#can i get well sooner so i can go back to writing a thousand words a day pretty please 😭

[solivagantingrebel]

I want everyone to know that I expected this thing to be 3k and not have any plot.

AND it's still not done yet.

[auroralwriting]

poker face

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer and you go to the casino to find the unsub. you think he looks pretty hot playing poker.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: making out, gambling, poker face spencer aghhh

"Forensics got a fingerprint match on the last victim. Eddie Langdon. We're looking into him." You said as you walked back into the office that held some of your team members.

Hotch came in behind you, "Hey, any luck?" Emily asked.

"No, they don't want to allocate agency funds for the buy-in. I'm still working on it." Hotch replied, looking down to his phone as he got back on another call.

Rossi chuckled, "Well, I can't imagine why not. We're only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money so that FBI agents can play Texas hold 'em."

Emily eyed Rossi, "Hey, what about you?"

"What about me? What?"

"You could stake us the buy-in." Emily smirked.

Spencer sat down next to you, "Yeah, you're a best-selling author."

You nodded enthusiastically, "Don't forget a best-selling author and longtime FBI agent. You could loan us the money, or something."

"No," Rossi shook his head.

"Why not?" Emily frowned.

"One, it's against regulations, and I'd like to hold on to this job for a little while longer." Rossi began.

Under your breath, you muttered, "It's just a little violation, 's all."

Rossi just rolled his eyes at your comment. "And two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single-malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork."

"Poker chips are things!" JJ replied quickly with a smile.

Rossi just scoffed as Spencer spoke up again. "Maybe just think of it as like a new experience. I mean, at your age, how often does that happen?" Oh, no he didn't.

"At my what?" Rossi slowly turned his head to Spencer who just gulped and awkwardly looked away.

"Rossi, this may be our only chance to get this guy." You said slowly. "They government isn't going to give us the money. You're our only way to catch this killer. Please?" You paused for a moment. "And if it helps, you can just write a new book to get some more cha-ching."

Rossi sighed, "All right, fine. But I'm ignoring that last comment. I'm a decent poker player, but I can't promise that I can stay in the game long enough to--"

"You know what?" Emily interrupted. "I bet you're a great poker player, but what if we sent in Reid?"

"I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Parump because of my card-counting ability." Spencer commented as if it was the most casual thing in the whole world.

You raised your hand slightly, "Why did I not know this sooner?"

"Look, I know I'm not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not Blackjack." Rossi argued. "It's about bluffing, reading human nature, head games. It's not math."

That's when Spencer stood up, "That's not entirely accurate. There actually is a mathematical equation for knowing when to raise and when to fold. If P represents the size of the pot at the time of play, then P times N minus one, with N representing the estimated number of players in the final round of betting--"

"Okay! Fine, I surrender!" Rossi cut Spencer off quickly. "Just try not to lose all my money. Actually, you know what?" Rossi quickly spoke your name. "Take her with you, I don't want you losing all my money and if she needs to interrupt the game, then so be it."

Your eyes widened, "Rossi, I've never stepped foot into a casino in my life."

"You'll be fine!" Rossi waved it off as Spencer gave you a comforting look.

Oh, this was not what you expected at all.

Spencer and you had to get checked by security with the handheld metal detectors. Yours didn't go off, but Spencer's did. He played it off as just a pen. Thank god they accepted that.

The two of you walked in. For someone who stared at dead bodies and killers all day, this was the most nerve wracking thing you'd experienced in a while. It also didn't help that Hotch decided you and Spencer were to play a couple when you had such a big crush on him.

"Hey," Spencer muttered, "It's okay."

"Just nervous," You replied under your breath. The two of you made your way to the bar. Spencer got himself a drink, and you got some champagne. "Is it really just math?"

Spencer nodded, "Math, and a little bit of luck."

The moment you felt Spencer take your hand, you tried to pull away. "Spencer, what about germs--"

"I don't mind your germs, you're my friend. Plus, we have a part to play, remember?" Spencer muttered, locking his fingers between yours. Your heart pounded as you did the same.

"I'll observe as you play," You muttered, remembering the list of things you needed to look for to find the unsub. "I know you don't need it, but good luck."

Spencer smiled at you, the comment being just so sweet and innocent. "Thank you." You looked so nervous, so out of place. It made Spencer notice you more.

Spencer had taken a seat at a table, which you stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Your hands rested on the back of the chair. So far, no one caught your eye, until one man at another table did. Casually, you poked Spencer and he caught onto your stare.

"You know, would it be all right if I sat at table two instead of four? I have a pre-glaucoma condition and the light's kind of bothering my eyes." Spencer called over the employee, who took him to the desired table.

The men didn't just eye Spencer as he sat down, you noticed they eyed you too. Defensively, you wrapped your arms around Spencer's neck from behind. "Ah, I'm calling." One of the men said."

"I'll raise." One guy said. You stared at him, noticing his red eyes. Weird. "Eight thousand."

"Eight thousand.. That's, uh, fifty-six months wages for the average person in Bangladesh." Spencer commented casually. In reply, you giggled and played with some of hair, pushing it out of his face. Spencer hoped you didn't feel his face turn hot under your fingers. "Uh, kind of makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Hey, it's eight thou to you." One guy remarked. "Now, are you in or are you out?"

Spencer sighed, "I.. am in. And I raise."

"Three raise? That's too rich for my blood." The guy sighed. One man, the one who raised before Spencer, bored holes into him.

"Are you in, sir?" Spencer asked.

"I'll call."

"Call?"

Spencer flipped his cards, "Straight."

Based on everyone's reactions and Spencer's coy face, straight was a very good thing. Playing the act, you kissed Spencer's forehead and squealed lightly, deciding to stroke his cheek for a moment. "A gut shot straight draw? Are you kidding me?"

"That is just-- that is nuts."

It was no wonder Spencer was banned from casinos. Spencer's poker face was good. He simply just covered his mouth after a moment and stared, watching everyone's reactions. His hand slowly ran down to his chin, and in that moment, it did it for you. Sure, Spencer was your cute little nerd, but he'd never been so hot to you.

You noticed next to the man who was staring, he had an eight ball keychain. "Hey, mind if I look at this?" You asked, reaching for it.

The man was quick to grab your hand hard. Spencer jumped into action, pulling you from him.

"Hey. What's the problem, sir?" An employee asked.

"She's reaching for my chips!"

"I'm not even in the game," You remarked.

The employee grabbed your arms, "You need to come with me."

If Spencer's eyes could've gotten any wider, they would've popped out of his head. "Hey! Don't manhandle her! She can walk, let go!" Spencer ripped the mans arms off of you and pulled you into his chest. "Come on, love. Let's just go."

Spencer's words caused your chest to tingle as he guided you away. You watched as he clicked the call-device, it lit up red. The look on the mans face, your unsub, was clear. He knew.

