#but this is too sloppy even for my ao3 lmao

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 6 - Chastity

Ghost x Soap - 1.7k (on ao3)

summary: Johnny needs a little help calming down while he's locked in a cock cage as punishment. (Johnny POV)

cw: cock cage, prostate milking

note: literally all of my knowledge of prostate milking comes from fanfiction - if it's embarrassingly inaccurate, pls just laugh at my naivete and move on lmao

The little key hanging around Ghost’s neck beside his dogtags taunts Johnny. The knowledge that his cock is locked away under his pants (no underwear, not during punishments) and nobody in the room other than himself knows is enough to make him squirm, but then seeing Simon wearing the only key to the cage around his neck for everyone to see…

It makes Johnny’s cock push painfully at the bars of the cage, makes him hunch his shoulders a bit to mask his wince.

He can see Ghost’s eyes spark a little across the table, feels his boot tap the top of Johnny’s. With a scowl, Johnny corrects his posture and sits back up. It earns him a subtle nod from Ghost, which helps him feel a bit more settled in his skin.

The meeting with Laswell doesn’t last much longer after that, but Johnny misses nearly every word spoken about the 141’s future. He counts himself lucky no one asks him anything, and ducks out of the conference room as quickly as he can once they’re dismissed. 

He walks a bit too quickly to not be suspicious, but can’t find it in himself to care as his cock starts to truly ache in the cage. He’s nearly limping when he finally makes it to Ghost’s room, falls onto the bed and buries his face in his hands with a loud groan.

It takes him a while to calm down, a series of slow breathing exercises that don’t quite work when he’s as worked up as he is. Having Ghost fuck him right before the meeting, send him off sloppy and wet, then sitting right across from him with that damn key dangling on his chest for all the world to see…

Johnny whines a little, reaches down to rub the heel of his hand over his dick, the other covering his eyes. He doesn’t bother to move his hand when he hears the door open, already knows there’s only one person who’d ever come into Ghost’s room without knocking.

Simon’s laugh is low, a little cruel. “Well, ain’t this a pretty sight?”

Johnny lifts the hand from his eyes just enough to glare a little, hips working fruitlessly in the air. “Yer a right cunt, you know that?”

Ghost just snorts, moves further into the room to sit by Johnny’s hip. “Oh? That’s not what you were moaning a few days ago.”

“A few days ago I didn’t have a fucking cage around my cock!”

Ghost hums, strokes a hand across the sliver of skin revealed by Johnny’s shirt. “Well, shouldnta come without permission then, hm?”

Johnny groans, throws his head back and his hand away from his dick. “Not- not fuckin’ fair and you know it.”

Another hum, and Ghost dips his hand low enough to push at the top of Johnny’s jeans until he gets the hint and lifts his hips enough for them to be pushed down. He moans when the cold air hits his oversensitive cock, can’t help squirming in place even more.

“If you’re this needy after only a few days locked away, I can’t wait to see you in another week.”

Johnny groans loudly at that, uncaring about any soldiers happening down their hall. “C���mon, Ghost, no, you weren’t serious about the two weeks-”

A sharp slap to his inner thigh has Johnny shutting up, clenching his jaw tight at the kick in his cock, the tight restriction of the cage.

“You know I don’t go back on my promises, Johnny. The cage stays on for two weeks. Maybe next time you’ll remember to ask permission before making a mess of yourself, hm?”

Johnny rolls his head back on the pillow, does everything in his power to keep from lunging for that stupid key and unlocking himself. He can tell by the way Ghost smirks that the other man knows exactly what he’d like to do, nearly whimpers again when he leans forward a bit to let the key hang in the air tauntingly.

“You gonna be able to focus the rest of the day like this? Or you need me to empty your balls for you?”

Johnny jerks up, stares wide-eyed up at Ghost. “Wha’? You just said two weeks, what’re you on about?”

Simon only tilts his head, cocks an eyebrow. “You goin’ dumb before we even get started, Johnny? Maybe I should leave your balls full and swollen, not sure you’ll have any thoughts left if I give you anythin’ else.”

“No,” Johnny grabs Simon’s wrist desperately when he moves to pull his pants back up. “No, no, ‘m sorry, I was listening. Please, please will you let me cum?”

“No. That’s not what I offered. You aren’t coming until that cage comes off - you knew that already, quit your whinin’. But I can empty out your balls if it means you don’t wander around braindead, don’t sneak off just to hump the air all pathetic.”

Johnny whines. “Yeah, whatever, just please… whatever you want to do, just do it, yeah?”

Ghost smirks, reaches a hand up to ruffle Johnny’s mohawk. “Attaboy. Alright, on all fours for me.”

Johnny doesn’t question the order, just kicks his pants off the rest of the way and rolls to get on his knees, propping himself up on his hands and glancing eagerly over at Simon as he pulls out a bottle of lube. Simon lands a few heavy slaps on his ass as he shifts to kneel between his thighs and Johnny moans a bit, rocks backwards for more. 

There’s no warning as Ghost dribbles lube over Johnny’s hole - not much need of it either, with how rough Ghost had been only a few hours before. Johnny still moans at the stretch of even one finger, more for show because he’s desperate for any relief he can get.

“Hush, Johnny,” Ghost rumbles, a hint of sternness in his tone. “Don’t want anyone interrupting us.”

He slips a second finger in quickly, finds Johnny’s prostate with unerring accuracy. Johnny bites the sheets to muffle his moan as Ghost pushes, applying direct pressure to the little bundle of nerves.

“There ya go,” Ghost murmurs as Johnny sinks lower into his arch, his ass presented more invitingly. “Alright, let’s get you drained, Johnny.”

And that’s exactly what he does. He massages Johnny’s prostate with two fingertips, almost curls them around the spot. Johnny’s eyes nearly roll back in his head at the sudden and constant pressure, hips grinding back instinctually. His cock aches where it presses against the bars of the cage, but the pleasure feels so good it’s almost enough to drown the pain out.

“Look,” Ghost grunts what feels like hours later. “Your soft little cock’s drooling, Johnny. See what a mess you’re making?”

Johnny doesn’t lift his head to look, buries his face deeper in the pillows and whines. The pleasure is rising, rising, rising, and he feels like he’s going insane when it has nowhere to go.

“I said look,” Ghost snaps, a harsh hand ripping Johnny’s head up and forcing him to look down, the top of his skull pressed into the sheets. “Look at your filthy little cock. Can’t help but come, even all locked up.”

Simon’s right - cum drips from the tip of Johnny’s cock cage like he’s having the world’s slowest orgasm, there’s even a little pool of the white liquid forming beneath him. He whines at the sight because he’s not orgasming, he feels like he’s right there on the edge but can’t quite make that final push.

“Hush,” Simon soothes, and a hand smoothes it’s way up and down Johnny’s back. “You’re almost empty. Just a little longer, keep bein’ good for me.”

Johnny can’t help but tear up a little at the praise, makes a choked off noise in his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut tight, tries to imagine falling off the cliff he’s staring past. He's right there.

It’s almost painful how badly he needs to come. The mix of the cage forcing his dick to stay soft and the endless rubbing at his prostate with no way to come his Johnny feeling like he’s lost his mind, has him digging his face deep in the sheets to try and hide from the sensations.

The pressure against his prostate leaves him gasping, Ghost's fingertips rhythmic and their dance unending. His cock feels heavy between his legs, and his heartbeat kicks up several notches like it always does right before he comes. But he doesn't - he just stays there, right on the gasping and writhing edge of coming undone.

Some indeterminable amount of time later - minutes, hours, it could be years for all Johnny knows - Simon’s fingers stop rubbing, and he pulls out. Johnny groans loudly enough to be heard in the hallway, but he can’t help himself. He’s so much worse off than he was when he left the meeting, feels like his dick might explode if he doesn't get to come. He's sure there must be bruises forming along his shaft from how hard it presses along the bars of the cage.

Ghost flips him onto the back, laughs a little at Johnny’s dazed expression and the color his cock is flushed in it's prison.

“There you go,” Simon gives a few taps to the cage, makes Johnny jerk and whine. “All emptied out for me. You did well, Johnny.”

Johnny can’t respond, only squeezes his eyes shut and digs the heels of his hands into them until little fireworks dance along his eyelids.

“Did your brain drain out along with your cum?” Simon grabs Johnny’s wrists, forces them away from his eyes and smiles meanly down at him, that damn chain hanging just over his heart. ”C’mon, Johnny, what do you say when someone gives you a compliment?”

“Th-thank you,” Johnny pants, hips humping in the air a bit even though he knows it’s pointless.

Simon smiles, lets one of his wrists go to tap his face. “Good boy.”

He stands from the bed, gives Johnny another long look before walking back to the door.

“Clean up your mess before bed tonight. I don’t want to sleep in a puddle of your cum just because your balls got a little too full. Got it?”

Johnny barely manages to hold one thumb up in the air as his arms fall to cover his face again, a loud groan echoing into the hallway as Ghost steps out.

[pondslime]

@pretty-possum​​ cynth, ur mind. ur fuckin MIND. thank u for sending me this electric idea bc it rlly had me spooning out my brain!! here’s some filthnasty for u in which he has way too much fun and it’s ickyweird

catching flies with honey (if the killing’s what you like, make it sweet)

bo sinclair x afab!reader

rating: explicit

wordcount: 4.8k

Reader POV. You keep telling him how much you hate him. You little spitfire! It's real cute. Anyway, he’s got something special to show you. He’s sure you’ll love it. 

Also posted on AO3 here.

⚠️ Canon typical violence and fuckery. We’re in Bo’s hell basement for the first bit of this, so that means many references to past noncon. When we get to the wax museum nasty, it's dubcon under EXTREME duress. Reader dislikes Bo immensely and makes this clear to him multiple times. Bo finds this endlessly entertaining and adapts his approach to make her even more miserable. He's on his brat-taming shit. Sugary sweet, full of bullshit compliments, contrived as hell. He’s very smug and manipulative and slimy in this fic. HEAVY praise kink. Deviating from my other Bo fics, he doesn’t call you any awful names! Whoa! But he might as well! Because this really isn’t any better! Praise kink as degradation.  A wax sculpture is destroyed, and the resulting viscera and nastiness is described in vivid detail. Some suspension of disbelief is necessary for the decomposition described, but that’s basically a warning for the original movie lmao. Mind break elements. He talks you through it (unfortunately). Multiple orgasms with a heavy focus on overstimulation.  ⚠️

He’s red on the inside, same as you. It’s about time that somebody reminded him.

“I’m gettin’ sloppy.” Bo clicks his tongue. “Ain’t your fault, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that.” You spit out, tugging at the restraints on the chair.

“What? You don’t like me bein’ sweet to you?”

He hums a tune as he clips your fingernails. You expect a sting of pain—want one, even—each time he lifts another finger. It never comes. He’s uncharacteristically gentle, pinching his tongue between his teeth and tilting his head as he studies your hands.

“Ain’t been takin’ care of you like I should, baby.” He murmurs.

Your lip trembles with indignation. You wear enough marks on your skin to know that his version of care isn’t something you want. Your eyes dart back to the scratch on his neck. You wish you could’ve done more, cut deeper—but you’ll take this small victory. It’s a reminder that he’s nothing more than human, shackled by the same mortality you are. You can see that in the pinpricks of blood blooming on his neck.

He bleeds like you and he can die just the same.

“I hope it scars.” You mutter.

Leveling his gaze to meet yours, Bo tips his head towards your bound wrists.

“Hope yours do to.” He chuckles. “You keep yankin’ on those things and we’re ‘bout to have a matchin’ set.”

The smile he gives you is warm and soft, crinkling at the corners of his eyes. It’s as counterfeit as the rest of his persona and just as paper-thin. You wonder who he stole that expression from. He only seems to have things that he’s taken from others.

You count the days with scratches on his Polaroids.

He keeps your nails short now, so you can’t dig into them like you used to. Despite that, you try your best, pressing a crescent moon of a cut into the glossy surface. He’s got enough of them hanging up that you doubt he’ll notice. If you know one thing for certain, it’s that he seems to have a remarkably one-track mind.

He comes down here for you. Everything else is as consequential as the dirt and rust that line the shelves. A product of years of neglect, just another piece of the background. When you think about it, even you are one of those incidental things. The previous occupants of this room watch you from the wall, a constant reminder that this has all happened before. Down here, you are not an anomaly. The technicalities of your self are really just that, technicalities.

It’s necessary to give him things (your body, your time, all that rust) because that’s how you stay alive. You can’t feel bad for that. It’s a hunger like anything else and you swallow it down like any of the other tasteless meals he brings you. It slides down your gullet and with every mouthful, the pang lessens. When the hunger is gone, all you’re left with is the way he sits in your stomach.

You have to be careful. If you’re not, there’ll come a point where there won’t be anything more to pry away. You have to stay awake.

You’re screaming. Bo’s yawning.

“Figured ya’ woulda gotten that outta your system by now.”

You ignore him.

“Want me to try and holler with ya’? Might help that sound carry.”

“Where’s everybody else?” You wheel around to face him, hands balled into tight fists. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, leaning back on his elbows.

“Dunno.” Scrunching his face up in thought, he purses his lips. “Haven’t seen nobody ‘round here in a minute. Just you.”

“Just me?” You chew on your bottom lip, searching his face. “You’re not a good liar.”

“I’m not lyin’.” He smirks at you.

“They’re all dead, aren’t they?” Your voice warbles a bit around the question, but you manage to steady your voice. You hope he doesn’t notice.

He does.

“Look darlin’, I know you’re real worried ‘bout those friends of yours.” He frowns at you, brow creased in a poor attempt at sympathy. “And I don’t wanna scare ya’ baby. I really don’t. But you gotta know. My brother…he ain’t right. If he got to ‘em first…can’t tell ya’ what could’ve happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got this, uh—this compulsion.” He shakes his head slowly, letting out a low whistle. “Bad stuff. Gotta keep ya’ away from him.”

“Why?”

“Oh, ‘cuz you’re somethin’ special.” He drags the last word out, letting it pop in his mouth. “But you know that, don’tcha, baby?”

His praise might as well have been spat into your face with a wad of saliva.

Getting to his feet with a groan, he glances over his shoulder. He stands there for a beat too long, eying the Polaroids. Leaning over, he tugs one off the wall. You haven’t exactly been subtle with your date-keeping. He scans over the damage, his lips curling into a sneer.

“I’m gonna say this once.” His face twists into a scowl. “All this? It’s real cute—until it ain’t.”

There’s an eagerness to your breath as you watch him, your eyes darting from the ruined picture back to his face. It’s an odd, confusing thing, but part of you prefers him like this. The cruelty makes him predictable. You’re so sick of the platitudes, the sugary pet names. You know what he wants to call you, what he really thinks of you as. He may as well have branded those words deep into your skin.

You used to make him so angry. It almost felt like your encounters were equal parts punishment doled out to both of you, wrapped up around the callous bite of his voice. This recent change in demeanor frustrates you, it feels like it was born out of something you did. Nothing bothers you more than that. When you were a slut, or a whore, or a nasty little bitch, that was all him.

You ready yourself for what’s coming, knowing that it’ll hurt, but pleased to know that you managed to break his composure. Unable to hide behind thinly veiled niceties, he can’t pretend to be kind.

To your dismay, his face relaxes.

“Reckon it ain’t nice to tease ya’ with pictures when ya’ want the real thing.” He sighs, crumpling the picture in his hand. Your shoulders sag. “I’ll make it up to you, baby.”

You start your count back up on a new Polaroid. It feels less satisfying, but that’s routine for you.

You’re six notches deep into your new calender when Bo comes downstairs jangling his keys.

“Got somethin’ to show ya’ today.”

“…What is it?”

“Don’t wanna spoil the surprise.” He shrugs, shooting you a smile. “Can’t bring it here, so…how ya’ feel ‘bout takin’ a walk, darlin’?”

Outside the gas station, you shield your eyes from the sun.

Rustling in his pocket, Bo pulls out a crumpled box of cigarettes. You peer around as he flicks his lighter open, your heart stuttering in your chest. You’re not bound. There’s nothing preventing you from taking off down the street. But this is his test, and you know that.

The limits of the town are further than you’d thought. Even if you could make it to the mouth of the town without him at your heels, that’s only part of it. The momentum you’d need to sustain to get down the road means nothing if you lose it there, face-down in the gravel.

Bo’s taking a drag of his cigarette when you glance back at him, a smirk playing at the ends of his lips. He looks at you like he can tell what you’re thinking, as if he’s run through the same scenario a thousand times in his mind. He’s come out the winner every time. You’re sure he’d love for you to prove him right.

“You want one?” He gestures toward the cigarette.

In place of an answer, you glare at him.

“Suit yourself, sweetness.” He grins.

“Waste of money.” You murmur.

“You might be right. But I never buy any of ‘em.” There’s an edge of manic glee in his voice. “Not once.”

Keeping your eyes on him, you press your lips together. You can tell he wants you to ask what he means by that. He’s all but bouncing on his heels, eyes twinkling. He hasn’t fucked you in days, has barely seemed to have time to touch you. It felt like a reprieve at the time, but this barely-contained excitement worries you.

You don’t respond.

He finishes his cigarette, flicking it away.

“C’mon.”

Bo leads you up the hill to the wax museum. Reaching out, he closes his hand around the door handle. It opens with a creak.  

“Go on. Ladies first.”

Inside, it’s quiet, but there’s no peace.

Sun reflects out through green panes, bathing everything in unnatural light. It feels wrong to stand here in the gloom, surrounded by an assortment of shadowy wax figures, their faces frozen in placid contentment. Nervousness gnaws at your chest, leaving your palms clammy.

“What are we doing here?” Your throat feels tight.

He doesn’t answer, just leads you deeper into the room. Your eyes land on a mirror against the far wall. In its dusty cloudiness, you both are shadowy blobs of shapes, completely insubstantial.

“Keep goin’. ‘S in the other room.”

He beckons you through an open doorway and dust tickles your nose. Following his gaze, your eyes land on another group of wax sculptures. Their clothes are just as dated as the others, all crushed velvet and strings of pearls. Despite this, they look newer, no tendrils of dust hanging off of their outstretched arms.

There’s something familiar about them, but it’s hard to tell in this light. You take a step closer, narrowing your eyes.

“Ya’ know, my brother likes projects.” You hear Bo say. “Guess that’s somethin’ we got in common.”

You blink in confusion, your mouth falling open. Of course they look familiar—you’d recognize those faces anywhere. Standing in front of you are wax replicas of your friends, leering at you with painted-on smiles.

“What is this?” Your hands are shaking. “Where are they?”

“Right in front of you, darlin’.” Bo exclaims. “Now, don’t they look good? I think they clean up real nice, don’t you?”

It’s nothing more than a cruel joke.

The anger that grips you is sudden, thoughtless. You reel around, your hand clenching into a fist. The punch you throw at him is a pitiful thing. He avoids it easily, catching your wrist in his hand and shoving you away. You back up frantically as he closes in on you, your heart skipping in your chest. Losing your footing, you smack into one of the figures.

“What, you ain’t thankful for the reunion? Thought you’d appreciate it.”

The sculpture totters behind you. You flail wildly as you try to steady yourself, but it’s no use—your feet slip out from under you. As you fall, it falls with you, hitting the floor with a shatter that sprays chips of paint and wax over the ground.

“Hate to say it, but I’m a bit disappointed in ya’, sweet thing.”

Wrenching your head back to look at the damage, your mouth falls open. The impact of the fall bisected the sculpture’s face, cracking it wide open. A scream bubbles up in your throat as you realize that it isn’t hollow. There’s something bloated and dead inside it, staring back at you with milky eyes.

You’d know that face anywhere.

“Dunno how I’m gonna explain this to Vincent, baby. He spent a lot of time on that one.”

You scramble to your feet with a shriek, backpedaling wildly until you run into him. His hands are quick to close around you, pinning your arms behind your back. You try your best to twist out of his grip, but he holds you still, pulling you against his chest.

“Figure he’ll need a replacement.” Bo leans down to murmur in your ear, his tone sickly and apologetic. “I’m gonna have a hell of a time tryin’ to convince him that it ain’t gonna be you.”

Your eyes dart between the figures, hardly registering his words. It’s impossible to make sense of what’s in front of you. Everything seems doused in unreality, tilted on its side. Your friends stand frozen, lips peeled away from their teeth in twisted imitations of smiles. It’s been so long that you can hardly remember what their voices sound like. You won’t hear them again. The people they used to be live on only in your head, spiraling into a mass of memory. The realization has your throat tightening, your eyes blurring with tears.

You feel his lips against your hair and a broken wail tips out of your mouth. You’ve walked straight into the gaping maw of an open grave. They’re here and they’re rotting and there’s nothing to be done because you’re too late. This is no museum—it’s a mausoleum, and you paid your respects through a splattering of viscera on the floor.

“It ain’t that bad. We’ll set somethin’ up real nice for ya’, sweetness. Right by the door.”

You shudder, yanking against his hands.

“Whatcha wanna wear, darlin’? I’ll getcha whatever ya’ want.”

“Don’t tell him!” Your voice comes out shrill, rushing out of you in a high-pitched whine. “Don’t, please, don’t—”

“Well, I gotta tell him, baby.” He sighs.

“No, no, no. Please—”

“You want me to lie to him?” He tugs at your ear with his teeth. “Dunno. Thought I wasn’t a good liar.”

“You can’t, you—” Your breath escapes you in shallow gulps.

Abruptly, he lets go of your arms, shoving you off him. You pitch forward onto the ground, blinking away tears. He pounces on you with a laugh, flipping you onto your back. His hands paw at your breasts, sliding down your stomach. He moves closer, positioning himself between your thighs to force your knees up, yanking your legs open. Your dress rides up, bunching around your hips.

“This ain’t somethin’ I take lightly.” He shakes his head, sighing. “I’d miss ya’.”

“Fuck you.” You squirm underneath him.

“There’s that mouth.” He grins down at you, wrapping a hand around your throat. “That’s my girl.”

You scrabble at his grip, twisting underneath him. Bo’s hand doesn’t budge, his fingers closing tighter around your neck.

“Fuck. You.” You wheeze, unable to muster the venom you intend.

If you’re going to die, you want him to bruise you, to mark you up in such a way that the person responsible for the macabre mannequins in the other room would notice. You want the signs of a fight clear upon your skin. Anything to make them rethink dressing you up in satin and costume jewelry; kept on display to be gawked at, locked in someone’s imagined view of you.

Leave that one to rot on the side of the road, she’s sick of being looked at.

“Well, since you’re askin’ so nicely…” He grins down at you, his eyes glinting. “How you want it?”

His fingers brush between your legs, cupping your pussy through the cotton. You let out a sputtered yelp as he pulls your panties to the side. His thumb begins to rub at your clit and you buck your hips up, making a desperate move to wrench yourself away from him.

“Right there, baby?”

