Sorry.” It’s the first thing he’s able to vocalize in the aftermath of his impulsive behavior. Reluctantly, Leon releases the grip he has on you, averting his gaze ever so slightly.

“Don’t be.” 

His eyes move to meet yours, flickering to the smirk curling on your lips as you take a small step backwards. 

“Just let me finish my job, and we can talk about this later.”

taglist ( aka you interacted with this post like a month ago) :: @homicidal-slvt , @obsolescent , @daydreamrot , @navstuffs , @valsthea

please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed to this list!

[rockyroadkylers]

It's Friday night here, so I'm kicking off my weekend with a

Weekend WIP Game!

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more).

Someone tagged me to do this last time, but I just felt like doing it this time because it's been over a year and my list has changed drastically so... I guess I'm starting a fresh tag chain 😂 I don't know who created this game, but thanks to whoever did, because these are fun questions!

1. WIP List:

(in no particular order)

The Paris trip outtake (Flower Fic 'verse)

Loverboy Henry (the one where he woos Alex)

Oxford Boys

Omegaverse Rejection Sickness AU

Omegaverse Rejection Sickness AU Prequel

Single All The Way AU

Dad Alex AU

Hanahaki AU

Childhood Friends Sequel

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest?

Hanahaki AU, I think, but Dad Alex is catching up fast!

Edit: lmao, just kidding, Dad Alex AU has like 8k on Hanahaki AU so far, prose-wise. I had to check the actual word counts because I haven't looked at Hanahaki AU in a while, but I've been working on Dad Alex AU a lot lately, so that makes sense.

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest?

Hard to tell; it always is, at this point. The outline for Hanahaki AU is around 18k. Dad Alex's outline is about 10k. The sequel for It's Nice To Have A Friend is going to be long, too, but I'm nowhere near close to finished outlining that, yet. But the size of the outline doesn't necessarily indicate how long the fics themselves will be; it just means I included a lot of detail so I don't confuse myself when I get around to actually writing the scenes I have planned.

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why?

Currently, I'm really enjoying Dad Alex. It's not completely angst-free, but what angst is there is generally pretty quickly resolved, because I can't stand to draw out conflict and drama when there's a little kid involved. This AU is sort of my escape, right now; it's lighthearted and sweet, and that's exactly what I need, right now.

(I've also been enjoying writing my New Year's fic, but I literally just finished writing that, so it's not really a WIP anymore lmao)

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why?

Hanahaki 😂 it's a huge project, and so many people have been excited about it for so long, myself included, i'm worried that it won't live up to the hype that's been built up around it. Plus it's such an intense concept, sometimes I just sit and look at it like "oh my god, what the fuck" 💀 like yeah, it has a happy ending, but it takes sooo long to get there. I promise it will be worth it, though!

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

Maybe Single All The Way? Because I proposed that concept as a potential holiday fic idea and it won the poll I put out a couple months ago, and I do like it, but I ended up losing steam on it pretty quickly. I started thinking, am I doing this because I want to, or because everyone else wants me to?

It might have just been bad timing, there was some other life stuff going on around that time that kind of made me not want to work on the fic, but I haven't really looked at it since October.

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

I have a very lovely beta ( @44whispers muah 🥰) for Hanahaki AU! They also look over some of my other stuff from time to time, but most things I just edit myself lol. It's not like I don't have the time 😂

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block?

Oh, absolutely. Why do you think it's taken me this long to get started on the INTHAF sequel? Why do you think Hanahaki AU has taken this long? Why do you think I've posted three fics this year, none of which have been even remotely related to anything I was talking about beforehand? 😂

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them?

I don't think any of my WIPs have OCs yet... Alex will have an OC doctor in Hanahaki AU, of course, but I haven't picked a name for her yet because I haven't written any of her scenes. I think y'all will like her, though, she's absolutely not gonna take any of his shit.

...

oh my fucking god

ISA IS AN OC

DAD ALEX IS AN AU FOR A REASON

DO YOU EVER GET SO ATTACHED TO SOMETHING YOU'VE CREATED THAT YOU FORGET IT WASN'T PART OF THE ORIGINAL MATERIAL

I'm not editing that answer, that was a spectacular brain blip 🤣

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

I still don't really write smut 😂 My New Year's fic is probably the sexiest thing I've written, and it's all still mostly implied. But, again... that's not a WIP anymore. It's just also not posted 😅 Other than that... the Paris fic or Oxford Boys might give it a try? Dad Alex AU will have a couple scenes where Henry and Alex get intimate, but that fic mostly focuses on family. The rest are either T or G, or too far into the hurt/comfort/whump categories to get too sexy 😅 (Though, in the case of Hanahaki, that's not for lack of trying on Alex's part.)

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

Hanahaki. No question. The Rejection Sickness fics are gonna tug at your heartstrings, but they're not gonna drag it out nearly as much as Hanahaki.

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)?

Hmm... That's a good question tbh. Probably one of the longer ones, like Hanahaki or Dad Alex, but... characterization is one of the main things people compliment when they comment on my fics and there's no way to not make that sound like a flex 🤣

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

I still don't know what this means 😅

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

Hanahaki, probably. It's been a few months since I've actively worked on it, but I have not forgotten how much effort I put into that outline, lmao. That was MONTHS of work, going back and forth with my beta, working out plot holes and having sudden middle-of-the-night realizations that I had figured out a scene that had been stumping me for weeks. That 40-page outline is a thing of beauty.

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why?

Currently... Probably Dad Alex 😂 Idk why, I feel like it should probably be Hanahaki, but... 🤷‍♀️ maybe it's because Dad Alex is a little easier to write?

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs?

Maybe sometimes. Just vaguely Firstprince-shaped dreams once in a while that bear resemblance to things I write about, which makes sense because the things I write about come from my brain and so do my dreams 😂

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't?

I mean, yeah, Hanahaki AU is complicated as fuck 🤣 So many things in that fic are like... none of this would have to happen if Alex made even slightly different choices, but he's Alex, so he doesn't.

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour?

Ooh! Maybe the "Loverboy Henry" fic. That's the one where he takes Alex on a date after Alex gets stood up, and Alex thinks he's just doing it to be nice but Henry is doing everything in his power to make Alex realize that it's a real date. It's miscommunication at it's finest and it's so ridiculous because everything Henry is doing to try to woo Alex is working but Alex thinks Henry is just being a good friend.

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

A couple of them will, yes! Hanahaki AU and Rejection Sickness AU and the childhood friends sequel will all at least briefly contain outsider POVs.

Edit because I somehow missed the second half of this question: Rejection Sickness prequel will focus a lot on Oscar having to face the consequences of his actions following the divorce, mending his relationship with his kids and earning back their trust.

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs.

There's gonna be a scene in Oxford Boys where Henry has a drunk white girl "can I tell you a secret" moment and tells Alex he loves him but I haven't decided what happens the next morning 😅 Will Henry pretend he doesn't remember anything? Will he run away and ghost Alex? Will he confront his fears and talk it through? Who knows 🤷‍♀️ not me!

A tag per WIP

@affectionatelyrs, @cricketnationrise, @wordsofhoneydew, @songliili, @gay-flyboys

@anincompletelist, @gayrootvegetable, @everwitch-magiks, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

[nyoomerr]

oooo writer's meme!! tagged by @celardor12 - thank you for thinking of me! <3

How many wips do you have currently? this is a deceptively difficult question, bc i'm not sure what should actually count here. i have fics that i haven't worked on in over a year but that i do intend on finishing, as well as some heavily outlined but not actually started work on some new fics...

for the stuff that i am actively working on day by day, though, i've got 2 main WIPs! there's the multichapter fic i'm writing for my FTH donor, and then the small piece i'm putting together for the binggeyuan zine. unfortunately due to the nature of both these projects, i can't really say much about them... but i think they're both very tasty svsss treats 😌

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? the multichapter fic for sure ;A; i'm probably 75% the way done, which means i'm right at the point in writing a multichapter where i'm no longer interested in writing it and just want it to be done. i've hit this point for every multichapter i've ever written, unfortunately, and it's why most of my fics are oneshots - i just have trouble staying focused on a single idea for that long;;;

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you? i very rarely write because inspiration strikes - usually, i'm sitting down to write because i told myself i would and i know i'll feel better after having engaged in a creative/productive hobby. if inspiration 'strikes' during that time, it just looks like me writing more than i'd originally planned in that moment. outside of actively writing, inspiration striking seems to always look like me frantically trying to convince myself that i only want to talk about a potential au and i don't plan on writing it, and the discord chat that's listening to me and nodding along and waiting for when i inevitably capitulate and announce that i'm putting the au on my 'to write' list, lmao.

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different? i don't think i've consciously sought out music to listen to while writing (or reading) for the entire time i've been in this fandom, tbh 😅 sometimes i'll put on some rain sounds or study music if the ambient noise where i'm working is a bit loud, i guess?

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organized? i've talked about this a bit before, but i very much need an outline. i don't mind changing the plan and diverging from my outline if a scene is more naturally heading in a different direction, but then i need to take a break and re-do the outline to match the new direction before i write anymore.

i'm too shy to actually tag people 🙈🙈 so if you want to do this, please take this as an invitation to do so! gently and invisibly tagging every writer in this fandom ...

[nerves-nebula]

if i may ask, what's your writing process like for when you create a story ?

Bad and weird. Mostly I just think about it a lot, scribble down a few basic essential plot skeleton things, and then go over them and fill them in. And I do that multiple times on occasion when I’ve got more ideas. I’ve also got like 6 docs for loose stitches. One is the actual script, one’s an outline/plot skeleton, one is backstory & world building notes, one is like character speaking quirks or something- idk I’ve lost count at this point I really only refer to like three of them

Also, unless it’s like a short comic or one shot story, I don’t finish the script. If I waited to finish loose stitches script before I started it I’d never have started at all. Already, a bunch of stuff that’s supposed to go down in part 2 & 3 have been altered since I started drawing loose stitches 2 years ago. Partially because I wasn’t sure where things would go and partially because I’ve gotten a better hold on the characters & their backstories & motives since then which changes their arcs a bit. I still don’t know how loose stitches is gonna end, but I’m getting a better idea if it every day and I just write down one potential ending.

I picked up something interesting from the author of the webcomic Sakana, which is that I need to leave space in the script for me to improvise stuff so im not horribly bored. For me, a lot of stuff is vague. I make up a lot of character designs nearly on the spot, and I allow myself to change shit around so long as the main beats are hit on. It’s all good.

Also, when it comes to comics, your script is supposed to be written however you want. Any font any format as long as it’s good for you. Mine is prose-like but very informal and with interjections to remind me of stuff (character is holding x or puts y thing down, character makes a certain face, a description of a visual I don’t want to forget)

As for the writing side of things outside of comic scripting, it’s basically the same. Write a skeleton and fill it in. Main difference is that the prose are way more formal. I really don’t consider myself a writer, even though most of my art includes dialog and storytelling. Guess I don’t think I’m good enough at writing yet? Idk. It’s probably because I consider my sister The Writer in our family. Anyway hope that’s what you wanted.

[at-thezenith]

Hey there! I'd like to learn a little more about your writing process. Feel free to give as much or as little detail as you see fit.

What do you consider to be essential for a successful writing session?

Do you like to have a certain snack or drink on hand?

Do you have to listen to a certain type of music to get in the mood or do you work better in silence?

Do you like to work in the same location every time you write or do you like to switch it up regularly?

Do you need a detailed plan of where the story is going before you can draft anything or do you prefer to jump right in and make everything up as you go along?

-with love and ✨Good Vibes✨ from a friend

hello again mysterious friend :)

1. for a good writing session, i usually think of the terry pratchett 400 words a day advice: if i get those down, i count it as a job well done. and this can be for anything im working on! but a phenomenal session means that i get maybe an entire chapter done, or i finally finish a really difficult scene i've been chipping away at.

2. i need water by me at all times. i used to go 8 hours a day at school without a single drop of water, and now if i don't have my 2 litres i get so incredibly crabby. i do like a coffee from time to time but ive learned that it does not like me as much :(. i have the biggest sweet tooth, and can be found at any given moment snacking on chocolate or fruit (sometimes both).

3. oh music is SO important to me. i have specific playlists for my wips (here is the faery children one and ola/afsara's relationship one if you're interested) that often kick start inspiration if im struggling. i actually do count it as part of the process - it helps you curate the vibes you're going for and sets the mood

4. i have worked at my desk and i will continue to work at my desk forever. on occasion if im really ill or tired ill write in bed but for the most part i have a desk for a reason !!

5. i like to think of myself as a planster. i have an outline of what i want to do, but nothing so specific that i can't make some stuff up as i go along. this latest chapter that i'm writing originally had afsara and cosmos proving their worth by fighting potential allies, but instead they are now going to speak to ola's estranged sister. funny how things work!

thank you for the questions, they were really fun to answer! i don't really think of my writing process in such depth so i enjoyed kind of analysing myself :D

[call-jupiter]

committing myself to attempting a chapter in the form of a true-crime doc for The Sycamore Tree lmfao should be fun but we’ll have to see how it goes. I like challenging myself and trying my hand at a variety of writing styles and this fic being my first rookie fic AND being as long and as… involved… as it is makes it a good sandbox for some experimentation. might scrap it if it pisses me off but the attempt will be made. I already know exactly what ground it’s gonna cover and everything so I’m looking forward to putting those chapters in proper writing (not just an outline) so I can really get to work on this one knowing fully how the relevant chapters before it panned out. it’s planned and all but I need to actually finish the chapters first bc I’m not… always great at following my own outlines. lol.

since I’ve been trying to flesh it out with subplots and side action and new characters and bottle chapters and things my outline has come out feeling structured very much like a season of television. so I thought it’d be cool to try and take one of the show’s unique episode formats and incorporate it in. turning Sycamore into something of like a… what-if for s5 on the whole rather than just a canon divergence that happens to start in s5? like I want it to be Large Scale. if my readers and I are committing to 40 chapters that range from 7-10k words each, I might as well use that space to its full potential.