You met up with the team as you were lead out the doors, "They're FBI agents," Hotch informed the guard.

"There he goes, plaid shirt, baseball hat." Spencer pointed.

After searching the whole casino, the unsub made a break for it. His name was Curtis Banks. You and Spencer were sent to his house to see if he was there. After a quick search, it was clear he wasn't there.

"Hey Hotch, he isn't here. There's a foreclosure sign in the lawn." You informed your chief.

"All right, you and Reid stay there in case he comes back." Hotch hung up the phone.

You shrugged to Spencer, "And we wait."

After a beat of silence, Spencer turned to you. "At the casino, you couldn't keep your hands off of me after I won." Spencer said out of nowhere. "Your physical proximity was close, you frequently stared at me--"

"I was playing my part," You argued.

"Yeah, too well." Spencer pointed out. "Were you checking me out?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, "No. Why would I do that?"

"Look at me and say it," Spencer demanded, but his tone wasn't harsh. It was simply just firm. "You won't look at me."

Slowly, you turned to look at Spencer, "I wasn't checking you out."

"You can't look me in the eyes. You've never not looked me in the eyes." Spencer continued.

"Stop profiling me," You tried to end the discussion. It was clear Spencer had caught you. You weren't interested in being turned down, especially when you were in some sort of steak-out with the genius.

Spencer frowned, "I'm not profiling you. I'm just telling you as it is."

"That's what profiling is," You countered. "We don't need to have this conversation. Was I checking you out? Yes, I was. Is that what you wanted me to say? That you looked so damn hot winning thousands of dollars with your best poker face while you let me all over you?"

Spencer said your name, but you kept rambling. It took him grabbing your chin and forcing your face closer to his to make you stop. "You think I'm hot?"

"Yeah," You stuttered. "Yeah, I do."

Slowly, Spencer trailed his finger over your bottom lip. "I always thought you were the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen."

"Where's this confidence coming from?" You asked.

Spencer shrugged, "Gamblers frequently experience a phenomenon called the 'winning high,' it releases dopamine and adrenaline, making gamblers do riskier things than they'd normally do."

"You gonna use that high to kiss me?" Your voice was a mere mutter. Your lips were just grazing Spencers.

"Is that what you want?" Spencer lowly asked.

"What do you think?" You retorted.

Spencer's lips slammed onto your own, harder than you expected. His large hand had the back of your neck, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It was hot, just how you wanted it. Flimsily, Spencer reached to the bottom of his seat to scoot it back. His hands went to your hips, guiding you to move across the seats to his lap.

"You know, we're still on the lookout." You mumbled, pressing another kiss to the genius's lips.

"They haven't called us yet." Spencer challenged, hand running down your back to your waist.

Slowly, Spencer's hand began to creep up your shirt, just to your navel-level. His kisses descended to your neck, pressing opened mouth, warm kisses to your skin.

"Spence," You whined, grabbing his hair to push him closer. He sighed in reply.

You both jolted when your phone began to ring. You grabbed it quickly, "What?"

"Ooh, someone's frisky." Derek teased over the phone. "We got the guy. You two are all good to head back."

"Thanks, Morgan. See you back there." You hung up the phone, tossing it back to to your seat. "Looks like we have to wrap this up."

Spencer smirked, "We fly back in the morning. We'll find some time soon."

Spencer's words weren't a tease, they were a promise.

[alwaysonthemend]

Author’s Note: This fic is in response to this lovely ask and from @jakeyt and her sinfully lovely little blurb as well. I loved writing this. The way I would pay all the money in my bank account to be able to make Jake Kiszka whimper… Ah well, a girl can dream. 

Content Warnings: Fem!reader, smut, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, dom!Jake & sub!reader (briefly), sub!Jake & dom!reader, overstimulation, cum play, name calling (whore, slut, etc), hickeys, biting. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.5k

///////

O how the mighty have fallen. 

-

For Jake Kiszka, being a famous rockstar has its perks – money, traveling, thousands of adoring fans screaming his name, not to mention getting to do what he loves for a living surrounded by his brothers… all the things that you know Jake is thankful for. He’s told you countless times how lucky he feels, how humbled he is by the band’s success and by how much their fans support and love them.  

But there’s one thing that comes with the job that Jake absolutely despises...

Paperwork. 

It’s not often that he has to do it – all the contract signing and label nonsense that comes along with being famous. But whenever he does have to do it… well, it always leaves him in a sour mood. 

And that’s exactly what he’s upstairs at his desk doing right now as you grow more and more bored by the second. You’d already cleaned up from the meal you’d shared a few hours before, you’d dusted, swept the floor, and re-arranged the ridiculous number of throw blankets that you and Jake have somehow managed to acquire over the years. But still… Jake is busy. So busy, in fact, that he’d declined your earlier offer of a special dessert after dinner, claiming that this paperwork just had to get done tonight. 

But you’re tired of waiting. 

Deciding that enough is enough, you ascend the stairs to your shared bedroom where you know Jake is currently hunched over the desk in the corner as he reads through all the musical industry jargon that’s nearly impossible to understand. You quietly enter the room, bare feet welcoming the softness of your carpeted bedroom floor as you creep up behind him. 

“Still at it, huh?”

Jake startles, whipping his head around to glance at you over his shoulder before turning back around. 

“Yep.” He mumbles, a fingertip tracing down the page in front of him. 

“Sure is taking a while.” You walk closer to him, hovering over his shoulder to glance down at the papers in front of him. 

Jake only hums in response, flipping a page over. 

“Any idea when you’ll be done?” You ask, lips hovering so, so close to the sensitive skin of his neck – the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy. 

“Sooner if you let me work in peace.” The words are accompanied by a huff – not quite annoyed but definitely not pleased with your interruption. 

“Touchy.” You tell him, earning yourself a sharp glance from the corner of his eye. 

Realizing that you’re not going to get anything from him with just words, you decide it’s time to up your game a little bit. Dropping to your knees next to his chair, you glance up at him through your lashes. The movement finally seems to draw his full attention as he swivels in his chair to look at you in confusion. 

His jaw clenches as he fully takes in the position that you’ve placed yourself in. Success. 

“Y/n. What are you doing?” 

“Waiting patiently and quietly,” you say with a little shrug, doing your best to play innocent, “for you to be finished.” 

His eyes narrow, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“Sure you are.” He says, voice a little lower and his eyes dilating. You know now that you’ve got him hook, line, and sinker. “Definitely not trying to tease me at all?”

“I’m not teasing.” You tilt your head, spreading your thighs a little bit. “Is me sitting here bothering you?”

Jake grins a little, spreading his own legs as he keeps his dark eyes fixed on you. 

“Just giving me a few, very unhelpful and entirely too distracting ideas.” 