His grip on your throat is rhythmic, tightening and loosening and tightening again. Helpless darkness grips you as your throat constricts, only to be met with the shuddering relief of air filling your lungs. Head spinning, you oscillate wildly between the two unyielding extremes. You gasp when he pushes his finger into you, horrified to find yourself wet enough that it slides in easily. Your pussy clenches around the intrusion involuntarily, making you squeal.

"Guess all that death don't bother you. You're a trooper, baby." He pumps a second finger in, stretching you open. Your thighs shake and you can’t help the desperate little mewl that escapes your mouth.

“Got yourself an audience and now you’re purrin’ like a kitten.” He smirks, amusement plain in his voice. “That’s all ya’ needed, huh?”

“No.” You hiss out.

“Mmm-hmm. I hear ya’, darlin’.” His voice drips with honey, warm and throaty above you. “Don’tchu worry.”

You twist your head to the side, forcing your eyes to focus on the unnatural poses held by the corpses of your friends. Maybe it would be better to be like they were, immobile in their grotesque funeral clothes. They wouldn’t know what it felt like to lose all this, to die while you still breathed. Your eyes fall on the shattered carnage that covers the floor a few feet away. The hopelessness numbs you, making it easier to ignore the distracting warmth between your thighs. You’ll look at all that death and he won’t be able to make you feel anything.

“Eyes up here, beautiful.” He forces your head back. “Don’t like you lookin’ at ‘em when I’m touchin’ you. Makes me jealous.”

The room is warm and you’re warmer still, uglier than you’ve ever felt, sweat beading on your brow and dripping down the side of your face. He works another finger into you, humming under his breath. You gasp around the added pressure, squeezing your eyes tightly shut.

“Just like that, baby.” He readjusts his grip on your throat, stroking a finger up the thundering beat of your pulse. “Make yourself feel good. You need it.”

You realize with a whimper that you’re doing just that, rocking down on his fingers. Your body is traitorous and so is that hunger, demanding to be full, to take in as much as it could. Like a whore, your mind offers up bitterly. Just like a whore. You bite back a moan, twisting under him. You wish that he’d call you that, that his hand was digging harder into your skin. You need this to hurt so you can focus on the poison that drips off his words. If you could manage that, you’d make it out of here.

This is about survival. That’s what you’re trying to do.

He shifts the angle of his hand slightly and you tense up, unable to muffle the moan that spills out of your mouth. Your orgasm is a shivery, unexpected thing, clambering up your spine and washing over you in a traitorous burst. It tastes like betrayal, shuddering its way through you with a shock, stealing the words from your tongue and leaving you gasping for air. Your eyes are watering when he finally lets go of your throat, tugging your underwear off.

"You got over that fast. Nothin’ brings you down, huh?” You hear the jingle of his belt as he undoes it. With a grunt, he nudges your legs wider apart with his knee, pulling you towards him. “You're a wonder, baby."

You jolt away with a gasp when you feel the head of his cock rub against your clit, your mouth falling open. He flashes a smile down at you, dragging his length through your folds.

“How’s that, baby?”

“It’s too much, it’s—” You take a ragged gasp as he presses against your entrance, screwing your eyes tightly shut.

“’S okay.” He murmurs, rocking the head of his cock slowly into your pussy with shallow thrusts. You grit your teeth together, hissing a shaky breath through your nose.

When he eases into you, you let out a watery sob. Pressing into you slow, you’re acutely aware of every inch of him. He’s usually too impatient to let you feel this gradual stretch, the way your walls clench helplessly around his cock.

“Feels good, huh?” He sinks deeper into you, and you tremble. “You like it?”

You shake your head sharply. You wiggle your hips down, anxious for him to fill you completely. You need it done so you can forget the way that this feels. There are things you shouldn’t see and things you shouldn’t feel, and today has been full of both.

“C’mon now, baby.” His tone is sugary sweet and patronizing. Each word plods out slow, as if he’s talking to a child. “If it feels good, you gotta like it.” 

You feel a flicker of embarrassment, but it’s not enough to push past the fog of euphoria that’s coiling low in your belly. Your breath stutters out of you in uneven bursts, almost as if his hand is still around your throat. That’s how this pleasure feels—it’s a choking, inescapable thing, pinning you against the ground.

“You’re takin’ me so well, baby. You wanna know how good that feels ‘round my dick?”

He rocks into you, slow and deep, dragging a pitiful moan from your lips.

“Be careful, angel.” Bo lets out a breathless laugh. “You’re gonna wake up ya’ friends.”

A sharp bolt of revulsion thrums through you, tugging you out from under the throb of sensation. The shame twists in your stomach, rotten and sickly. Before it can stick, he reaches down and slips his hands under your waist. With hardly any effort, he lifts you off the floor, tilting your pelvis up to meet him. Your mouth is pooling with saliva, tears pricking at your eyes. At this angle, he’s so deep that it’s as if you can feel him everywhere, pushing at the back of your throat. You let out a desperate whine, locking your legs around his waist. Without his hands to hold you up, you feel like you’d melt away into the floor.

He rolls his hips and you stutter out a sob, tremors of desperate pleasure wracking your body. You’re shaking, hands reaching up to tremble uselessly at your chest.

“What am I doin’, baby?”

“You’re—” You slur out, panting. “You’re fucking me.”

“Uh-huh. Ya’ like it?”

You keen out an unintelligible reply, nodding up at him desperately. He rewards your answer with a brush to your clit and your mouth falls open.

“Good, baby. Gettin’ a little hard to talk, yeah?” His words are coated in self-congratulatory smugness that can’t manage to hide behind sweetness. It taunts you, clawing under your skin and tearing through you in a way that only serves to make you wetter. “You ain’t gotta care ‘bout nothin’ other than how that feels.”

He fucks down into you, his cock kissing something deep in you that has you gaping up at him, stuttering out a moan. He’s pushing deep, impossibly so, then pulling out to press back in. Here, in this desperate haze of feeling that has you arching your back on the ground, it all feels so unavoidable.

Distantly, you can hear him murmuring above you. You’re so good, aren’t you? Say yes, sweetheart, but only if you want to. Only if it feels right. A distant part of your brain reminds you that the last thing you want to be is good. Trying desperately to catch onto that thought only has it fading away into that all-consuming pressure building up between your legs.

“Whose girl are you?”

“Yours.” You hiccup out. You’re disloyal and fickle and weak—and you aren’t lying, you can’t lie.

“That’s right.”

It feels like you’re losing something, your thoughts unspooling and picking up momentum as they roll away, getting further and further from you with every thrust of his hips.

Everything you give him is nothing he deserves.

“You wanna show me what a good girl you are and cum?”

No.

“Nn—”

The pleasure is a knife in your gut, splitting you open from the base of your belly all the way up to the shuddering flesh of your throat. It feels like honey, like his voice above you—eviscerating, cruel because it isn’t cruel. Hurting because it doesn’t, because all you wanted was him and he gave it to you. You arch up desperately, chasing after more of that sensation.

“Oh, angel. That’s perfect.”

He holds you suspended in the rolling thrum of your orgasm, thrusting deeper into you. Your orgasm burns at the back of your eyes, a blinding thing, gouging you open with white-hot light. Unlike the first, this one seems to wash over you with no end. You cry out, thrashing under the unrelenting waves, his cock pulsing inside you. His breathing is labored as he works his hips, sweat plastering his hair to his brow.

You look up at him and you don’t hate him—and that’s the worst thing, dragging another woozy ripple of pleasure out of your core. Your heart hammers away in your chest, pounding hot and loud in your ears. He spills inside you with a groan, his hands digging tightly into your thighs. Your body seems to throb with warmth, rolling waves of it leaving your limbs numb and useless.

With an embarrassingly wet squelch, he pulls out of you. You close your eyes and the world spins inside your head, making your eyelids heavy. Dimly, you can hear him zipping up the fly of his pants, refastening his belt. He clears his throat, huffing out a tired laugh.

“Like I told ya’, baby. You’re somethin’ special.”

He says something else and you nod. You’re not sure what he might have asked you—but he likes agreement. You’ve never cared much for what he liked, never had a desire to give whatever that was to him. But it’s easier to say yes. You can’t pin down what part of you has decided that’s true, but it’s pulsing between your legs and sitting on your tongue like it belongs there.

“Think I’d let him get his hands on you? That’s crazy talk, girl.”

Your thighs spasm a bit and you gulp. He lowers himself over you, sinking onto his elbows to press a kiss onto your trembling mouth. You can feel his spend leaking out of you, running down between your legs and puddling underneath you. The ache is coming, you can feel it, throbbing deep in your cunt.

When you were little, you couldn’t swallow pills. You needed them ground up and mixed in with sugar, served up on a spoon for you to swallow. Even then, you knew it was there, felt like you could taste it. But it made it easier, didn’t it? You couldn’t tell then and you can’t tell now. You whimper and he smiles against your lips, teasing your mouth open with his tongue.

Seems like you can take anything if it’s hidden under sugar.

As the haze of pleasure begins to lift, the room starts to come back into focus. You’re remembering that you can’t be here, that death is familiar and close. You have to leave, you have to run. With a shaky sob, you feel the fear begin to hitch up in your throat again, crawling out of the pocket of your insides that it’s been hiding in.

You yelp as you feel him circle around your clit again. Thrashing underneath him, you shake your head wildly.

“Nice and sensitive now, yeah? Look at that.”

You whimper helplessly, the words forming on your tongue only to disappear a moment later. Your clit feels swollen between your legs, delivering a snap of electricity to your core with every unrelenting stroke of his fingers. You teeter on the razor-edge of pain and pleasure—ratcheted too high, past the point of enjoyment. There’s nowhere left for the feeling to go. You’ll need to claw your way out of your skin to alleviate it, you’ll need him to take you apart.

“Sto—” The word’s swallowed up by a series of high-pitched vocalizations, spilling from your lips, one tripping over the other. Your grasp on language feels as sloppy as your cunt. Slippery, needy things. What good were they now?

“Ya’ know what I think?” He murmurs. “I think this pussy’s got one more.”

Dizzily, you think about the cigarette he’d offered you earlier. You could use it now.

“I can’t, I can’t—”

“Pretty girl.” He reaches up with his free hand to wipe away the tears spilling down the side of your face. “It’s hard, I know.”

If you had any energy, you’d bite him, you’d take out as many chunks as you could. Are you sure? That version of you feels far away now. He sinks his fingers back into your pussy and you whine. There’s no resistance to be found inside you, just a quivering hole fucked wide, greedily squeezing around his fingers.

“You wanna know somethin’, baby? I’ve always been selfish. Got told that a lot, and I reckon they were right.” His voice is as soft as his hands, rumbling into your head. “Can’t help it.”

“Bo, please—” You’re wound too tight to cum again, each touch a shivery spike of feeling that leaves you wanting to vacate your body. You need to tell him that, you need to—

“Name sounds real good in that mouth.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Say it again, would ya’?”

“Bo. Bo.” You let out a broken sob, a fresh wave of tears glazing over your eyes. “Bo…”

“Hush now, angel. Third times the charm.”

[wispstalk]

20 questions for writers

under the cut. Thanks to @everybodyknows-everybodydies for tagging🖤

Tagging back: @nuwanders @jiubilant @ervona @ehlnofay @druidx @blossom-adventures @sylvienerevarine @throughtrialbyfire @da3drat no pressure

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Five

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

198327

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just elder scrolls. I have a feeling that's gonna be it for me. I've been tempted to write stardew valley fic lately which would perhaps be classed as "crack" (I know what that is in theory but the way people use it makes no sense to me) but I took a cursory look at the tag and I don't think the stardew valley fandom is ready for a ray fic lmao

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Well. I have five.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try 🫠 it haunts me how often I've left my beloved mutuals on read..... but if that's u and I did, I am telepathically beaming this: !!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Making out sloppy style etc etc

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

lol. lmao even

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

.....within AO3 I guess it's "Morning" but also that's set at a refugee camp? I will say the skyrim story will have a more peaceful ending but up until now fic writing has been an outlet for my thwarted rage and covid brain damage soooo

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I mean this is generally a culture of positive feedback. Someone did yell at me once for hitting martin septim with the transgender beam which is a level of no-life-havin loserdom which could be classed as "hate" but came off as pure cope and seethe

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I really bristle at the word smut sorry its too cutesy. I was a prodomme for seven years I don't do euphemisms lol. I wrote a sex scene into IITT to see how I felt about writing sex scenes. I learned that I am only interested in writing them if they serve specific functions. I have absolutely zero judgment toward anyone who wants to write about fuckin and suckin, that's just not why I'm here

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No but recently my household watched game of thrones together and my bf and his brother were cracking jokes like what if one of these medieval characters had a gundam. Neither of them read fic so I was like don't be too entertained by yourselves. I bet that has been written. looked it up on ao3 and sure as shit

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I'm not gonna lie I did find a fic where someone very obviously ripped me off but I don't wanna call them out. One specific instance where they bit my style was so clumsily applied as to be obvious, but their prose in general was fantastic so like. who care.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not as far as I know but that would make me holler

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Nope. I'm not opposed to the idea but it's hard to imagine how I'd do this given my process. I think I'd be pretty difficult to work with

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

?!? I dunno I don't have one. I put a lot of effort into writing martinhok but I could not say that one, due to how overwhelmingly heterosexual the tag is. I'm sorry but can everyone who's not a faggot please pipe down

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have my moments with the skyrim wip. I've signed myself up for something pretty complicated and challenging but I also learned that I can finish things so I'm not really worried about it. The fact of the matter is: I do not care if this is good. It matters that it is done so I can move on with my life. If parts of it are boring and overlong that's yalls problem

16. What are your writing strengths?

I get a lot of compliments on my worldbuilding. I do think a lot about the minutiae of material culture and think I have a talent for incorporating detail in engaging ways

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm a cornball. This is a corny activity. I don't really care because I'm doing it for free. Enjoy the unsolicited view into an internet stranger's terrible psyche

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I try to apply with a light hand. I'm a dumbass sheltered American and I can mostly make myself understood in a Spanish-speaking country but that's about it. I like playing around with language and the idea of multilingual societies matters to me so I include it, but I'm not a linguist so I try to work within my limits. Whether I am successful at this is up to others.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Elder scrolls. Never felt compelled until i spent a winter playing oblivion and went wow this game has an incredibly bleak narrative behind a silly aesthetic. Oops now I'm in a lore pit

20. Favorite fic you've written?

The Nature of Fire is my best prose hands down. I'm gonna be real with y'all I am desperate for people to read it. It is genuinely the best I can do at this point and if you like what I've done so far, well, whatever u read sucks compared to this fic.

[voxofthevoid]

I voted puppyjou and the more i hear about shibuya swap im not even mad about it. It's been gnawing at my brain since chapter four of the kidnapping fic, where yuuji reminscing about being trapped ("at home" i cannot BELIEVE how close he came to saying that out loud. Yuuji you make me so unwell my fucking god.) in the forest with gojo sounded a lot like he's being domesticated. Like gojo taking his little tiger out for walkies and outside the barrier for enrichment and finger foods :))) seeing that flipped sounded fun, but oh my god.

When you said you were going to put yuuji through the horrors you weren't kidding. Kenjaku raising yuuji uh huh yes please♡

but before that, my favorite lines-

'Brat, Sukuna growls. I’ll eat you alive.

“I’m eating you dead,”'

YESS its so snarly and personal and its not civil, its just not🥰♡ It's seared in my brain, i love it and it sounds like Alt!Yuuji took that and ran. The correct response to Sukuna is eating his everything and leaving nothing, and I can't wait. And of course that means taking all the coolest parts of his design and claiming them as your own!! Irrevocably changed by the horrors we may be, but we look good doing it (●’∇’)♪ doubling the amount of arms, eyes and dicks in a scene sounds like a logistical nightmare lmao you're a legend for making it work. and wait holdup, 'blowing an oversized tongue' is there making out with the tummy mouth👀 i need to mentally prepare for sloppy tummy mouth makeouts oh my god

You 🤝 me on being made unwell by Yuuji. He adapts so well that the *checks notes* isolated forest cabin he’s literally imprisoned in gets slotted into the mental category of “home” in a span of like two months. Normal things! I’m cracking up at “gojo taking his little tiger out for walkies and outside the barrier for enrichment and finger foods,” but it really does feel like that, doesn’t it? Well, Yuuji’s about to get a lot more enrichment in his enclosure—for better or for worse.

If you want the dynamics of the kidnapping fic reversed, more than the Shibuya swap, I have another role/age reversal idea outlined that fits it so, so well—its descriptive title is “domain rape AU” and actual title is i'll be the star (you can be the horrified one), so you can imagine the…themes. But I really need the manga to finish so I can do the idea justice. For now, know that there are tiny hints of puppyjou in the Shibuya swap, mostly Yuuji treating adult!Gojou like he’d treat his teen!Gojou. For example—

“I’m sure he’s trying,” Yuuji says. He pats Satoru, a light touch at the top of his head like he’s a puppy. It stuns him silent. “You always work hard when it matters, don’t you, Satoru?”

“You look so disappointed,” Yuuji says, clearly amused. Satoru tries to school his expression, but too little too late; Yuuji pats his cheek like he’s a puppy. “Don’t pout, Satoru. You’ll get distracted if that thing’s there. And you don’t want that, right?”

The “thing” in that last passage is indeed the belly mouth! I wasn’t planning on adding it, but I did give Yuuji scars where that mouth is and where Sukuna’s extra arms would join his torso, and then my hand slipped, so Gojou mouthing at the scar turned into this: “Flesh splits open against Satoru’s lips, and an obscenely big tongue plunges into his mouth.” It only escalates from there, so sloppy belly mouth makeouts are very much on the menu 😏

…Might be a problem how much of it is there actually. It’s a longass scene. But @nearalways volunteered as my guinea pig (read: they blissfully went to sleep and woke up to 2.3k of Gojou choking on a tongue the size of a dick), and the reaction is very promising. It won’t see the light of Ao3 until 2025 though.

The correct response to Sukuna is eating his everything and leaving nothing, and I can't wait. And of course that means taking all the coolest parts of his design and claiming them as your own!! Irrevocably changed by the horrors we may be, but we look good doing it.

ANON, YOU GET IT!!! I’ve had this HC for nearly as long as I've been into JJK, fueled by how canon handles the marriage of bodies and souls, plus Gojou’s comment about Yuuji inheriting Sukuna’s CT and the fanbook information on what’d happen if Yuuji ate the Death Painting Wombs. Him actually eating them and, as hinted by the conversation with Kamo, inheriting some sort of blood manipulation made me so damn gleeful precisely because of how it could be applied to scenarios where Sukuna stays in him and gets chewed up. Cannibalism is sexy.

Shibuya swap alt!Yuuji’s version of eating Sukuna is a little different than my usual route, but you're right that he took that line and ran with it. That plus being raised by Kenjaku has made extra him fun to write.

Thanks for this lovely ask 💗

[bhaalsdeepbat]

NSFW | AO3 | Star Wars Word Count: 3,079

Excerpt: “I will miss you,” Satine told him quietly, her voice soft and barely audible, even in their silence.             Obi-Wan pursed his lips. He looked at her, taking in the sight of her profile against the soft light in the background. He exhaled softly, and then leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against her temple, as he had grown accustomed to during the past few months. When he pulled away, he watched as her expression softened, brows knitting together. A mixture of sadness and something else – something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, even with his sensitivity – filled her eyes as she placed a hand over his forearm. She gave it a gentle squeeze.             “Accompany me to bed.” It was a demand, leaving no room for him to argue. The corner of his lip curled into a small smile as he kissed her temple again.             “As you wish,” Obi-Wan murmured before silence settled over them once more. A/N: Old fic I wrote for a friend involving inappropriate use of the Force lmao

There were too many people separating them at the table.  Obi-Wan couldn’t keep his eyes away from her, watching as she reached for her glass of wine to take small sips, her movements graceful and slow. He wanted to look away, to not notice the gentle arch of her neck as she tilted her head so she could pay closer attention to the person speaking to her. It was infuriating that someone could be so cultured, so perfect.

            They were sitting at a table for a small dinner gathering to commemorate his time with the small group of Mandalorians. He, with his Master, Qui-Gon, had been protecting Satine for over a year, now. The mission from the council had been one he had questioned, until he had gotten to know the woman. Their personalities did not exactly mesh well at first, but the longer he stayed with her, the more he realized that there was more to Satine than her sharp tongue. She had wit and passion to back it up, a mixture that had Obi-Wan enticed.

            He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he tried to breathe out the irritation. He felt his shoulders relaxing as he reached for his drink. It was his third one that night, since it was one of the few times he would allow the intoxication to gently wash over him, painting the world in a pleasant haze that made the buzz of conversation almost pleasurable to hear. He liked to think of himself as a rather civilized fellow, with the ability to handle the culture and the class that came with wealth, but after hearing the same conversations over and over for months, he found himself drained of patience for the constant babble.

            “We are sad to see you go,” one woman told him, finally bringing his attention away from Satine. He managed a smile, nodding as he gently put his glass down. Even if he felt the pleasurable buzz of the alcohol, he knew better than to present himself as sloppy. 

            “I must say, it has been an honor to stay here. It’s a shame to have to leave,” Obi-Wan told her, his lips stretching into a pleasant, practiced smile.

            He glanced at Satine, catching her gaze with his own. Her eyes narrowed, though he couldn’t determine if it was irritation of something else. He pursed his lips for a moment, and then inclined his head. “I trust Satine will be safe once I’m gone.” He held her gaze.

            “I’m right here, Obi-Wan, dear.” Satine’s lips stretched into a dry smile as she leaned forward. She reached for her glass, swirling the alcohol. She placed a hand beneath her chin and leaned against the table. “Do not speak of me as though I am not.”

            “My apologies.” He swallowed, face flushing a light shade of red as he took another sip of his drink. “I do wish you the best, Satine. I’m sure your guard will be sufficient enough to keep you protected.” He smirked.

            “They’ll be just as sufficient as you, padawan.” The word was sharp, but Obi-Wan just found himself chuckling softly as he scrubbed a hand down his clean-shaven face. “Thank you both for your assistance.” She turned her attention to Qui-Gon, flashing him a smile.

            “It was our pleasure, really.” Qui-Gon returned the smile, looking as relaxed as can be.

            “What are your plans, once you return home?” The woman from before leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she eyed Obi-Wan. He could feel her desire. It crept across his skin, making the surface prickle. He put a hand over his wrist, gripping it as he leaned back, not at all comfortable being the object of this particular woman’s desire.

            “Whatever the Order decides,” he replied with a smile, hiding his discomfort.

            “Well, this dinner was more than just satisfactory,” Satine announced as she lifted her glass, cutting in before the woman in front of Obi-Wan could speak up again. “To the Jedi. their service has been greatly appreciated.”

            The rest of the table held their glasses, raising them up as they chanted, “To the Jedi!”

            “The hospitality is greatly appreciated,” Qui-Gon told them with a nod. “This meal has been wonderful. Thank you.” He glanced at his padawan, brow arching.

            “Yes. Thank you,” Obi-Wan echoed, taking his Master’s hint.