I’m rambling. but what y’all are gonna learn about me the more and more active I get in the fanfic scene for this show is that there’s nothing I love more than using my socmed platforms to pontificate my little fic ideas instead of making private notes. do it on my twt all the time for bbc merlin bc that’s the place I promo those works. tumblr’s become a bit of a home base for my rookie content (which is just Sycamore rn but hopefully more in the future since I’m enjoying creating this one so much). that means these random little musings about potential fics or directions for those wips are mostly gonna land here. feel free to ignore them. or, hell, if I post some off-hand concept that you like go ahead and lift it for your own works. I think that’s why I like making notes this way tbh bc then if an idea is dead-on-arrival for me it could theoretically find life in the hands of another writer who came across it. like paying it forward or whatever but in fic prompts. inspiring myself and hopefully other writers in the process—since I know coming up w an idea is half the battle. might be a bit presumptuous but it’s like if I do it this way maybe I can make that part a bit easier on my future self or on someone else. idk.

anyway. love y’all a lot. like a lot a lot. the support is still mind-blowing to me. I don’t think I’ll ever quite wrap my head around it. very surreal. so hopefully you can bear w me and my aimless posts like this and my writing experiments that may or may not succeed. I’m so proud of this work so far but it’s such new territory for me and it really feels like it’s asking a lot of the audience to stick w it since it’s… so much. like I want the diversions from the main arc to feel natural and engaging. it’s difficult tho bc I’m not a professional or whatever. I’m not even someone w an english/writing/literature background or something. I’m just a pharmacology student writing some silly little fanfiction in my spare time.

what I mean to say is that I’m trying my damnedest to make it worth your time to read it all. even the parts that aren’t chenford or aren’t connected to the main plot. like they’re there bc I feel like it adds to the experience not bc I’m trying to pad the length. and ik that in my mind but sometimes I see the current word count or my projections for the final word count based on the average of the finished chapters and I question how it comes off. like I worry a bit that adding stuff like that could seem superfluous even tho it’s not my intention. I don’t want Sycamore to be long for the sake of being long. I want it to be long so it can feel like a whole universe. like a highly fictionalized thing still grounded somewhat in reality. not just a one-track story to get characters straight from point A to point B. you know?

idk what I’m saying anymore but. it all makes sense in my head. I just have so many thoughts about this work and I’m also just so excited to write it and publish it and let you see it but it’s very slow-going bc I want it to be as good as possible.

anyway. weird little draft note thing over. there was a point to this somewhere but I definitely lost it midway. lmfao. this is what happens when I forget to take my adhd meds and can’t focus enough to actually write but still want to feel like I’m making progress. whoops.

[miekasa]

bad romance

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genres and warnings: friends with benefits au, friends to lovers au (well i guess that’s open for interpretation lmao), modern au—college au?, explicit smut, mentioned/implied virginity

+ summary: friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school is probably a bad idea. friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school who you’ve also been in love with for the past seven years—all for the purpose of her gaining ‘experience’ so she’s not nervous to do it with some other guy she has a crush on—is probably a really bad idea. levi ackerman is not known to make great decisions.

+ word count: 3.5k

+ notes: truth be told, i don’t even know if i like this; i took this from an outline/draft of a series i’d planned but know i’ll never complete. it’s kind of unedited too heh, also if you’re a minor pls do not interact 

Levi doesn’t think anything of it when he finds you on his doorstep on a rainy Saturday evening. It’s very much like you to show up unannounced and attempt to drag him into whatever activity you want to do that day. He’s fairly certain that Hange picked that up from you. Someone should tell her that it doesn’t work so well unless it’s you tugging on his arm sleeve and interrupting his otherwise peaceful evening. 

So, for a while, everything is normal. You make fun of him for his use of, admittedly overpriced, organic butter when he toasts you a bagel; he makes jabs at you shuffling around his apartment like a semi-wet chihuahua, and all is right with the world.

Until it’s not. Because half-way into whatever stand-up comedy Netflix special you’d persuaded him into watching with you, Levi’s had enough of your nervous ticking. He doesn’t know if you think that he wouldn’t notice, but he does. And he knows it’s not the result of you still being wet or cold from the rain, seeing as you’ve long since dried off and warmed up. 

You’re focused on the show (ironically, focused to a point of distraction), you’ve been twiddling your fingers since it started, and you’ve been fidgety since you stepped foot into his house. Quite frankly, he finds it insulting that you think he wouldn’t know something’s up by now.

So, he bends his knee, turns his body towards yours, lifts his elbow to rest atop the edge of the soft, and presses his cheek into his palm: “Alright, spit it out.”

“Huh?—What do you mean?” You look at him with wide, startled eyes. He looks back at you with unamused, expecting ones.

You crack a nervous smile, attempting to laugh off his command as incredulous, but instead, your voice comes out in what sounds like a pathetic attempt to cover up a lie—probably because it is, “What? Can’t I spend sometime with my favorite, surly psychology student?”

Levi scoffs at your batting eyelashes. The look he throws you seems to do the trick as you drop your facade with a sigh and shift yourself to face him on the couch too, your bent knees almost touching.

“Alright, fine, you got me,” you sigh, hands resting in your lap, “You, um... you know how you said you’d help me with, like, uh... sex and stuff?”

Levi raises an eyebrow. Of course he does. He watches as your eyes dart around the room waiting for his response. It’s cute as heck, and if the topic of conversation at hand weren’t about to get so compromising, he’d have probably teased you about it.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well… okay, so, you remember Jean, right? The guy I told you about?”

Levi hums. Yeah, he remembers Jean, but only because you can’t seem to shutup about him, not because he’s particularly memorable otherwise. He seems to be kind of a prick and a huge idiot, if you asked Levi; but, that’s kind of his default impression of most people. 

“Jean and I hung out yesterday, and it was normal, you know? We just talked and ordered food and watched a movie,” you rub your palms along the fabric of your yoga pants—another nervous tick he’s been observing, “I don’t know if it was a date or not, because he didn’t say it was, and I don’t want to assume, but Marco keeps saying it was, and that Jean wants to actually ask me out.”

Levi blinks. “And?”

“And if he does ask me out—or even if he just… I don’t know, wants to try something the next time we hang out, I don’t want to look like a complete idiot!”

He refrains from letting a noticeable grimace take over his features; and washes away the unsettling feeling in his stomach with a nonchalant comment, “I doubt he’ll try anything on your first date.”

“But what if it’s not a date! People hang out just to hook up all the time.”

“I thought you wanted to date him?” Levi questions, but his it comes out as more of a deadpan statement.

“I do,” you answer, your response a little delayed and drawn out, “But, I wouldn’t mind just sleeping with him, either.”

“Bold statement from someone who’s never slept with anyone before.”

“Have I told you today that you’re an asshole?” you roll your eyes at him, “Come on, Levi, you know what it’s like to just want someone, but not want them, don’t you? You’ve had one night stands before.”

That’s true, Levi knows it, but it’s different. He wasn’t actively seeking advice from his friends about how to pursue and potentially please his one night stands because none of that mattered—well, the pleasing part, probably, but not the pursuit, or the feelings that came with it. Besides, Levi hasn’t felt the desire for any of that in a long time.

“That’s not the same,” he responds, trying to dismiss the muddy feelings crawling up his throat, “Look, if your Jean guy gets horny when you’re hanging out, just make out with him—make him jizz his pants or something.”

“That’s terrible advice,” you frown, “Plus, he’s probably done that with a million other girls.”

“Probably. Sex tends to repeat a few basic actions here and there.”

“For a psychology student, you sure are a terrible makeshift therapist, do you know that?”

“That’s not even the kind of psychology I study, never mind that I never asked to be your therapist.”

Levi takes great amusement in your huffing and the frustrated pout settling into your features, though he does his best to not let his own smile shine through. It’s probably futile; you can probably see through his facade, anyways.

“I just don’t want to bore him, Levi.”

Any trace of his smile vanishes as those words leave your mouth. Levi doesn’t retain much about this Jean guy you keep going on about, and he doesn’t care to in all honesty—but maybe if he did, he could understand why you’re so hellbent on pleasing the kid.

Levi doesn’t like it, not one single bit. His own feelings for you aside, he doesn’t like how Jean has managed to worm his way into your head and make you think that he’s deserving of any kind of affection from you, whether it be platonic, romantic, or sexual. Because he isn’t; Levi might not know him, but he knows that much. 

Still, he sympathizes with you. He understands the pressure of navigating dating and hookup culture, especially in a university setting; never mind the additional expectations set on you as a girl. It’s shitty, all of it; the stupid feelings, the sense of uncertainty, the dumb-ass college pricks. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that. 

“You won’t,” is Levi’s simpler response, “Just don’t crush his dick in the process.”

“I wouldn’t do that, fuck you.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve never been the most coordinated person in the world,” he taunts, “If that’s what you came here today to ask me to help you with, it’s fine.”

“Really?—I mean, okay, I know we said that’s okay, and stuff, but I didn’t know if—well I don’t know what’s on the table or not? I do want to do that with you, but I also wanted to know if we could do… more? But I didn’t want to ask for too much and make you uncomfortable! Do we need a lesson-plan of sorts, because I can make—”

“You’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Stalling,” Levi tells you, “You know, how when you get all nervous and ramble, then run out of breath or things to say, then get super quiet, and let the conversation die and be awkward again.”

You throw daggers his way with your eyes, and Levi has the audacity to smirk. “Forgive me, it’s not every day I ask my best friend if I can suck his dick for practice.”

“You can,” Levi replies, a little too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “If you want. I don’t mind. As for a lesson plan, that’s weird as shit, so don’t do that.”

“Really? I can?” you question again, an ironic child-like glimmer of joy in your eyes.

Levi chuckles lowly at your enthusiasm—your appreciation is so genuine, he finds it nothing short of adorable. And oddly enough, he’s a little turned on by it, too.

“Yeah,” he nods his head shallowly, “You can.”

You still have that gleam in your eyes, but Levi can feel the hesitation creeping up on you, and offers his guidance before he loses you to a shell of yourself. He shifts over to you just a bit, loosely holding your right wrist in his grip; holding eye-contact, he carefully pulls you up to stand in front of him.

“You can start,” he says, slowly tugging on your wrist, “By getting on your knees and taking off my pants.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, you’re already kneeling in front of him, and the sight is already enough to have Levi semi-hard in his pants; an almost embarrassed flush washing over his body as he comes to terms with the fact that he’s thought about this visual more times than he cares to ever admit.

You fumble with the zipper of his jeans, pulling them, along with his boxers to pool around his ankles. Your actions are careful and calculated, but you seem comfortable—maybe not with your skills, but with Levi.

His eyes stay glued on you, when you finally hold his length with a single hand, the other resting hot on his thigh. He leans over again, this time to rest a comforting hand on the back of your neck, eager to wash away any remains of your nervous resolve.

“Start slow,” he instructs, feeling your thumb swipe along the head, “Just move your hand up and down a bit, like—ah, yeah, like that.”

You seem follow his words carefully, focusing on the way his dick jerks in your hand. Levi observes you carefully and mentally notes that while he’d have liked it, not making out with you before this was probably the right call—he’d probably have creamed his jeans before this could have begun.

“You can grip it harder,” he tells you. You listen, applying slightly more pressure to your grasp; and it makes Levi groan, short, but strangled, above you.

“Okay?” you question, the genuine concern in your voice enough to make Levi’s gaze soften.

“Yeah, that’s—you’re doing good,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the nape of your neck habitually, “Twist your hand a little when you go up, you can—fuck, okay, yeah, that, like that.”

You snap your head up to look at him when he lets a moan slip through; nothing but pure enthusiasm and satisfaction dancing in your eyes. Levi grits his teeth when you do it again, your thumb sliding over the tip when you reach the top of his dick, and, Christ, you’ve got to stop looking at him like that.

You work your way into a steady rhythm, letting Levi’s moans guide your movements. You feel him harden to full length under your touch; and when he does, you move your hand faster, twisting your wrist around the length and squeezing just a pinch harder at the tip, without instruction.

He watches through lidded eyes, using his thumb to press lightly into the back of your neck. You move your free hand from his thighs, eager to add it to the mix, but Levi freezes.

“Nuh uh,” he shakes his head.

It prompts you to stop your actions, tilt your head and look up at him, and Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so sinful. Your complete focus on him, neck craned obediently, eyes twinkling under your lashes; your position makes him want to kiss you or choke you or something in between.

“What—did I do something wrong?” you ask with wide and innocent eyes that make Levi feel bad for worrying you, yet send an erotic pulse throughout his body.

“Not at all,” he reassures you, fingers treading into the hair at your nape.

He’s setting himself up for failure, and he knows it, too—because, really, who agrees to teach a friend how to suck dick? Having you on your knees in front him, crane into his touch, and keen to all his desires, does nothing to mask the painful fire in the pit of his stomach.

It’s stupid to be this hungry, this possessive over you when he knows you come to him in hopes to learning how to please another man. But one, precious thought is enough to cloud over all of that, enough to put that sadistic smirk back on his face.

“You said you wanted to give me a blowjob, right?” he questions, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth at the shallow nod of your head, “Okay. Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

He barely pushes the tip past your lips when your head dips forward, tongue peeking out to lick the very top. Levi sucks in sharp air between his teeth, relaxing into the couch when your head bobs further, enclosing the tip of his dick in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice hoarse when his hardened cock rests against the velvet wet of your tongue, “That’s it—just keep going, like that.”

He watches intensely as your head bobs onto him. It’s hot and wet and so much more than he’d imagined it would be; and he’s not too shy to admit he’s imagined this with you. He moves his hand to brush away the flyaways of your hair, smoothing them back and tangling his fingers at the back of your head. He carefully guides your movements.