Oh you’ve really got him now. You know that there’s no way in hell that he’ll go back to whatever he was working on before. His hips shift in his seat, the light gray material of his pants allowing you to see as his length begins to harden – twitching and straining beneath the fabric. 

“What sort of ideas?” You ask him, heat flooding to your core at the sight of his very obvious desire. 

Instead of answering, Jake reaches down and grips your jaw in his calloused hand – his thumb coming up to drag along your bottom lip. You bite back a moan as his hips shift again and his breathing catches a little, betraying just how badly he wants you. 

“Thinking about your big cock in my mouth?” 

The bluntness of your question clearly takes him off guard as his lips part in a barely there moan. But then his grin widens, eyes sparkling wickedly. 

“Something like that.” He murmurs, chest rising and falling quickly. “You know I love it when you talk filthy.” 

You nod, reaching upwards to place your hands on his knees and pushing to spread his legs wider. You scoot forward, placing yourself even closer to where you know he wants you. But you don’t move, hands staying resolutely on his knees. 

“Do you want me to stop, Jakey?” You ask, already knowing his answer. “Don’t wanna distract you...”

“No.” The word is more like a growl and his grip on your jaw tightens. His hips rock forward again, as if needing relief so badly that the little friction his pants provide is better than what you’re refusing to give him. “You know good and well what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” You smile up at him as you finally move to unzip his pants. He lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them fully down, leaving him in his boxers now. His cocks strains against them – his precum already leaving a dark spot on the fabric. 

“Fuck.” He groans as you finally press your palm to his length, rubbing him through the fabric slowly. His cock throbs in answer and you can’t help but laugh a little at his desperation. 

“Feel good?” You ask teasingly, rubbing your middle and pointer finger along his head in slow circles. The muscles in his thighs tense as he lets out a breath. 

“Yeah.” You slide your hand back downwards, massaging his balls through his boxers and making him groan again. “Such a fucking tease.”

You laugh lightly, pulling your hand away from him completely and he whines a little in protest. 

“I would never.” You answer, tugging his boxers down and finally setting his aching cock free. The skin is red from rubbing against the fabric and he twitches a little as the cool air hits him. 

You rise up fully, bracing both hands on the tops of his thighs before sinking your mouth down around him completely. 

“Oh.” He says through a moan, his right hand coming up to tangle in your hair as you swallow around him. “Fuckin’ hell.” 

You rise up a little, keeping your lips wrapped around his head and suckling a little bit, closing your eyes and moaning around him. It does the trick and suddenly he’s thrusting upwards the best he can, fingers tightening in your hair as you allow him to fuck into your mouth like you know he’s been thinking about doing since you first sat down at his feet. 

“Bet you’ve been waiting for this all day.” He says through clenched teeth, eyes rolling back as you moan around him again. “Just waiting to let me fuck your pretty mouth, haven’t you?”

You nod the best you can, gagging a little as the velvety head of his cock nudges the back of your throat mercilessly. Your fingers dig into his thighs as he gets a little rougher, his composure cracking completely as he nears his release. Clearly he’s been just as worked up as you’ve been these past few hours. 

His groans begin to grow even louder so you pull off him with a ‘pop’ and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Y/n, fuck.” He protests, glaring down at you the way he always does when you push him too far. “I was so close.”

“I know.” You say with a shrug, backing up a little bit. You know you’re toeing the line – getting dangerously close to pushing him too far and earning yourself a delicious punishment. But you don’t want to back down. “But you have work to do.” A nod to the papers laying abandoned on the desk. 

Jake growls, fisting his hands in your hair and tugging so that your head falls back, exposing your throat as he leans in close. 

“Don’t,” he says darkly, lips hovering just above yours, “be a brat. Or I’ll have to punish you.”

You lean upwards as much as you can with the tight grip he has on your hair and swipe your tongue across his bottom lip and then drag it across his jaw slowly, leaving a trail of saliva smeared across his beautiful face. Jake’s nostrils flare as you pull away, fire lighting in his eyes.

Without warning, Jake stands quickly and yanks on your hair, pulling you to your feet roughly. 

“Get on the fucking bed. Lose the clothes.” 

You hastily rip your tank top and shorts off, tossing them to the floor before climbing onto the bed, completely bare before him. Jake yanks his own shirt off, revealing himself fully to you as well before instantly pinning you to the mattress beneath him. 

“What, my dearest, sweetest, little angel,” he teases, “has gotten into you tonight, hm? Why are you being such a little slut?”

You relax your thighs on either side of him and roll your hips up into him, rubbing your slick folds against his aching cock. He groans then, his hand coming down to press heavily against your lower stomach to stop you from moving. 

“Were you feeling ignored?” His tone is sickly sweet, mocking and husky as you writhe beneath him. “Is that it, baby?”

“Yes.” You answer him breathlessly. “Wanted your cock so bad.”

“Oh, yeah? Such a desperate whore that you couldn’t wait just a little bit longer for me to be done? Couldn't- fuck!” 

You cut him off, scissoring your legs and throwing your bodyweight with them as you flip Jake completely into his back, You settle on top of him, straddling him and using your body to pin him for once. 

“You were taking too long.” You tell him, loving the way his mouth has dropped open in complete shock at you challenging him like this. “And you talk too much.”

“You’re asking for it, angel.” He warns darkly, but the flush on his chest and the way his cock keeps twitching betrays how the roles reversing has affected him. 

“Am I?” You ask, sliding your wet pussy along his length where it rests against his stomach. “I think you like this too much to do anything about it…” You place both palms on his stomach for leverage, relishing in the softness of him as you continue to slide up and down on his hard cock. 

His hands come up and grip your hips harshly, his eyes fluttering shut as he guides your hips over him faster. 

“Bloody hell, where has this been hiding?” He asks through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck, I dunno. You made me wait for too long.” You answer, struggling to get the words out thanks to the way his shaft is rubbing against your swollen clit – the feeling made even better thanks to his precum and your wetness mixing together. 

“Ride me, angel.” He begs, fingers digging into your hips so harshly you know it’s gonna leave bruises. “Wanna see you bouncing on my cock.”

“Fuck.” You whine, rising up a little bit as he fists his dick, helping to guide himself into you as you slowly sink down onto him. 

You both cry out loudly, the stretch of him nearly overwhelming. 

“Jake.” You whimper. “Oh my God.”

“So fuckin’ tight.” 

You start to bounce, tossing your hair over your shoulder and keeping your palms on his abdomen. Jake thrusts up to meet you, sweat dripping down his temples.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long like this.” His voice sounds just as wrecked as he looks, his cock already twitching and pulsing inside you. You’re teasing from earlier has clearly done a number on him but you’re right behind him too.