            “We’re sad to see you both go, but we wish you the best.” Satine took a sip of her drink before setting it down. She pushed her chair back and slowly stood. “I think I will retire. Too much to drink,” she told the small group, laughing softly as she swayed a bit.

            Obi-Wan immediately stood, easily hiding his own intoxicated state. “Let me help you to your room,” he told her, pushing his chair in and walking around to meet her. “We wouldn’t want you falling in the hallway, Duchess.” He offered her an arm. She glanced down at it, but accepted it with a small smile. She looked away, and then guided him away from the group.

            They were silent, letting the babble of the group behind them fill the air as they made their way out of the dining hall. Once they were in the hallway, silence finally fell over them. They walked along, side by side, passing large windows overlooking the city. The stars were bright in the sky, the moons of Mandalor present. The light from it all – the city lights, the moons, and the stars – filtered through the glass, illuminating their path.

“I will miss you,” Satine told him quietly, her voice soft and barely audible, even in their silence.

            Obi-Wan pursed his lips. He looked at her, taking in the sight of her profile against the soft light in the background. He exhaled softly, and then leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against her temple, as he had grown accustomed to during the past few months. When he pulled away, he watched as her expression softened, brows knitting together. A mixture of sadness and something else – something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, even with his sensitivity – filled her eyes as she placed a hand over his forearm. She gave it a gentle squeeze.

            “Accompany me to bed.” It was a demand, leaving no room for him to argue. The corner of his lip curled into a small smile as he kissed her temple again.

            “As you wish,” Obi-Wan murmured before silence settled over them once more.

---

            Satine’s room was large, larger than any of the rooms in any of the homes he had occupied during his lifetime. There was a sitting area with a large armchair and a side table resting beside the balcony. As they entered the room, Satine made her way over to the armchair. She released his arm, putting distance between them before taking a seat. She looked up at Obi-Wan almost expectantly, brow arching and head tilting so her temple was resting against her fist.

            Obi-Wan slowly approached her. He reached forward, gently playing with the intricate headpiece adorned by her hair. She closed her eyes slowly, exhaling softly as he removed the ornament from her hair and set it on the table beside her chair.

            “Thank you,” Satine cooed, eyes opening as she reached up to let her hair down. Obi-Wan reached forward, gently running his fingers through the blonde locks.

            “You’re very welcome.” Obi-Wan leaned forward, his free hand tilting her head up so he could claim her lips in a gentle kiss.

            Her hands slid up, caressing his cheeks as she pulled him into the kiss. She easily took control, one hand sliding back until her fingers could grip the braid behind her ear. She gave it a gentle tug, eliciting a soft moan from him as her tongue darted out past his parted teeth. They stayed like that, Obi-Wan bent over her as she held onto him, her fingers tight in his hair as though she would never let go. Several minutes passed, their kiss not once breaking. His breaths came out as pants against her mouth as the hand on his cheek finally moved, following the stretch of his neck and the length of his back down to his ass. She pulled him forward, guiding him into her lap.

            Obi-Wan slid into her lap, straddling her hips as his arms moved to rest against the back of the chair. He exhaled slowly, finally breaking the kiss so he could press his face against the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of her perfume fill his nostrils.

            “I have something for you,” he told her quietly, face still pressed against her back. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want time to pass because it meant he would have to leave the comfort of her lap.

            “Yeah?” She moved her hand up to rub his back. He exhaled slowly, back stretching beneath her hand as it gently ran down his spine. He nuzzled her.

            “It’s in my pocket.” He hesitantly sat back, letting his weight rest on her thighs as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box. He held it out to her.

            Satine reached out, gently taking the box. She inspected it before slowly opening it. Her lips curled, cheeks flushing as she stared at the pendant in the box. Against the plush, black cushion was a necklace made of a green stone embedded in silver hanging from a silver chain. Obi-wan reached out, taking the necklace from the box, remaining silent as he moved. He unclasped it, and then put it around her neck, easily clasping it in place. He traced the line of the chain down to where the pendant fell. He brushed his thumb against the stone, and then let his hands fall to his lap as he looked up to meet her gaze.

            “It’s beautiful,” Satine commented, her hand falling to where the necklace fell against her breasts.

            He reached out, tracing the outline of the jewel once more. He shuddered as the touch sent a spark of electricity down his spine. He took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly as he held her gaze. “It’s force sensitive. I’ll always be able to feel you,” he told her, looking down to meet her gaze. “Even when I’m far away.”

            Satine pursed her lips. She reached up, fingers running through his hair. She finally pulled him down, letting their foreheads rest together as silence settled over them. He cupped her cheeks, thumbs brushing against her high cheekbones. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted her to ask him to stay, to tell him not to return with Qui-Gon. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave if she would just ask. However, the words never came. Silence continued to fill the air around them as they watched one another, his thumbs brushing her sharp cheekbones as he stared at her with a mixture of desire and sadness.

            She tilted her head back, claiming his lips in a soft kiss, although the softness of the kiss didn’t last long. Soon, she was biting at his lips, fingers pulling on his hair again. He braced himself against the back of the chair with one hand and pushed himself up onto his knees as one of her hands moved to cup him through is pants.

            “Was- was that too sentimental?” Obi-Wan smirked, his breaths coming out as soft pants. Like this, they could forget the longing, forget what was to come.

            “Hardly,” Satine growled as she leaned over. She smirked, sliding her hand up and pressing it against his chest. She pushed him away, forcing him to his feet. “It was perfect.”

            “As are you, sweet Satine,” Obi-Wan purred.

            Satine smirked at him. “You can say that again, Ben,” she murmured before motioning for him to crouch.

            Obi-Wan took a deep breath as he slowly lowered himself to his knees. He leaned forward, reaching for her hand. He guided it forward before brushing his lips across her knuckles. She smirked as she hiked a leg up, pressing the ball of her foot against his shoulder. She slowly pulled her hand away, reclining in the chair like royalty. He lifted a hand, gently placing it against her ankle as he kissed the inside of her exposed calf. She smirked, leaning back in her chair, scooting her lower half forward as she relaxed. She spread her legs for him.

            “Eager, are we?” Obi-Wan smirked as he pressed a few kisses along the inside of Satine’s calf, pushing her skirt up and leaving a trail of kisses behind it until he was at her knee. She flexed her toes, and then moved her foot, digging the heel into his shoulder in response to his teasing. He hissed and moved forward, pushing the rest of her skirt up until it pooled around her hips. He kissed the inside of her thigh, lips parting so he could suck on the pale flesh. She moaned, heel digging into his shoulder again as he bit on the skin, leaving a dark mark for her.

            “Stop messing around, Ben,” she growled the order. Obi-Wan groaned at the demand, nodding slowly as he moved forward, pressing his lips against the lace of her underwear. He took a deep breath, breathing in her scent before parting his lips. He ran his tongue along the fabric, following where he knew the slit between her lips were. She shuddered, leg easing so that her heel was resting against his back, knee relaxed over his shoulder.

            Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his hands moving up to hold her hips as he repeated the action, licking along her panties to get a taste of her through the fabric. She kept still, her soft moans acting as the only indication that he was doing exactly what she wanted.

            He was always surprised by her self-control.

            He hooked his fingers on the waistband of her underwear, slowly pulling them down to reveal what he wanted most. He kissed her cunt, lips brushing the neatly trimmed curls above the slit of her lips. He pressed light kisses down, moving his thumbs forward to spread her for him. He ran his tongue against her clit, flicking it gently. She shuddered, groaning as her legs tensed.

            “Ben,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut. He smirked up at her, repeating the action and slowly lapping at her clit. He watched her expression twist with the purse of her lips, her brows furrowing and her cheeks flushing. She moved a hand, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

            Obi-Wan closed his eyes, focusing on his job rather than his expression. He listened to her noises as he licked the length of her cunt with long strokes, pressing his tongue against her clit softly each time he reached it. Her noises had his own pleasure pooling in his stomach, making him shift, but his own desire could be ignored if it meant listening to her and feeling her through the gift.

            “You can do better than that,” Satine told him. He smirked and responded by pressing a finger against her entrance. He teased her, pressing just the fingertip in as his tongue focused on playing with her clit, not quite giving her the pressure she wanted. He heard a small growl rumble in her throat, her heel digging into his back again. She gripped his braid with her free hand, pulling on it until his nose was buried in her trimmed curls, forcing his tongue to apply more pressure. He groaned softly against her, her slick smearing across his face as he pushed two fingers into her and immediately crooked them.

            “Oh-“ Satine’s legs spread wider for him as she flexed her foot to pull the heel away from his back. She kept a firm grip on his braid, though the other began carding through his hair, petting him gently to encourage him. “That’s a good boy-“

            Obi-Wan smirked, fingers thrusting in and out of her at a quick pace, though he made sure not to be rough. He could feel her arching beneath him, hips rocking now that she was losing herself to the pleasure. He could feel it, could feel how much she loved it. How much she loved him, though it would remain unspoken.

            I love you, too. He wanted to say it, but when the words bubbled in his chest, it was never the right time.

            “Ben-” Satine cried out, legs tensing, heel digging into Obi-Wan’s shoulder as her whole body began to shudder. He groaned, feeling the sparks of her orgasm as she shuddered beneath him. He buried his face in her cunt, licking her through it, ignoring the sudden wetness dribbling down his hand and fingers, dripping onto the armchair.

            She pulled on his hair and he nodded as he pulled away. He pulled his fingers out, licking them clean quickly before standing and climbing back into her lap. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she struggled to catch her breath.

            “I’ve got you,” he murmured, letting her head nestle against his chest.

            “You always have,” Satine breathed, nuzzling him softly. “I just need a moment- And then it’s your turn.”

---

            Light filtered into the room through the large window overlooking her balcony, spreading across the floor and inching towards her large bed. The sheets were a mess, tangled around her legs, the comforter tossed to the ground. Her pillows were arranged around her head, and the sheet tucked around her.

            Satine shifted, groaning softly as she covered her eyes. She rolled, draping an arm across the side of the bed where Obi-Wan had been when they fell asleep the previous night, only to feel the coolness of empty sheets. She pursed her lips, moving her hand around, as though she might just be missing the body that should have been beside her. She peeled her eyes open, looking at the empty space with a deep scowl. She reached out, fingers clutching the sheets where he had once been. From her spot, she could see a note waiting for her. She sighed, closed her eyes, and then turned, ignoring the note and the fact that the man she loved was leaving.

            I love you. Don’t go.

            The words were heavy in her heart, left unspoken for far too long. It was never the right time, and now all their time had passed.

[ric0cheted]

distraction tactics (fic)

In which Geralt needs to sleep, Jaskier has no chill, and Yennefer is perfectly happy to take one for the team. 

(aka time for messy, shoddily-written witcher porn(ish)! all hedonism, zero redeeming qualities. all sorts of permutations of geraskefer. they’re all fucking in my world, lads.)

Upon returning to the manor house, Geralt managed exactly three things: getting undressed, bathing, and crawling into bed.

He wouldn't call the residence at which Yennefer had--temporarily--allowed himself and Jaskier to stay home, exactly. But it certainly beat out the ratty, shit-smelling inns that the nearest town boasted. 

Especially since Geralt's most recent hunt had lasted two days longer than it should've, the monsters had numbered threefold more than they should've, and the coin he'd been paid hadn't reflected either of those developments. Thank the gods he'd managed to, for once, convince Jaskier to stay back. 

All told, Geralt was looking forward to nothing more than sinking into the mattress and letting sleep take hold.

Which meant, of course, that barely three minutes of blessed silence passed before Geralt heard someone kneel beside the bed. He cracked an eye open, right in time to see Jaskier swoop in for a kiss. Geralt rolled his eyes and indulged it, winding his hand in Jaskier’s hair and moaning despite himself when Jaskier's tongue curled around his.

Jaskier pulled away, grinning. "Bring us back anything good?" Jaskier was feeling particularly agreeable, then, if he was referring to himself and Yennefer together like that. "Absolutely fine if the answer happens to simply be your lovely Witcher self. Because we missed you quite a bit." Without further ado, Jaskier slipped under the covers and plastered himself to Geralt, the distinct aroma of arousal wafting from him. 

Geralt had a tendency of forgetting how solid Jaskier was under his clothing, tailored as they were to lend a deceptive waifishness to his frame. Geralt was still taller, still broader, but Jaskier could drape himself across Geralt and cover a good stretch of his body. Much like he currently was. Geralt usually appreciated it, but this time his muscles ached in protest.

Geralt snorted. "Jaskier, I'm fucking tired. I don't even know if I could."

"I'll be good for you," Jaskier promised, kissing Geralt's throat. "Or be good to you. Whichever you'd like." His voice broke into a purr towards the end of his sentence.

"Jaskier," Geralt groaned. He wrapped his fingers around Jaskier's waist, the slimmest part of him, regretfully. He was a hair's breadth away from dislodging the bard himself when Jaskier yelped and jerked out of his grasp, nearly tumbling off the bed.

"You're insufferable," Yennefer told the bard from where she stood in the doorway. Jaskier sat up and rubbed the side of his head, which Geralt could only assume she'd magically slapped. "Now, come with me. I require assistance, and it seems as though yours will have to do.”

Jaskier sighed, deeply put-upon. "You never need my help, so I'm going to assume that you've finally decided to murder me." Jaskier gazed at Geralt with woeful eyes. "Geralt. Geralt. I expect at least a full year of mourning out of you. Also, I'd like my lute donated to a museum, possibly one devoted to the paraphernalia and personal effects of the continent's greatest artists."

Geralt didn't even stay awake long enough to roll his eyes, much less wryly ask why Jaskier would go with her if he was so convinced of his imminent demise.

***

Geralt awoke an hour later. He would've desperately liked more, but it seemed as though sleep would elude him for the moment.

It was all Yennefer and Jaskier’s fault, Geralt thought, grouchily, dragging himself out of bed to bitch at them. He hadn't seen where they'd vanished to earlier, but he didn’t need to guess at their whereabouts, given the overwhelming scent of lust and sex drifting from the library. He'd smelled it in his fucking sleep. It had woken him up. 

In retrospect, Geralt really, truly wished there was something that could've prepared him for what he was walking into.

Dressed in a soft, lace-trimmed robe that ended at her thighs, Yennefer lounged in an armchair, using one hand to page through a thick tome and the other to feed blackberries to Jaskier, handsome and unclothed at her feet. Jaskier was reclining against the chair, one knee pulled to his chest, tilting his head back to take the fruit from her with shocking obedience. His mouth closed around it and Geralt could see his tongue licking at her fingers. Jaskier's soft lips were berry-dark, but his chin and cheeks glistened with something else. His cock was hard, leaking, and untouched.

Geralt choked on his own saliva. Jaskier's eyes, half-closed with bliss, flew open. Their gazes met. Geralt blushed, and then, to his utter bewilderment, Jaskier blushed, scrambling to arrange his limbs in some semblance of modesty and opening his mouth to blurt something out. 

"Geralt." Yennefer said, calmly, twisting her fingers in Jaskier's hair to cut him off. "How was your rest?" Her hold was tight and kept Jaskier from looking away from Geralt. Geralt had no such excuse for failing to tear his own gaze away.

"Fine," Geralt wheezed. It was a terrible lie, but the blood that should've been making its way to his head was traveling decidedly southwards. 

"Good," Yennefer hummed, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. She relaxed her grip and petted Jaskier's hair instead. "Now, it took quite a while to get him like this, and I'd hate to see all of that time and effort undone. Do you intend to stay?" 

Jaskier tilted his head into her touch. There was a still touch of embarrassment about him, burning hotly in his eyes and cheeks, but a dizzy lust was starting to bleed into it. He relaxed his legs, just slightly, letting Geralt catch a glimpse of his cock. It was still very, very hard.

Geralt's mouth watered, his own cock making a valiant effort. But he'd been telling Jaskier the truth, about the degree to which he felt as though he was about to unravel at the seams and fall apart.

Besides, there were things that Geralt hadn't quite worked out about Yennefer and Jaskier, together, certain intricacies to their relationship that Geralt didn't feel equipped to navigate when exhaustion was making him feel the weight of each individual bone in his body. This seemed like one of those occasions.

"I'm going back to sleep." Geralt forced out, voice strangled. "Don't fuck each other to death before I wake up." Taking the coward's route, he turned and fled, Yennefer's peal of laughter following him out.

Geralt made it back to the bedroom and immediately started rifling through the chest of drawers. After a moment of searching, he found a vial of the sleep potion Yennefer had once specially brewed for him. He paused in consideration. It did work, but it was difficult to make, expensive, and usually only granted him a few extra hours, given how quickly his Witcher metabolism burned through it.

Distantly, he could just barely make out Yennefer's purred oh, good boy, followed by Jaskier's low moan. Without hesitation, Geralt downed the entire bottle and welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep. 

***

Geralt slept for three or four more hours before the potion wore off. It took the edge off, at least, bringing him firmly into tired from his previous death walking.

He was stretching, trying to ease the tightness in his muscles, when Jaskier slipped into the bedroom, freshly-bathed and smelling of Yennefer's various soaps and oils. He met Geralt's eyes and blushed. 

"Ah! So. About that." Jaskier rubbed the back of his head and flashed Geralt a charming, sheepish grin. The bruised look to his mouth spoke more of thorough use than of berries. "I--"

Rolling his eyes, Geralt looped his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him down into the sheets, savoring his surprised yelp. After all, his cock was now very, very capable of participating. 

***

Geralt left Jaskier passed out and drooling on the bed to seek Yennefer out. It took a little longer without the ludicrous trail of arousal to follow, but he eventually found her in the alchemical workshop.

She'd traded the shimmering cream of her robe for one of her traditional black dresses. Jaskier probably could've waxed poetic about the finer points of this particular garment compared to the others. Geralt couldn't tell the difference between them like that; he just knew that she looked beautiful in all of them.

Geralt made his way to her and nuzzled at the hollow of her throat before tugging her in for a kiss. Yennefer wound her hands through his hair and deepened it, tilting his head for a better angle.

After a moment, Geralt pulled away. He'd come here to see her, but he figured he might as well ask. "So, about that." 

"Oh, that," Yennefer replied. There was a vaguely smug twist to her lips. "I've found that he occasionally benefits from a firm hand and something to keep him...occupied. For everyone's good, really." 

"For everyone's good," Geralt repeated, dryly, as though her comment didn't have his cock perking up.

"Yes, for everyone's good. It isn't my fault that you both woke up and turned us down." Her lavender eyes glinted. "Consider joining us next time. It'll likely be impossible to keep him behaved with you around, but there's fun to be had, regardless." 

"Next time," Geralt growled, sliding his hands down her body. He couldn't stop picturing it. "How about you wait until I'm awake."

"No promises," Yennefer purred, allowing Geralt to lift her up onto the nearest unoccupied table. "But maybe. If you're lucky."

[wincestisasincest]

Waves on the Shore - Chapter 10: Hands of Time

Viktor x Fem!Reader slow burn enemies to lovers

x posted on ao3 // WOTS masterlist

Summary: Jayce and Viktor questioning you about your weapon (made with farm-fresh Hextech) is the only thing keeping you from going to jail for science crimes. You and Viktor are literally at each others throats lmao. Also you’re from Bilgewater because pirates are fucking rad

Notes: THIS IS SO LATE RIP TO ME. If you are unaware, I spent the week without my usual meds and having 10000 allergic reactions every time I breathed so that is why. On that note, though, tHANK YOU to everyone who told me to stop being stupid and take care of myself and stuff y'all are too nice. ALSO this one may have a lot of typos but I didn't want to delay it any further so. I will still try to update this Friday now that I am not actively dying.

Some things that you may or may not care about:

- The song that is referenced is "Leave Her, Johnny" and it is a real pirate song!!!! I've linked it if you want to listen and see what it sounds like (spoiler alert it fucking slaps)

- Also, the Demacian steel is something I made up but I based it off of damascus steel from real life it's not relevant to the story but isn't it fucking cool?

Anyway, thanks for your patience and enjoy this week's episode of Supernatural

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags: @edenstarkk, @modernamilf, @dedicated2viktor, @doctorho, @yeehawbvby, @arcaneparx, @the-lake-is-calling

Mentions of: Suicide (Jayce's attempt), dismemberment, corpses, imperialism (booooooo), kidnapping

Triggers: Panic attack, self-harm (kinda? like it's not deliberate but they end up being fine with the pain and not stopping), dead animals, animal dissection (it's the mouse), language

This was the best chance that you had.

Caitlyn told you that the market was the place to connect with the staff of Piltover’s wealthy houses. In the early afternoon, before dinner but after lunch, they would descend upon the stalls with cultivated lists of what they needed at the house, exchanging gossip with each other as they shopped.

Only upon arrival did you realize how hard it would be to actually enter one of these conversations.

They zipped the square like bees in a hive, a blur of different earth-toned lapel dresses and baskets of goods, heads absentmindedly following the chatter as their feet automatically took them to their next destination. There were signs, but no one was looking at them. There was no question about it, these people had a rhythm, and hell if they were going to let some outsider like you disrupt it.

It wasn’t all them – you considered yourself an outsider too. Even if there was camaraderie to be had, you knew that you weren’t “working class.” You’d only gotten your first real job a few days ago, and before that, you didn’t work so much as barely scrape by through leeching off of other people. These maids and nannies and butlers, however little hey were paid, still made their own living. Your living never really felt like your own.

But, this was the best chance that you had to, maybe, make it your own someday.

You’d given up on trying to fool the wealthy of Piltover. Your first week on income and you’d already had to be told that water was free and tried to haggle something that wasn’t supposed to be haggled. That, combined with the fact that you were a bad liar around rich people because you enjoyed upsetting them, meant that they would figure you out in seconds. So, you had to take the alternative route of getting one of the house staff to put in a good word for you.

You blinked forcefully. Fretting about the time bomb of winter break in the background was just another waste of time. You fell into sloppy step with everyone else, like an instrument on the off beats, hoping to god that you would naturally fall into some small talk while you were buying what you needed.

One of the stalls caught your eye. A middle aged woman with withered, skinny fingers and a thousand-yard stare attended the counter. A patchwork of vibrant fabric swaths curtained off the area behind her.

“Hi,” you said plainly, hands folded in front of you, “I need a needle and thread.”

Now that you were staying long-term, you decided to invest in clothes that actually fit, even if it meant you’d have to fit them yourself.

The woman pressed her palms into the wood table, looking you up and down, making no effort to hide her judgement.

“We don’t sell that here, sweetheart,” she grunted, “it’s just fabric.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said dumbly, “uh… thanks.”

Great start. This might take a while, you thought, turning on your heel.

“Wait, wait,” she reached her hand out, eyelids slack like it physically pained her to look at you, “we might have something.”

She crouched behind the counter, abandoning you to linger by the stall in modest banality while the rest of the world moved on without you. Snippets of conversations that you weren’t a part of flitted past your ear like butterflies.

And then you heard it.

Everything else was muffled as the honed notes of a tune you could recognize even if you were deaf passed behind you like a ghost. The person humming it kept moving, clearly not here for you.