It’s slow and steady, and normally, it’d take him a while to cum like this, but with the visual of having you on your knees for him, Levi can feel a faint warmth of his orgasm already beginning to bubble inside of him.

“This is okay, right?” you pull back, a thin line of spit trailing from your mouth.

“Yes, yes,” he answers immediately, unaware of his tightening grasp on your hair.

With a shy smile, you continue, taking more of him this time and carefully gauging his reactions. You move your head further down, testing your own limits, until you feel like you’re choking. You pull back again, with an embarrassed cough.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says softly, rubbing soothing circles into your neck with his fingers, “Guys can’t actually tell the difference between a regular blowjob and being deep throated, no need to choke yourself.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, resting you bum against your heels.

“You seem so surprised.”

“That’s just so… disappointing,” you crinkle your nose, “Men and porn make deep-throating seem like the end all be all of giving head.”

Levi chuckles in genuine amusement, “Well, it’s not, trust me. If any guy insists on being deep-throated just to cum, he’s a fucking liar. He’s getting off on the submission, not the actual feeling.”

“The submission?”

“Getting someone to be willing to listen to them, telling them what to do, how to please them,” he shrugs, “Makes you feel like you’re in control.”

“And that… that works?”

“Yeah,” Levi says, “But, judging by the tone of your voice, and how willing you were to suck my dick three seconds ago, I’d say the idea of being dominant doesn’t really appeal to you.”

You scrunch your nose again, “Does it appeal to you?”

Levi pauses, thinking over his answer, before giving you a simple, “Yeah. Most of the time.”

“Oh,” you hum, “I… I don’t think I’d like that.  I think I’d rather be told what to do, seeing as I don’t really know what I’m doing, anyways.”

“Ironic, considering you’ve never once listened anything I tell you do.”

“I was listening when you told me how to suck your dick,” you correct him, “You seemed to enjoy that.”

Levi pauses with a raised eyebrow. You don’t seem to back down, that matter-of-fact smirk on your face still mocking him. He leans over slowly, using his right hand to guide your head closer to him, and uses his left hand to grab your jaw between his fingers.

“You can be such a fucking brat, you know that,” he all but whispers, pursing your lips together in his hold, “Since you like listening to me so much, then shut up, and we can finish what you started.”

You blink, staring at him with a wide-eyed expression. He’s right that under any other circumstance you’d probably run your mouth off about him telling you what to do. But something about the way he knows what he wants and tells how he wants it makes you listen without an argument.

You nod, slowly wrapping your lips around the tip again, and bobbing along his length. Levi’s breath hitches when you hollow your cheeks slightly, a rough hand pressing down on the back of your neck.

“You’re really��god, okay, you’re good at this, you know,” Levi praises you, letting his right hand resume its position at the back of your neck.

If you had any doubts before about being submissive, the look on Levi’s face seemed to have wiped them away. Watching him throw his head back, his fingers gripping at your nape, his cock in your mouth—pleasing him seemed to be enough to please you, too.

“I wanna make you cum, Levi,” you voice your thoughts, letting a hand lazily jerk him off in the mean time, “Tell me what I have to do to make you cum.”

“If you keep going, I’ll cum,” he answers too quickly, a groan slipping through his words, “Trust me.”

“Come on, Levi,” you push, rolling your thumb over the slit of his dick. It makes him inhale sharply; you’re getting a little too good at that; at all of this. “Can—I mean, do you wanna cum in my mouth?”

“Shit, shit. Don’t say shit like that,” he curses, blunt nails raking and scraping at your scalp, “You don’t have to—I can just—”

“I want you to,” you tell him earnestly, “Please?”

Fuck, he was pretty fucking certain he’d told you to stop saying shit like that. Levi bites the inside of his cheek, paces himself; uses both of his hands to hold your head gently, while you use yours to wrap around his cock.

He grunts with a shake, and rolls his hips up, pushing himself further into your mouth, but not so much as to hurt you. It’s soon after that hot strophes of cum wet your tongue, and Levi lets you lazily jerk him off until you’ve milked his orgasm.

The room is silent save for his low moans and the squeaking of his thighs against the leather couch. When he’s finished, he slouches back, looking at you through hooded eyes, sweaty and panting, when you close your mouth and swallow.

You use your fingers to collect any remaining cum from his softening cock, and hum contented as you put your fingers in your mouth. Levi locks eyes with you again, cheeks flushed as you pull your digits out of your mouth, and he has to grip at his own thigh to gain the self-control to not get hard again.

You’re going to be the fucking death of him some day.

He shakes his head when you move backwards with a cute smile and pulls his boxers up, then his pants as best his can, not bothering to zip them up. When he’s done, you stand to your feet then straddle him on the couch, laughing lowly at his post-orgasm haze.

He doesn’t think twice about the way your hands clasp at the back of his neck, or the way his find their way to rest on your hips. You grab ahold of his jaw with both hands, holding his face in place. He thinks you’re going to lean in, but you don’t; just stay like that, your eyes roaming his glassy eyes.

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stare at me all day?” he questions, lips pulled into a knowing grin.

“Can I?” your question makes him frown in confusion, “Dunno, I heard some guys don’t like that after getting head.”

“Bunch a fuckin pussies,” he grumbles, leaning forward to close the gap between your mouths. He can feel you smile into it, and mimics your grin when you begin to press short, repeated kisses against his lips.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

He laughs when you continue to press quick kisses on his lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

You kiss him on the cheek, wet and dramatic. “Love you, Levi.”

Your face is right in front of his, but he averts his gaze, a different kind go warmth spreading throughout his chest when you flash a smile at him. He lets you kiss him again, longer this time, but still slow and sweet. He likes the feeling of you resting against him, affection lingering on your tongue when you kiss him.

It’s dangerous, but he likes the way you spark a fire in him. Sweet or sinful, it makes him feel boneless, wanted, loved.

Levi leans forward, rubbing his hands up your sides, and captures your lips in another languid kiss before pulling away to peck the corner of your mouth. “Love you, too.”

And he means it of course, but if Levi thought he had it bad before, he’s in deep shit now.

[palbabor-writes]

oh my god! your writing is amazingggg. may i please have a creepy! shiggy, dabi or hawks whichever one is easier for you where they really like the reader so they do yk normal creepy stuff like stealing her underwear and humping her bed and one day they get caught and they thought she’d be disgusted but she’s lowkey into it and she’s just super sweet and praising and a HUGE SERVICE TOP. I think they just need some good pussy 😔 if you decide to do this then THANK YOUUUU

｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ you’re too nice nonnie & tysm. i’m glad you’re here!

warnings: general degeneracy, masterbation, handjobs, SMUT, panty sniffin’   

You make a point to leave your room unlocked.

Oh, you’ll switch it up, every so often, just so he has something to work for, but  you prefer to pressure him with a time crunch instead of a locked door. It’s always so much fun. You make a show of dashing up the steps, feet thudding heavily on the warped wood. Then, right when you’re on the threshold, gosh, how could you be so daft, so thoughtless! You’d left your supplies downstairs, again! You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders. Silly, silly, silly.

The display does what you need it to, namely, giving him the chance to slink away. He’s always whisper quiet when he creeps into your space, it’s a miracle you’d caught him. But, even super-villains find themselves on the back foot sometimes, and boy, was he clumsy about this. 

It wasn’t like him. That was the slip up. No, his one, original, mistake was a simple one.

He’d left evidence of his arousal, of his lewd, heated, heart thudding, want. It was tacky, sticky, absolutely dripping with the milky residue of him. He’d tried to bury it deep, pressing it down into the bowels of your hamper, likely praying that it would remain hidden and you wouldn’t question it further when you did stumble upon it, hopefully weeks later.

You didn’t like to leave your hamper open and you certainly never, ever, left it beside your bed. It had been another long day and, at first, you’d only given it a swift glance, replaying the events of the night before. Maybe you’d lugged it over, too tired to pace the small distance? You had been in a rush. It was plausible.

Kicking your boots to the floor, you raise a hand to lower the lid of your plastic hamper when you spot the cascade of clothing. Again, it’s a tiny, tiny, fragment, but he should know better. It’s your job to notice the small, the obscure. Retcon is your bread and butter and this is too much, too tempting to ignore. 

Fingers follow the hollowed space his arm has left behind and you hit the panties, seconds later. They’re warm, wet, and you clutch them into your palm and pull.    

Fuck.

The lace is soaking. Fresh lines of cum run in thick rivulets, falling down your upturned hand and along your wrist, dribbling onto your bare feet. For a moment, you can’t seem to process the image that’s before you, your mind whirring through the possibilities, the faces. Who...no...which one of them did this?

The next morning, you’re quiet. It’s not unnatural. After all, it’s freaking 7 am, no one at the bar is talking. As you sip on your chilled, canned, coffee, your eyes carefully size up the men who are lounged around you. 

Shigaraki is perusing a newspaper, the pallid hand of father obscuring his face, but you can still catch sight of the red glint of his eyes. He looks bored. He hadn’t even looked up when you walked in, his back bowed and head down, engrossed in his search.

Dabi is perched on one of the dilapidated couches, his long legs curled under him, flicking a bashed lighter, open and closed, open and closed. Like Shigaraki, he hadn’t lifted his gaze to you at first. He had, however, answered a question. Just the one, when you’d asked him if he had found any newbies, any potential recruits. He’d snarked his reply, his cerulean irises latching onto you with a cruel sharpness. No was his answer and you hadn’t pressed for any further elaboration.

Compress was shuffling a deck of cards. Spinner was ticking through his phone. Twice was chittering with Toga. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You finish your breakfast and tell them that you’re heading out. 

No one replies.

******

Unsurprisingly, it happened again. 

It’s a different pair of panties but the glisten of the cum is the same. So is the lowered placement, the bevel of the clothes, and the position of the hamper. However, it’s a little more calculated this time around. The lid is closed and there are no traces of his entry, no cuts or nicks on the door handle or key hole, no scattering of your things, no dip on your bed. There’s nothing. 

Alright. Two can play at this game. 

The hamper is moved, strategically maneuvered into the bathroom that your room holds. You’re careful to leave the lid propped. It looks haphazard, but it takes a precise click of the plastic to lock it into that position. You’ll be able to tell if it’s been moved. 

You tug your panties out of your dresser and count them, noting the colors, patterns, the imperfections in the lace. If you’re going to do this, you need to know what you’re working with. The inventory must be precise, each variant recognized and tallied. 

Every day, it’s a rinse and repeat process. Yank the flutter of fabrics out, spread them across your sheets and count. It’s tedious, bordering on annoying, but you wanna know. It’s like an itch. It sits right where you can’t reach and it tickles at the back of your mind. Besides, you’ve always liked a good puzzle. Although, this isn’t quite what you had in mind, you’ll take it and you’ll solve it, if it’s the last thing you do. 

Two days after you start this mind-numbing task, four pairs go missing. 

******

It’s late when you stumble back into the hideout, padding past the darkened bar and up the steps. The mission, despite its lower ranking, and pay, you think bitterly, had taken almost three days. Thankfully, the information you’d gleaned was worth it, but you’re exhausted. You’re wiping a sleepy hand across your face when you notice your door.

It’s ajar.

Instinctually, you fall to your haunches, tip toeing toward the crack, eyes narrowed, fingers curled into fists. The room is pitch black but there’s something, no, someone, in there. You can make out their outline. It’s a jagged cut that sits upon your bed and you can hear the tiny hitches and groans that they’re gasping out.

As your eyes adjust, you can see more. Your knees fall to the floor, digging into the wood and you steady yourself against the wall, eyes wide. He’s propped along your pillows and his hand is working over himself, using the friction of another pair of your panties to rub himself to completion. You can’t make out the exact shape of his cock but from the rapid fire tugs of his fist you can tell it’s long. It must be thick too, since he needs to adjust his pulls toward the tip.

He’s quiet, but you can still hear the catches and moans he’s making. Your name slips out too and the utterance makes your mouth go dry. So that’s who it is. Well, wonders never cease. 

In the months that you’d known him, he hasn’t paid you much mind. Even through the haze of this strange obsession, he hasn’t altered his day to day routine, hasn’t broken character, hasn’t spoken to you unless the situation absolutely called for it. 

Damn. It’s too much, it’s way, way...no. No. It’s not that it’s too much, you think, mesmerized by the sight that’s splayed across your sheets. It’s nowhere near enough. 

You want to march in there, yank your soiled panties off his dick and hear what kind of noises he would make for you then. Would he shove you off, or would he welcome your notice? Either way, he’s too close now.

His hips have started to rut upwards, unable to resist the rhythm he’s created. The moans have drifted into hisses and his back arches when he cums, those familiar ropes of white splashing across the pastel of your lace. He’s careful to catch the drops, pinching the end of his cock and shuddering at the overstimulation. As he sits up, you cautiously rise, unsteady on your wobbling legs. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when your door shuts. His footsteps recede down the hallway and you can hear him as he thuds into his own space, the click of his lock reverberating in your ears. 

******

Thus, the game of cat and mouse continues. 

Outwardly, neither of you reveal your hand, keeping your cards close to the chest, out of each others line of sight. Your door locks, unlocks, and you keep losing more panties. You’ve marked the one that will make the difference. It’s your new, favorite, pair. You haven’t worn them yet, but they’re a lush item, expensive, luxuriant, an excess that you don’t usually allow yourself. You’d purchased them the day after you’d finally caught sight of him. You couldn’t help it. 

Most people, you reason, would be horrified by this situation, but not you. Oh no, you’re so turned on you can barely sleep. You start to masterbate in the early evening, when you know the others are moving around, your fingers trailing past your dampened curls, a careful fingernail pricking along your clit. You’ve even left your door open, cracked, welcoming the attention of anyone passing by. Once, you could have sworn you’d heard him. The whisper of that gasp, imagined or not, had bowled you over, your thighs clamping around your wrist, your cunt pulsing around nothing, hungry, slathering, desperate for more. 

You want to just toss those panties on your bed and provoke the interaction. Goddamnit, how much longer is he gonna make you wait?