With his eyes rolled back into his head and his creamy skin shiny and flushed, he looks like the picture of sin. His throat bobs, looking all too bite-able. His hair is splayed out on the pillow beneath his head like a halo — though you're entirely certain that no angel would want anything to do with you and him right now. A fallen angel then, you think to yourself, lost in the throes of pleasure.

Overcome by the sight of him beneath you like this, by the sounds of pleasure that tumble from his lips with each roll of your hips, you lean downwards and attach your mouth to the column of his throat. Then, almost without thinking, your teeth graze the sensitive skin and Jake jolts beneath you, a loud moan escaping him as you bite down — pinching his skin with your teeth. You soothe the spot with a pass of your tongue, moving downwards a little to suck a purple mark onto his skin.

"Do that again." His voice sounds so unlike himself — needy and desperate. "Mark me." It's not a request — but a whiny, broken prayer.

There's no denying him now as you graze your lips over to the other side of his neck, sucking another bruise there. You can feel his cock pulse as you do so and his breathing quickens even more.

"So pretty, Jakey."

He whimpers in answer, plush lips dropping open and tiny little grunts and moans leaving them with every thrust of his hips.

His cock feels so good inside of you, the ridges and veins brushing against your walls in a delicious drag and the blunt head hitting against your sweet spot with each rise and fall of your hips. He's driving into you recklessly, coaxing you closer and closer and closer to your release. Your thighs begin to burn but you can't stop. You won't stop.

“Jake, ‘m gonna cum! Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” 

“Yeah. Fucking do it, angel. Oh fuck!”

Suddenly his thumb is circling your clit and then your orgasm is crashing through you. Your walls clench around him as you cry out his name – the burn in your thighs fading into nothing as you continue to ride him through your release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jake is right behind you, thrusting up helplessly as he finishes, painting your walls with his release. 

As your mind finally begins to return, as the waves of pleasure dissipate at last, you’re hit with a wonderfully devilish idea. You’ve gotten away with more than you ever have before tonight and… what’s one more thing, really? 

You pull off Jake, climbing off to the side of his body. His eyes are closed, his face the picture of bliss. Giving him no warning, you wrap your hand around his spent cock. Jake's body convulses, eyes snapping open as he whines. Loudly. 

“Y/n!” He cries out your name as you jerk him roughly, his poor cock valiantly beginning to harden again as you work your palm over him, yours and his releases making it slick and easy. “God.”

“Give me one more, Jakey.” You murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from him. He writhes, hands falling to his sides and fisting the sheets into his hands, fingers turning white where his rings dig into his skin. 

“I can’t!” He cries out, head thrashing. “Fuck, it’s too much.” 

He sounds so desperate, so broken and it sends a thrill through you. Oh how the mighty has fallen at last.

“Poor baby.” You tease. “Getting a taste of your own medicine, yeah?” 

He whimpers in answer, body going taut as pleasure finally begins to overtake him again. He really is tasting his own medicine – experiencing first hand the sinful agony that he loves to inflict upon you. It’s always you. 

But not tonight. No, he’s been flying too close to the sun for a long, long time and tonight he’s finally paying the price for it. 

“Give me another one, baby.” You murmur, eyeing the way his hair sticks to the side of his face and his neck with sweat. “Show me how much you love me. Show me that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” He says through a moan, body beginning to tremble. “Only yours. Fuck!”

“Yeah, you are. You’re mine.” 

His body goes completely rigid, muscles so tense you’re almost afraid he might hurt himself. 

“Holy shit! Oh God, I’m gonna- fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, baby. That’s right. Being such a good boy.”

That does it. Jake’s whole body convulses, his eyes rolling back in his head as hot cum explodes from him. He screams – a sound so beautiful and full of pleasure that you’ve never heard from him before. You work him through it, watching as he completely succumbs to it all, chanting your name the whole way through. 

Finally, his body relaxes slightly and he whimpers so you let go of him and reach up to swipe his hair from his forehead. You can feel his racing heartbeat as you place your hand on his chest, hoping to try and help him settle a little. Those gorgeous eyes of his finally blink open to look at you and a tired, satiated smile spreads across his lips. 

“Okay?” You ask, trying to hold back your own grin after seeing such a display from him. 

“Jesus. I think so.” He shifts a little, grimacing at the feeling of his cum drying on his stomach and chest. “Sticky.” He adds with a little pout. 

You roll your eyes playfully and rise to grab his boxers off the floor and wipe him clean, carefully avoiding his abused cock where it lays spent against his thigh. 

“That was fucking hot.” You tell him, settling down next to him in the bed. The lights are still on but neither of you seem to have the energy to get up and turn them off quite yet. 

“Yeah.” He breathes out, laughing a little, “I think my soul left my body there for a minute.”

“Would do again, then?” You ask, grinning a little at him. 

He grins back. 

“Oh, fuck yes. I didn’t know you had that in you… taking control like that.”

You turn on your side to face him and press a little kiss to his lips.

“Me neither.”

 After a long moment of comfortable, exhausted silence you ask, suddenly a little worried, “That paperwork didn’t actually have to be done by tonight, right?”

“Fuck.”

fin

////////

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[romanestuffsposts]

I was wondering if you want,What if stuckys little needed surgery? Like appendix or something? 🥺

You are a great writer! 💗💗💗

Hi there love! 💜

Thank you so much! You're so sweet!! ❤️

Of course I can write that for you sweetie, I'm sorry it took me so long!

Enjoy <33

****

Warnings : hospital, doctors, surgery, comfort, reassurance, pet names, cuddles, aftercare,

Pairings : Daddies!Stucky ; Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader

Summary : You need to have a surgery and you need your Daddies more than anything

****

The pain came in one second. You didn't understood what was happening but it surely shook you up. It happened in the middle of a movie, everything were going well until you felt the pain shooting on the side of your tummy.

Your Papa called Bruce to know if they had to react or if it was just a cramp but Bruce advised them to go to the hospital quickly, and they did. You were quickly taken under the care of the doctors and nurses around you but that didn't help you with your anxiety.

You never really liked hospitals. You never really got into one neither but each time you hear the word hospital, it follow with a bad thing. Or even if someone came out perfectly well from there, it still scared you because if that person went to the hospital in the first place it was because he or she wasn't feeling well.

So hospitals are bad news for you and your goal was to always be careful to not go in one.

You squeeze tightly the strong hand of your Daddy in your little one as the doctor speaks. You don't understand a thing of what he's saying but apparently your Daddies do. It reassure you a little bit but at the same time not entirely either.

You feel him squeezing your hand back as his gaze stayed focus on the man Infront of him. The other hand of your Daddy comes on top of yours and start to gently caressing it.

It’s a way for him to comfort you while keeping himself update about your health. He knows you have thousand of questions and you’re scared to ask because you’re scared of the answers you can get. He hates that you’re feeling like that, he hates that he can’t comfort you the way he want to, the way you need.