You turned your head and saw the back of a woman, with white frizzy hair, black heels, and a black overcoat, be absorbed into the crowd.

“Excuse me,” you said when the lady reemerged from behind the counter, not making eye contact as you drifted back into the channel of moving servants.

The melody circled around your head like twine on a spinning wheel. It was “Leave Her, Johnny” – relatively foreign to anyone in the Bilge who made a halfway honest living. It was traditionally sung on the last day of a voyage, with the lyrics playfully reworded to make fun of the captain or quartermaster of the ship. It was a song for vessels where disrespect towards authority was the norm. It was a song for pirates.

You ducked under bags of produce and split conversations in half as you dug through the crowd, eyes trained on what you were pretty sure was the back of her coat and ears attuned to her fond humming. The square was too congested to run in, but you kept a quick pace and deliberate step. Her coat was growing smaller and her humming quieter.

Further into the market, you were suffocated by the noise. It felt like you were attached to the handle of a music box, getting nauseous as the melody kept going around and around and around, supplemented by talking and clacks of dark colored heels just like the ones the woman wore. But you clung to that humming like a life raft.

You were a little kid that had lost their parents, bobbing their head around in circles, looking for people who were definitely somewhere, just not here. You got on your tip toes and looked over the field of heads for a wisp of white hair. Nothing.

The music in your ears curdled and the humming vanished. She was gone.

You started to hyperventilate as thick coats whizzed past you like freight trains. They all looked the same from down here. You were sinking, getting swallowed by a wave of discordant talking and clacking, and now, your own heartbeat. Panic shot up from your stomach.

You were finally losing it, you figured. What if you had imagined it all? What if that woman wasn’t even real? Alarms fired from all the synapses in your brain, some telling you to get started, some telling you that you were already out of time, and some telling you that you were in trouble.

You inhaled, gathering up all your might to plow through the wall of people and release yourself into the other side of the market. You gulped at the air, a classic fish out of water.

Bending over, hands on your knees, you focused on the cracks in the street, weaving through the cobblestones like a stream. When you blinked, you could feel your pulse through your eyelids.

A panic attack. Or an anxiety attack. You didn’t know the difference, and you weren’t sure what you were panicked or anxious about. Everything in Piltover, everything in your life, felt so big that you couldn’t even begin to assign specific emotions to things yet. It was all under the umbrella of cautious awe; trying to look for your future felt like staring up at a skyscraper.

The melody floated through your numb skull as you regained whatever the hell you’d lost in there. Maybe sanity, maybe reason, or maybe hope. But you didn’t have an infinite supply, and soon, you were going to run out.

*****

Viktor watched you flinch again as the final holt of blue lightning exploded from the mini portal circuit with a pathetic, but kind of cute, pop. You screwed your eyes shut until the sound had completely dissipated, and just a little longer, for good measure.

You tentatively opened one eye, confirming that everything was okay, and then exhaled as you opened the second one. You blinked, your eyelashes fluttering like white flags.

“Damn it all,” you groaned, plopping into the chair you’d burst up from a moment ago.

You prodded the charred mess with your finger, soaking in the dissatisfaction. Viktor could see the smoke curl in the air even from where he was sitting – you must’ve completely fired the circuit.

Viktor hated to admit that it brought him a little… not joy, but reassurance. He was reminded that you could, in fact, fail at things like everyone else. Jayce had the same thought, exchanging a look with Viktor from the other side of the lab as if asking who should interrupt your sulking first.

Jayce took the initiative, crossing his arms casually.

“Y’know, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you mess up,” he said with a half-smile. A stranger would’ve mistaken it for pleasure, but Viktor know that Jayce wasn’t cruel enough for that. There was no malice here, he was just trying to lighten the mood with humor.

“The cannon,” you mumbled, eyes laser-focused on the clutter in front of you.

“Ah… not really your fault,” he countered.

You dragged your hands down your face.

“Don’t worry, I can fix this thing, and I’ll figure out how to…”

And the words were lost on Viktor as he put his energy into analyzing you. Your brows froze into a permanent, impatient furrow, occasionally twitching with the fretful ups and downs in your voice. You weren’t looking at them anymore, but at your own hands as they offered weak gestures to compliment your speaking. Oh, Viktor thought, this actually bothered you.

Failure bothered him too, so he wasn’t going to get on your case about it, but your reaction was… unexpected. Not unlike that time you’d covered your jail cell in equations. You were making a weak effort to stay composed as you addressed them, but the non-verbal cues gave you away.

“Sounds good,” Jayce’s comment snapped Viktor out of his thoughts, “any idea what happened?”

“You sighed, picking up some pieces that the explosion had scattered across the table and dropping them into a pile.

“Yeah,” you said curtly, “just gonna take a little while to correct. What about those, uh… Ionians?”

Viktor returned his focus to the open mouse, raking through its exposed systems for any lead on its death. He remembered dissecting animals in one of the biology classes at the Academy, and he hated it as much then as he did now.

Even though they were already dead, the poor animals looked so tortured spread out on that table, formaldehyde fuming from their guts. It was paradoxical, how one could be reminded that this was a living being with just as much complexity as a human, and then told to break that being down until it no longer resembled anything with a conscience.

The skin underneath the mouse’s fur was stretched and thin, tearing in places that Viktor hadn’t even touched yet. He kept the conversation between you and Jayce in the background like radio to distract himself.

“What about ‘em?” Jayce crossed the room to you.

“Did you say they like… needed help?”

Viktor clicked his tongue quietly. The mouse’s intestines still had bits of cheese in it, which should’ve been impossible with everything else Viktor had uncovered.

“They do, but we don’t wanna rush things here,” Jayce said.

“Well, sure, but couldn’t you send them some aid in the meantime?”

“No can do.”

“Why not?”

“Noxus. We would alienate them.”

Viktor checked his notes again, running down the list. Flaky skin, lost hair, bloated belly, and, most importantly, tissue breakdown.

“And you’re not alienating them by helping the refugees?”

“Not at all. Even Noxians don’t like casualties of civilians – if no one is left then there’s not really anyone to have power over.”

“That’s disgusting,” you said flatly, “I hope the Ionians win.”

“That’s Noxus,” Jayce shrugged, “though, I’ll admit, I thought you’d be a bit more on board with this whole thing.”

No, Viktor mentally corrected him, Jayce thought that he knew you well enough to make predictions. Jayce thought that you were his friend.

“Why’s that?” you perched your chin on your hand.

“Prioritizes lives saved over everything else. Sounds like your brand.”

“I’ve got a brand now?” you masterfully deflected the question.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you can draw me a logo or something.”

Jayce chuckled. Shit, you were actually kind of his friend.

“You’ve seen my work?” Jayce said cheekily, and Viktor could practically hear the smug eyebrow raise.

“Uh, yeah. Every time I pass by your desk it looks like an art museum.”

Viktor noticed Jayce’s art too, when he first looked through his notes. It wasn’t a hidden talent, but it wasn’t something that he advertised about himself either.

“What can I say? I’m a creative at heart.”

“I’ll try to keep up then.”

“Psh, you keep up fine. I’ve seen your sketches – way better than most engineering students.”

“I use a ruler to get the lines straight.”

“Oh. Well then yeah, maybe stick to other stuff.”

You snorted.

Viktor was caught in a deluge of déjà vu listening to your banter. Jayce sounded just like he did when Viktor first started working with him. For some reason, he felt angry.

Exhaling with frustration, he set his eyes on his work and jerked his train of thought back onto the rails.

The mouse’s death was impossible because it had died of starvation in less than 12 hours, with a partially full stomach.

Viktor brushed the errant, ripped out pages filled with his observations of the plants and opened his notebook to a clean piece of paper.

“Pardon me,” a new voice, slick but reserved, like honey seeping down the back of the throat, entered into the room.

Something about the sobriety in it stopped Viktor’s pen just short of reaching the paper. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was, but he did anyway.

“What’s up?” Jayce asked, the intonation of his question just a little too high for it to be natural.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Mel folded her hands, casting a long shadow into the hallway.

*****

You rubbed your arms and switched the weight between your legs in front of the door, trying to retain some warmth. Viktor didn’t knock.

“It’s cold, hurry up,” you snapped, more aggressively than you intended.

He just contemplated the brass knocker and rested his hands on his cane, silent.

“We need a plan,” he determined.

“Couldn’t have talked about this on the way… here…” you faltered, instantly mesmerized by the cloud of your own breath that appeared in front of you, “Woah. I didn’t know that you could…”

You slowed down your words and just started exhaling plumes of frozen air, toying with new combinations.

“Why… if we breath out carbon dioxide then how can we see it in the air…?” you said, watching each word dissolve into the cold.

Viktor glanced at you from the side. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you caught him off guard. He put his free hand in his jacket pocket and faced you.

“It’s not just carbon dioxide – there’s also moisture from your mouth and lungs. That’s what you’re seeing,” he explained, unusually even-tempered.

“Cool,” you hadn’t looked at him once the entire time, but you could feel his eyes on you, “so… what were you saying?”

“We’re not going in there until we’ve decided on what we’re going to say,” he said, returning to his normal, grumpy baritone, “and it’s not my fault that you didn’t bring a jacket.”

“I’m sorry, I was a little distracted,” you gestured to the door with one hand, letting the other run through your hair, “I mean, fuck, what a thing to drop on a Wednesday morning.”

“Then you can only imagine how Alex will feel.”

You crouched down, seating yourself on the stoop of the house. Elbows on your knees, you stared into the empty street. It was already relatively far from the city, as is expected for a safehouse, and the added cold weather that would keep people from going outside even in the middle of the day effectively rendered this distant edge of Piltover a ghost town.

Viktor was right, You can’t just go in there, guns blazing, and expect things to not end with you clawing each other’s eyes out while Alex processed some new trauma in the background.

“I- you should be the one to say it,” you said to the open, “I don’t think I’ll be able to do it, uh… kindly.”

“I will not be any better.”

“Yes, you will. Trust me,” you started to idly watch your breath dance through the air again, “I can, uh… hold the tissues.”

“He may require physical comfort. If so, he will not want it from the person who tells him.”

“What do you mean ‘physical comfort?’ I can like, hold his hand or something,” you looked over your shoulder. Viktor was trying to be neutral, but his lips were closed too tightly, and you clocked pent up frustration in a second.

“Can you at least try to take this seriously?” he pinched his nose. Apparently you had said the wrong thing again.

“Wha- I am!” you threw your hands in the air, “Gods, I’m not trying to piss you off right now, y’know? I just… well, I warned you, I’m not good at this stuff.”

You looked forward again before he could say something foul to your face. Instead, you saw his scuffed leather shoes in your peripheral vision as he stood on the other side of the stoop, watching the street with you.

“No kidding,” he said thoughtfully, “and… apologies. Our strategy will have to change, though.”

“Oh, great.”

“I will take care of the… physical comfort, if needed, and any additional support, but you will be the one to tell him.”

“We should’ve brought Jayce, he’s good at hugging,” you paused, realizing how weird that sounded, “at least, according to Caitlyn.”

“I’m no expert, but with children, it is usually the thought that counts for this sort of thing.”

“Uh… it’s not a thought, it’s a hug?”

“It is a physical gesture to let them know that they are not alone. Just being there means a lot.”

“Right- not an expert, a philosopher,” you bit your lip, catching yourself in an automatic insult where one wasn’t warranted, “Sorry, that was rude. You’re probably right. Are you sure you want me to break it to him, though?”

He thought for a wonderfully quiet moment.

“Practice on me,” he said finally.

“What?”

“Practice what you’re going to say on me first,” he impatiently waved you up with his hand, “Go on, stand up, it’s cold out here.”

You grabbed the railing and lazily hauled yourself to your feet, almost falling back down when you made eye contact with him.

Angry eyes were fine – they bounced off of you like a fly to a window. But non-angry eyes you could only take in passing glances or shared looks. Those round ambers, relaxed in discernment, went straight to your soul and it felt like getting shot in the chest. Your eyes dropped to your feet.

“No, no, make eye contact,” he insisted.

You inhaled softly, lifting your head and feeling the shock in your arteries again. But you stayed, your spine straight, forcing yourself to look past the pupils and get lost in the lovely golden color.

“And don’t look so constipated,” he winged, “it’ll just make him feel worse.”

“Listen-“

“I- trust me,” he paused, perfectly candid, “please. I am not trying to make you uncomfortable here. Do you believe me?”

“…yes,” you squinted at him suspiciously.

“And do you know why you believe me?” he waited for you to shake your head, “Because I looked you in the eye.”

Damnit, that was good.

“Alright, alright, point taken,” you grounded yourself to the floor.

He permitted your gaze to drift upwards for a second as you mentally prepared your little speech to Alex. When you came back down, you were ready this time, trapping his irises in your sights. They shined like rusted coins in the foggy sunlight.

“Alex, we’ve gotten word from one of the people looking for information in Bilgewater about your family. We don’t know anything about your siblings, or your father, but they found out what happened to your mother. She’s in gang custody.”

Time blurred, and Viktor’s observant eyes were replaced with Alex’s, completely nonplussed.

“Uh… I don’t have a mom,” he said.

“What?” your composure, that you’d spent all that time preparing, dropped in an instant.

“I have a dad and a pop,” he explained, “no mom, though.”

You looked at Viktor, who just shrugged.

Alex’s room was small, but it was all his. A twin sized bed, a desk, a chair, a bookshelf, and a dresser were all cozily pushed against one of the walls, with just enough space to walk through and not feel squished. Viktor sat by his side on the bed, while you straddled the desk chair.

The safehouse was run by an old married couple – who also happened to be retired Enforcers – that had already gone through kids of their own, so they were uniquely prepared to meet a 10 year old’s needs. The cover story was that he was their grand nephew staying in Piltover over the winter, which you liked, because it meant that he could still enjoy a social life, even if it was highly supervised.

You weren’t his guardian, so it really was none of your business, but you made a point to inspect his living conditions early on and you were not disappointed.

Now, though, the smallness of the room was stifling. Like there was a much bigger world waiting just outside, and you didn’t have access to it. You were missing the bigger picture here, like you were characters in a play that someone else had written.

“Well, then- who the hell did Mel’s informants find?!”

Viktor had begun skimming through a piece of paper while you were busy being frustrated. You didn’t know what it said, but it looked like Mel’s elegant handwriting.

“Female, late 20s to early 30s, five and a half feet tall…” Viktor blinked, breaking his monotone to mouth the next phrase quietly, like he needed to confirm what he was reading, “left hand replaced with a hook.”

“Oh,” you tsked, “well, the hook is helpful, but that doesn’t narrow it down too much in Bilgewater of all places.”

“Alex,” Viktor set the notes in his lap for the moment and addressed the boy, “your sister had her left hand replaced with a hook, did she not?”

“My sister’s not a grownup.”

“But she did have her hand replaced?”

“Yeah… so what?”

“Just a theory I have – would you be able to provide me with a detailed description of your sister? As well as your other family members?”

“The Enforcers already did that,” he kicked his legs restlessly.

“Yes, but this is for my own purposes,”

You furrowed your brows at him. What fucking purposes? It was strange, certainly, but what piece of information did he think the Enforcers would’ve missed out on that was essential to his own investigation?

Either he didn’t even think to explain it to you or didn’t care to hear your opinion, because he calmly waited for Alex’s answer.

“I would be willing to, eh, grant a favor if you help me,” he offered when the kid didn’t say anything.

“Anything?” Alex drew the word out, sounding a little too excited.

“Within reason and provided that the Enforcers have no objections.”

Alex cartoonishly pretended to think it over, putting his hand to his chin and humming to himself.

“Help me do my house chores after I tell you,” he said curtly, “take it or leave it.”

“Sold,” Viktor answer, just as curtly.

You sighed and gave up on trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. You were familiar with the concept of exchange – in fact, it reminded you of how you made your living in Bilgewater – but it was odd to see Viktor in that position. He fit it well.

“You may leave, if you wish.”

Alex didn’t answer, and you turned to check on them. Oh, shit, Viktor was talking to you.

“Uh, you sure?”

“You can also stay if you are interested. But I can handle things by myself from here,” he hand a hand in his pocket, freezing with resignation when he didn’t find what he was looking for, “Could you hand me a pencil?”

“Sure, yeah… paper too?” your hands ghosted over the different coloring utensils and blank sheets of parchment. There were open books here or there that Alex seemed to be copying the drawings from, adding his own spins on them.

“Please.”

“And, uh, I think I will go,” you added as you retrieved the items, turning around to pass them to the bed, “I’ve got that thing to fix. I’ll let Jayce know.”

“I will likely not be back tonight, so one of you must dispose of the remaining formaldehyde.”

You nodded, accidentally making eye contact for what felt like the millionth time today when he took the pencil from your hands. It replaced whatever curiosity you had left with the restlessness in your legs that finally compelled you out of the room.

“See ya, Alex,” you said from the door.

Back in the street, the cold was a punishing reminder of how stupid you were for not bringing a jacket. Thankfully, your conscience was preoccupied with an even bigger act of idiocy – gods you had put up with all that shit from Viktor because you thought that it was to Alex’s benefit, only for it to mean nothing.

You weren’t sure if he would use it against you, but he had seen it, and there was nothing good to overshadow that. You felt like the victim of some cruel joke, getting tricked into everything that you swore you’d never become – first, a Piltover lapdog, and now, a little bitch. You had to stop letting up so easily.

They paid for your services, not your personhood, and you could not forget that. And yet, you were oddly grateful to Viktor for sparing you from, perhaps, a worse fate.

Hell, he didn’t even have to come with you in the first place, but he did. When you asked, he had no questions, issues, or complaints, he just said he’d need a minute to clean up his work and get his coat. He’d taken the extra time to show you how to do this without permanently traumatizing the kid, even though that wasn’t part of the arrangement. And now, he was staying to help do the dishes and letting you get off with nothing, even though coming here was your idea.

You probably owed him something for that.

*****

Yes, Jayce was getting to see many sides of you today.

First, he’d witnessed a mistake, something he’d forgotten you were capable of doing. Then, he’d seen you ask Viktor of all people for help, and apparently be persuasive enough for his partner to instantly agree. And now, you’d come back and he was getting to study you as you silently lost your mind over a pile of Viktor’s terrible handwriting.

You’d explained the situation to him as briefly as possible when you returned, and then promptly made a beeline for Viktor’s notes as though you’d completely forgotten about all the stuff that you needed to finish. Jayce wasn’t going to stop you. If anything, he was curious.

But, over the afternoon, your irritability had grown, only getting worse the more you tried to tamp it back down and focus. You were a whole orchestra of ticked off – sighing, clicking your tongue, scratching your scalp, stamping your foot – and as it finally neared the end of the day Jayce was pushed to ask the question he’d been simmering on since you started.

“Heimerdinger tells me you can’t read,” he said from the other table, making you flinch but getting you stop the slightly grating drumming of your fingers, “so I don’t know what you’re trying to find in there.”

You relaxed into the seat of the chair, giving your poor eyes a break and cracking your knuckles.

“Word travels fast, huh?” you stretched your neck.

“Here? Yeah.”

“I was… well, y’know, Viktor is stuck there, so I was looking through his stuff to see if I could,” your shoulders drooped, “help or something? I don’t think he likes to be behind. But, for the life of me, I cannot figure out where he left off.”

“What’ve you got so far? Maybe I can help,” he said good naturedly. And he meant it, even if you both had better things to do at the moment.

“Something about the aging and de-aging of Vitamin C in organic material. I dunno, chemistry has a lot of words, I was never great at it,” you pursed your lips, “but you don’t need to help, I’ve wasted enough time today.”

“Uh… what?” Jayce raised an eyebrow, stopping his own task – carefully layering different kinds of Demacian steel over the circuits surrounding the transistor.

Jayce was quite pleased that his early interest in forging was making a return in his career. He remembered leaning about Demacian steel back when he was a kid, reading under the covers at 2 am when he thought his mom was asleep. It was made through a special process, where the blacksmith would weld pre-existing steel and iron in a forge with little to no oxygen. As a result, the metal absorbed carbon from the hot charcoals that created crystalline-like nanotubes in structure, which gave it flexibility and sturdiness suitable for Demacia’s finest blades.

And, apparently, it was exactly what they needed to fortify the transistor’s design.

“Well, y’know, I already broke the test circuit this morning…” you crossed your arms, “…with an explosion.”

“Oh, that?” he chuckled lightly, “That’s been bugging you a bit, hasn’t it?”

“Well, no one likes not doing the thing they’re supposed to.”

“Of course, but,” Jayce set down his tweezers, “you know that we’re not like, pissed at you or anything.”

You blinked, as if you just remembered he was there.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sure you’ve got a bunch of ‘em,” you shrugged, “it’s just an inconvenience.”

“Actually, that’s the only one we have,” Jayce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “so, we do still need to fix it. But, more importantly, Viktor and I make all kinds of mistakes while we’re doing this stuff, so, y’know, you’re allowed to do that too.”

“Oh,” your eyes shifted, “yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“I mean, you’ve seen us screw up before. Big time,” the corners of his mouth twinkled fondly, “What, you think we’re that hypocritical about it?”

“No,” deliberation pulled at the end of the word, “I think I’m just getting used to the whole, like, ‘job’ thing.”

“I don’t believe that you’ve never had a job before.”

“Well, I sorta have. I did gig work, y’know, like, short term stuff. Where you get in, fix the thing, get paid, and then leave. Mistakes, uh, don’t go well there, because if you inconvenience your employer you might get paid less. Hell, I fyou mess up really bad you get your ass beat.”

“People would beat you up?” Jayce raised an eyebrow.

“Well, not me,” you put your hands to your chest, “because I didn’t make mistakes. But other people, yeah.”

“That’s… kinda brutal.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “but I guess I understand why people were so defensive of their stuff. Because, like, if I didn’t fix the beer tap then the bartender can’t work, and then we both won’t be eating at night,” you paused, “not to say that there aren’t assholes who do it just because they can. But it depends.”

“Ah, well,” Jayce said genially, “mistakes are part of the process here. So, as long as that mistake isn’t fatal, you don’t need to worry about getting paid.”

“Every mistake used to be fatal,” you reflected, gruff but not malicious, “or, at least, that’s how it felt. Like you’re hanging on by a thread.”

“It’s good that you’re still here, then.”

He smiled kindly at you, but you just looked lost. Not scared, not worried, just lost, like you were trying to piece everything together and weren’t sure where to start. You stared straight through Jayce and into oblivion.

“I guess I am,” you said, “but I’m lucky.”

Your eyes dropped in a quiet memorial to those who weren’t. Jayce bent his head, trying to keep your focus from underneath your contemplation.

“We’re all lucky,” he said, “doesn’t mean that we don’t deserve to have good things happen sometimes.”

“I don’t think it’s really about deserve,” your pupils twitched back up, “cause, like, everyone deserves a decent living. But that hasn’t happened, so we’re not even close to deserve yet. It’s about…” you brushed your thumb over Viktor’s writing, “it’s about winning this stupid fucking rat race. Like, asking yourself how much you’re willing to lose for a shot at rising above what you were born with. And people like the kind in Bilgewater, who don’t have much to begin with – they aren’t exactly dying to stick their necks out.”