****** 

Not even 24 hours later, they’re gone. 

He’s getting reckless, too. Your hamper is knocked over, the dresser drawer that holds your underwear is a crumpled mess, and he’s deliberately left a vacant hole where the panties used to lay. It’s screaming for your attention and you can feel your heartbeat thrumming against your breast. 

Finally.  

The next mission you’re assigned is easy, too easy. It’s mid-afternoon and there’s no reason for you to be back this early. Well, that’s an oversimplification. There is a perfectly excellent reason for you to be back, you’re just hoping the sliver of intel that was dropped for you will pay off. 

Apparently, while the rest of you were out pounding the pavement, he’s elected to stay behind. He had something he needed to take care of. 

“It sounded important,” Toga informed you, her voice lilting, rising with that sharp toothed smile of hers. 

“Why are you telling me this,” you’d asked her, biting your lip and crossing your legs, soothing the throb that’s pricking in your core. 

“He just told me to tell you, didn’t ask him anything more. You know how he is. He can be, prickly,” Toga winks, popping her head to the side, bouncing her golden locks. 

“Alright,” you reply, adding a mask of disdain and disinterest to your performance. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” 

Lies, lies. 

So many fucking lies, but he must know that you realize, that you know. Why else enlist Toga? He hated having to lay things out. No, he must know, he has to.    

The bar is empty and the upper floors are deathly still.

Your door is sensibly shut but you can make out his jerks, his gasps, and those choked whimpers that echo past the flimsy wood. Your hand catches against the knob and you take one, last, steadying breath. 

Here we go.       

When you swing the door open he startles upward, his white hair curtaining the flush of his cheeks. Those vermillion irises land on you and he vaults away, nearly tumbling off the side of your bed. His pants are still bunched around his thighs, so that hinders him from making a true getaway. As he’s fumbling with the dark material, you don’t miss the shake of his hands and the spread of that lovely blush.

Oh, this is too perfect.

Before he can finish tucking himself back in his pants, you’re dashing across the top of your bed, ignoring the discarded panties, ignoring the dark glare that he gives you, ignoring everything but that heated bulge that’s giving him so much trouble. 

Impatient, your fingers curl around his wrists and you use the millisecond of surprise that your swift action has gifted you. With a low gasp, he falls forward, his knees sinking into the softness of your mattress. One hand lowers to brace himself, but he’s careful to keep a finger arched away, preserving the permanence of your bed. Before he can get his bearings, you’re pressing him onto his back, straddling his lean hips and lowering those dark pants back down. 

His cock, badly concealed by the upper line of his boxers, springs out, curving proudly toward his muscled stomach. For his part, Shigaraki squirms under you, his scarred lip set in a forbidding scowl. His deadly hands lower to yours, but you ignore his unspoken threat, knocking his trembling digits away. Your  fingers lace around his cock, squeezing at the heft of him, stroking up the spidery veins and grooves until he’s dropping his defiant head back against your sheets. 

“Wh-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, his raspy voice halting over the question. 

“Who? Me?” you laugh, tugging a few more gasps from his shaking lips. There’s a pale strand of precum that’s leaking from his tip and you brush your thumb over it, gathering it against the pad and using it to ease your motions. His hips buck up and he shoves himself into your fist, a long string of curses slipping through his clenched teeth. 

“I don’t think you get to ask that, dear leader,” you tease, leaning over his prone form. You’re glad he’s forgone wearing that creepy hand. It hadn’t even come into your calculations of how all of this would go. “No, not with the way you’ve been behaving.”

“I-I didn’t...fuck–” 

“What? Didn’t think I’d find out?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. I sent you on that– ah– that mission for a reason,” Shigaraki bites out, shifting away from your close inspection. You smile at his discomfort and cup your free hand around his chin, yanking him back to you, forcing him to look up. 

“That’s too bad, cus’ I finished early. Looks like I’m just that good, huh?” 

He’s seething up at you, his eyes gleaming in the low light of your room, but he’s not making any attempts to leave. He may want to, but it seems his body has other plans. His cock is swelling as you pick up your tempo, your fingers clenching and releasing as you go, edging him along. 

“You ever fucked a girl?” you ask, leaning back to admire the tense enjoyment of the man under you. The muscles of his stomach, coil and writhe, flexing each time you hit his tip and relaxing as you make the swift pass back down. 

“N-no,” he moans, jerking his hips up, silently demanding that you pick up the pace. 

“Did you want to?” you whisper, lowering to his face again, letting your soft lips trace along his temple. His skin is rough, but you like the contrast. Shigaraki seems to enjoy it too, his eyes slipping behind his eyelids as he turns toward you. When he doesn’t answer, you slow the hand that’s passing over the strain of his length. Shigaraki hisses at the shift and his eyes pop open again. They burn as they blaze up at you, clearly echoing his displeasure. 

“Asked you a question,” you scold. He’s quiet for a long breath, but, after a few tense seconds, he lowers his eyes and nods, his jaw tight. “Should I take that as a yes?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Shigaraki grumbles, flashing a quick glare your way. “Was that clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, one delicate eyebrow arching at his disgruntled expression.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he huffs, grimacing as you lift your hand from him, freeing yourself to yank your shirt off. 

“What do you want me to call you?” you ask, unbuttoning your jeans and easing them down the curve of your hips. 

“My fucking name.”

“Shigaraki?”

“No. Tomura,” he replies, his voice falling into that deep rasp again. He’s watching you closely and you grin down at his frank assessment. 

“Alright, Tomura,” you begin, testing out the unfamiliar acknowledgement. “Let’s make this good for you, hmm? What are you wanting to try first?”

He’s silent and you can hear the grinding of his teeth. “What’s better for you?”

Oh. Well, that’s not a question you were expecting. “For me? Uh, I guess I prefer to be on top. Let’s me control things and–”

“So do that,” he shrugs, finally peeling those dark pants off his long legs. He leaves his shirt on, but it doesn’t matter, if you’re riding him it’s not like you can’t tuck your hands under the tattered fabric.

“After acting like such a creep, you’re being pretty nonchalant about all of this,” your fingers wander along his sides and he shudders again, his neck bowing off the bedding. 

“You’re one to fucking talk. Think I didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Ha! Well, well. No wonder you took my bait so easily. When did you figure me out?”

“That night you sat outside your door and watched me,” his hands raise to your hips and he urges you to hurry up, grunting when your dripping cunt traces over his tip. “Then you left your fucking door open. Not just once, either, no, you did it for days. It was a whole fucking week of that shit. Didn’t even need to steal a pair of your slutty little panties to smell you then. You reeked. I could smell you from my room.” 

You laugh, helping him to press up and he glides into you, stretching you, radiating a satisfying ache along the slippery heat of your walls. His legs lift and his hands fall from your hips. Once you’re fully seated, your pelvis flush with his, you give him a few gulping breaths. 

“Ahh, fuck, oh– fucking damn it. Ohh, this feels nice. God, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, his voice falling into a hysterical edge. You bite your lip and raise up on your knees, making sure you grip him tightly as you go. Another mantra of obscenities drop from his lips and his feet brace against the bed, his hips rutting blindly as you begin that slow lift and lower.

“How’s that?” you query, moaning when he returns those broad hands to your hips. His reply is a sharp thrust and you’re tipped forward, forced to sprawl over him, fingers digging for purchase in his dark shirt. He grunts at the weight of you but he keeps his pace up, using the bed as leverage. 

You’re so close to him and you can’t help but reach for his face, suddenly desperate to feel his lips against yours. He doesn’t fight your hold, but he does let out a long groan when you tentatively kiss him. It’s slow at first and you’re very conscious of those dangerous hands of his. They’re still braced against your hips, but the four digits are starting to dig into your skin, sinking into the vulnerable dips until you’re whining. 

He’s unsure, so you help him along. 

You suck and nip at him, teasing him until he’s raising his head for more. Finally, one of those powerful hands detaches from your waist and he snatches at the back of your neck, insisting that you let him explore you further. After a time, you need air more than you need his lips, so you shake yourself free, pulling away and grinding your hips down as he ruts into you again. 

“Not bad,” you tell him, grinning when he swipes his tongue over his swollen lips, his eyes lifting to peer up at you curiously. “Want me to take it up a notch?”

“No,” he replies sharply. “I like this.”

You snort at his blunt response and give him what he’s asked for. You keep the drags of your lifts slow, enjoying how he throbs and swells inside you. Each time you rise, you roll your hips and he sighs at every minor clench that your pussy does. After a time, you can’t ignore the pulsations of your impatient clit, so your fingers trail downward, delicately rolling and grinding against the bud. 

Tomura tilts his head at this and his hazy vermillion snags your attention. “Does...does that feel good?” 

For a second, you’re unsure what he means, but when his hand ghosts over yours, you realize. “Mmhm,” you gasp, giving yourself a quicker tweak, delighting in the widening of his eyes when your cunt flushes another wave of arousal around him. It slicks between your thighs and pools around his pelvis, gleaming against the dark curls that rest there. 

“Lemme try,” he demands, batting your hand away and replacing your fingers with his own. He’s clumsy and he’s not expecting it to be that slippery, but he’s a quick study and he watches your face expectantly each time he tries something different. 

“Y-you’re doing so good, Tomura,” you praise, lingering on his name, pleased that he reacts so positively to it. “Just a little bit...oh fuck...yeah, right there is perfect.”

You’re not being facetious either, he’s honestly killing you with those earnest looks and careful prods. Each time you gasp, he presses just a fraction more, testing out his new skills and expanding on them. As a reward, you keep the positive reinforcement coming, calling out his name as you fuck him into you, loving how he keeps pulsating and groaning each time you sink down. 

A thin misting of sweat is beading over both of you, but you ignore the heat, too close to care that you’re starting to falter a bit in your rhythm. Tomura is panting also, losing some of that focus as he races toward his own release.

“Harder, ride me fucking harder, (Y/N),” he commands. The sight of him gasping and groaning out your name gives you an idea. You acquiesce to his demand but as you start those quick pumps your fingers reach behind you, searching for something that you think he’ll like even more. 

Ah-ha!

It’s an older pair, not as frilly as the one’s you’d saved for him, but you’ve been wearing them all day, so that scent he was complaining about should be nice and ripe. His eyes have winced shut, so the flop of your lace panties startles him. He tenses for a second, but once he notices what you’ve given him a wicked smirk curls his lips. Instantly, his hand leaves your clit and he presses the fabric to his face, huffing heavily against the crotch. 

“You fucking tease,” he groans, his tongue tracing along the seams, lapping at the thin residue that you’ve undoubtedly left behind. “Ahhh, yes. I think I would have rather had you sit on my face, but this will work, for now.” 

The threat in his voice makes you shiver and you rock forward as you lower, snagging the sharp edge of his pelvis against your clit. Tomura takes in another deep breath at the sensation, his hand still holding your saliva filled panties to his lips. Just a little bit more. Your fingers tweak and pull, rolling the way you need. The heavy sting of Tomura’s cock is helping too and your pussy greedily begins to tighten around him, earning you a sputtered groan from the man beneath you.

“D-do that again,” he sighs, shifting your panties down his face so he can watch you. Obediently, you flick at your clit again and that stimulation, plus the heady knowledge that Tomura is watching, memorizing every move you make, hurtles you over the edge and you can’t help but slump forward as your orgasm crashes over you. Tomura lets out a guttural moan, flinging your panties away and yanking you to his parted lips. His kiss is frantic, nonsensical, more bites and slurps than any kind of caress, but you fall into his arms, overwrought and too turned on to think. 

Once he’s had his fill of your lips, he resumes that steady pounding, his powerful hips canting into you, peppering you with jagged thrusts that leave you gasping. 

“What’s the matter?” he taunts, his voice a wild rasp in your ear. “Can’t take anymore? Am I too much for you?” 

You don’t trust yourself to reply, already seconds away from another shuddering release. All it takes is the feeling of him swelling and the heat of his cum to reduce you to a gasping mess again. This time, a thin line of drool escapes your lips. Delighted, Tomura snags his hand in your hair, tugging until you’re hovering over him. Gluttonously, he laps at your lips, sucking until you’re not sure who’s making the bigger slob of themselves. 

When he’s finished, he rolls you off of him, splaying you out on the bed. As the world falls back into focus, you catch sight of him, leering over you, his white hair cascading around the two of you. 

“I don’t think I’m done yet,” he grins, one hand cupping under your jaw. “Besides, you could have given me this weeks ago. I think you owe me a few back payments. Don’t cha’ think?”

notes: ahaha. this is basically a full fledged fic. whoops. 

did i have anyone wondering if i was gonna pick Tomura or Dabi?                                        

[elizabeethan]

Watch The Sunlight Fade: 3 / 18

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: You may have noticed a chapter count! It’s subject to change, but I’ve outlined the whole story and have written halfway through chapter 12, so we’re getting there, friends. Reminder to check warnings and tags and message me if you have questions. There will be depictions of violence, domestic violence, very very brief discussions of non-con (kind of) and psychological abuse throughout this story.