The doctor leaves the room to let you three alone while he and his crew prepare everything for the surgery.

Your Daddies turn toward you and give you sweet smiles "how are you feeling, little one ?" Your Daddy slides his hand against your forehead, a movement that relax you each time.

"little bit better" you mumble. You do feel better in some way, the pain is less present than earlier but you still feel that your anxiety is still there.

"The nice doctor who was there a second ago gave you some meds to ease your pain, that's why you're feeling a little bit better like you said" your Papa kisses your nose "but now it's time to prepare you for the surgery, you know what it is ? A surgery ?"

You shake your head and play with your Daddy's fingers who are still in your hand "well a surgery is a procedure that is done on people to help them feeling better. Yours will be really simple, it won't be too long and it won't be too hard for the surgeons. You'll feel better sooner than you can imagine" He says, bopping your nose with his index.

"do you have questions ?" your Daddy asks. You nod your head but don't do anything more so he asks again "you wanna know what was the pain ?"

You nod your head again

"Well," he starts, he lifts up your shirt and you look down "you have something here" he touches the side of your tummy "that's called the appendix. For some people, their appendix stay unfelt for their entire life but for others, they must remove it because a huge pain, like the one you felt this morning, is felt and unbearable. That's what happened"

You look back down at his finger pointing the side of your tummy and frown "how they 'emove it ?"

"They'll have to make a tiny cut somewhere here" he circles around the side of your tummy "and they'll simply remove it" you frown, not understanding "it'll be as easy and as fast than when you remove your doll's arm" he jokes poking your belly button making you giggle.

The more they distract you from the fear you can feel about this situation, the better it is.

"We'll be waiting patiently here for you, we won't go anywhere. We'll be by your side during the time you need to wake up from the surgery. You won't be alone at all" Your Papa says, kissing your forehead

"And get ready to not lift one little of those precious fingers during all your recovery. You'll be the most spoiled little princess in this world" Your Daddy adds, winking at you.

You shyly smile at their words, even tho you don't want to do what you have to do, you can't lie and say you're not excited about the after.

~

"hey, easy. My precious babygirl" You hear your Daddy saying. You frown your beautiful brows as you try to focus on your surrender "here you are, princess" your Papa smiles

Both of your hands are trapping in your Daddies's and gentle caresses are pressing against your skin here and there. They let you take the time to wake up, it's not easy and it takes multiples minutes but after a moment, you peer up at them with tired eyes and a blank face from the surgery.

"how are you doing, baby ?" your Papa asks, kissing the top of your hand.

"mhhh" you moan in discomfort. You wiggle in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position but nothing is comfortable enough for you.

"here" your Daddy puts a second pillow behind your neck and sigh in relieve. It's a little bit more comfy.

"take it easy, precious. You just woke up so it's normal if it's hard at first" your Papa says "but don't worry, it's totally normal"

You nod and close your eyes for a second.

The second become minutes and you end up falling asleep. During the whole day you shift between being half awake and fully sleeping because of the anesthesia.

Your Daddies were by your side the whole time, comforting you when you cried because it hurt, giving you water when the doctor gave you his affirmation that you could drink and eat from now on, helping you to stand up to go in the bathroom and helping you falling back asleep.

It was a hard day that's for sure but the comfort of your Daddies helped you going through it.

As soon as you get back home, your Daddies brought you upstairs in the bathroom so they could wash you without wetting your bandage.

Your Papa sits you on the counter of the sink and start to undress you, even tho you don't have much clothes on you because of how hard it was to dress before leaving the hospital, he's being careful when he has to take your short out.

Your Daddy prepared a washclothe and runs it on your skin to fresh you up before putting you in your pyjama. Your Papa lies you in their big bed and they both come in with you

"you're tired, beautiful ?" your Daddy quietly asks, his fingers sliding in your hair and massaging your scalp "do you want a story before sleeping ?"

You shake your head and snuggle closer to them while being careful with your bandage. You're too tired and unable to stay focus right now, you just wanna sleep the discomfort away.

"alright, close your beautiful eyes. The nurse will come tomorrow to change your bandage and then we'll stay in bed all day" your Daddy smiles with big eyes making you smile back "and Papa will even bring breakfast in bed, just for you" he teases, poking your nose with his index causing your tired and almost quiet giggles to come out

Steve rolls his eyes and pushes Bucky softly "try again" he mumble making Bucky laughs

'shut it now, our princess tries to fall asleep" Bucky jokes, and when he looks down at you he already sees you fast asleep against his arm which make the sweetest expression to appear on his chest.

[starry-pierrot]

Time Flows

It's been well over a thousand years since everyone was given a golden skull necklace, a thousand experiences eventually will tire someone out. And others will follow.

Kallamar/Robin/Polycule ocs

Others included: Lamb, Narinder, Leshy, Heket, Theo (Yellow cat) ocs

Tw: Death. Lots of death. But not bloody death just gentle passing on.

------

AIGHT got another one, I apparently can't write linear at all so you're all going to be getting bits and pieces. But this one specifically was inspired by another comic from @circuscountdowns . Please remember that what I write is not necessarily canon to their COTL story nor should it be taken as canon. I am not at all involved in their own writing process and have no insight of what they choose to do.

With that out of the way-enjoy!

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

Kallamar had been rather off lately. Robin wasn’t sure what was going on but whenever they were together he seemed to be distracted with something. Did someone say something to him? Kallmar could annoy others but so far he hasn’t gotten himself any sort of enemies. Sure maybe a rolling of the eyes as he complains about the crystal’s around the cult not getting polished enough. But nothing that would warrant anyone being outright rude to him. 

Plus the other cultists knew better. 

No something else has to be bothering him. Robin quickly set up the little plate of food as they waited for their husband to show up, making sure all the little finger sandwiches were just how he liked them. All nicely sliced and even with only a little bit of tomato sticking out. A smile on their face, that posh squid was such a dork. 

Hearing the home’s door open, Robin turned to a smiling Kallamar, “Are those finger sandwiches?” he asked, perking up just a bit. Walking just a bit quicker into the room as if it was the first time he’s been served that specific food. 

“Kallamar I always make you finger sandwiches.” An amused huff as the squid quickly sits down and takes one to put on his own smaller plate. 

“But you like to see me excited don’t you?” He laughed while pouring out the tea for the both of them, “Thank you, love.” Kallamar waited for Robin to take their own seat before he took a bite of his own food. 

Robin enjoyed these little moments between them, usually Robin would be busy in the Tailor’s Hut or they’d be with Aspen and Harper. But when they had a moment to themselves Robin truly felt content. “So…Kallamar, I couldn’t help but notice you seem a little upset at something lately.” No point in beating around the bush. 