“Yeah,” Jayce found himself nodding somberly, “I mean, survival was never an issue for me, but I get it. Trying to build something for yourself is always a game of risk. And it shouldn’t be.”

You arched an eyebrow, filled with the same reticent curiosity that Viktor had when he stopped Jayce from ending his own life. As if you were asking: “Really? With all this privilege, you’re upset because you lost a game that you knew you shouldn’t have been playing?”

And he would answer that, if he can’t make things better with his privilege, then was it really worth anything in the first place?

Obviously, he couldn’t say any of that to you. No one knew about his almost-suicide except for Viktor, and he would like to keep it that way. It wasn’t his proudest moment, even if he could justify his sadness. His pride was wounded, his dream was shattered, and he was an emotional wreck. Any way that he tried to process it in his head would have his failure come out on the other end, screaming at him that he was a waste of all his “gifts.” Altruistic, smart, wealthier than most, and all he did with it was get kicked out of school for not being careful enough.

But now, he was living proof that he wasn’t a waste. And, even if he didn’t like that it happened that way, his mistake lead to the best decision in his life.

“That’s where I’m having trouble,” you said finally, resting your chin in your hands, “because staying here, well, it wasn’t risky. It was so easy, and I feel like I’ve gone around, like, the rules of life or something. It’s just a bitch to tall take in.”

A switch flipped in Jayce. He got up from his chair and slid into the one across from you, putting his hands on the table to demand your full attention.

“Pen,” he said earnestly, “the rules are fucking bullshit. And I say this as someone who has spent my whole life benefitting from them and screwing with them – nothing has to be this way.

“I know that,” you rolled your eyes with dubious coyness, “like, obviously getting your hand cut off because you were fishing in a part of the bay that pirates owned isn’t the state of nature. But, y’know, they don’t care, and when they catch you, you’ll still get your hand cut off.”

“Not in your case, though,” Jayce patiently withdrew his hand, speaking in short sentences to encourage your rambling.

“Exactly! Like, whether I stayed or I left, I would still get to keep my hand, so to speak. Any consequences were personal preference but none of them were really bad. It was just… a choice. And I feel like this entire time I’ve been waiting for someone to cut that hand off.”

“I mean… that was kinda the point. We wanted to make it easy.”

“Yeah,” you snorted grimly, “and, I do appreciate that, even if I still don’t entirely understand it.”

“I mean, we had the resources to do, so we did,” he shrugged, “and you’re proof of concept for our whole ‘making lives easier’ thing.”

“Seems like you made Viktor’s life harder,” you grinned dryly.

Jayce bit his cheek. Of course you didn’t know what Viktor had said, you weren’t there, he told himself, but still he was caught off guard. He’d have to correct you.

“He was your biggest advocate, actually,” Jayce said.

“Uh…” your chuckled awkwardly, “are you sure about that?”

“Not that I didn’t also want you to hang around,” Jayce added, “but I was ready to let you leave when you made it clear that you wanted to. But Viktor, he was determined. He took care of most of it – the stipend, the Enforcers, hell, he even spoke to Heimerdinger about it.”

“I- wow,” you faltered, thoughtfully picking on your thumb’s cuticle, “I didn’t know that.”

“You left quite the impression.”

“Yeah,” you tilted your head to the side, looking out the window, “I guess I did.”

The darkness outside came alive with the moonlight, dropping gentle hues of blue across your face. The wind viciously rapped against the glass, but the brass handle never even shuddered. Jayce felt safe, in a way, like he could wait out the entire winter in here as you sorted through your thoughts.

You were on the verge of some big revelation, he could feel it. Barely breathing but mind racing as you tried to convert everything you’d learned today into something practical. Jayce was excited for it, even – you could realize the importance of their mission, you could see how much you could do if you really put your mind to it.

A warning tap of your fingers queued him back in as your mouth parted.

“What were we talking about again?” you quirked one side of your mouth goofily. Perhaps not today, Jayce thought.

“Ah, y’know what, I don’t really remember either,” Jayce sighed, trying to play off his disappointment, “I think it’s time to call it a day.”

He’d long since broken from the trance of his work and the exhaustion was starting to hit him.

“I’ll be here a little longer,” you said, standing up and wiping your hands on your pants, “Viktor asked me to clean up the formaldehyde if he didn’t come back.”

Jayce considered helping you, but you were deadest on doing something to make up the time that Viktor had lost. If this was that moment, then it could be all yours.

“Right,” he stood, grabbing his coat, “don’t forget to lock it when you leave.”

“I won’t,” you said over your shoulder as you organized the notes near the edge of the table.

Jayce rolled his shoulders through the sleeves of the coat and opened the door, taking one last look at you milling about the lab, completely unbothered. He felt like he was missing something.

“Good night, Penny.”

You didn’t look at him.

“Good night, Jayce.”

*****

It was colder by the time Viktor left Alex’s house, but somehow, with the heat lamps warmly leading the way back to town, the street actually had some life in it.

Viktor didn’t know what to expect anymore. He thought that he had some grasp on his own work, but every turn just gave him more questions and told him that his previous answers were wrong to start with. He wasn’t a detective, he was a scientist, and while he thought that those two professions weren’t that different once, he was beginning to reconsider.

Either this kid was miraculously connected to everything, or this conspiracy was bigger than anyone realized.

If that woman actually was Alex’s sister, the implications were disastrous on every level. Whether or not the pirates did it on purpose, they were aware of what they had done. Then, it would only be a matter of time until they figured out how to control the portal’s biology-altering effects, if they hadn’t already.

And what if they had? What did that mean for everyone else involved? Were Alex’s family also hidden in plain sight, and Mel’s informants were simply unable to identify them? Or, even worse, they’d already died but were so beyond recognition that no one thought to mention it.

What about Myrna? Alex claimed that he’d seen her associating with the gang before – had something awful happened to her? So awful that Iron Leg was compelled to attack the moment that he caught wind of it? And why was his first move to attack Piltover, of all places?

Footsteps began to ripple on the pavement as he returned to the more populated parts of town. People were still sparse, but the occasional shop owner leaving for the day or family being shown out the door after dinner would pass by.

So, Viktor concluded, he could not go insane at this very moment. Bad for publicity.

He craned his neck to see over the tops of the buildings, finding the window of Heimerdinger’s office – the highest window the Academy had – lording over the city like an eye. Heimerdinger would be losing his mind if he knew what Viktor was uncovering.

Viktor looked a few stories lower, landing on the floor that the lab was. You and Jayce had, no doubt, gone home for the evening, but even then, you’d spent the entire afternoon without him. You’d be the best of pals by now.

Viktor exhaled, shoving his free hand in his pocket.

He was being overdramatic. He knew that Jayce wasn’t that type of person, and he knew that if you wanted to spite him, then you would be more direct about it. But that made it all worse, because, once again and without even trying, you were exceeding him in what was supposed to be his thing.

He kept telling himself that it would be okay – you weren’t competitors. But the resentful nausea quelling in his stomach didn’t believe him. Maybe you had been trying, he thought. Why else would you beg him to come see Alex with you only to leave the minute that you got the chance? You clearly didn’t like being around him, with how nervous you got. Did you know that he would agree to stay?

And he’d fallen for it so readily, because he couldn’t bring himself to refuse something so… honest. If you needed him so badly that you overcame your own ego to ask him, then it must’ve been important. At least, that’s what he thought.

You were so confounding, but his recent state of mind was starting to make him wonder if he was the crazier one here. At what point did his speculations about you become his fault?

“Oh!” a kind voice collided with his shoulder, knocking him off balance as he breathed in sharply.

An older woman, with white hair in a neat low bun and sea green eyes. A thick black overcoat draped over her blue lapel dress.

“Apologies, dear! My eyes aren’t quite what they used to be,” she smiled.

“Quite alright,” Viktor forced a forgiving smile of his own, “I was distracted, myself.”

“Well, then, I hope we both make it home without another incident.”

She carried on forward, falling into a content hum. Viktor watched her go over his shoulder, and he could’ve sworn that he’d heard you humming that same song earlier this morning. Small world.

Damnit, he was thinking about you again.

He shook his head testily and continued on his way. Enough about you, he thought, he was going to put at least one thought to rest tonight, and maybe, finally, get something done here. He had to find his notes again, and maybe revisit one of his plants.

He had to go back to the lab.

*****

You were not mentally well.

You weren’t too proud to admit that to yourself. But, alone in the lab, no patrol officers stalking the halls and no Jayce to make you think twice, it didn’t matter anymore. You could let loose, and no one would see it. You could yourself to fucking snap. You realized now that this had been a long time coming.

It started after Jayce had left, when you picked up a cup of cleaning fluid so violently that you crushed it between your fingers. It gushed over the sides and creeped down your knuckles, ponderous as a waterfall, over the open cuts and scrapes that you always had. It burned, but you didn’t move, didn’t stop it, just let the pain sear through you nerve endings. Finally, a feeling that you could fucking process.

Because you couldn’t process everything else, gods, you really couldn’t.

You should’ve figured it out when you’d fucked up the cannon, you thought, as you dumbly through the cup in the trash, missing it by a few feet. You moved like you were drunk. Your limbs weren’t your own anymore, your own fucking life wasn’t even your own anymore. It didn’t belong to anyone else, but it certainly didn’t belong to you either, you thought as you slapped the cleaning fluid off your hand with a paper towel.

Breathing got harder, but you didn’t care. You liked it, almost, because it meant that you were doing something.

Or maybe you should’ve realized it when you met Alex, you continued as you half sat half fell on the floor. You’d ruined his entire fucking life and you weren’t even trying to. Before you’d even agreed to stay, your normal survival, the thing that you had always lived on, were fucking over other people. It was all your fault, because this was where you were now and you couldn’t deal with that shit.

The wind was too fucking loud, it sounded like one of the gods themselves was whistling in your ear as they watched you shrivel up and die.

That woman this morning, gods, you’d lost her, if she was even fucking real. You didn’t even know why you wanted to find her so bad, maybe you just wanted a single fucking scrap of what you’d left behind, but she vanished. Maybe you wanted the reassurance of knowing that you and Alex were not the only pieces of Bilgewater in Piltover, so that way, if he fucking died because of you and then you finally lost your mind, you could find solace in someone else.

You were restless and weak at the same time. You wanted to throw something, so you unsheathed your knife and gracelessly chucked it across the room so hard that something in the hilt broke. Then, you held your own arms so hard that your nails dug into your skin and the tips of your fingers were warm with blood.

Oh, and Viktor. Viktor Viktor Viktor. Advocating for you? Was he fucking insane? Wasn’t he supposed to know what this kind of thing was like? Did it even fucking matter what you said to him when he was just going to advocate for you in the end? Did your hatred mean anything?

You made a mistake today.

You made a mistake and there were no personal consequences, because personal consequences didn’t fucking exist anymore. You were on a new level, a big player who made big decisions, and yet it felt like you’d fucking lost everything.

Your mistake postponed the fate of those Ionians. Decided whether they would stay or leave. Whether they would live or die. Did they even want to come here? Did you want to send them here? What if they ended up like you? Washed away by the fucking weight of everything, separated from all that they knew, getting to decide whether they would stay and defend their country or leave it behind? Would it even be saving lives if they ended up like you? Because you were fucking dying here.

You smelled the formaldehyde that you hadn’t cleaned up yet. Formaldehyde. Corrosive to carbon steel in liquid form. Corrosive to Demacian steel.

You were going to end it. You moved like a robot, shaking the bottle of formaldehyde and standing above the half-finished circuit. It would melt the steel, fuck the wires, and seep into all the cracks that it wouldn’t. You didn’t know how you would justify it. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to think about it anymore, didn’t want to fucking choose for other people when you couldn’t keep your own head above water.

You wanted it to fucking die. Maybe then you could breathe again.

“Wha- you’re still- what the hell are you doing?” a Czech voice said in the doorway.

You turned. Viktor.

Fuck.

~ End Notes ~

i'm not sorry for the cliffhanger die mad abt it

End credits song (don't worry it is NOT as depressing as it sounds i promise): "I Think I'm Going To Kill Myself" by Elton John

(btw I'm thinking about throwing together a playlist with all of the songs i'm putting here and maybe others??? keep an eye out)

[levithestripper]

Bite Me, Bruise Me, Love Me, Abuse Me

masterlist

warnings: hickeys, bathroom sex, oral sex [m! receiving], praise kink, steve calls billy sir, choking, breath play, impact play [spanking], mirror sex, degradation/dirty talk, aftercare.

relationship: billy hargrove/steve harrington.

characters: billy hargrove, steve harrington, eddie munson, dustin henderson, mike wheeler, will byers.

length: 2.8k || read on ao3

⤷ if you want to be added to the taglist click here

summary: after a hot summer’s day, there is no better way to end it than getting together at steve’s house to jump in his pool. billy watches the golden evening sun wash over steve flawlessly, illuminating him like some kind of god. he can’t tell whether it’s the beer or something else, but all billy knows at that moment is that he needs steve all to himself.

a/n: these two have been living in my mind rent-free for the past two weeks and this is what became of it lmao. this is for days 14, 22, and 27 of kinktober! daddy/master kink, blowjob, and degrading/dirty talk.

Laughter rang throughout Steve’s backyard, accompanied by loud splashing and screeching from the pool. Beer cans and bowls of junky snack foods littered the pool deck; the group had gone through a concerning amount, which will only grow now that the afternoon is coming to a close.

Eddie, Dustin, Mike, and Will are all in the pool together, screaming about something nerdy while dunking each other. Eddie’s hair is up in a sloppy ponytail, failing at keeping his hair even slightly dry. Mike slicked his and Will’s hair back against their foreheads, looking god awful but proud of themselves anyway. Eddie’s portable radio blasted some heavy metal song Steve didn’t know the name to.

Steve sat near the edge, his legs kicking languidly in the water. His skin is warm to the touch, halfway between a nice tan and a bright pink sunburn. The evening sun shone beautifully over him, illuminating Steve’s deep brown eyes, making them look like they were pools of amber. Dozens of new freckles adorned Steve’s back and shoulders, clustered together to look like rainclouds. Billy had to fight everything to not break out a permanent marker and start playing connect the dots.

“What are you nerds yelling about, anyways?” Steve asks, hand coming up to block the sun from his eyes. Billy sat in a lawn chair directly behind him, manspreading to a point where Steve was effectively trapped between his legs. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Hellfire lets out a collective gasp, acting as if he claimed the sky was purple, and threatened to cut Eddie’s hair. “It doesn’t make any sense?!” Munson gawks, “What’s hard to understand about Will the Wise and his party of seasoned warriors who fight to save the souls of the innocent in the Kingdom of Mysia from an Annis Hag?!”

“The fact that I have no fucking clue of anything you just said proves my point,” Steve chuckles, taking a swig from his slightly warm beer.

“You’ll come around! They always do,” Eddie winks before turning away, returning to his sugar-rushed children.

Billy runs a hand through his curly hair, sitting up in his chair, bare chest barely brushing against the back of Steve’s hair. His hand subtly moves to the base of Steve’s neck, squeezing gently. “C’mon, Stevie, let’s go get more beers.” He tugs the hair on the back of his head, pulling him up and dragging Steve by the hand.

He staggers behind him, catching up before he gets too far away. “Billy, hold up, Jesus Christ,” Steve groans, “what’re you talking about? We already have a ton outside.” He threads his fingers with Billy’s, receiving a squeeze. Billy doesn’t answer him, entering the house and pulling Steve into the nearest bathroom.

He pushes him against the door, pinning his hands above his head by the wrist. Billy kisses him before Steve can get a word in edgewise, the kiss quickly growing desperate and needy. “Fuck, Stevie,” he groans, “you drive me fucking insane, baby.” Billy’s free hand roamed through Steve’s no-longer perfect hair, tugging on it again, drawing a low moan from him. Soon, he moves to hold the column of his neck, possessively keeping Steve still for him. “You have any fucking idea what you look like out there? Sitting at the edge of the pool so innocently, letting the sun pour over you, making you glow like a damn God,” his voice rumbles next to Steve’s ear, causing a shiver to run up the boy’s spine, a smirk spreading across Billy’s features.

“Honey—” Billy interrupts him with another kiss, effectively silencing whatever complaint Steve was bound to spout. Billy tilts his head to the side, nose pressing into Steve’s cheek as his tongue finds its way inside Steve’s mouth. Soft moans become more and more frequent from both of them, the air between them growing thick with desire. Steve manages to pull away in need of air. “Billy, honey,” he drawls, lust thick in his voice, “we don’t have time; they’ll come looking for us.” Big brown Bambi-like eyes meet crystal blue ones, leaving Billy to melt into a puddle.

“Let them find us, baby.” He kisses down Steve’s neck, sucking deep purple hickeys into his freckled skin. “Let me show you just how much I love you.” Steve’s face flushes, and he looks to a corner of the room, embarrassed. It doesn’t last long, Billy gripping his jaw tightly, his cheeks squishing together. “No, no, no, you’re not allowed to look away. Eyes on me, Stevie, you hear?”

Not trusting what filth may come out of his mouth, Steve nods.

Billy sighs, “No, no, I need to hear you say it. C’mon, pretty boy. Tell me you’ll be good for me.”

“I’ll be good—I’ll be good for you,” Steve stammers, the blush dusting his cheeks deepening. Billy’s smile is more of a smirk, but the grip on his jaw relaxes despite it. “Want you.” He grasps Billy’s hips, desperately tugging him closer, in need of everything he’s willing to give him.

Billy grinds his cock against Steve’s, reveling in the sweet moans he responds with. His hand leaves Steve’s jaw, trailing south to grab him through his swim trunks, finding him already fully hard. “Awww, Stevie,” he teases, his hand running lines up and down the imprint of his shaft. “You’re already this hard for me?”

He nods, pathetically rutting against his hand. “Mhmm,” he whimpers, returning Billy’s smoldering gaze with a desperate one of his own. “Billy, honey, please, stop teasing me!” Steve tugs at Billy’s hand, trying his best to slip it inside his trunks but failing.

“Aw, I thought you said you’d be good for me, sweetheart,” he coos, pulling his hand out from Steve’s grasp. “Thought you’d be a good boy for me.”

‘Good boy,’ echos in his head, making him feel soft and needier than he already was. “But I have been!” Steve fumbles over his words, his poor brain moving too fast for his mouth to keep up with.

Billy chuckles, fingers carding through his boyfriend’s hair soothingly. “Good boys know not to call me that, don’t they?” Steve nods, melting at the tingly sensation running through his hair and down the back of his neck. “What do you call me?”

Watching Billy’s full lips move as he talked proved too much for him to handle, leaning in for a kiss, which he got. “Mmh, I call you sir,” he groans. Not even a second after he responds, he kisses him again, and again, and again, rekindling the pace they were at before.

“That’s right, Stevie; good job.” Billy rucks up Steve’s shirt, hands spreading across his hairy chest. He pulls it up and over his head, tossing it into the sink carelessly. Steve reciprocates, making quick work of Billy’s belt and zipper, pushing the jeans down to his ankles.

Not long after, they were both naked, clothes forgotten about on the bathroom counter. Steve got down on his knees, hands running over the blond’s thick thighs. His big bambi-like eyes look up at Billy as he mouths at the tip of his already-hard cock. He’s thick and heavy on Steve’s tongue, skin salty from sweating in the hot summer air. “Taste good.”

A breathy moan escaped him, his mouth hanging open and hands tangled in Steve’s messy hair. “Yeah, honey? I taste good?” Billy teases, loving to hear him admit it.

“Mhmm, you taste so good, sir,” Steve moans out, eyes locked with Billy’s as his lips sunk halfway down his cock. He wraps a hand around what he couldn’t fit in his mouth, his head starting to bob. His wrist and mouth move in sync, knowing precisely what drives Billy crazy. The calloused pads on Billy’s forefingers rub small circles into Steve’s scalp, pressing Steve further down his shaft, not quitting, even after he starts to choke. Spit drools down Steve’s chin as he sputters, lack of oxygen making his head go fuzzy.

“Goddamn slut, slobbering over my cock like a two-penny whore,” he smirks, not letting him up for air. “’Cause that’s all you’re good for, isn’t it, Stevie?” Billy forces Steve’s head down to the root, his nose buried in coarse golden curls. “Yeah, that’s all King Steve is worth, isn’t it? Nice for a good couple of fucks until you’re just like all the other whores at our school.” Tears begin to stream down Steve’s reddened cheeks, further proving Billy’s point. “Aw,” he mocks, “you’re getting tears all over me, Stevie. That’s not very nice, now, is it?”

Steve hollows out his cheeks in a futile effort to stop himself from choking. Just as his reddened face started to deepen in color, Billy let him off his cock, reveling in the desperate gasp Steve made. The brunette’s chest heaved as he gulped down air, Billy’s dick twitching at the sight of him. “Good boy,” he hums, wiping the drool off of Steve’s chin. “Stand up for me, yeah? Hands on the door, mkay?”

He nods between the deep breaths he took, the stars sprinkled in his vision quickly dispersing. His red, bruised knees shake as he stands up, accepting Billy’s outstretched hand. “Kiss, please?” Steve asks, his voice rough and scratchy sounding.

“Of course.” Billy cups his face in his hands, gently closing the gap between them. Steve’s lips are swollen and pink, making the blond’s cock twitch against his stomach. His thumbs stroke Steve’s cheekbones, prompting Steve to press himself impossibly closer. Billy gently presses him to the door, hips grinding in tandem with one another. “Turn around,” he demands, his deep voice laden with lust and desire.

Steve is quick to obey, his hands coming up to make a pillow for his forehead, legs spread wide. Freckles are scattered along his back, trailing down his butt and continuing to the backs of his thick thighs. A pink, faded hickey is still visible on Steve’s ass, and Billy couldn’t help but smack it. Steve’s dick twitched at the slap, and he arched his back, silently begging Billy to give him something, anything.

Billy hums, staring at the heavenly curve of Steve’s spine. “Such a nice ass you got here, Harrington. It’d be a shame to leave it so plain like this.” The palm of his hand connects with Steve’s asscheek, pulling a choked yelp from him. A pink handprint blooms a few seconds later, giving Billy a target to smack next. After a few minutes, both sides are painted a pretty shade of pink and red; a subtle heat radiating from the half a dozen handprints Billy left behind.

“Fuck, Sir, please! Please, just fuck me already!” Steve whines, grinding against Billy’s cock.

He coos at him with a mocking tone, “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie, always a desperate little slut for me.” Hands run up Steve’s back and settle on the meat of his shoulders, making him shiver. Billy ruts against his already loose hole surprised to find that Steve already prepped himself. “Well, well, well, look at that,” he tsks, clicking his tongue. “Already loose for me, huh? Why is that, Harrington? You anticipated I’d drag you into your bathroom and fuck you like the cheap whore you are? Or were you just jacking off this morning, fantasizing about how I fuck you so much better than that dildo you were using?” Billy licks his teeth coyly, chewing on his bottom lip as he slides two slick fingers inside him, the other hand still glued to Steve’s shoulder.