Rated M

Get added to my tag list

Read the Rest

Read my Other Stuff

Read on Ao3

~~~~

The door to his apartment slams behind her as she stumbles in, the alcohol in her veins obviously taking over as he helps to steady her. “Easy,” he warns, hand on her waist as he guides her towards the guest room. 

 “You’re not gonna let me stay in bed with you, big guy?” she slurs, giving him a flirty smile. 

 “No, love,” he answers softly. “You need rest.”

 With a giggle, she answers, “I get paid to have sex with people. Shouldn’t you be flattered that I’m soliciting you?”

 “Tink,” he laughs, “I am very flattered. But you need to go to bed.”

 “I can still give you a good time even though I’m drunk, you know,” she promises, letting her fingers dance along the lapels of his jacket. 

 “I know that, love. I just think… perhaps it’s time to… bring this arrangement to a close.”

She pouts, her bottom lip popping out and her brows furrowing. “Something I said?” she asks. 

 With a slight shake to his head, he smiles shyly down at her and brushes a wayward strand of her honey locks out of her eye. “No, but perhaps we can finish this tomorrow morning when you’re sober?”

 Tink shrugs, letting her heavy kids fall closed and turning around to stumble down the hall. “It’s okay,” she says as she finds the doorknob. “I know it’s that blonde girl.”

 “Liv…” he starts, although he isn’t sure where he’s going as he begins to speak. It’s not the blonde girl, not really. Although he felt a connection to her from the moment he saw her, he also knows that his and Tink’s fling is just that: a fling. It can’t last, and while he likes her well enough, he thinks it unfair to continue on with something to which he isn’t fully dedicated. “It’s not you.” 

 She snorts and nods her head lazily, letting it flop a bit too freely on her neck. “It’s not you, it’s me. I get it.” 

 “Hey,” he tries again, giving her a soft smile as he tucks away the same defiant strand of her hair. “I’ll always be here for you, you know that. I’ll always have love for you.”

 “Yeah,” she smiles with a soft blush, her lids looking heavier and heavier with each passing moment. “I love you, too, bud. It was probably a bad idea to sleep with your best friend anyway.” 

 “I’m not sleeping with Robin,” he deadpans, knowing with certainty that it’ll draw a hearty laugh from her. She pushes against his shoulder with more force that she was likely expecting and turns around to open the door to his guest room. 

 “You dolt.” Once she’s in the room, just as she’s about to shut the door behind her, she spins quickly to face him once more. “By the way, you’re a total idiot if you go after her.” 

 “Bloody hell, not you too,” he complains as he scratches behind his ear. 

 “She belongs to Cassidy and you know it. You know what’ll happen if you pursue her.” 

 “Aye, that’s why I have no intention of doing so. Now, go to bed, Olivia.” 

 “Ooh,” she fakes a shudder, “full name; I must've been naughty.” 

 “Aye, you were. Goodnight, love.” 

 “Night, KJ.” 

 He listens to her giggle as she stumbles through the room, one she’s stayed in countless times before. She’s right; they probably never should’ve started their affair in the first place. Sleeping with your best friend is bound to end badly. But they understand each other, each of them here with hardly a choice on whether they stay or go. It isn’t as if they’re being held against their will, but the implication is that they’ll seriously regret it if they try to leave, one way or another. They simply both took comfort in knowing that someone else felt as they did. 

 He’s about to go to bed himself, ready to rid himself of the guilt that came along with the events of the day, but he pauses as he walks by his front door just in time to hear a resounding thud coming from across the hall. He panics and swings his own door open when he hears the terrified cry in response. He heard something earlier today that sounded exactly like that terrified cry. 

 Rushing over to Neal’s apartment, he places his hand on the knob and presses his ear to the door. He doesn’t want to burst in with haste since he has no idea what he actually heard, and the door must be locked anyway. But he can’t help but recall the image of her pressed to the door looking horrified, two knives on either side of her throat. He can’t get the look in her eyes out of his head. 

 There aren’t anymore sounds resonating from the apartment, silence falling over him as he attempts to listen out for signs of trouble. After a moment, all he hears are soft, painful sobs coming from the other side of the door. 

 ~~~~

 It’s surprisingly even more terrifying to be in the shop during the day than it was at night. At least when she was here last night, the shadows kept the frightening details of the space hidden, but now that the sun is up and streaming through the small basement windows, she’s able to see too much. 

 She can see the aged and worn paint on the walls, giving her an automatic and infallible feeling of unease. She can see the decorative weapons proudly displayed on every inch of every wall. She can see the rugged violence on each of the men’s faces so clearly in the sunlight. Being here terrifies her. 

 “Morning, Miss Swan,” Peter greets as Neal leads her into the large meeting room. He’s already sitting at the table waiting for them, Gold at his right and two empty seats to his left. There are several other members at the table as well, and she can’t help but notice how bright Killian’s eyes look in the sun streaming through the windows. “Welcome to your first real family meeting.” 

 The others around the table laugh, everyone but Jones seeming to find his joke about her near death experience to be funny. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” Neal asks in her ear, his voice low and his teeth clearly clenched. 

 She clears her throat and gives Peter the fakest smile she can muster. “Good morning.”

 “That’s a good lass,” he praises, setting free a flock of anxious butterflies in her stomach. “Come sit. We saved you a seat by Neal.” 

 They sit side by side, and it’s becoming easier and easier to question his ranking within the group of men at the table. She finds it impossible to see him as a simple lackey when his name is carved into the table in intricate lettering in front of his chair, directly to the left of Peter's seat at the head. 

 There are talks of their plans, and she gathers some information easily while they seem to go to great lengths to keep other things hidden from her based on the threatening glances Peter doles out from time to time. There’s a trip coming up, and it’s automatically assumed that Neal will be going with Peter and Gold will be staying behind, as if this arrangement was made and agreed upon a lifetime ago. Once the other attendees are determined, Peter turns to face her and gives her a smile. 

 “Now, a job for you, my dear. Neal tells us you have a talent in finding people.” 

 “She can find anyone,” Neal says proudly, referring to her short stint as a bail bondsperson back when she lived in Boston. When she had met Neal after he witnessed her taking down a skip, he took her under his wing and told her she didn’t have to live such a dangerous lifestyle anymore. “Well, almost anyone.” 

 Her stomach flips at his hint; at his willingness to bring up one of the most painful memories she has. She’s great at finding people, but in 25 years, she still hasn’t been able to find her parents. 

 Pan hums. “We can look past a few failed attempts. What we need from you now, Emma, is your skillset to find a certain someone who deserted our cause.”

 She gulps. “You want me to hunt down someone who doesn’t agree with you?” 

 “No love,” he laughs, and Neal’s grip on her hand tightens just a notch. “I want you to find someone who has valuable information and won’t hesitate to hand it over to a rival.” Emma bites her lip in thought, concern likely colored across her face. She hadn’t considered the existence of a rival gang before this moment, and she becomes frightened to think of there being more than one set of men like them. The thought that another gang is out there and considers themselves rivals to The Lost Boys means she’s potentially putting herself in even more danger by becoming associated with them. What will another gang do to the girlfriend of one of their rival’s members, especially a member whom she suspects is higher up in the rankings than he’s letting on? 

 “It’s not lost on me that you’re feeling uncomfortable here, Emma. The tension between you and Neal is perfectly palpable. But I’d implore you to let go of your fears; no one here will harm you. We’re here to protect you. By simply being associated with Neal, you have the protection of everyone in this club. And I’m sure it makes perfect sense that we would expect something of you in return for our unquestioning devotion to your safety.” 

 Although something about his words makes her suspicious, she suddenly feels a sense of strength at his claim that she’s a part of the group now. It’s as if he’s telling her that her thoughts and opinions matter, so she makes a bold choice and speaks up. “Can I clarify something?” she asks. 

 “Of course.” 

 “What are you protecting me from, exactly?” 

 Peter smirks and shakes his head, giving Neal a look that she can’t quite read. “I suppose Neal hasn’t informed you of how dangerous a place this world can be for a woman like you, Miss Swan. Your love for Neal makes you a target, as does Neal’s love for you. By falling for him, you’ve also fallen into our world. And because we’re so devoted to what you have to offer, we will protect you from everyone who may want to hurt Neal.” 

 “Just because I can find people pretty easily?” she asks doubtfully. His explanation isn’t making any sense to her. She can’t rectify in her head how loving Neal can equate to requiring constant protection, especially based on his claim that he’s going to be leaving soon. 

 “No, Emma,” he laughs condescendingly, as if he were talking to a child who couldn’t handle the truth. She wonders if he’s right. “Worry not; all will make sense to you as time goes by. For now, let's get started with your first assignment. Hook, show the lady to her office.” 

 ~~~~

 “Most sites are blocked here,” he explains as he powers up the old desktop, groaning softly as he stands again. “You’ll likely run into trouble if you try to find him on Facebook or anything.” 

 “Why?” she asks, and although she immediately regrets opening her mouth, the look he gives her feels more amused than anything. 

 “Why?” 

 “Um… why are they blocked?” 

 He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head and looking away from her once he notices that the computer has booted up. “To keep you out of trouble, I suppose.” 

 She bites her bottom lip, squeezing her fists until she feels the sting of her nails digging into her palm. She isn’t sure that, in the last day since she’s come here, she’s been kept out of trouble at all. She’s been in trouble-- in danger-- since she heard those bikes pulling up behind her and Neal. 

 “Right,” she says softly, sarcastically, and again, she kicks herself for opening her mouth. She wonders what would have happened to her by now if she was with anyone but Jones in this moment. 

 “Love,” he starts, his voice soft and tender, and she almost wonders if he intends to step close to her. Perhaps he means to comfort her. “I’m--” he clears his throat, “If you need anything…” 

 Their eyes meet, and it’s like the first time again. His azure stare bores into her in a way that makes her shudder, but not out of fear this time. She feels seen, understood, and while it’s only been a day since her traumatic greeting from the club, it feels like a lifetime since she’s felt a sense of safety. It feels comforting to meet his gaze, and she suddenly lets her breathing steady and her heart rate settle. “Thank you,” she whispers genuinely. She isn’t sure how she could relay it to him if she does need something, but the way he looks at her tells her that he’ll know. 

 For the first time since she’s been here, her safety appears to be a priority to someone. Relief washes over her and she lets it, despite knowing that it will dissipate the moment he walks out the door.

 ~~~~

 “How’s it goin’ in here, my little worker bee?”

 She looks up from the computer she’s been staring at, met by Neal leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed. The dinosaur she’s working on is hardly functioning, most sites she’s tried blocked and inaccessible and the speed at which it loads each page almost painful. After almost a week of working on the assignment they’ve given her, she’s found almost nothing.

 “Hi,” she mumbles, turning back to the screen. All they had given her was a name and a last known location, and she’s struggling to find more.

 “Doing alright?”

 “I can’t find much,” she says. 

 “You’ll find him; you’re smart. I wonder if that’s genetic,” he says with a laugh and a smirk in her direction. She isn’t sure what he means or how to respond, so she simply smiles somewhat awkwardly and moves on. She refuses to let herself wonder if this is another dig at her for being parentless. 

 “It just feels impossible. This guy, Graham… are you sure he even exists?” she jokes. 

 He laughs, but it’s forced and she doesn't detect a genuine smile. “Are you doubting Peter?” 

 Emma looks up at him, meeting his eyes with confusion colored in her own. “No,” she starts, although she isn’t sure if she’s being truthful in her answer. “It’s just…”

 Neal shoves away from the door and slinks closer to her, bending at his knees and squatting until his eyes meet her level. “Ems,” he starts, his hand landing on hers and applying what she thinks is meant to be a comforting amount of pressure. “Don’t start.” 

 “What…?” 

 He groans and leans away from her. “It's not a damn secret that you aren’t happy to be here. I need you to be better about that.” 

 She lets her jaw hang open for a bit longer than she means to, shock taking over her as he confirms what she’s been suspecting since the meeting she attended. “Neal,” she starts, “you’re the one who said you want to get out. You said we could leave after a few weeks.” 

 “And?” 

 “Uh… and… it’s been a week and you don’t seem like you’re… I mean… it seems like you're happy here.” 

 “So what?” 

 “What do you-- so what? You said we were leaving and now it’s like they're your family!” 

 Neal stands quickly, spinning from her in exasperation as he thrusts his hands into his hair. “You’re being so-- stop judging me! What do you even have to complain about?! They’re being nothing but nice to you. You have a home now, I feed you, I love you, we protect you… I don’t get what your damn problem is!” 

 “The knives, Neal!” she shouts, unable to hold back the emotional response to his nonsensical claims. “You threw knives at my head!” 

 There's a loud smack against the desk she sits at, and she’s brought back to the reality of her experience and out of the false sense of control that she let herself believe she had. She has to force herself to move on from the thought that she and Neal are able to have a conversation. When she looks down to where his hand met the surface, she sees his gun held beneath his palm. She pales. 

 “It���s time to move on,” he hisses quietly, his voice taking over the silence of the room. It’s another threat. Another convenient way to show her that he has power over her. That he can take everything away from her, even her life, in a second if she gives him a reason to. “You weren’t in danger, baby,” he says, his voice more soothing this time, drawing from her that feeling again. The feeling that she’s overreacting. “I had it under control, remember?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

 She sighs heavily at the feeling of his lips tracing along her jaw until he reaches her neck. “You did?” she asks weakly. With his sudden change in demeanor, his obvious desire not to make her feel unsafe anymore, she feels something shift between them. 

 “Of course I did; don’t be stupid. You know I did.” 

 It feels good, she lets herself realize. As her eyes slip closed and a soft breath escapes her lips, she makes herself relax into his touch. With her sense of sight cut off, she feels herself giving in to his touch in favor of feeling some sense of relaxation after a week of hypervigilance. His rough stubble scratches at her skin, something she normally doesn’t like, but right now, she doesn’t think she minds too much. With her eyes shut, the rest of the world closed off from her mind, she thinks she could appreciate some stubble. 

 She feels the smooth leather of his sleeve under her fingertips and she likes it. Sure, she’s always thought the leather jackets were sexy, but here and now, something about him in it becomes more appealing. But when his hand creeps up her waist, his touch a bit too rough, too domineering, she flinches. 

 “Shh,” he hisses softly, attempting to soothe her. “It’s alright.” 

 At the sound of his voice, something snaps within her and she stiffens. It sounds wrong, she realizes. “Wait,” she murmurs as his hand creeps under her shirt. 

 He breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “Seriously?”

 “I just,” she starts, nervous as he pushes away. “We’re… I mean, we’re here.” She gestures around the room, hopeful that her discomfort at the thought of sleeping with him in this office where anyone could walk in is clear. 

 “Right. So when we get home, you’ll be more than willing?” he asks doubtfully, rolling his eyes. 