Those words got the squid to stop mid bite and stare at Robin for a moment, suddenly he seemed to deflate with his shoulders drooping and the sandwich going back onto the plate. “I supposed you would have noticed sooner or later. But please do not worry I am…it is a family matter.” 

“Considering we’re married I would think I’d be included in the ‘family matter’.” Robin pointed out a little curtly, making Kallamar flinch just the tiniest bit. Robin didn’t go through all the trouble of  learning and becoming friends with his family to not be included in at least some things. Especially when Heket challenged them to a little sparring match to, ‘Make sure Kallamari wasn’t marrying another wimp’. That frog sure as heck bruised their tailbone. 

“You are! And you will be, I just…need some time.” Kallamar had already looked deflated but now he looked like a kicked puppy. Robin sighed and shook their head before reaching over to hold his hand on top of the table. 

“Alright alright. I am a patient person. I can wait. But I want you to come to me if it ever gets to a worse point, okay?” A loving smile, “That’s what I’m here for. To help you.” 

Kallamar gave an appreciative smile as his own hand squeezed theirs back, “Thank you. I promise I’ll let you know when I can. And I will be telling the other two. “ 

“I trust you.” 

—

It was a week later when Robin had been working late into the night in the Tailors Tent, a request from Narinder of all people asked for a lace collar. He wouldn’t say what it was for but considering his and the Lamb’s anniversary is coming up Robin has made a few assumptions. The lace was covered in an intricate camellia pattern with other yellow and white flowers, once it was finished it would be attached to a leather collar and with a new and pristine silver bell. 

Honestly it was going to be beautiful and Robin wanted it to be one of their best works, hence the late nights. Hearing the curtain of the doorway open Robin’s ears flicked, “We’re closed! Unless you need a hand with stitching something up you’ll have to come back tomorr-”

“Robin.” Ah. 

“Kallamar? You’re up late, don’t you need your beauty sleep?” Robin smiled as they looked back putting down the tools. Their smile was wiped off their face, however, as they looked at him, Kallamar could usually be found smiling or at worse frowning. But he had a serious look on his face, it was obvious now was not the time to joke around. “..Sweetie? Is everything alright? Is this about the family matter?” 

“It is.” He walked closer grabbing a stool and sitting down in front of Robin, his eyes glancing to the floor. 

“You aren’t fighting with your siblings again are you?” Robin asked, concerned knowing the last time this sort of thing happened during an argument between him and Leshy.  

“No. No we aren’t. But this does involve them and I need to have a very important discussion with you.” Reaching over Kallamar took Robin’s hands in his own, staring at their joined hands for a moment before he looked up to them. The golden skull necklace catches his eye as it shines in the light of the candles. “My sweet sweet pearl, we’ve lived a long long life thanks to the Lamb. Longer than any mortal has.” 

Kallamar was rubbing their knuckles as he talked, “And it seems that Shamura has grown tired of living. They wish to move onto the next part of life.” What’s left of his ears droop as he squeezes their hand.  

Robin felt their heart squeeze in their chest, Shamura was the most wise of the five siblings and eventually became much like an older friend to Robin. “Oh Kallamar, I’m so sorry,” Robin turned the hands and was now squeezing Kallamar’s own, leaning in to bow their head. “But I’ll be here for you and so will Aspen and Harper.” 

Kallamr let out a wet little laugh, tears building in his eyes, “Dear you’re going to have to pull your head up. I can’t read you when you’re looking down.” Robin’s head snapped up at the reminder, an apologetic smile. 

“Aspen, Harper and I will be here for you.” A reassuring squeeze of the hands once more. 

“I know you will. But…this has made me think some things over. About life…my family and all three of you.” Robin quirked a brow curiously, “I have  come to the conclusion that…I have also grown tired of living.” 

Robin stared. They stared for a long moment as their brain tried to process what he had just said, already they can feel their muscle’s tensing.  

“I want to move on, Robin.” He said quietly as he gently pulled them forward to lean his forehead against theirs. “I think I have lived for far more than enough.”  

Robin could swear their heart squeezed hard in their chest, eyes glancing down to the golden skull necklace he still wore before looking back up at him. Tears gathering in their eyes as they took a deep breath, pulling away to look at him once more, “....you wish to move on along with your sibling?” Their voice was quiet, fragile. 

“I do.” Once more Kallamar’s hands squeezed theirs, this time staying in a hug like grip in an attempt to comfort. “And I would like for you to move on with me. If that is what you wish.” 

Robin was quiet as they thought about it. It has been well over…what a thousand years since they were given this necklace? More than any normal person could hope for. So much time. So many things they’ve been through and experiences. They've traveled, went to hundreds of celebrations, so so many birthdays and all the little moments between this silly little polycule they found themselves in. 

Would they be able to feel anything in the afterlife? The Lamb preaches how death isn’t the end, it's just another journey but Robin had always questioned it. Just a smidge. Even going to some lengths of trying to speak to the dead during a bit of a crazy Blood Moon party, it didn’t work at the time. Though they swear they heard the Lamb mumble about the misuse of symbols. 

But then again Robin was dating a former god. There had to be some truth to it. 

“I know death has never been easy on you.” He quietly began to speak again, “When Leon died it took you weeks to feel better. And I know you still visit his grave with fresh daisies every month.” Leon had been a dear friend to Robin, “And then Lamar had passed..,” another good friend. “If you wish to live longer I will not mind. I’ll have nothing but time in the after and I can wait for you.” Lifting their hand Kallamar places a slightly wet kiss to their knuckles.  

Robin still had plenty of friends, despite being able to live longer they still managed to keep their friendly nature about them.Those friends would still be in the cult, they would still live their lives with or without them. Under the Lamb’s care they would be alright.

Besides life has gotten just a taaaad bit boring. 

 “You know…I think I’m a little tired too.” A half sob slips out as they use one hand to wipe at their eyes. 

“Are you sure? I won't be upset if you wish to live longer, love.” Kallamar reassured, his own hand replacing the one that Robin was using. 

“No…no this is okay. And I know I’m going to cry like a child but-it’ll be fine. I have to get back on times clock sometime right?” Their voice wobble as they’re coming to terms for what was going to happen. “I expect you already spoken to-?” 

“Just make sure everyone gives me enough time for me to make burial garments because I am not dying before making my masterpieces!”

“Yes. And they’ve agreed to be laid to rest as well.” Kallamar moved closer, leaning his forehead onto Robin’s once more, a quiet pause. “So..Robin will you die with me?” Another one of his charming smirks on his face.

Robin couldn’t hold back the snort, “Ppf-oh such a char-aha-charmer!” Giggles taking over them both, “Yes…yes I’ll die with you, Kallamar. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.” 

—--

It was about a week later that Robin and everyone else had their golden necklaces removed and the flow of time was once more working. They were assured they still had a long while before anyone were to pass but it was no shock that the first was Shamura. The old spider had passed underneath their favorite tree, the one they always sat and read to the kids. It had been during sunset. 