Steve chokes out a startled moan, not expecting his fingers that quickly. “Oh god, Billy—”

“Which one was it, baby?” His fingers speed up, quickly adding a third. “C’mon, tell me, Stevie.”

“The second one!” he sputters, dick twitching as precum dribbles out from the tip, pooling on the cold tile floor. “Missed you this morning; couldn’t help myself.”

Billy’s fingers leave just as quickly as they arrived, drenched and sticky with lube. “Aww,” he teases, a smirk wide across his handsome face. He wraps a hand around his shaft, tapping the head of his cock against Steve’s winking hole. “Now, now, I’ll give you what you want, don’t worry,” Billy hums, slowly pressing inside him. Steve gasps and groans, hips pushing back on his cock, eager for more. “Yeah, that’s it, Stevie. Nothing compares to the real thing, huh? This what your pretty little ass needed?” Billy bottoms out with a harsh thrust, groaning in pleasure.

“Oh fuck, yes, just like that,” he moans, blunt nails clawing at the door. “S’deep, baby, fuck.” His chest bobs from his heavy breathing, giving away how sensitive Steve is already. Giving him minimal time to adjust, Billy pulls out halfway, only to return with intense vigor. His balls slap against Steve’s with every pounding thrust he delivers, harmonizing with the mantra of moans and high-pitched gasps pouring from the brunette’s mouth.

The hinges on the door rattle, giving away their secret if anyone were to hear. “Aww, this is just what you needed, isn’t it, baby? Just needed a good plowing to fix all your problems, isn’t that right?” Billy cards a hand through Steve’s sweaty hair, gripping it tightly and tugging. He pulls Steve off the door, forcing his back to arch further, bringing their faces close together. Billy’s tongue darts out to lick the shell of Steve’s ear, a shiver wracking through him again. “Go on an’ tell me how you feel, sweetheart.” He turns Steve to the right, forcing him to stare at himself in the mirror. “Look so good for me, Stevie.”

Steve took in their reflections. Sweat trickled down both of their hairlines; their faces flushed a matching shade of dark red. Steve’s bangs bounce with every thrust before eventually getting stuck to his damp forehead. “S’good, Billy—Sir,” he corrects himself. “Fuck, yes, just like that! Please don’t stop,” Steve begs, eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head. Billy sucks another hickey into his neck, eyes never leaving the mirror. “Oh my God, oh my God, Billy! Right there, right there, right there!”

Billy adjusts himself to hit that spot with every thrust. “Found it,” he mumbles to himself, hips speeding up considerably. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the bathroom, mixing with their moans to create a lustful song meant only for them. Precum oozes from Billy’s cock, creating a small, white ring around the base of his cock. Steve’s followed suit, the pool on the tiles growing steadily. “Cum whenever you want, honey,” he whispers in his ear, smirking at how Steve clenched around his cock in response.

“Billy, Billy, Billy, baby, oh my lord, I’m so close!” he cries, returning his thrusts. His hands dig into the expensive marble countertops, desperate for any kind of stability he could find. “Don’t—Don’t stop! Don’t sto—stop, please!” Steve’s eyebrows furrow together, his face morphing into one of pure ecstasy. His whole body shook as his orgasm washed over him, Billy’s muscled arms holding him steady as he fucked him through it. Steve’s spunk dripped down the equally as expensive wooden cabinets, his cock twitching even after his orgasm ended.

It wasn’t long before Billy came as well, shooting his load deep inside Steve’s ass. He doesn’t pull out right away, allowing them to revel in the afterglow. Billy litters Steve’s back with chaste kisses, reeling him back down to earth. “Fuck, baby,” Steve groans, turning his head to kiss him. He turns around fully, Billy’s cock slipping out unceremoniously. Cum slowly starts to drip down his thighs, leaving him to shift around uncomfortably. “Love you so much.”

Billy’s hands ran through Steve’s hair as they kissed. For once, nothing else in the world mattered but them. Nothing mattered other than how long they could kiss, how long they could cuddle, and how long they could stay enveloped in each other’s worlds. “Love you so, so much more, baby,” he whispers, their noses bumping. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Steve nods, placing another kiss on his lips before they part.

Billy dampens a washcloth in warm water, gently cleaning the half-dried cum from Steve’s thighs. “Didn’t go too far, did I?”

“No,” he shakes his head, chest warm with affection. “I’d tell you if you did. You don’t need’ta worry, honey.” Steve kisses his cheek reassuringly. Billy pumps lotion onto his hands, massaging it gently onto Steve’s sore butt.

He smiles at his response, leaning down to grab Steve’s swim trunks. “I know, I know.” Steve steps into his trunks, letting Billy dress him. Once the drawstrings are tied in a pretty blue bow, Billy pulls up his own pants, loosely buckling his belt. They forgo their shirts, both way too hot to warrant putting them on. Billy’s large hands roam the expanse of Steve’s soft, freckled stomach, enraptured by his boyfriend’s beauty.

Steve cups Billy’s cheek, mystified over the sheer amount of beauty Billy holds. “Feel like staying the night? We can order pizza, rent a few tapes. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds amazing,” he hums, turning his head to kiss the palm of his hand. “Let’s go before someone comes looking for us.” Steve nods in agreement. Reluctantly, Billy peels himself from his lover, opening the door for him and closing it behind them after they leave.

taglist: @its-deputy-caleb, @ban-canram

[a-slut-for-smut]

R u an ichiruki? I’m still salty about the ending lmao I can’t believe it. Do you know any IR blogs and any archive/library (fics) blog?

Also, recommendations of IR for horny jail pls

Hello fellow ichiruki anon!

Yup, big sloppy slut for ichiruki indeed, ill honestly go down with this ship despite that shipwreck of an ending. I'll admit i didnt follow the anime/manga entire as it dragged on with filler arcs and life got busy etc, but when i heard about the ending i thought i was having a fucking stroke, i still cannot make sense of it to this day (nor do i want to because my brain actively works to delete this kind of dumbfuckery from my memory). While its such a shame how it ended and spiritually i wanna be outside kubo's house like

...but then I take a deep breath and just tell myself titty kubo had a brain aneurysm and just leave it at that.

ANYWAY to your ask- full disclaimer when i was primetime ichiruki slut i was just a lurker, and this was YEARS ago but ill do my best to help ya out. I do follow some ichiruki peeps from back then but they more or less have moved to other ships/interests, but the ones below seem more active IR blogs from what i can tell:

@dangerousbride IR fanart/comics. Love her artstyle and always will @jellyribbons IR artist, gorgeous gorgeous art @hashtagartistlife IR artist/writer. Big slut for her work

@ichiruki good IR treats, very active @ichirukilover good IR treats, very active

Now im actually not aware of any IR archive library blog, but if there is one i would also be curious to know! @ ichiruki fandom, can anyone help us out???

And to the last part of your ask re: IR horny jail fic recs, there are 2 things you should know:

1. I am so out of date when it comes to the latest fics, and i mean by YEARS. So any i recommend will be old but obviously TASTY AF

2. At the time a lot of smut fics were "post-686" "fix-it" naturally, but a lot dealt with blatant adultery/infidelity. Now anyone who knows me i have a mutual respect kink. Not just to how my OTPs have towards each other, but for ppl they care about. While the smut was amazingly written/angst-ridden and im a total angst slut too, part of me had a hard time really investing myself in those fics as I personally cant condone cheating ever, because i know from experience how utterly it can destroy a person. So in general, my fic recs will be AU/canon divergent. AUGH i lament how kubo didnt make the ending open-ended, it would have been so much better :( Also in my headcanon i like to think despite IR being soulmates, they have utmost integrity to not hurt ppl they care about despite their immense love for each other, and that folks is some sweet sweet angst/doomed romance. Actually if anyone knows any fics like that pls share!!!

OKAY HERES THE IR SMUT FEST, ENJOY!!!

Unveiled by@hashtagartistlife God tier IR smut. Like seriously, this one is BEAN-FLICKIN good yaknowwhatimsayin Winter Warmth by@gunnerpalace Starts fluffy but then HOTHOTHOT The Two-Body Problem also by@gunnerpalace I remember how well-written the sexual tension building between IR was, i FELT their anticipation and anxiousness around each other. I think the smut chapter is actually on their blog and not on Ao3 for some reason! Nurse Rukia by Aquari Lynnel (MazokuSempai) Premise is a little silly/kinky but has all the good stuff :D The Red String That Binds by DeathMeetsLife Actually this one isnt really smutty but i HAVE to rec due to the sweet sweet angst scenario i just went on about because this is an angst FIESTA. BUT no cheating as Kazuo and Ichika are actually IR baby twins but are separated from birth...i wont spoil just READ its so good The Parting Glass by Darksknight LOL ok this isnt even primarily IR more Orihime x Ulquiorra, and actually is post 686/fix it BUT i had to rec because a) Orihime is given some fuckin agency her character deserved and i really like the authors take on her/POV b) the author is fuckin hilarious and on point with all the characterizations c) this fic is a fuckin gem, seriously just read it you wont have any regrets trust me

fuck me this post was long and i am sooooo behind on shit i needa do gotta end it here, hopefully this helps anon!!! xoxo

[feelin-woozy]

Title: Sins of the Flesh

Word Count: 4,541

Pairing: Stu Macher / Reader / Billy Loomis

Warnings: Trans masc reader, but pronouns are hardly mentioned so 🤷‍♂️. This is just pure unadulterated filth but that's between God and me.

Also, unbeta'd because I was not making one of my poor friends read this lmao.

Summary:

The two of you move together in a delicate push and pull. Despite the sloppiness of it, each movement was carefully calculated. Your lips are slow and languid, taking your time to strip Billy down as Stu’s is more steadfast and keen. It’s uneven, but it’s familiar, just another step to the dance the three of you have perfected.

[AO3 LINK]

As quiet as the two of you try to be, the bed still creaks with each movement. One hand is locked with Stu’s by your head, the other threaded through soft blonde curls as you cradle his skull. Your lips meet, again and again, a weak attempt at trying to swallow the soft noises that threaten to spill from kiss bitten lips.

The movements of his hips are slow but deliberate, brushing against all the right spots that have your back lifting from the bed as you desperately try and push yourself closer to him. You could never get enough of Stu or Billy, for that matter. Each time calloused hands would brush along your soft skin, it would set your nerves ablaze. Their touch was intoxicating, even when you knew what those hands were capable of. If anything, it drew you further, like Alice falling down into the depth of Wonderland.

There’s something sick about it; it’s not something that should draw you in. But when those hands grace your skin with such reverence, you can’t help but melt into it. Teeth sink into your lower lip, worrying the flesh softly and drawing a sharp gasp from your throat. Your fingers curling into a tight grip within Stu’s hair.

“You’re going to wake him up.” You hiss as your eyes shift slightly to gaze at the man who sleeps next to you. You watch the way Billy’s chest rises and falls with easy even breaths with parted lips. He looks peaceful like this, and it makes warmth flood your chest. It’s a sharp juxtaposition to what the two of you were doing next to him. There was an innocence to the way he slept soundly as Stu fucked into you, tempting pleasure laced noises to tumble into the darkness that enveloped you all.

“Don’t really care.” Stu murmurs, letting out a soft laugh that washes your face with warm bursts of air. You’re not sure that you do either, not when he kisses you again, pushing his tongue into your mouth to drag along the backs of your teeth. Any anxieties or misgivings that you may have felt before wash away with the way Stu tastes on your tongue. You can still taste the lingerings of mint on him from when he had brushed his teeth earlier.

You lift a leg and hook it around the small of his back to drag him closer. The action has him letting out a rumble of approval, and the hand that wasn’t linked with yours comes to grip at your hip. Bitten down nails dig into the skin there, hard enough to make you squirm. You only hope there will be marks left to remind you of this and that this wasn’t just night that blurred into a dreamy state.

“ Fuck .” The voice cuts through the air, startling both you and Stu. You go to open your mouth to say something to Billy, but the words die on your tongue when Stu slams into you, sending the headboard to knock against the wall with some force.

“Like what you see?” Stu breaths turning his head to smirk at the other. The shadows play over his face as he turns his head, a dark glint in his eyes as he stares at Billy. “Wanna join?”

Billy stares at him for a moment, blinking away the sleep in his eyes as he takes in the sight before him. He lets out a soft, shaky exhale, cheeks flushing as he shifts in the bed to get a better look at the display before him before he nods his head slowly.

The bedsprings cry out under the rough pounding, the sounds joining in the carnal noises and the contact of their bodies. There was no need to be quiet any longer, not when Billy was staring at the two of you with a dazed look.

“Too bad.” Stu laughs; the sound is taunting and bold. It’s not the usual tone he holds for Billy within the confines of your bedroom; more often than not, both you and Stu were obeisant for the man. Chasing the pleasure that he controlled with cold, calculated looks that dripped with saccharine. But there’s something about Billy staring at you with bleary eyes and sleep still evident on his face that leaves Stu to toe the line of what he may not get away with ordinarily. “You’re gunna lay there and watch us and then maybe if you’re lucky, we’ll make you cum after.” His lips pull into a wicked grin as he dips down to press a wet kiss to the curve of your neck, nipping at the flushed skin. “Right baby?”

He doesn’t leave you room to answer, not that you could manage anything more than an intelligible babble at this point. And knowing Stu, the man would take that as praise and encouragement. You’re certain that the neighbors would be woken by the sounds that seeped from your bedroom. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin were almost deafening. You could hear how wet you were, and the pleasure tinted shame had your head tipping back against the soft pillows.

You move your hand, untangling it from Stu’s hair to trace along the muscles of his arms, feeling them flex under his movements before you dig your nails into his skin. “ Fuck, Stu .”

“Stu, come on, don’t be mean.” Billy’s words don’t have the usual weight to them; that mean cutting edge he held when he wasn’t getting his way. There was something more complacent in his tone that only came when he was pulled from sleep or too tired to put up a fight against a losing battle.

The taller man thinks for a moment, eyes bouncing between your face and Billy as he lazily rolled his hips against you. Finally, he lets a wry smirk spread over his face. “Fine, touch yourself, but don’t you dare fucking come.”

Billy looks at him for a moment as if he was contemplating the order. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, likely swallowing the urge to turn the tables and make Stu’s world spin on its axis. But he moves quickly but sluggishly, lifting his hips to shove his briefs down past his thighs. He kicks them off, sending them to land somewhere in the room as his cock springs free, bobbing against his stomach. Even in darkness, you can see how precum glints within the light of the moon that peaks through the blinds. He grasps his cock, lazily stroking himself as he watches you and Stu.

You tip your head back as you feel chapped lips drag along the plane of your neck.

“He feels so good Billy,” Stu groans, hips stuttering briefly before he drives into you with enough force to rip a cry from your throat. “So fucking wet for me .” he pants before his teeth sink into your neck. You feel the way his words reverberate over your neck, the action making you tremble. “Tell Billy how good you feel, baby.”

“H-hah, fuck,” You sputter as you drag the blunt of your nails down against his arms, leaving angry red lines to rise in their wake. Words don’t form easily in your mind. You have to fight to get anything past broken syllables past your lips; when you do, they come out in shuddering cries. “Good, shit Billy, he’s so good.”

You’re expecting anger to flash over Billy’s face at those words, at knowing it was Stu getting you like this and not him. Not that he hadn’t done this to you time and time again, but this paired with being forced headfirst into a submissive role likely wouldn’t have sat right with him. And perhaps if it was any other situation, there would be anger that brewed within his eyes. Instead, Billy lets out an unabashed moan, hips rising to meet his fist as he watches the scene that plays out before him.

“Can I kiss him?” You blink up at Stu, tongue flicking out to wet your lips as you stare at the man, searching his face for any form of permission from him. Tonight, it was clear that Stu was in charge. And you didn’t mind in the slightest; you were happy to follow his commands with effortless precision, like a devout believer following their scripture.

He nods his head eagerly, excitement flickering in his eyes at the proposition. Billy is quick to meet your movements, turning his head to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. Billy didn’t hold back in kissing you, tongue eagerly brushing along yours as he moaned into your mouth.

The hand that was wrapped around his cock moves quickly, sliding awkwardly between Stu and you to come and pinch at your clit. It’s not the best angle, but it doesn’t matter. The sudden sensation still has you pulling away from the kiss as your back arches like a bow. You think you hear the two of them laugh at you, but you can’t be too certain. Too drunk on the feeling of Billy slowly toying with you and bringing you swiftly to your own release.

“Gunna come for us baby?” Billy whispers, leaning over and forcefully capturing your lips in his again. You nod against him, lips clumsily trying to match his movements. Your body pulls taut, muscles flexing and relaxing as you let out a scream that is reminiscent of a banshee, as your release drags you under unforgiving waves.

“Fuck, you two are so hot.” Stu groans, watching the way the scene below him play out. It was desperate and frantic, Billy’s teeth sinking into your lower lip hard enough to draw soft whimpers from your throat as you were fucked into oversensitivity.

You feel the way Stu begins to tremble against you, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. The movements of his hips are brutal, an unforgiving pace that had become stuttered as he neared his release. It doesn’t take long before he comes, a sharp cry tumbling past rosy lips as his cock pulses and he’s filling you up.

With a sort of reluctance, he pulls away, sitting back on his heels to admire the sight before him. The way his cum dribbles out of you, how Billy is still eagerly kissing you and how his hand is back on his cock.

Stu had to give the man props for not going against his word and bringing himself over the edge. Perhaps Billy was just as eager to see how this would play out. Stu lets out a contemplative hum before leaning over and grabbing Billy by the hair and drawing him away from you. He leans in close, dragging his lips over the curve of the man’s neck and drinking in the way gooseflesh rises over his skin.

“I want you to eat my cum out of him.” Stu murmurs just low enough that you almost miss it. Color pours over Billy at that, his cheeks turning a dusty pink that spills down his torso. “Don’t you want to make him cum on your tongue? Go on, see how good we taste.”

They move quickly, shifting places with each other so that Billy was settling between your legs and Stu was at your side. He maneuvers your body easily like you were nothing more than a rag doll to be situated to his pleasure. Not that you minded, it was rare that Stu was in a mood like this, or more so rare that Billy relinquished any sense of control, so you reveled in the way Stu moved to sit behind you before pulling you back, so your back was pressed against the damp skin of his chest.

Billy doesn’t waste time; he starts by kissing along your hips, slowly dragging his lips along the soft hair that covers your thighs. He stops to suck a bruise into the skin, lifting his eyes to lock with yours. It’s hard to fully make out the features of his face as shadows dance over him, but you still catch the wild look in his dark eyes.

“Don’t have all-” You jolt at the feel of his tongue gliding through your slick folds. They melt away into a breathy gasp as you lean back against Stu’s chest, who coos at you adoringly.

Billy moves his hands to run along the firm muscles of your thighs, the pads of his fingers digging in softly before slung your legs over his shoulders, holding onto your hips to keep you in place. A slight whine of frustration bubbles from within your throat at the sudden restriction; you wanted nothing more than to press back and rock yourself against Billy’s face.

Soft chuckles float through the air from both Billy and Stu, the sound mixing like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. Though you don’t have time to dwell on it, not when Billy is dragging the point of his tongue through your folds. You can feel the way Stu’s cum and your slick is pushed around with the tip of his tongue, and the imagery makes you shudder against their respective holds on you. Billy shows his pleasure with a low groan, eyes fluttering closed as he greedily works his tongue inside of you.

You shift in their hold, body wound tight as heat sears every nerve that runs through your body. There was no way you could escape either of them; you were trapped like prey waiting to be devoured by the two men. Not that you minded, it was blissful to be taken apart by them time and time again only to be rebuilt with their careful hands.

“Taste good, baby?” Stu breathes as he watches Billy, the warm air tickling your skin. The man between your legs lets out an exaggerated moan of his agreement as his grip on your hips tightens. You can’t stop the way your body writhes or the way Billy’s name tumbles past your lips in a fit of desperation as he begins to eat you out like a man starved.

You’re only absently aware of the way Stu’s hand moves along your chest, fingers dancing along the thin scars that littered your torso. His touch is merely an afterthought, a feeble attempt at keeping you grounded as your impending release coils violently within the pit of your belly for the second time tonight. Tipping your head back, you manage to catch Stu’s eyes in a heated gaze. You take note of the way he stares at you with a look that borders on manic, the way his lips twitch in the excitement that comes with watching you fall apart at their hands.

Eyes fall shut as you exhale a sharp breath, one hand coming to curl in the thick brown locks between your thighs, the other coming to grasp desperately lace with Stu’s hand. “Such a good boy for us, Billy.”

The praise has Billy whining, the noise reverberating against your core and sending bolts of lightning to shoot through your body. One of the hands that gripped your hips moved carefully, coming to brush along your clit. The first brush of his thumb was tentative as he observed your reaction. It was almost kind of him to test the waters first, opposed to how he would usually cruelly toy with your body well past the point of oversensitivity. Your thighs quaked around his head, and you wiggle in his hold, breath caught in your throat before he pressed his thumb more insistently into the engorged flesh.

It doesn’t take long now, with the easy movements of his thumb and the way his tongue dives into you fervently. You can feel the way your cunt flutters around his tongue, the way the muscles in your thighs tighten, and how Stu squeezes your hand, muttering quiet praise into your ear as you sob through your release.

Billy only draws back, sitting once he’s confident he’s fucked you through your release. He stares down at you with a predatory gaze, lips and chin slick with you and Stu’s releases. He doesn’t seem to mind as he licks lips greedily. You can’t find words yet, chest heaving as you try and put your mind together once more but to no avail.

Thankfully, Stu speaks for the two of you as he strokes your hair away from your sweat slicked forehead. “Was that good?” Stu purrs lowly, pressing his lips to the side of your head, “Think we should make him cum?”

Billy waits as patiently as he can as he awaits the verdict, his hands balling up in tight fists that rest along his thighs. You take a moment and let your eyes roll over his flushed and sweaty body, eyes stopping only to take in the sight of his flushed cock, beads of precum glistening at the tip, and dribbling down along the length. Finally, you find the words begin to form in your head, “I think he earned it.”

The excitement that Billy exudes over those words is damn near palpable. You can feel the way he has to fight against his carnal desires to tear both you and Stu to shreds for his pleasure. But he waits there patiently, lips parting in a shaky exhale as his eyes bounce between you and Stu.

You smirk at Billy before tipping your head back to catch Stu’s lips in a soft kiss. “Think he deserves to fuck one of us?” You ponder aloud as you feel Stu’s teeth catch your lower lip between his teeth. “Or maybe we should blow him.”

“Let’s blow him.” Stu murmurs, shifting his gaze to look at Billy. “He’s lucky he even gets that after rudely interrupting us.”