 “Neal,” she begs softly, unsure of where she went wrong. She’s unsure of how she could have messed this up when she was the one to express her own discomfort. “Please.” 

 “Please,” he mimics, his voice rising in pitch. “I’ll see you in a week.” 

 With that, confusing words exchanged between them, he’s out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. 

@courtorderedcake​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @klynn-stormz​​​​ @laschatzi​​​​ @emelizabeth88​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @kday426​​​​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​​​​ @captain-emmajones​​​​ @gingerpolyglot​​​​​ @ebcaver​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​ @teamhook​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​ @gingerchangeling​​​​​ @jrob64​​​​​ @onceratheart18​​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​​ @swampmedusa​​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​​ @dancingnancyy​​​​​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​​ @ouatpost​​​​​ @daxx04​​​​​ @the-darkdragonfly​​​​​ @donteattheappleshook​​​​​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​​​​​ @xsajx​​​​​ @itsfridaysomewhere​​​​​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​​​​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​​​​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​​​​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​​​​ @rapunzelsghosts​​​​​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​​​​​ @batana54​​​​ @sailtoafarawayland​​ @deckerstarblanche​​ @zaharadessert​​ @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza

[junkshop-disco]

For the asks meme: 7. Your favourite ao3 tag / 26. What would you describe as OOC? / 28. Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

Ooh these are good. I got wordy, sorry.

7. Your favourite ao3 tag

Friends to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love lol

26. What would you describe as OOC?

One of the things I look for in my own writing in terms of OOCness is whether I'm writing what I think should happen in an ideal world or what a generic version of the scene would be, or if it's actually what these specific characters would do in these specific circumstances based on what we know of them from the source material. A really common example of this is them saying 'I love you' for the first time or at a point of peril or tension. It's often used as shorthand in films, TV, books and sometimes I'm so used to seeing it at certain story beats, I'll write it and then be like... hang on. Would this person actually do this at this point? Is this actually consistent with their character or just convenient for me so I don't have to do more work? Is there something they can say or do instead that's more in keeping with their character (and potentially more meaningful than just using the phrase 'I love you')?

Normally just asking myself the question is enough to kickstart a process of finding something that's more in keeping with them and what I'm trying to achieve, which is specificity. Even if I'm writing the tropiest trope to ever trope, I want it to feel specific to these characters. Like yes it's a coffee shop AU but only these two idiots would be drawn to this specific coffee shop and have this specific conversation in it and fall in love in this specific way over these specific lattes. To me, that's in-character and OOC is when I write something and think 'this could be anyone.'

28. Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

Most of my advice is quite practical in nature:

Don't trust yourself to remember good ideas. Write them down. Immediately. And fully. Put a reminder to yourself in your calendar that you had a good idea to solve the problem that had been keeping you up at night for when you're likely to be near your computer to drop it into the document.

Make a spreadsheet. Look, I'm a production manager. I run literally my entire life on Excel and my fic is no exception. Are you doing NaNo? Or a Big Bang? Do you need to finish your epic before the next season drops? SPREADSHEET. Divide the word count you need to hit by the number of writing days you have available to create a goal word count per writing day. It will make the whole thing less daunting and the number of words per day is probably smaller than you think. Put your daily word count in a column. Write a simple formula that totals your daily word counts and then divides the total you have left to write by the days you have left to do it so you can adjust your daily goals if you need to in order to stay on track to make your overall goal. I promise you, this is a game changer.

Scrivener. This is worthwhile investment. It allows you to dump all your research notes, all your stuff to remember, all your character thoughts and location notes and pictures and links and EVERYTHING into one document you can also write in. My go to tools for fic are: the split screen option to have my outline open in one half and the text box I'm writing in in the other, so I can easily look at the outline if I forget what I intended to write next; the cork board where I do scene notes and can easily move them around to see how they work in different places; and the notes sidebar, so I can leave myself passive aggressive comments like 'yes you already fact checked that' and an incomprehensible commentary of quotes, song lyrics, or random facts that sparked something or made me go 'that's the vibe'.

I probably have loads more but those are the ones that save my ass most regularly.

Questions here if anyone wants them.

[supernovanim]

Neighbours Part 3

Some people found my stuff and read it! And in celebration of that, here’s the third and final part. It’s a bit longer as I was enjoying writing. In personal news, I still have no job but had an interview this morning that went well. And my driving instructor got Covid so now I have to quarantine. Fun times!

Read Part 1 and Part 2 first

Summary: Dylan annoys you so you decide to torture him for a bit. Then hot stuff happens. The End.

Pairing: Female Reader x Dylan O’Brien

Warnings: Smut. Voyeurism. Actual boning.

Word count: 2,622

Working from home wasn’t as fun as you’d initially hoped. Once you’d got over the novelty of being able to wear whatever you wanted, and decided pyjamas weren’t helpful to productivity, it was pretty much like normal work just with more video calls. You’d set up your home office in a corner of the living room next to the wide doors to the garden. Well away from potential distractions in the kitchen.

Speaking of which, you’d got some messages from Dylan

I’m bored, can I come over?

No, I’m working

Please? I’m so bored. Let me come over, I promise I won’t distract you.

Liar. You’d be a terrible distraction and you know it. I’m sure you can amuse yourself somehow.

You firmly set your phone aside and turned back to your laptop, losing yourself in the project. It wasn’t exactly scintillating, but you got into the flow of writing and didn’t look back up until almost lunchtime.

Now to grab some food. Maybe with a side dish of hot neighbour watching. You looked down at your outfit – as your AC was still bust you’d gone for very short denim cutoffs and a tiny vest top. You genuinely hadn’t worn it to tease Dylan, but there was no harm in having a little fun.

You sidled into the kitchen half hoping he wouldn’t notice, and headed straight for the fridge. No sooner had you got it open and were reaching for some salad when your phone rang.

“Have you finished work now?” Dylan pleaded

You closed the fridge door and looked up at his house, where he was standing wearing basketball shorts and no shirt, looking deliciously dishevelled.

“Not really” you responded sadly “I’ve got time for lunch, then I’ve got a zoom call, and I’m on a deadline”

“How much time for lunch?” he asked contemplatively, one eyebrow raised

“Not enough time for you to come over. Don’t even tempt me, seriously”

“No, no…that’s not what I was thinking, honest” he explained quickly, running one hand through his hair. “But...but maybe we could have a repeat of earlier? That outfit’s great. You look…great”

“Thanks” you grinned “But I’m only wearing it becau-“

Dammit. You were interrupted by another call on your cell.

“I’m really sorry Dylan, I’ve got to take this call it’s work” you blurted out, switching calls and shooting him an apologetic look through the glass.

“Hey Y/N. Sorry for the late notice but we really need to go over some stuff before the video call”. It was your boss, in a pretty typical bit of awful timing.

“Sure. OK, what’s up?” you replied, hoping you didn’t sound too annoyed.

As you lent back against the fridge and listened to your boss go over a million tiny points that really didn’t need to be discussed right now, you looked back up at where Dylan was at his window, rolling your eyes.

He looked irritated. He lent his forehead against the window in exasperation, visibly exhaling. You knew how he felt – bored, annoyed and turned on. You tried to focus on your boss’s voice to distract you from imagining licking the mole below Dylan’s left ear.

You saw him shift his weight a little and open an eye to look at you. A small smile played across his lips as one of his hands moved towards the waistband of his shorts. You frowned – this really wasn’t the time. But his hand kept moving down, until you could see the outline of his fingers palming against the growing bulge in his shorts. He looked back up at you and winked.

“Shit. Oh, sorry Karen I didn’t mean you” you hastily told your boss, turning away from the window “I…um…knocked something over. I’ll need to clean it up – can I call you back?”

“Don’t be long Y/N – this is important!”

You hung up and turned back to look at Dylan. You were seriously annoyed, but he just looked smug. You saw him reach for his cellphone again and ring you back.

“That was completely unacceptable” you snapped “That was my boss! I can’t believe you tried that”

“Oh come on, Y/N. It was just a little fun…you looked bored”

“Just because you don’t have to work right now doesn’t mean I can be available whenever you want me. It’s fucked up Dylan. I’ve got to go ring my boss back – I don’t want to talk to you any more”

And with that you hung up, turning on your heel and marching out of the kitchen without a backward glance. It felt good, for now at least.

_____

You tortured Dylan for two full days, ignoring his messages and calls.

You walked around your kitchen in tiny outfits, purposefully not looking out the window. When it got dark you walked around in just your favourite underwear, licking icecream from a spoon.

You wore your tightest yoga pants and took your mat out by the small pool, pretty certain you could be seen from Dylan’s deck doing downward dog. The crashing sound of someone walking into a sun lounger confirmed this.

You got a delivery of new sex toys and underwear and opened the package on your kitchen counter, holding the large rabbit vibrator up to inspect it thoughtfully. You don’t think you imagined the muffled “goddammit!” that came from next door.

After two days you thought he’d probably got the message. Besides, the vibrator wasn’t really enough. You threw on your favourite short red summer dress, walked into your kitchen and called him back.

He answered on the first ring “Y/N! I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It won’t happen again, promise”

He appeared at the window looking suitably contrite.

“It better not Dylan. What do you want from me?”

“This isn’t about what I want. It’s about what you want. What would you like me to do? What do you…like?”

“Hmm. Good question. Firstly, I like you with no shirt on”

“Done” he answered quickly, almost dropping the phone in his haste to pull his shirt over his head. You admired the way his lean arm muscles flexed as he reached to catch it.

“Since you asked nicely, I’ll tell you. I like lots of things. I like imagining licking that mole under your left ear”

His hand came up to rub at the spot unconsciously, as his ears turned pink.

“I like being kissed passionately. I like being pressed up against walls and held. I like my neck being sucked on while I grind up against a guy’s thigh.”

He closed his eyes and you heard a low groan

“I like my wrists being pinned above my head. I like my clothes being ripped off. I like my nipples being touched. Um…”

“Go on. Tell me Y/N, tell me what else you like”

You took a deep shaky breath

“I like fingers in me... I like fingers inside me and a mouth on my clit, tasting me. And then I like being fucked really hard – being pressed into mattresses or bent over counters or…”

His eyes shot open and looked at you “God…fuck that sounds so good. Please…please let me do that. Let me come over. I could make you feel so good, the whole neighbourhood would hear you scream my name” his voice was soft and low. “C’mon Y/N, you know you want to”

You ran a hand down the front of your dress slowly, enjoying the way the fabric brushed against your skin. Across the way you saw Dylan’s eyes darken with lust. You felt powerful, reckless, and very, very turned on.

Fuck it. “Alright, but be quick before I change my mind”

You giggled as Dylan scrambled away from the window, almost tripping up in his haste.

“Agh, I’ll only be a minute. Got to put shoes on” he babbled.

“You’ve got 5 minutes to get here before I start without you” you instructed, hanging up the phone and leaving the kitchen.

Just a few minutes later you heard a tap on your front door. Opening it you were confronted with a slightly out of breath Dylan, shirt on inside out.

“That was pretty qui..” you started, but were stopped by his lips meeting yours, backing you up hard against the hallway wall as the door slammed behind him. His body pressed fully against yours as his hands tangled in your hair.

You moaned, parting your lips as he slipped his tongue in between them. You could feel his hard length pressing into your thigh already as he pinned you to the wall. He moved his lips to your neck, sucking gently on a spot just under your ear that made you moan even louder.

“You sound so sexy right now” he murmured against your skin “wonder what other sounds I can get you to make”

His hands moved downwards, lifting your dress and running along your thighs. His long fingers brushed gently against the outside of your underwear, and you felt yourself bucking your hips towards him, desperate for more contact. Slowly he hooked his fingers underneath the waistband and pulled your panties down your legs and off, throwing them to one side.

Kneeling in front of you he lifted your dress and licked his lips slowly, looking up at you.

“You look pretty wet already, Y/N. Been thinking about this?”

You nodded and swallowed hard, too desperate to form full sentences. “Yes. Please”

“Please what?” he smirked

“Please lick me, taste me, fuck me. Anything, just do something please Dylan” you gasped frantically

He smiled and brought his face towards your core, and you felt him delicately lick a stripe across your slit, causing your legs to shake slightly as you lent against the wall.

Placing his hands behind your knees he hooked your legs over his shoulders, positioning himself between them and pressing you up the wall. You ran your hands through his scruffy hair, tugging slightly and eliciting a low sound from him as his mouth returned to pleasuring you. He continued to lick and suck, his tongue quickly moving across your clit as a tingling sensation started to spread across your body. Another moan left your mouth as you felt the warmth pooling in your belly.

Slowly you felt one of his fingers at your entrance, then two, pulsing in and out slowly.

“So, so good. Going to...g-going to” you stuttered, and he sped up his movements, sucking on your clit and twisting his fingers slightly.

“Cum for me Y/N, want your pretty pussy soaking before I fuck you” he growled, the vibrations from his words tipping you over the edge as you came hard, crying out his name, vision blurring.

Carefully he unhooked your legs and stood up, moving his body against yours. You could taste yourself on his lips as he kissed you deeply. It turned you on even more, as you felt your arousal on the inside of your thighs.

Desperately you tugged at the hem of his shirt, wanting to touch him, feel him against you. He pulled it over his head and you placed your hands on his chest, feeling the warm skin under the pads of your fingertips.

He continued to kiss your neck as his fingers fiddled with the buttons on the front of your dress, becoming frustrated. With only two buttons undone he let out an exasperated sigh and tore at the fabric instead, popping the buttons off the front and leaving your bra exposed.

“hey, this is my favourite dress” you scolded, but he distracted you by kissing down the swell of your breasts and pushing the fabric of your bra down.

“I’ll make it up to you, promise. Christ, these are lovely” he sighed, as he attached his lips to one nipple and bit softly. It felt so good, you forgot entirely about the dress and tipped your head back, breathing out in satisfaction.