Their burial garment was woven with patterns of their past, spiders, their once previous crown and their story's conclusion of being in the Lambs cult with their family. All made with sparkling spider silk of course. 

 It had been hard on everyone but eventually things returned as normal as they could be. 

Then at a terrible turn of events Aspen had turned ill and passed away, Robin and Harper gave Kallamar all they could when it had happened. 

About three years later Kallamar’s health started to decline. It was getting hard for him to move and he had to take on easier meals to eat. Soon he was in his own bed in the Medical Tent. Robin knew the time would be soon and so they stayed along with Harper, the Lamb giving them a special pardon from their duties until Kallamar has passed. 

“You won't believe what Jude did the other day-” Harper as usual was talking Kallamar’s ear off, not that he minded. He loved to watch her tell him all about the juicy gossip from the village. Robin smiles as the two continue to talk, “You would think he would get a clue but no!” The two of them were laughing which quickly turned into one of them coughing. 

Robin was quick with the cup of water as they helped Kallamar sit up, “Easy now, love. Slow.” Kallamar slowly took a sip giving Robin a pat of appreciation, once he was finished they gently laid him back against the pillow. “Better?” 

“Very. Thank you.” He smiled. 

The doors to the room opened and Lesy was walking in with Theo, Heket right behind him, “How’s he doing nurses?” he asked. 

“Oh just fine! No difference since yesterday!” Harper provided to her chaos embodied brother-in-law, the worm giving a firm nod before moving to the foot of Kallamar’s bed. 

Heket moved over next to Robin, the both of them sharing an acknowledgement, “Narinder will be by later. He and the Lamb had to handle a situation.” She signed before pulling out a basket from underneath her cloak. 

“Are those puff pastries? Heket! Oh you know just what I like, sister.” Kallamar excitedly bounced in his bed, hands reaching over as Heket pulled the plate out of the basket. Once he had them in his hands he couldn’t help the little sound of satisfaction. 

“Of course I made them. Don’t know how long you’re going to last, might as well just feed you every little sweet thing in the compound.” Robin’s ears flicked back for a moment, sure Heket was telling the truth but they still didn’t like to hear about guesses on when he was going to move on.

Eventually Narinder came along with the Lamb and everyone had a small knucklebones game night, it was full of laughter and love. 

But somehow without anyone seeing, without anyone noticing, while Lehsy and Narinder had been playfully arguing and causing a roaring laughter of the place….he slipped away. 

The Lamb of course had noticed first, their laughter abruptly stopping. Then it was Heket, Harper, Robin and finally Narinder and Leshy. The room was silent for a moment before a quiet sob from Harper broke everyone out of the spell. 

It was odd how Kallamar looked like he was asleep with a smile on his face, as if he was just resting. Soon the whole room was full of tears and quiet sobs, Robin shook as they tried to stay quiet. Usually they’d prefer to mourn on their own, never quite liking anyone to touch them or to even offer their condolences. 

But when Heket had offered her arms Robin quickly slipped against the frogs chest and cried.  

Soon preparations for the funeral began, the whole family included their own touches much like when Shamura died. Robin was sure to have his casket made out of the nicer pile of wood.

 Kallamar had been dressed in the fanciest clothing Robin could design, with all the glitz and glam he ever wanted. And just like Shamura’s there was a mural of his story woven into the garment as well as a forget-me-not stitched right over his heart. 

Just as they were about to close the casket for burial a bright light from between the clouds shined through, making every bit of crystal on him shimmer and shine for just a moment before it faded back behind the clouds. 

Leshy, while he couldn’t see it, jokes he bribed a sun god into giving him the prettiest funeral ever. 

Life went back to moving forward. More different than it was before but still moving forward. 

Soon Heket went. 

Leshy's husband.

Harper. 

And finally it was just Robin and Leshy left. The two had taken to seeing each other every day and managed a few final days of mischievousness together, much like switching out the Lamb’s sermon book. Instead of notes for the morning sermon the Lamb was met with confetti that went absolutely everywhere.  

Or how they managed to tie a bow to Narinder’s tail while he was sleeping, he had no idea until the Lamb came around and couldn’t stop laughing at how adorable it looked. 

Soon however, it was their own time. Unlike Kallamar they had not been surrounded by their family, but in their bed in the middle of the night. Sleeping and soon with a final breath they too slipped away.

—--

The world was a beautiful creamy white color, the fog not frightening nor uncomfortable. Robin had thought it’d be a little colder but all they felt was warmth. Looking down they notice they’re wearing their burial garments,which was odd. They shouldn’t be buried yet.

 A red light catches their attention,the Lamb was standing right there waiting at the gate. Robin took a moment before they walked forward,“Hello, Robin.” 

“Here to usher me through the gate, divine one?” Robin smiled, “You know you’re either really good at being quick about it or you don’t do this very often.” The Lamb usually could be found somewhere in the cult, with how many souls die so often you’d think they’d be far more busy.

“I have my assistants. But this time I thought I’d pay a personal visit.” A soft smile on their face, “Leshy is going to miss you. As will Narinder and I.” 

Oops. Wrong thing to say, Lamb. Tears began to well up in Robin’s eyes, “D-don’t say that! You’re supposed to be making sure I’m at peace, Lamb!” The Lamb laughed as they stepped forward to wrap their arms around the crying deer. 

“Sorry sorry, but you’re going to be crying anyways. You have plenty of people who wish to see you…they’re actually making quite the ruckus.” Another laugh as they pulled back and directed Robin to the gate. “You should go.” 

Robin couldn’t see anything beyond the fog but they’re sure they hear the slight bit of sound echoing from somewhere. Ears twitching as they take a step forward and then another and soon they were almost through when-”Oh!”

The lamb quirked a brow when Robin turned around, “Tell Leshy I hid his game pieces in his flower pots!” A laugh slipped out before one final wave and the Lamb was alone once more. 

Though from the sounds of cheers and declaration of love they could hear…Robin was home. 

-----

Thank you for reading!

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hi! Love the demon Mui au. Your writing is always on point! Can I request more of this please? What if Mui ends up getting seriously injured during a fight with some Hashira & when Koku gets to him, he slips & accidentally calls Koku ‘dad’? 🥹

Oh? Well. I kinda thought I’d never see this little AU-thing but okay! I will definitely try something!