You give Stu a final peck before pulling away, turning to look at Billy as well. The man doesn’t falter under you and Stu’s gaze; instead, you see something fiery brewing within his eyes like maybe he’s amused enough with the game being changed by the two of you that he’s just barely willing to indulge the two of you. Thus far, he had gone along, so the two of you were likely in the clear of Billy attempting to retain control.

The three of you move around the bed easily, like a silent dance the three of you have perfected over your time together. One that should anyone else see, they’d fail to recreate it. Billy sits with his back to the dark wood headboard, legs splayed in a way that radiates confidence as Stu and you settle awkwardly between his spread thighs.

“Can’t wait to wipe that smug fucking look right off your face.” Stu laughs, long fingers raking along Billy’s thighs. Billy just smiles at him, feigning innocence as if he doesn’t have a clue what the other is talking about. A quiet unspoken challenge that you and Stu were happy to rise to if it meant deconstructing Billy into a sniveling mess.

And the fact he trusts you guys enough to try it made your heart lurch in your chest. You don’t let your mind wander too far, too caught up in the lust that hung heavily in the air to really dwell on anything softer.

Your hand wraps around the base of Billy’s cock and strokes him slowly for a brief moment, eyes bouncing between watching his cock throb excitedly in your hand and the way his eyes flutter at the sudden friction. The sigh of relief that Billy lets out when your lips wrap around his cock borders on being cute if such a thing could exist within this state of debauchery.

“Think he likes it,” Stu sings, and even without looking at him, you know that he’s smiling. Warmth in his eyes as he watches the two of you.

You start licking broad stripes along his cock, dragging the tip of your tongue along in a teasing manner that has Billy’s hips rising in a weak attempt at seeking more. Before you can hold him the way he held you, you hear Stu ruffling beside you.

“Ah, ah ah.” Stu chides, bringing a hand to steady Billy’s hips. You observe the way nails sink into the soft skin, a gentle warning. “Don’t move, don’t want you busting like a virgin.”

“You two are going to be the death of me.” Billy grumbles, letting his head fall back against the headboard with a thump. But his hips still relax, settling back down into the plush mattress. You can nearly feel the way he fights against rocking his hips when you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, but you hum softly in approval as you take him further into your mouth till you feel him nudging the back of your throats.

“I can think of worse things.” Stu shrugs with a snicker as he watches the way Billy’s fingers curl into the sheets below. He leans down as your head bobbed up, carefully maneuvering himself so he could lick at the exposed area that you hadn’t taken into your mouth.

Sounds of slick and enthusiastic sucking fill the space in between where Billy doesn’t groan. Spit dribbling down the length of his cock and smearing along yours and Billy’s chin in a way that has you feeling utterly dissolute.

The two of you move together in a delicate push and pull. Despite the sloppiness of it, each movement was carefully calculated. Your lips are slow and languid, taking your time to strip Billy down as Stu’s is more steadfast and keen. It’s uneven, but it’s familiar, just another step to the dance the three of you have perfected.

“Fuck,” Billy groans, thighs flexing as he fights against wildly bucking up into you and Stu’s mouth. It was messy and obscene, the wet sounds of the two of you working Billy’s cock in an easy rhythm filling the room. “Oh fuck,” The words mindlessly tumble off his tongue, and you can tell that he’s fighting not to spill then and there with the way his hips had begun to rock slowly and how his knuckles blanched under the force of his grips. “ Close .” He warned, the noise broken and debauched.

You pulled back with a pop, Stu following your movements wordlessly though he didn’t stop from tilting his head as he stared at you with a mischievous smirk and raised brow. You stare down at Billy, watching the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, the way his brows knit together as thinly veiled anger and annoyance flashes over his face. He grits his teeth, and you laugh at him.

“Do you wanna fuck his face?” You murmur, raising a brow as you stare at Billy. Any anger he may have previously held washes from his face as quickly as it had taken hold. Stu’s laugh echoes through the air with giddy excitement.

“Yeah?” Billy asks, looking at the two of you with skepticism, his brown eyes swimming with dazed pleasure as he blinks lazily. It was as if the offer was too good to be true after all that you had put him through. You watch the way he tries not to look overly excited like he wasn’t jumping at the first opportunity to ravage the two of you should that chance never come.

“Course, you’ve been so good for us, baby.” You hum softly, carefully moving from between his thighs to rest beside him. You grasp his face in yours, nails digging softly into his cheek before catching his lips in a slow kiss. A hand comes to cradle the back of Billy’s skull as you rake your nails lightly along his scalp.

By the way, Billy gasps into your mouth, you assume that Stu’s mouth is on him again. You know for a fact that Stu’s mouth is swallowing him down to the base when you watch a hand sink into short curls and the sudden sound of wet choking swirls through the air.

Teeth sink into your lower lip as a hand worms its way into your hair, fisting it in a tight grip that has you whining as the pain spreads over your scalp. Any pretenses of submission are quickly lost as Billy finds his footing with ease, easily slipping into his usual role now that the two of you had your fun.

The bed begins to creak once more, protesting against the almost violent movements of Billy’s hips. The slick sounds of spit and barely staved off gagging hanging heavily in the air. It made the air thick and smothering, and you almost found it hard to breathe.

Billy lets out sharp, stuttered puffs of air against your lips. The two of you weren’t even kissing at this point; Billy just held you there, foreheads pressed against each other as he used Stu’s throat to chase his own release.

“You two are real brats, know that?” He growls low in his throat, but his words tremble violently. You can’t take him too seriously when he sounds so broken and deranged. Though you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on when he got like this, so wound up that when the tension finally snapped, he was damn near rabid.

“Maybe next time you should put us in our place.” You whisper quietly enough that you aren’t sure if Stu can hear you, but you know that Billy does the way he snarls and nods his head quickly.

Not long after, Billy is crying out, the fist in your hair tightening enough that you cry out in pain as his climax hits him with enough force that if he were standing, he would crumble and fold like wet cardboard. You shift your gaze to Stu, watching the way he strokes his hands along Billy’s thighs as he dutifully swallows around Billy.

Slowly, Billy goes slack, relaxing his hold on both Stu and you enough that the two of you can worm your way out of his grip. He nearly deflates into the mattress with a sated sigh.

“I think he enjoyed that.” Stu laughs, looking at you with a dopey grin. His eyes are glossy with moisture, and his cheeks are rosy but still, even in this state, he beams at you.

Billy cracks open an eye to look at Stu and you before letting his eyes close again. A smile pulls at his lips, though, and you can’t help but preen as you feel the warmth that rolls off his body in thick waves.

“What gave it away?” You chuckled as you moved to settle yourself back into the bed. The depravity in the air had begun to subside, shifting into something sleepy, warm, and safe . You turn and press a gentle kiss to Billy’s chest before you rest your head there, watching as Stu fumbled with the blankets, dragging them over the three of you before he too settled into Billy’s side.

“Love you guys.” Billy gets out through a yawn, and the two of you murmured your love for him before you allowed the warm afterglow to slowly lull you into sleep.

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

- 

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence. 

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

-

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

- 

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos. 

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.” 

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him. 

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment. 

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table.  He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop. 

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock. 

-

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

-

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really. 

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in. 

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit. 

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill. 

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom. 

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s 

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT”  /end ID]

-

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin. 

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left. 

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

-

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

-

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how 

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left. 

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand. 

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

- 

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID] 

[violetsinviolence]

ao3 year in review

original format by @athina-blaine

Top Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure (16 works)

Date of first fic posted: 17 Sept, 2020 (let’s get married, 3,898 words) - happy anniversary me!

Top multi-chapter fic: ‘til i’m with you then, i’m with you there (69,086 words) my most recent finished fic, the one with the most words, and the one i’ve put the most effort into! it grew so much over the 11 weeks i posted it and i’ve already got more ideas in the works- i love this little universe i’ve created and all the people that have helped me cultivate it into something beautiful! ironic how my top two works in word count are both royalty related- i think i have a calling.

Top one-shot: nothing’s perfect, i’m hoping i’ll do (1, 379 words) this one got super popular out of nowhere- like i know everyone loves a good teacher au for tma but holy COW did this one go off the charts with its popularity- it’s almost my most kudos’d fic, just under 160 rn! absolutely incredible tbh, i didn’t even think it was that good when i posted it but HELL i’m proud of it now and i’m glad so many others like it too :)

Fic you’re most proud of: you’ll leave me lonely at best (4, 358 words) god this one is so good to me? idk what it is about the angst in this one but god fucking damn i’ll go back and read it whenever i need just a good solid cry like- damn what did i drink that day to make my angst charts off the shit? fuck!

Fic you wish got more attention: the water’s sweet but blood is thicker (3,305 words) i love love LOVE taako and lup’s relationship and i wanted to capture just like a little… a little bit of their sibling love — and maybe i projected hardcore with me and my sister, ya know — and i was super proud of that! i thought it was super sweet and i wish it’d gotten more love

Fic that Challenged You the Most: h2o, what a feeling! (8,351 words - unfinished) this one- idk what it is with this one, i posted the first chapter and then realized that i had no clue where i wanted to go from there. just getting the second chapter out was a beast on its own but fear not i’ve got a general plot line i want enact! i just need the motivation to start writing it again lmao

Favorite Quote/Passage:

“How could Juno not believe it? When Peter said it so easily like it was the easiest thing in the world to love Juno Steel.”

- when he calls me pretty, i feel like somebody (2,154 words)

“For now, though, he begins to walk, returning to his own world. Where the woman wearing his mother's face rules the land. Back to the birdcage. But, at the very least, Juno gets to keep this all to himself.”

- ‘til i’m with you then, i’m with you there, chapter one: you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream (69,086 words)

“There are two things different, though: The Heliz is gone and in its place sits a neatly folded piece of paper. Duke trembles as he unfolds it.

Rosie,

Thanks for the ride. Sorry, I had to take off so quickly, but I'm expected elsewhere. I'm not sorry about having to take the Heliz from you, but I expect you enjoy a challenge. Come find me if you want it that badly, will ya?

Dahlia

The handwriting is sloppy and rushed, but the words fill Duke's senses with excitement. If he hurries, he could probably stop Dahlia from leaving the hotel, hell he could probably track him down from going off-planet need be. But where's the fun in that? There's a game in store for the two of them, and Duke for one loves games. He laughs, loud and open and so very happy as he holds the note to his chest, thinking of the lovely sharpshooter who's stolen the gem from right under his nose-- twice now!

Duke thinks he's stolen something else too, but he's more than happy to let Dahlia keep that.”

- so start me up and watch me go (5,848 words)

Total Words Posted: 285,405!

this year has been super duper big for me in terms of self discovery! i started ao3 honestly just so i could bookmark stories i liked and stuff, i never thought i’d ever start writing for real- and here i am now! honestly the person i have to thank most is @lmaowhateven sammy darling you’ve been my #1 fan through this entire process and you’ve been nothing but supportive and sweet- if nobody else got me i know he got me 🥺🥰

some other people i’d like to thank: @the-official-account @seratlantisite @scarlettrust @anonomouslyabanana @argentumauream

i go back and reread y’all’s comments all the time because they mean so much to me, literally my favorite people of all time i’m giving you all of my money currently rn actually! 💖

thank you all for making this year wonderful and i hope next year will be just as great! thank you!

[krosaceae]

💖, 😐, ✏️, 👖 , 🍰!

Ah thank you for indulging me :) I'm excited to answer these bad boys. So we have:

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

✏️ Do you write every day?

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

I will answer below the cut because I write way too much :)

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

Damn, kinda wish I was answering this while having one of my god-complex moments... but either way lmao I like that I don't give a fuck in a lot of regards. Like, I write to give my writing its own unique voice, not to necessarily follow writing rules... if that makes sense? If I'm going to toot my own horn, I also think I can be pretty funny and I have my moments of being clever. I also like my dialogue but only after I've spent at least an entire week agonizing over it.

😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

God, where do I even start lol. All of it? I'm really bad at spelling lmao. I always have been. It's definitely super embarrassing when spellcheck or my beta can't even read what I'm trying to say, but I'm getting better. Sometimes I also get embarrassed at the amount of cursing I write into my fic lolz. Like, I delete so many fucks before we get to a chapter worth posting, if you can believe that. I also think I can be a little cliche and redundant, but also I don't really give a fuck because it's fanfiction--of course, it's going to be a little cliche.

Okay, wait. I thought about it more. Probably the most embarrassing part of my writing right now is how personal some of the shit is to me. Like putting my own struggles with sobriety and mental health out there by projecting them onto fictional characters (my fave coping mechanism lol) and then having people comment on said struggles, its embarrassing as fuck. Especially when somebody comments and calls a character on their shit, and the shit is something I used to do or maybe even still do, sometimes it makes me want to self-destruct from embarrassment. But also it's helpful for me, so idk. I think that teaching teenagers has helped me learn how to embrace the embarrassment and use it to my advantage to like... grow and shit, y'know? 

✏️ Do you write every day?

During the summer, especially yes. And during the school year, I definitely try, and my definition of writing is very loose and inclusive because of that. If I open the document and like add at least one word, I have written. And maybe you disagree with me, but it makes writing accessible to me and gets rid of a lot of the guilt I feel about writing 'enough'. 

Something is always better than nothing and ‘something’ is not 'half-assing' it, are both things I constantly remind myself about writing.

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

I love this question hehe. I'm somewhere in the middle. When I first started re-writing Barriers from its original 2013 shitshow, I kinda just went full fucking pantser trying to edit the original chapters without any clear vision of where I was going other than the hazy goal I had as a fucking 16-year-old lmao. This was about a year ago, like end of summer before I started posting on AO3.

Then as the school year started approaching and I was planning my curriculum for the year... I was like wait a damn minute, why don't I use the same backward planning I use to teach, in my writing? So I spent a few days compiling a super sloppy (kind of chronological) list of what I wanted to happen in the fic and how I wanted it to end. Then I sat down and hammered out a neat(er) outline of the entire fic, starting from the end. It's not a super detailed outline, but it helps me think about what needs to happen in order to get the ending I want. I never thought teaching would help me with fic writing, but here we are lmao.

So then the points in the outline help me write chapters, but from there I kinda let the characters do them lol. Of course, I always have like a chapter goal and a basic outline (backward planned of course~) on the top of the page, but sometimes I have a scene in my head that needs to get on that fucking page and I'll do that before I even get an outline down. I also have an entire Google doc of Random Scenes that don’t have a chapter home yet, so sometimes I dump those kinds of Need To Be Written ASAP type drabbles there and then plop them into the outlined chapter when ready. I’m not sure if that made any actual sense lmao but moving on

So if I’m writing and shit gets so off the rails that it doesn't exactly follow the outline anymore, I'll go back to the outline and reevaluate. If it fits and I prefer what I’ve written to the outline, I can change it. I don't like to think of my outline as like a set in stone type of deal, more so a dynamic guide document that might shift with the story as it's written. Which is okay :)

So long answer short: Big planner girl with occasional pantser tendencies lmao.

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

I may or may not be the most predictable bitch ever... but @modern-tsunamis wrote Long Story Short (the world's cutest fkin Graire oneshot) for me as a gift in the Bokumono Winter exchange this year, and I shit you not I read it more than I'd like to publicly admit lmao. Its just such an easy, relaxing read that makes me feel. So like... if you haven't read it, do it!!!

Thanks again for the asks @dougs-inn!! These were a blast to answer :) 

[xhanisai]

SALTING AROUND AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

AO3 / FFN

Summary: Introducing!!!!

The! Ultimate! Salt! Fic! Ever! IN ZA WARUDO!

Featuring Dumb Noir getting taught a lesson about boundaries, Perfectnette getting friends and love interest(s), and LILA GETTING HER ASS HANDED BACK! HOW COULD YOU RESIST SUCH A WONDERFUL FIC?

(All in all, a crack fic on salt fics to bring our spirits up~)

Disclaimer - I've actually only read like one sentence of a salt fic and fucked off afterwards so everything I'm basing off in this fic is purely from exaggerated rumours and gossip about the salt corner THEREFORE if anything here looks familiar or if it seems like I'm taking the piss out of a specific story, it's all just one big coincidence. >:D ~(x)~ . . . Of all locations to settle on for the beginning of this amazing, wonderful, fucking fantastic story, it's established on the Eiffel Tower. Cliched but wonderfully ironic for the phenomenal heroes of Paris. On the beams, higher than the naked eye could see, Ladybug and Chat Noir were... Arguing. The feline hero had his partner's wrist clasped in an iron hold, digging those deadly claws ever so slightly into the soft flesh, piercing the supposed indestructible suit with a creepy grin- "Wait- hold up a second. I would never, NEVER hurt My Lady! Not even unintentionally! And what's with that face I'm making!?" Oh SHUT UP Shit Noir! Let me carry on writing my fucking story jeez! Stop breaking out of character and keep following the script! Anyways~ The skinny, pasty assed hero- "This script sucks..."- -TUGGED Ladybug closer to him, grin widening like he won the lottery as his demonic looking eyes perversely drank in the sight of the clearly uncomfortable looking heroine in his grasps. His face leaned into hers, only coming closer as she tried her best to lean back with a grimace. "Just one kiss Bugaboo~ one kiss won't hurt..." His grip tightened on the appendage, making the girl wince painfully. "Come on Chat Noir...let go! I have already told you, I'm in love with someone else. You seriously need to back off!" Ladybug whimpered, tossing away all her badassery and ability to suckerpunch a fuckboy in the face because hell yeah it ain't relevant to this sexy fic- "You're right Chaton, this script does suck lmao"- IGNORING WHAT THE CANON LB JUST SAID. Ehem. Like a defenseless little shoujou manga protagonist, Ladybug felt tears sparkle in her eyes and pure sadness washed over her frail body before Fuck Noir dipped her into a romantic pose and smashed his lips against hers with soooooo much passion and tongue and teeth and- . What. On. Earth. Oi you stupid cat! Watch where you're putting your hands on the girl! Yikes! What do they teach these Europeans!? Break it up already you hormone riddled boobs! "Oh Minou~ You're so daring~" "Just for you, My Lady~" STAY ON SCRIPT YOU BRATS! Hmph! Carrying on. Suddenly, herculean strength riddled through Ladybug's blood, falcon punching Bitch Noir off her and off the tower, thus HenchBug™ was born. Panting and wiping her lip with her thumb in a really really badass way (YOU KNOW THAT EPIC WAY THAT ANIME CHARACTERS DO TO WIPE THE BLOOD OFF THEIR LIP, RIGHT? RIGHT? ex deeeee), MachoBug swept towards Pussy Noir's broken twiggy body at the bottom of the tower. "You disobeyed me for the umpteenth time, Noir." BadassBug uttered cooly, keeping a blind eye to the growing crowd around her and the mangled up flesh on sticks at her feet. The black and yellow mess didn't respond. "Lo-oooool cos I'm dead!" WE'LL PRETEND WE DIDN'T HEAR THAT EITHER. Anger coursed through Ladybug's veins as all those traumatising memories and moments she had with her horrific partner flashed through her brain like an old window's movie maker AMV with Evanescence's 'Bring Me Back To Life' song blasting at full volume. The conveniently arrived Alya at the front of the crowd live streamed everything on the WadyBwog, babbling about ice cream scoops. "Every time we met up, you'd always make unwanted advances to me. You'd always force a kiss on me. You even slapped my thicc™ ass a few times- once to the beat of fucking Nyan cat!" The hive minded crowd surrounding them 'oooed' and 'aaahed', some snapped a selfie with what's left of the black cat. "Therefore," The sun auspiciously shone behind MariBug, giving her an ethereal, angelic look as she carried on her lecture. "I now deem you unworthy of the miraculous." BugBug fluttered her eyelashes with so much pain as if reciting those words killed her whole generation and their dogs and their hamsters. "Hand it over to me or else I'll force it off you." All of a sudden BuffBug™ was back, bitch slapping CryBabyBug away and menacingly placed one foot on the carcass.   "Wow I think she forgot that you're dead Chat Noir," THE HIGH TENSIONED MOMENT REMAINED UNBROKEN AS FAKEBUG- oof- Ladybug rolled her eyes with annoyance at the disgusting boy's silence and immediately knelt down to yank the miraculous off his bony fingers- "Never!" The catboy sprung back to life before anyone could breathe, clutching his hand to guard his ring ferally, froth seeping out of his teeth and fangs gnashing against one another- "Looks like I'm a vampire with rabies now, Bug." "Since when did you have fangs?" "Since two seconds ago-" OH MY GOD YOU TWO! SHUT UP AND LET ME WRITE! Zombie Noir leapt back with a hiss, faux ears and tail twitching with indignation and summoned the ancient destruction power whilst BossBug spun her yoyo around in battle formation, ready to call for her lucky charm anytime soon. Cat and Bug kept up the intense eye contact as that cowboy music from the good, the bad and the fugly played in the background (cheers Lahiffe mah d00d!). "You don't want to become my enemy, do you, Chat N00b?" The heroine spat, bones clicking in place as she stretched her fingers when she and the lad in black circled each other slowly. The crowd and Alya were casually chilling in the background, the latter still narrating about an epic ice cream scoop. "Heh, I won't need to be the enemy if you don't touch MY ring... Milady~"- "MON DIEU! C'EST 'MY LADY'! C'EST N'AI PAS 'MILADY'!" THAT'S THE POINT YOU STUPID CAT! Break out of character one more time and I'll castrate you and feed your teeny tiny *censored* to the dogs! "...My Lady? Is my *censored* small? :(" "If your *censored* was small, you'd never have been able to make me scream at night, Minou~ ;3" ":D" 