“Dylan...maybe we should take this to the bedroom”

“Yeah, the problem with that is if I’m not inside you within the next 5 minutes, things are going to get very messy”

You gasped at his words and moved your hands underneath his waistband, gripping his length. He hissed as you moved your thumb across the tip.

His eyes closed as he breathed deeply. “See what I mean – careful now”

“Been thinking about this, Dylan?” you looked at him teasingly. “Been thinking about fucking me?”

“God yes, I’ve not stopped thinking about it since that night you walked into your kitchen in that damn sexy underwear. Can’t stop thinking about it. Pretty much been hard ever since”

“Well maybe we should do something about that then”. And you unbuttoned his shorts and pushed them down slightly, his cock springing free.

You continued to palm him with your hand until he grabbed your wrist “t-told you to be careful, you keep going like that I’m definitely going to ruin your dress”

He raised your wrist above your head and pinned it there with one hand, reaching into the pocket of his shorts with the other and removing a small foil package. He ripped it open with his teeth and rolled the condom down his length, positioning himself at your entrance.

As he slid slowly into you his lips met yours, and you both moaned at the feeling. His length filled you up, pressing against all the sensitive spots on your walls. Once he was fully in he stilled, waiting for you to adjust. You shifted slightly against the wall, letting him hold you up. Once you’d got used to him you nodded, bucking your hips to encourage him to move.

Slowly he slid in and out of you, positioning himself to hit just right. You felt weightless, everything centred on the feeling of his movements as he thrust in and out.

You tangled your hand in his hair and brought your mouth to his ear. “Harder, Dyl”

He groaned and moved faster, slamming your back against the wall though you barely felt the pain. You hooked one leg up around his hip, deepening his access. He was hitting that sweet spot inside you and you felt a tingle begin at your toes and your walls start to clench.

“Fuck, you’re so tight” he choked out, his movements starting to become sloppy “I-I’m so close already”

He snaked a hand between your bodies and found your clit with his thumb, rubbing over the sensitive nub. The coil within you started to tighten again and your toes curled. Oh god, it felt so good and you wanted the feeling to go on forever, but as he bit softly at a spot just below your ear you felt yourself come apart

“Yes, yes, there, god don’t stop Dylan, yes!”

As your walls clenched around him you felt him tense and release, filling the condom and crying your name against your neck. Your combined moans filled the small hallway.

Slowly you came back down to earth and you felt him slip out of you, sighing at the feeling of loss. Your hands tangled in his hair again as he pressed a kiss to your damp forehead.

“That was incredible. So much better than drinking beer on my own. Thanks for letting me come over. Eventually”

“My pleasure” you smirked. “Do you want a drink or something now?”

“Oh no, I’m barely getting started. First I’m going to fuck you over your kitchen counter like I’ve been thinking of for the last few days. Then we might make it to the bedroom”

You smiled “I like the sound of that very much”

“Good to hear” he smiled, as he hooked your legs around his waist and picked you up. “Welcome to the neighbourhood”

THE END

If you liked this fic, please reblog - it helps people find it (even if you don’t have many followers! Its an algorithm thing i think, tumblr will put it higher in the tags)

[killing-all-joy]

Dancing at 2 a.m. in our Pajamas...

I was inspired by this prompt by @sanderssides-prompts that I saw two weeks ago. I write really slow, so here it is now. I strayed a bit from the prompt, but I hope y'all like it! It’s really just fluffy Roceit. [Edit: here’s part two!]

(cw: janus is a swear-snake so swearing tw)

Janus rubbed lazily at his eyes. He was beyond irritated—for some reason, his mess of a brain decided it would be a good idea to wake up after only three hours of sleep. It was two in the morning, it was raining outside, and he had a lot to do the following day. His brain was running on very little sleep, but despite the small number of things he was able to consider clearly in his mind, he knew that he would be unable to return to his slumber without a substantial period of leaving his room. He was very well aware that he had to reach a higher state of awakeness than he was at now to be able to go back to sleep. It would never make any sense to him, but he complied because he hated sleep deprivation.

He trudged over to his closet and threw on a yellow sweatshirt over his sleep shirt. Then, clothed in that sweatshirt, a pair of black sweatpants, and fluffy black socks, he sunk out of his room, deciding not to bother with his hat. No one would be in the kitchen anyway, and he had decided with a look in a mirror that his hair, while fluffy as ever, wasn't too horribly messed up from sleep.

He planned on getting a glass of ice water, watching an episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender at a very low volume, pacing the living room a couple of times, and then returning to his room to fall back asleep.

His mind seemed to only get fuzzier; Janus hardly registered his present actions in any shape or form. He walked into the blurred haze that was the mindscape living room, grabbing a cylindrical glass from a cabinet and clumsily sliding on the tiled floor over to the freezer. He opened the door, flinching at how cold the damn thing was for his serpentine physiology. He grabbed three pieces of ice and dropped them into his glass. One fell on the floor at his carelessness so he kicked it under the refrigerator and grabbed another to replace it. He walked over to the sink, and after three incidents of fingers slipping on the metal handle, turned on the water and filled his glass. He hissed and immediately turned off the water when it started to overflow.

He sipped the cold water so it wouldn't spill onto the floor and walked away from the sink, deciding to drink in the living room. He stopped short at the door-less doorway, finally realizing that against his predictions, there was someone awake at this hour and occupying the living room.

Of all people it could be, it was Roman.

Just his luck.

His brain could hardly register just how unlucky that was. Nor could it realize that sinking out would probably be the best thing to do in that situation. Roman, his old enemy, his friend (ish), his crush: hateful, annoying, funny, talented, lovely, handso-

"Hey."

Janus' sleepy thoughts halted. He tried to meet Roman's eyes, but likely failed because he could only make out the vague outline of a face. He tried his best to show acknowledgement, but was too tired to put much effort into it.

"Why are you awake?" Roman asked from where he was sitting on an armchair.

Janus thought about that for a second, his brain refusing to remember at this time. Eyebrows furrowed, he tried his best to retrace his steps. His eyes then fell on the glass in his hand, thoughts calming as they recalled. Janus held up his water glass to indicate that it was dehydration that woke him and then made a noise, trying to ask Roman the same question.

"Ah yes, dehydration: the more vicious demon in the early hours of the morning," Roman said with a strained smile. He then bit his lip, knowing Janus wanted to know his reason for being awake as well. "I, uh, couldn't sleep. Too many exciting thoughts, too little time...the price of being Creativity, y'know?"

Janus did know. Or, at least, he was pretty sure Fully Awake Janus knew. (Fully Awake Janus could not count the number of times he'd got up for a glass of water and ended up finding Remus setting something on fire at some ungodly hour. To Fully Awake Janus, it would follow that Roman would be similar in regards to insomnia.)

Janus made a noise of understanding, shuffling over to the sofa. He clumsily set his glass on the coffee table (the contents almost spilling as he fumbled with its placement) and collapsed onto the cushions.

“Are you sure that you shouldn’t go back to sleep, Boa Conflictor? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were sleepwalking.”

When he figured out what the nickname was saying and why it fitted him, Janus snorted. He shook his head to indicate a negative to Roman’s question. “Need water,” he mumbled, taking a sip from the glass.

“Makes sense,” said Roman, moving from the armchair where he was sitting to the sofa next to Janus. “But you should go back to sleep immediately after.”

Janus shook his head again. “Won’t be able. Tried, first need to stuff.”

Roman chuckled. “’Need to stuff’? We better get you stuffing soon, or else you’ll be speaking a whole new language.”

Janus huffed and rolled his eyes. He never appreciated being teased. He was too tired (and perhaps too in love) to be angry, however.

He continued sipping the glass of water, finishing it quickly with no more commentary from Roman. He set it back down on the coffee table, deciding that he would put it in the sink in the morning when he could walk and think like a normal human being (or, well, side). He pulled his knees to his chest; he always got cold in these early hours.

His plan was thwarted, however, when Roman stood from where he was sitting on Janus’ left, picked up the glass, and headed to the kitchen. Janus made a confused noise before he saw Roman place the glass carefully in the sink. When Roman returned, Janus looked up at him in confusion.

“Didn’t havffe, I could’vve mor’hing.”

“Surprisingly, I understood you there.”

“Thanmkh.”

“You’re welcome.”

Janus buried his head in his knees, wondering what he could do that wouldn’t disturb Roman. He figured the prince would be bothered by him watching TV (and also make a lot of comments on whatever he watched, potentially waking the others), so he pondered over other activities.

He heard music start to play quietly through the room. His head lifted slightly to see Roman set his phone down gently on the coffee table. His bare feet then took two smalls steps to stand in front of Janus, where he offered him a hand.

“You said you ‘need to stuff’ before you go back to sleep,” said Roman, sounding like he was trying to mock him but not fully getting that tone across. If Fully Awake Janus were here, he’d say Roman sounded nervous. “I figured, leading you in a dance could perhaps convince your brain to allow you to sleep. Besides, I could use some physical stimulation.”

Janus looked at Roman’s trembling hand for half a second. He then removed his left arm from where it was clasped around his legs and took Roman’s right hand. As soon as Janus’ hand was in his, Roman brought Janus’ hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. Janus blushed furiously at this and was too tired to figure that he should hide such an obvious display of weakness. He let go of his legs and stood up from the sofa. He lost his balance from the position change, but Roman's reflexes were quick and he didn't let him fall more than a few inches. He pulled Janus to his feet and held him securely in his arms. Janus' face flushed an even darker red than it already was and he turned his head away from Roman, casting his gaze to the floor.

"Look at me," Roman murmured lowly.

Janus complied, despite not wanting Roman to see his blushing. He smiled warily at him, anxiety caused by the possibility of Roman seeing the real reason for his flushed cheeks.

"There we go," said Roman, at the same low volume. Janus noted how he wasn't as hyper or dramatic during these early hours, yet still just as passionate (if not more). "Since you need to do stuff in order to properly go back to sleep, I figured I could lead you in a couple of dances. Unless you think that you would collapse of fatigue like Sleeping Beauty...?"

Janus nodded. "Okay."

Roman grinned, tightening one hand's hold on Janus' waist and moving the other hand to hold Janus'. Janus was allowed a couple of seconds to sort himself into a proper dancing stance before Roman started to lead.

"I sh'ld lead."

"You'd walk into every piece of furniture in this room."

Janus made a wounded noise.

"Only because you've shown just how clumsy you are at this time of morning."

Janus huffed. "I'll st'p on foot."

"I can take it," Roman replied with a teasing smile.

Janus rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on Roman's hand and shoulder so he wouldn’t fall.

"Okay, JJ. One, two, three, four," Roman started counting under his breath to help Janus' walnut brain, "...one, two, spin, four, you're wonderful at this, Snakerella..."

---

Janus could feel his brain start to adjust to being awake and a bit of Fully Awake Janus start to have influence in his thoughts. Well, it wasn't exactly "adjust", because it wasn't gradual.

It was just a bit slower than a snap of the fingers.

Nothing was new in his actions, Roman didn't startle them, hell, it was during the middle of a slow song. But without any obvious triggering factor, his brain abruptly shifted into a more awake state of mind. And he realized his situation.

He was dancing...

...in the living room...

...with the love of his life...

...at half-past two in the goddamn morning.

Janus, still a far cry from Fully Awake Janus but with a lot of his mental capacities, couldn't quite remember the exact turn of events that got him here. Things were a bit blurry, events were splotchy, and he could only remember bits and pieces. So, ultimately, how he—while sleepy and filter-less—managed to get Roman "Princey" Fucking Sanders to dance with him was almost a mystery. He did know, however, that the only way Roman could have agreed was if he was extra sleep-deprived too.

"You like this song, Janus?"

He considered saying the truth, that he wasn't listening; or a well-thought-out lie, that he hadn't heard it before but thought it would fit with a playlist he had; or saying that he'd heard it before and liked it very much. But suddenly, Roman pulled him close and to his chest—and he smelled so good and his white sleep shirt was so snuggly and his hair was just inches away and oh so very soft and Janus was in love, so in love and he couldn't help but make a noise of happiness about their current situation instead of answering the question.

"I'm glad you like it."

Janus almost laughed; Roman mistook his noise for one of confirmation, also implying that he thought Janus was still in his state of Properly Out Of It. Janus had an act to keep up if he wanted Roman to continue being so intimate with him, so he decided he would play along—not more than he needed to, of course, but whenever Roman would prompt him to talk, he’d respond how he would if he had just woken up.

More songs went by, their almost-clumsy dancing that they exerted very little energy in doing continuing with it. Roman rarely spoke, but it was comfortable that way, with Roman just holding him as their feet glided across the floor with only the crescent moon as their witness. Janus knew very well that his emotions were senseless and cheesy, especially at this time of the morning in his current situation, but he almost scoffed when he realized that he felt loved—loved by Roman, and loved in a way he had never felt before. It made him feel warm and hopeful, and if he was fully awake, he would probably vomit. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant feeling no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, so he relished in it, soaking up the unfamiliar emotion he figured he would never get again and savoring it as one does with hot chocolate during the coldest winter nights. It was warm and calming, with an underlying hint of melancholy and bittersweetness. Just like how Janus perceived Roman.

Roman and Janus had differences that they were slowly putting behind them in an attempt to advance into a tentative friendship, so it made sense for Janus to think he would never get this again. He was tired, Roman was tired, and he remembered the dashing prince saying something about 'rousing thoughts' so this was probably serving as a release of all the stress that built up in the later hours. Tomorrow, things would be back to normal, but he would never forget.

The song started to slow to a speed that seemed inadvisable to Janus because the song was already quite a slow song in itself, but he couldn't help but acknowledge that the speed was romantic too. Roman's feet stopped taking larger steps and started swaying.

"Sway with me, mi cielo," said Roman in a voice that was practically silent. "This is the last song."

Janus' face burned from the Spanish nickname Roman gave him. Janus didn't know Spanish, but he was able to piece that it might have been a term of endearment. It was late, so it made sense that Roman would slip up like that, especially since he's the romantic side and their current situation was rather intimate. Of course, that assumption could also be Janus' wishful thinking.