Regardless! The pussycat feinted to the left before dodging the razor sharp wire of his Lady's (not) yoyo, whipping out his baton (not the tiny one either) and swiftly used it to vault himself away like the coward he CLEARLY is. "You'll never get me alive, THOT!" Was the last thing that small dick energy minded cuck yowled and fled with his tail between his legs. BigBug let out a yell of rage™ and slammed her fist on the ground, branding the sloppy concrete job with a crater as the shockwaves caused the audience to let out a little 'DAYUMMMMMMMM'. "Lol I thought the geezer was dead hahaah! Yo Ladybuggy, mah homie, you and kitty cat did the shame shame already or nah?" Alya, the lil hoe, leant into the heroine's personal space with a crazed grin. She only received a middle finger from the annoyed Asian. (MMmm Mmmm yEAH YEAh trANSiTION so SEXYYYY) Now, it is conveniently time for Marinette's afternoon classes. The exhausted girl dragged her feet up those weird ass spirally steps that could break ankles JUST by looking at them and made it to her classroom, only to pause at the shouting she was hearing behind the door. "Oh boy, time to unleash the kraken..." Silence Adrien! You're not supposed to have appeared yet! Dumb ass blondes these days smh... "HEY! >:0" With a deep breath, the raven haired girl pushed the door open only to be met with what could be best described as a clusterfuck. Tears welled up in her eyes as the remains of her sketchbook (which looked like it had a trip in a paper shredder) was dumped all over the floor. She snapped her head back up only for her heart to literally shatter when she was met with a furious Alya Motherfuckin' Césaire. "Marinetti DupainGhetti. This. Is. Your. Punishment." Alya's glasses flashed sinisterly as her lips curled up into  d i s g u s t . The rest of the class mirrored a similar look, acting as if poor little Cheng vored everything they loved and cherished. All except two people. That witch BITCH Lie-la smirked secretly as she cowered behind Alya and the wimp, spineless little shitty Dumbdrien whimpered on his desk, pretending that nothing was happening. "P-P-Punishment for wh-what?" Babynette sobbed, clutching her shoulders as if to hug herself and make her look smaller than she is. She darted her eyes towards the model, begging him internally to say something, anything! Alas, Bitchdrien only looked away guiltily, his thin chapped lips sealed shut. Marinette couldn't believe her bad luck. First there was an akuma attack, then she was assaulted by her shitty partner for the millionth time and now this? "Punishment for bullying our lord and saviour, Lila of course! How dare you make such a sweet girl like her suffer!?" Alya roared, using the power of the seven chaos emeralds and twenty dragonballs to go super satan and pinned Sweetienette against the wall with an elbow. Her hair fizzed with animosity and her eyes gleamed in a demonic red colour- "Dieu...you just had to drag my best friend into this too, huh?" "You'd think this writer is sane enough to know that I'd cataclysm anyone that dared to harm Ma Princesse, non?" "The writer? Sane? Good joke."- IGNORING STUPIDNETTE AND BLOODYDRIEN- Alya snarled, bruising our sweet little angel's poor skin with her brute strength whilst the rest of the class watched without a question. The sausage haired wench munched on some greasy ass popcorn as she watched the show whilst Shamedrien became one with the floor, a perfect doormat for us queens to stomp on. "You tripped her all the time when no one was watching, aggravating her shattered kneecaps. You plagerised her designs, ruining what's left of her sensitive self esteem and dammit don't even get me started on all those rumours you attempted to spread about her, smearing her celebrity status! I've never hated anyone more than you, BITCHINETTE!" Alya harrumphed and then shoved Brokenette against the wall again, possibly snapping her spine and stormed back to her new bestie. "Mon Dieu your best friend just murdered you..." "Mon Dieu my best friend just murdered me..." Tosses a knife at the duo to make them shut the fuck up. Everyone else applauded the psycho journalist for putting Poornette in her place, even Stinkdrien cos he can't handle peer pressure- BAM! . . . "HOW DARE YOU HURT MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG!" A tall, stern looking boy slammed the door open, scooping Deadinette in his arms and blew out steam through his nostrils like a bull. Everyone le gasped as the girl suddenly turned into Alivenette and embraced the stranger like he's her long lost lover (Aiyeeeeeeeeeeee mUH O-T-FUCKING-P! K Y A A  A! EVEN THOUGH WE KNOW JACKSHIT ABOUT HIM). "BELIX BRAGRESTE! You saved me~ Don't hurt my homiesexuals please- they're all brainwashed by the sausage haired girl..." The blackberry haired angel begged, tugging on Belix's sleeves. "I didn't do anything-" Uglydrien was quick to defend himself only to melt back down into a doormat by Belix's dark glare, ripping out what spinal tissue the model had left. "Damn straight you didn't do SHIT." Bragreste swiftly delivered a power-kick against Assgreste, yeeting him to the moon and then turned towards the rest of the f00king class, rolling his sleeves up. "As for you nerds...I'm gonna chop you all up into mincemeat and EAT you all with my spaghetti!-" "I'm here Marinette!!!" Another lad swooped in through the door, hips swaying to the beat as 'Luka Luka Night Fever' plays in the background and then posed! Why it's none other than the obviously best written, best character, best BOY in the world: RUKA COFFEE- sorry, I mean Luka Couffaine! He strummed his guitar a few times, nodding and humming as if he was conversing with the beautiful instrument whilst bokeh dots and pink sparkly glitter floated around him. "Ah~ my guitar said that everyone's being a bitch ass motherfucker to our beautiful designer! Come with my Mari~ Take my hand and I'll take you away from this school!" The lycee student didn't wait for her answer and grabbed the star struck girl oh SO romantically~ "No! She should move schools with me!" Belix Bananagreste snatched Nettie back possessively, just like a cat. It was then that the girl decided that when she managed to snatch the black cat miraculous back from the loser that currently wielded it, she was going to give it to Belix- "Ugh don't fuck with me..." "Shhh. You're supposed to have been yeeted to the moon, Chaton," "Marinette please just throttle the writer already-" AND THEN! SUDDENLY! Erm... Errr... AHA! Suddenly all these people from some furry superhero universe came flooding in through the door, yelling insults and real truths about LIE-LA and protecting my best girl Maribear like a boss! Heroes like Gamien and Dason Bob and that guy and err, the other guy and yeah AND THEN they all began to BEAT UP that BITCH LILA and then- "Oh no she's losing it, Adrien I don't think this will last any longer..." "No kidding!" THEN JAGGED STONE CAME FLYING THROUGH THE WINDOW, JAMMING OUT HIS LATEST SONG ABOUT HOW LILA IS SUCH A LIAR AND EXPOSED EVERY SINGLE THING SHE DID TO BEST GIRL MACHONETTE! THEN ALL THESE OTHER KIDS FROM THE SCRAPPED PV UNIVERSE CAME IN VIA A CONGO LINE AND MARINETTA DECIDED TO GIVE THEM THE OTHER MIRACULOUS COS WHY NOT!? AND THEN CHLOE BECAME MARINETTE'S NEW BFF COS HELL YEAH I LOVE VIBING WITH PEOPLE WHO BULLIED ME AND MY PEERS FOR FOUR YEARS STRAIGHT AHAHAAHAH QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS- "Adrien, I'm going to kill her. She needs to stop." "Go on then~" AND THEN! AND FUCKING THEN! SCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!!!!! . . . [Error 404: The following writer has unfortunately met her demise through unknown means. We apologise for any inconveniences. Please keep scrolling as we clear up the mess. Have a good day.] . . . "Huh...that was anticlimactic...now what?" "You go off snogging my rejected predecessor and the guitar boy? >:(" "As if I'd go for anyone other than my silly kitty!" ":D" . . . ~(x)~ A/N:  I am never EVER writing anything this cursed AGAIN! How can you bash anyone but the villains in this series!? Damn! I can't even say I'm sleep deprived! This is the most fucked up shit I've written and I'm super alert oof!

[wallywrites]

#57 for harringrove please and thank you?

I already knew what I wanted to write for this prompt so now I’m super excited!! Thanks for the request!! Sorry it took so long, been so busy with assignments and every time I have a break I have no motivation, but here it is!!

(also sorry it’s kind of short! I have so many fics I’m working on atm but I didn’t want to make you wait any longer 😅)

Prompt #57 “Is that a tattoo?” from my prompt list.

Some smut? Idk like not too intense but there’s a little bit. (i don’t know how to write smut lmao does this count? idk probably)

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366710

✨enjoy!✨

Ever since Steve and Billy got together, they had an issue with being apart. Hated it, would spend the whole time longing and wishing to be with each other. Billy would never admit this, but Steve was more than happy to complain constantly the more he’s away from his boyfriend, which is exactly what he did the whole three weeks he spent with his family in California. 

“It’s just three weeks, Stevie, you’ll be fine” Billy tried to convince him, but that only made Steve hold him tighter, refusing to leave. He couldn’t care less about weddings, let alone his family. He barely knew his family, other than saying hello with a small wave and a polite smile at whatever family event his parents would force him to go to. His family didn’t talk to each other unless it was to show others how much of a loving family they were, but really they didn’t care. Hell, they would disown Steve the moment any of them realised he was bisexual, or in a relationship with a guy, because they couldn’t really care less about him. Steve didn’t even remember the last time he spoke to his cousin, Amelia, who was getting married on the beach in Billy’s home town.

Billy tried to convince Steve he would like it up there, that it would be good for him to stay in Cali for a little, get used to it, since that’s where Billy promised to take Steve when they were old enough to get away from their families and from fucking Hawkins. Steve was reluctant, of course, but felt a little better about it.

That feeling left him the moment they began to drive, his parents sitting quietly in the front, not even realising their son sulking in the back, already missing his boyfriend.

And sure, he didn’t mind California, it reminded him of Billy. But waking up to the smell of the ocean, the smell of Billy, but no actual Billy to hug and kiss and hold, was almost like torture. 

So that’s why the moment he returned, Billy was at his house, on top of him in his bedroom, attacking his neck with sloppy but needy kisses. Steve’s house was empty like always, his parents already off again for another “business trip”, which they didn’t really mind, meaning they could be as loud as they wanted, and after three weeks of constant pining and not being touched the way they wanted to, they knew they wouldn’t be able to contain their moans.

Steve couldn’t help but shiver as Billy’s hand made its way under his shirt, his fingers finding their way up to his nipple, causing more heat to pool at his groin, his heart beating faster. He tugged at Billy’s hair, pushing his body closer as Billy’s fingers continued to rub over his now hard nipple, causing Steve to squirm under him. He didn’t realise how much he actually needed Billy, how much being away from him hurt, caused his chest to ache, forever longing for the moments like these.

He knew Billy felt the same, that being away from Steve was just as hard, and Steve would be lying if he didn’t say that this was the best kind of sex, after being apart for so long, the need to get as close to each other as they can. The longest they had been apart since they got together was a week, and the moment they reunited was like heaven, so Steve could only imagine what this would feel like. The thought itself was getting him excited, was making his dick already hard, wanting, waiting for Billy to take him apart. 

Billy pulled away from his neck, moving to Steve’s lips, licking into his mouth almost instantly as Steve moaned out again. He pushed his hips towards Billy, a moan escaping both of them at the friction. Billy’s fingers squeezed at his nipple again, causing Steve to squirm again, Billy’s fingers lingering for a moment before trailing down to Steve’s waist, his fingers brushing over the tattoo Steve forgot to tell him about. Honestly Steve forgot it was even there, too preoccupied with thoughts of Billy’s dick inside him the whole ride home, too distracted the moment he had Billy on top of him.

Billy pulled away from Steve at the change in texture on Steve’s side, the tattoo still slightly raised, and pushed himself up slightly, pulling at the bottom of Steve’s shirt to reveal the black ink, in the shape of a surfboard, ocean waves and sunshine inside the dark lines, sitting just above Steve’s left hip.

“Is.. is that a tattoo?” Billy breathed out, both boys still breathing heavily as he ran his fingers over the ink again, causing a blush to creep its way onto Steve’s cheeks, watching as Billy leaned closer, continuing to trace the lines with his fingers, causing goosebumps to rise on Steve’s skin.

He nodded, biting down on his lip as Billy glanced towards him, grinning as he looked back down towards the tattoo. It shouldn’t have made Steve that excited, but seeing Billy just in awe over his tattoo, a grin on his face as he checked his boyfriend’s ink out, did wonders to Steve. He loved the feeling of Billy checking him out in general, always made him blush and his stomach fill with butterflies, but being this close and this intimate, watching as Billy look towards Steve, so in love with everything about him, made Steve want nothing more than to be this close to him forever.

And Billy truly did love Steve, loved every inch of him. Knew every inch of him, inside and out, in more ways than just physical. Sometimes he still doesn’t believe that he managed to get Steve, that his pretty boy was his. That Billy was the one to make Steve feel this way, to take him apart and put him back together. Billy didn’t think he deserved Steve, but wasn’t going to let that stop him from loving him, from letting Steve love him back. He thought he was the luckiest guy in the world. 

“A surfboard?” Billy asked, running his tongue over his bottom lip, causing Steve’s body to twitch slightly, his side heating up more with every touch. He couldn’t help but smile, watching Billy mesmerised by the tattoo. That same feeling overcoming him, warming his whole body the more he watched his boyfriend. 

“Yeah. Being up there reminded me of you, being by the ocean. You know you smell like California” he began to explain, tangling his fingers through Billy’s hair again as he hummed out, nodding slightly, continuing to look over the details of the sunshine and the birds above the waves.

“I remember you telling me you used to love to surf, that you’d teach me when we go there together” Steve continued, the memories coming back to him, causing his smile to grow. He couldn’t wait until that day, after they graduate, when they move away together. He enjoyed being in California, and being there made him long for their future, wanting nothing more than to be with Billy out by the water on a hot summers day.

He replayed the moment Billy promised to take him to California over and over again in his head, holding onto that hope. The thought of leaving Hawkins with Billy made him smile, warmth spreading throughout his body. There was a time he never thought that would be his dream, moving to California, with Billy Hargrove of all people. But things changed, and if he was religious he would thank god for letting things turn out like they did. He really didn’t know what he would do without Billy in his life. 

“You know how much I missed you?” Steve tugged at Billy’s hair again, his eyes meeting bright blue ones as Billy licked his lips again, already knowing the answer. He moved his body closer, leaning in towards Steve, stopping just an inch from his face.

“Enough to get a tattoo?” he asked, smirking out as Steve nodded, receiving a kiss before Billy pulled Steve’s shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor, moving back down his body, placing his lips over the inked skin, causing Steve’s dick to twitch in his shorts, loving the feeling of Billy’s lips and tongue on his skin. Billy noticed the shiver that ran through Steve, smirking as he continued to kiss over the tattoo, his teeth digging into his skin for a moment, before his tongue ran over the sore spot, causing Steve to twitch again, pushing his hips towards Billy again, dick fully hard, a moan escaping him.

Billy moved his kisses back up Steve’s body, holding himself up again, biting down at Steve’s collar bone as Steve tugged at his hair, guiding him up to meet his lips.

“You like?” Steve asked a Billy pulled away, positioning himself between Steve’s legs, tugging on the waistband of his shorts, his eyes back to the tattoo, shining slightly with Billy’s spit, causing him to smirk as he looked back to Steve.

“Hell yeah. Look real sexy with some ink, pretty boy” he said, his eyes already blown as he pulled off Steve’s shorts, going for his own buttons on his jeans as Steve licked his lips, wanting nothing more than to feel Billy on him, inside him. Couldn’t keep in the moans as Billy kissed down the inside of his thigh, his fingers still tracing the surfboard, sending another shiver through Steve.

Yeah, he’d definitely have to get another tattoo soon.

[pandoraimperatrix]

I’ll Take Care Of You, If You Ask Me To

@pcgasuss asked me for jealous Dick. I’m not very good writing about jealousy, but I tried.  

Summary:  Dick should have known that Kory and Bruce talking was not the best news to him.

1,7K | DickKory | Fluff | Read on AO3

The echo of Kory’s laugh grabbed Dick’s attention in midsentence. She was all the way across the room, actually not in the room at all, but you could see her, and Bruce, talking through the glass.

“Dick?”

“Hm?” He turned attention back to the boys slowly. Conner had his whole face frowned in confusion. It was hard to make Gar smile these days, but he had an amused glint in his eyes.

“Forget it, Con. He’s gone outer space now.”

Conner looked even more confused. Dick sighed and pretended he didn’t hear it.

“Anything else?” Dick asked dryly.

“Yeah, like you could even remember we were talking about.” Mocked Gar.

“Of course I remember.”

“What was it, then?”

“It was…” Kory laughed again, this time a little bit louder, Dick had to bite the insides of his cheeks to control the urge to just nap his head in her direction again.

“Exactly.” Said Gar very pleased with himself. “Come on Con, let’s play some videogames.”

“Only an hour, then bed. I want you both well rested tomorrow morning.”

“Sure, boss.”

“Goodnight, Dick.” Dick gave the boy a tight smile and nodded, Conner turned back to Gar. “Should we invite Hank and Rose?”

Gar answered something, but Dick didn’t listen as they walked away. He took a sip of his orange soda, wishing it was something stronger than sugar and watched them with the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t ignore the fact that both his surrogate father and his… Well, Kory wasn’t his to begin with, but they were both naturally flirty people. Kory was just too charming to her own good, no, scratch that, she was too charming for everyone’s around her own good. The charisma that Bruce so meticulously learned to perform, the same that he tried so hard to make Dick copy and never quite succeeded, Kory had it effortlessly. And Dick knew Bruce very well, there was no way he wouldn’t make any moves, even though the probabilities of him following through with them were quasi none. After all if Batman had something was work ethics. And yet… What was he saying that was so funny? A voice inside his head that sounded terrible like Donna was calling him a paranoid freak and explaining to him in painstaking detail how he had no claim for the feelings brewing in his chest. But it shut up in silent panic when he saw Kory touch Bruce’s arm. When Dick noticed he was already getting hit on the face by the cold wind as he reached the veranda.

“Hey.” Greeted Kory, the easy smile on her face not quite reaching her eyes.

“Nice of you to joying us, chum.”

“Chum?” Asked Kory in obvious delight. A little too much. She was not drinking orange soda.

Dick winced.

“Can you not call me that?”

“Why not?” Was that a little bit of genuine hurt that he was seeing on Bruce’s eyes?

“Because I’m not twelve anymore.”

“See what I was telling you, Miss Anders?”

Kory fell in a fit of giggles, and Bruce smiled fondly at her. Dick felt panic bubble inside him. He hated how Bruce would make him feel like a teenager ager just by being around.

“What? What is happening? What were you telling her?”

“About how adorable you were as a child.” Managed Kory holding on to Dick to keep straight. Her hand on his shoulder was cold. Dick frowned. It wasn’t like he spent hours and hours of what should have been sleep reliving every time she touched him but she never felt cold before, actually, she used to be almost feverish. “Nothing to feel ashamed of.”

“I can’t help but doubt it.”

“Don’t you trust me, Dick?” Asked Bruce prying Dick’s eyes from Kory’s.

“With my dignity? Not at all.”

“You hurt me, son.”

“What did you tell her, Bruce?”

“Oh, this and that.”

“Kory?”

“Oh, cool off. It was nice to hear about baby Dick Grayson. Even though by the stories you didn’t change very much.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bruce here was telling me about how seriously you took yourself, and that, what was her name? Selena?”

“Selina.” Corrected both men together.

“Yes, Selina, she was the best at making you lose it and act like a kid.”

“That’s because she was infuriating.” But when he looked at Bruce his face was softer and when he asked had a note of hopefulness. “Heard from her lately?”

Bruce straightened himself slightly, an act that would pass unnoticed to anyone, but that brought a tiny smile to Dick’s lips. So that explained the whole easy mood of lately.

“Yes, actually.” He cleaned his throat. “She has been around. But we were talking about you…”

“Around? How much around? Is she okay?”

“She is, yes.”

“And you both…?”

“What?”

“Come on, Bruce!”

Bruce just took a sip of his drink and pretended to look at something else far away. Kory just watched their back and forth like it was a very entertaining game.

“Did Jason meet her?”

Bruce sighed.

“Yes, they’ve met.”

“What? They didn’t get along?” Dick’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “They are so alike…”

“Maybe too much you could say.”

“Sorry to hear that, B.”

“It’s alright.”

Deciding to give Bruce a break, he turned back to the woman by his side.

“What else did he tell you, Kory?”

He tried to pretend he didn’t notice that her hand haven’t left his person, slipping from his shoulder to his arm, and that now she was making doodles with the tip of her fingers giving his tingles. Bruce also noticed, but besides making sure to let Dick know he did with an inquisitive look, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Well… He showed me picture too… of your first suit.”

“No…” His eyes widened in terror.

“The little short was so cute, Dick! And the booties. Adorable! I sent a picture to Rachel already.”

“You did not!”

“I did! My batteries died so I don’t know her reaction yet…” She pouted.

Horror spread over Dick’s face and he turned to his mentor.

“Why? Why do you have that with you?”

“To look at it, of course, since I so rarely get to actually see you these days. I carry it in my wallet.” Said Bruce proudly.

“You!” He pointed to Bruce. “And you Koriand’r, I thought you were my friend.”

“Such a drama queen.”

“I know.” Agreed Bruce, “and you believe he never even took acting lessons?”

“No. You two talking was a horrible idea.”

“Well, I thought it was loads of fun. But you, Dick Grayson. You have no such concept.” And to Dick’s complete shock she gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Bruce. It was lovely to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, Miss Anders.”

“If I have to call you by your first name, you can just call me Kory too.”

“Very well. Goodnight, Kory.”

She just smiled before leaving, her hand lingering on Dick’s arm before she was completely gone.

“So…” Said Bruce when Kory was far-gone. “There is no chance you are coming back, then.”

“I can’t leave the Titans.”

“The Titans?” Bruce scoffed.  “Sure.”

“Why are you insinuating?”

“Me? Nothing. But well, I always thought that eventually you and Barbara would settle down, I can see now it will hardly happen.”

“Bruce… Me and Babs haven’t been a thing since high school.”

“I know… I know. But Kory is really a formidable woman. Take good care of her.”

“I’m not seeing Kory either, Bruce.”

“Whatever you say, chum. I’m also going to bed. Long trip back home tomorrow. Goodnight, son.”

“Bruce, I’m not-“

But the man completely ignored Dick, leaving him alone with his feelings and the cold air.

 Later, when Dick arrived at his room, he learnt that there was already someone occupying his bed.

“Kory? What are you doing here?”

She purred softly, he had to ask her about that one day. And opened one shiny green eye.

“Dick? Shit. I think I got rooms wrong.”

“Kory, are you okay?”

She sighed, trying to lift her body starting from her head, but no such luck.

“No… Not really. Can I… I mean. Just for sleep?”

He should say no. He really should say no and help her to her room.

“Yes. Sure.”

“Thanks.”

And she didn’t say anything else for so long he was sure she was asleep.

He washed himself and joined her in bed. As soon as he got under the covers, her static form gained movement and she turned to him, pushing her face against his chest. He felt a sense of familiarity and relief so strong, he wondered if it was like that when Hank took heroin.

“I’ve missed you.” He heard she whisper sleepy.

He leaned into her hair, letting himself inhale her scent.

“I miss you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“So many things…”

Dick kissed the crown of her head, his fingers getting used to the new texture of her hair. It was so silky now, he missed the fluffiness from before.

“Me too.” He sighed. “Rest, Kory.”

He was sure she was sleeping when he heard she giggle softly.

“What is it?”

“Your dad is hot.”

“Oh my god, Kory.”

She giggled again and looked up to him.

“You are hotter.”

And then she kissed him. He held her impossibly close, and her hand felt warmer when she cupped his face, not hot as it used to be. But her lips didn’t taste the same either, the taste was somehow stronger, more intoxicating, and as he bite them softly they were even more thicker than he remember or fantasied about, her tongue even more talented.  But he forced himself to breathe before the kiss consumed them both. Kory was acting so weird. He couldn’t. Not like that.

He pulled away avoiding her seeking lips and kissed her forehead.

“Go to sleep Kory, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

She sighed and got more comfortable against him.

“Goodnight.”

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

Another fluffy piece. It’s my headcanon that the reason why Titans Bruce is like that is because he eloped with Selina and is living his best life lmao. Kory in this story is a bit OOC, I think she is so out of it because all her recent losses that she is trying so hard to feel anything else that’s why she is acting so weird. It was nice to write this one. I hope you enjoyed to read it too, and if you did, let me know.

Likes are awesome but if you want to support me please reblog <3