"Thank you for dancing with me," muttered Roman, thumb starting to trace circles on Janus' waist. "I needed this outlet too."

From the way Roman phrased it, it seemed that Janus was mistaken in his assumption that he had convinced Roman to dance with him, that it seemed that things happened the other way around. This made Janus' heart flutter.

He hummed, closing his eyes. "M' ple'srre."

Janus peeked one eye open to see Roman's head turn down and smile at him warmly—lovingly, Janus would say, if he didn't know better.

The song started to come to an end. When the last beat played, Roman guided Janus into a small dip. Roman's happy smile as he stared down at Janus was hypnotizing, and Janus knew that he would fight a thousand wars just to see that smile again.

"Let's go to bed, hm? Neither of us wants to be tired in the morning."

Janus nodded. Roman pulled him to his feet and put an arm around his waist. They walked up the staircase together, Janus leaning his head on Roman's shoulder as they walked.

Janus' room was closest, so they paused there as Roman opened the door and led them inside. He kissed Janus hair and slowly removed his arm from Janus' waist.

“Goodnight, Janus,” whispered Roman, pushing a strand of Janus’ hair behind his ear.

Janus kissed Roman’s cheek. “G’nigh.”

He slowly closed the door, smiling to himself. He knew he would come to remember and regret his sleepy clumsiness in the morning, but he would be thankful for it until then.

~

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @neo-neo-neo @fander-fic-recs

~

Sorry this took so long to finish. I hope you liked it! [Edit: here’s part two again so you don’t have to scroll all the way back up lol]

[fancytrinkets]

writing tag game

Thank you for tagging me @johaeryslavellan!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

31

What's your total Ao3 wordcount?

246,241

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The top 4 are Good Omens fic followed by one Dragon Age 2 fic from years ago: 

The Angel Line (humor) (Aziraphale/Crowley) 

The Naked Truth (humor) (Aziraphale/Crowley) 

Obliviate (romance, bittersweet, happy ending) (Aziraphale/Crowley) 

The Last Battle (humor) (Aziraphale/Crowley) 

In Good Hands (humor) (FHawke/Varric)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I didn’t used to respond to every comment back when I started posting, but now I reply to everything. I just love the whole commenting process. I like talking about the world I’m writing in with other people who love it, too. I am always SO EXCITED to see the (1) notification for my ao3 inbox. And it is unbearably wonderful to see a (2), (3), or more at a time. I’ve noticed I’m usually equally excited if it’s a comment on my fic or a reply to a comment I’ve left on someone else’s fic. (Sometimes I experience a mix of appreciation and disappointment when it’s a new comment for me if I’m expecting a reply back from another writer about their fic. That’s such a strange feeling and I wonder sometimes if other people get that, too.)

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Oh, I don’t really do angst. And probably that’s not what people want from me anyway, judging by how many of my top fics are humorous.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I mean they all have some degree of happy ending, so I’m not sure how to measure them against each other. For some of them, the happy ending is also a ‘happy ending’ if you know what I mean..

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

I don’t. Unless you count the silly stories my friends and I wrote for each other in high school? We definitely had some X-Files, Lord of the Rings, vampire universes intersecting with each other, but I can’t really remember a lot of that because I was 15 then and now I am 40.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I haven’t. I’m very glad about that. 

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh, yes I do. It’s the loving, vanilla kind mostly. I am willing to read more adventurously than I’m interested in writing.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No. I mean I hope! If I have, I haven’t realized it!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! A bunch of my Good Omens fic has been translated into German and Russian, which is so cool. I love that people translate fics. I can’t read either of those languages, so I can’t personally vouch for how the translations turned out in terms of mood and tone and pacing with the word choices used, but that’s part of the beauty of being in fandom spaces where everyone is coming in with their own talents to share and develop. Translation is an art that needs to be practiced and no two translators will approach a work the same way. 

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not, though it was something I was interested in — and seriously considering — with a wonderful, talented Good Omens writing friend before I kind of lost all my steam for Good Omens writing.

What's your all time favourite ship?

Whatever ship I’m into at any give time. So that means right now it’s Dorian/MTrevelyan from Dragon Age, but who knows what it’s going to be in 5 or 10 years...

What's a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Oh, I have a Good Omens fic set in 1885 that stalled out because I was doing too much research and not enough writing. I’m not sure if I want to finish it, though. I just put a lot of outlining and drafting time into it. And then I just lost momentum. I doubt I’ll ever come back to that and I’m okay with it. 

What are your writing strengths?

I’m good at dialogue. I also think I’m good at keeping an eye on the pacing at the scene level — speeding things up when I need to, slowing things down when it’s called for. And I am REALLY good at editing. I don’t hang onto stuff that doesn’t fit just because I like it. I have removed thousands and thousands of words of writing I really love just because it’s not quite where things need to go. I find that fun. I always save what I cut and sometimes reuse it later.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I really struggle with character voice. While dialogue is a strength in general, that same thing can be really tough when I’m not hearing the voice of certain characters the way I’d like to. I also think a potential weakness is how I don’t like putting characters through deeply traumatic experiences. I like caretaking and treating the characters I write with gentleness. It’s deeply enjoyable for me, though perhaps it’s not always what makes a story satisfying. 

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t do it. My native language is English and my two learned languages —Spanish and French — are so long abandoned that it would be difficult to get any of it back. So I tend not to include other languages because I don’t have that expertise. When I’m reading a fic in English — because that’s all I can read well — I always appreciate footnotes with translations for the parts in a different language. I don’t tend to have the sustained focus to go back, copy-paste, and Google translate everything. So anything that isn’t translated in a footnote is just content I miss. That’s totally fine if the writer isn’t writing it for me — if they want to add extra layers of meaning for multilingual people. But if the writer wants everyone to know, then please, yes, put the footnote in!

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files with my friends in high school, but while there was an internet back then, none of us had connected computers, so these were just stories we wrote for each other.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

I don’t know if I can pick one! I like most of what I write even years later, but I don’t know how to stack them against each other. Some are serious while others are funny, and even cracky — some stick close to canon, while some are deeply transformative and weird. They all feel so different to me. 

Right now I am really enjoying my Dragon Age Inquisition work-in-progress, Bold Indeed, a Trevelyan/Dorian romance that deals with: love, friendship, loss, gentleness, justice, what we owe each other (yes, I thinking of you, Chidi from The Good Place), what it means to become a ‘good’ murderer as part of your job, how easy it can be to fit within authoritarian structures, how difficult it can be to push against and overturn an established order, the inadequacy of kindness — but also the potentially transformative power of kindness. And all of that is tucked into the story of a mature and gentle romance between two people who are each going through a process of personal growth and change. Anyway, it’s a weird writing project, but I love it despite my occasional anxieties about whether I am a deeply bad person (hah, yes, I know how that sounds, but I also feel it seriously sometimes). 

[littlemisspascal]

Tumblr Writer Q&A

Thank you for the tag dear @oonajaeadira 💗

1) How many complete fics/one shots do you have that you have not published (yet)? Zero. I post when something’s finished and then move onto the next.

2) How many WIPS do you have right now? - 5 😬

3) Do you take writing requests or write original ideas, or both? Requests give me too much anxiety so I just write whatever I want to write about and hope someone out there likes it too

4) If you do take requests, how many do you currently have? Zero

5) How many fandoms do you write for? Just the Pedro fandom

6) Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you no longer write for? No I never tried writing fanfiction before I entered the Pedro fandom

7) Do you write for ships, reader inserts or other? Reader inserts and a few ships with original characters

8) Niche fandoms/characters you write for? None I think?

9) Do you read fics as well as write them? Heck yes

10) What is your favorite genre to write for? Romance, fluff, fantasy

11) What is your favorite trope (to read/write)? Alternate universes are my favorite thing to write (Idk if that’s necessary a trope, but yeah that’s what I’m going with). For reading, I love a/b/o fics and alternate universes and fluff and established relationships. 

12) What do you do to get motivated to write? Listen to music, watch movies, yell at myself to pick up the computer and type

13) Is there a trope/genre you like to read, but not write? I’ll read stuff with smut in it, but I do not like writing it at all

14) Any characters/fandoms you want to write for that are never requested? I don’t do requests, but the lesser-known Pedro characters like Ricky, Omar, Liam etc. I think there’s a lot of potential for interesting fics with them.

15) How long have you been writing fan fiction? A little over a year now I think? I’m horrible with dates and timelines 😅

16) Did you read fan fiction before you started writing? All the time

17) Do you only post on Tumblr, or any other sites as well? I post on AO3 as well

18) What do you personally consider the word counts of "Drabble", "One shots" and "fics"? Drabbles are little stories under 1000 words. One-shots are anything that’s complete with no follow up chapters. Fics are anything and everything.

19) Which do you prefer to write more? HC, drabbles, oneshots/fics, multi chapter stories, other? I’ve found I most like writing short chapters for multichapter fics

20) Are there any stories you have discontinued? If so, why? I have things I haven’t updated because I’m disorganized, but nothing has officially been discontinued. 

21) What is one of your main "pet-peeves" as a writer on Tumblr? Anon hate. Also the argument that a fic is only valid/worth reading if it has smut in it.

22) Do you write a particular time of day? Whenever I have free time I try to write. Usually at night before bed

23) Do you listen to music, ambiance/noise, etc to write or do you need silence? I need music or something on tv playing

24) Do you outline your fics at all before writing? I have really short lists of ideas for future scenes, but I’m horrible at detailed outlines. I really need to outline more so I stop making things difficult for my future self when plotting. 

25) Do you post your writing as soon as you finish it, or do you schedule it to come out at a specific time/day?  I post as soon as I can and hope for the best

Anyone who wants to play, consider yourself tagged by me 💝

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Thank you @gusu-emilu  for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3?

26. I used to have more but I deleted them.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

211,726 – the majority of that is CQL

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

CQL, The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, Sherlock, Star Wars, Venom, LOTR/Hobbit, Agent Carter, Arcana

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? (sigh, my deleted fics had more I think)

Night at the Museum – Symbrock smut/character stuff/humor

Immersion Therapy – the sequel to the above

The Gang Goes To Family Counseling After A Series of Toddler-Related Mishaps (fluffy/cracky modern au with all the main couples at a counseling session run by poor Dr. Wen Qing)

Fractured Ice – xuexiao/xiyao roadtrip – LXC and Xue Yang try to resurrect Xiao Xingchen and Jiggy

I Promised You A Garden – the happy ending xuexiao deserved! (I’m sorry, Song Lan) – “disturbing fluff”

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

OF COURSE. Getting a nice comment makes my day! I appreciate each and every one, no matter how short or simple.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha (ha) (ha) (….ha)

Better to ask which don’t have an angsty ending?? (a surprising amount, actually, but hush)

I’d probably have to open this up to the floor. I’d say even my angsty endings are earned, it’s not for the shock value. Perhaps Familiar Faces? My least popular CQL fic? I don’t dwell on the angst, as the fic ends right at the [redacted spoiler], but it’s pretty dark. Oooooh right-- You Look So Pretty With Blood On Your Face  probably! As I have more time to dwell on what happens.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

May I interest you in: Jiang Cheng Loves Jar Jar Bombad Mui & (the better one) WHATSA DAT TONGUE DO?: Jiang Cheng x Jar Jar Wedding Night?

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I too have been visited by the Xiyao troll! About seven times total, because they dropped the ball on a few chapters of “Fractured Ice” (smh).

Do you write smut? if so what kind?

I do, though lil ol’ ace me is all smutted out at the moment. I’ve written dubcon, necroph—um never mind, snuffmut, rotsex, Jarcheng, sex pollen, lots of blood as lube, sex magic, etc. The only “nice” sex I’ve written in detail is Jarcheng. Writing nice, healthy, loving sex just squicks me out and makes me uncomfortable. I’ve done it a bit for xuexiao, but in fics with other messed-up elements and dubious sex.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think my fics are anywhere near popular enough to get stolen.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I had one podfic made, of Jarcheng 1! It was very flattering.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Symbrock will always be a love of mine, but I’d say xuexiao is my favorite ship. There’s just so much potential and f*ed-uppedness and anime-levels of cranked up emotion. You can do fluff, you can do angst, smut, domesticity, you name it.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Ace JC exploration. But the one I really wish I would finish/write is the Madam Yu and Wen Zhuliu fic that I have 13 chapters of outlined.

What are your writing strengths?

I’d say atmosphere? I like wrapping a lot of my fics in a sense of creeping dread or hazy dreaminess. It’s easier when writing from LXC or Xiao Xingchen’s pove. With Xue Yang, I tend to go more blunt and earthy, though I think Whispers to the Dead was sufficiently…is “atmospheric” still the right word? Lol

What are your writing weaknesses?

This is more of an original story issue than fanfic issue, as fanfic tends to reward it, but I tend to write too much, and then have to go back and strip things down and trim the fat (<- this sentence did not need both “strip things down” and “trim the fat,” for  example). I’ve written 140k stories I’ve gone back and cut down to 115k. Numerous times. I tend to ramble and overdo it on dialogue, but I think having switched to fanfic during the pandemic gave me practice sticking to the point.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m terrible with languages (seriously, I took years of other languages and came away with only the rudiments), so I prefer having things dumbed down into English as much as possible.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I think it was Sherlock, a truly questionable Sherlolly fic that I’ve since deleted off Ao3 though it can be found on FF.net because I keep forgetting to delete it.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I don’t have a favorite really. I have a special place in my heart for A Thousand Miles In Its Light. It plays with identity and proxies and the loss of self…all fun stuff. Consume Me Slowly I’m proud of in that I actually wrote the post-resurrection xuexiao I always thought I’d never be able to write, plus I’m proud of the atmosphere in the final section. OH how did I forget Jarcheng!! Okay, I might go with the Jarcheng smut because that was the most fun I’ve ever had writing anything.