Kokushibo- Surprises After Surprises

Dropping to knees whilst bright ruby blood pooled onto the floor beneath, Muichiro tensed his jaw as his eyesight slowly returned to him. His body was chipped apart and it didn’t look good for him; sliced off wrist, amputated legs, torn apart head whilst it all regenerated at a slower pace then one of his level should

Muichiro was seriously bored with staying put in him and his Sensei’s luxurious but wild living quarters and upon getting Kokushibo’s blessing, he was free to go out at the blackest of nights to explore. However, his tranquil experience was cut short after he came across a Hashira, a title and person he use to be. Before he was converted, so he knew to never underestimate Hashira

The poor boy was in a rough shape as the enemy Hashira rose their katana in a quick motion, ready to decapitate his head and take away his life whilst his vision blurred in a second with how it adjusted to the light, the first thing he saw was the bright silver steel of a Nichirin Katana approaching him

The Hashira’s mighty attack was interrupted as both of their mortal arms all-the-sudden dropped to the floor in splashes of delicious smelling blood. A deep intimidating voice echoed out, alerting Muichiro that he was in safe grounds. Kokushibo popped into existence before the two, a invisible barrage of dices torn the Hashira into mere pieces before they could respond to their arm amputation

Muichiro looked up at his saviour with relief flooding his mint green eyes. He was holding himself off very well for a long time but the Hashira simply overpowered him, without Kokushibo’s presence materialising before him, he would have certainly met his fate. He kept his mouth shut whilst his mentor begun speaking, sheathing his katana in a smooth sweep and ignoring the pile of mangled human remains

“This is why… you shouldn’t… have left our… comfortable mansion” Kokushibo scolded firmly, his composed and gentle voice didn’t change despite the fact he was taking the rights means to discipline his student for his recklessness. Muichiro was truly beyond lucky that Kokushibo followed him from the shadows, the fact he didn’t notice him annoyed him. Was he not learning all the lessons he freed up the time to teach him

“I’m sorry, Father—“ Muichiro tensed up in pure shame at what he just heard himself say outloud as Kokushibo kneeled down, reaching equal height, to better check his student’s healing progress, the Upper Moon 1’s six eyes widened in sync at the shock he felt. Father? That’s ridiculous, he is a mentor, a teacher. He had no blood connection to the newer demon, such a idea is bizarre

“Father?” Kokushibo repeated back the boy’s word in confusion as Muichiro hung his head slightly, embarrassed at his slip up as he knew Kokushibo would react negatively to it. He has messed up when he should never mess up, the taller demon is strict and suspects his student to never make a mistake with all the teachings he has given to him

“Thousand apologies, Sensei. That was a fault of mine, ignore it” Muichiro responded in that composed professional manner Kokushibo taught him, raising his head with a new fleet of confidence to gaze his superior in the middle eyes, he knew exactly what pair he needed to follow; the ones with the visible Kanji branded in

“It’s… fine. We’ll train… that habit… out” Kokushibo responded as he used a hand to lift Muichiro to his feet. His amputated leg and wrist healed ages ago but that shock threw off his concentration, he didn’t realise until far too late and felt a trace of shame at himself for not noticing it sooner. He retracted his slightly inching palm and stood back up, his incredible height towering the younger demon as Muichiro rose up, waiting patiently to be led back to the safety of the palace

“You fought well… my student”

[carlgrimesloverr]

stars

carl grimes x fem!reader

summary : stars were always her favorite, and now they're carls

takes place during : not long after the atlanta group makes it to alexandria 

trigger warning : implied suicide

word count : 694

IT WAS LATE SATURDAY NIGHT, AND AS

the stars painted the mid-summer night sky like a thousand lightning bugs in a dark forest, the cool breeze sending a chill down the brown haired boys back. hugging himself tightly, he took notice of the constellations above his head, the millions of twinkling lights.

her favorites, he thought, gazing up at the objects with such intent. 

perhaps, had he been quicker, had he been nicer, had he just said those simple words sooner, she would be here sitting beside him. but, she was gone. she was one of the stars now. and maybe he was ok with that. maybe he was happy the girl he had loved for so long was finally at rest. yet another part of him told him to be furious, not at her, but at himself. furious for not realizing sooner the pain she was in. annoyed for brushing her off so many times. pissed for the fact that he thought everything was ok when in reality the walls she had spent so long to keep up were crumbling down around her, and there was no one there to help the frail girl rebuild them. he knew the moment she didn't come to the fields to help him farm the next day, she was hurt. maybe it was his brain going into overdrive, telling him he should've stayed awake longer. checked on her more often. he should've been there just like he promised. but he wasn't. he was sound asleep while she sat in her bed, the remains of her walls being knocked over as if they were made of legos, not stone. turning his gaze back to the stars, the teenage boy noticed the way in which they all shone. he knew no two stars would be the exact same, but it seemed to the tired boy they all blinked at the same time, like a light switch being turned on and off. he could remember her voice, the way it spoke with such syrup-like sweetness as she told him facts about the stars.

"𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴?"

"𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘴."

"𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳. 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯-𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳."

"𝘪 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳."

"𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘪 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴."

he wished he had taken the conversations more to heart, barely remembering what she had said most nights.

"𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦."

they don't twinkle because of how bright you shone, they knew that even if they did twinkle, you would be the only star people payed attention to, his thoughts were paused as the brown eyed boy took one more gaze up at the sky, noticing the crescent moon at its peak. the way the moon casted a shadow overhead was almost intoxicating, the craters on it adding colors that the boy never thought he'd see in his life.

“carl, it's getting cold outside, come in." michonne called from somewhere behind him, yet the teenage boy was so captivated by the world around that he paid no mind to the words she in which she spoke.

"just give me five more minutes, she always liked it outside, so i want to spend as much time as i can out here... to honor her."

“they’re having an official burial for her on wednesday, you should go.”

"i want my last memories with her to be the happy ones, or at least as happy as they can get."

"well, find a way to find happiness in going. she would have wanted you to attend, if she was as nice of a girl as you said she was."

"yeah, it's selfish of me."

"it's not selfish, it's love."

"why did it have to be her, why couldn't it be me?"

"who knows dear, but if she was here and not you, she would be in just as much, if not more, pain."

"is it possible to re-write history? to change it?"

"no one can rewrite history and change the past."

"but what if we did.. what if we at least tried?"

[terresdebrume]

Messrs Payne and Rowland's Adventuring Agency

Part 1: The Arrival of Young Crystal - 23

Getting there! This is going to get some SERIOUS revisions before it ever goes near AO3, but the general idea is built and at 13k some for the draft, I'm guessing it'll be a decent sized story xD Now, if someone could tell my gdoc to behave and stop pretending like I didn't write a couple thousands of new words in that whole Crystal & Charles v the early supermarket shift session, that would be great.

It's surprising how fast some things become familiar. They found an alleyway at the edge of the residential areas, calm but not quite deserted, and they're waiting for Mr. Payne to finish his incantations with a game of boulder parchment shears that Crystal is, as usual, winning with almost frustrating ease.

She'd have less luck if Charles actually paid attention to it, but at this point she's come to expect the way he keeps an eye on the mouth of the alley and another on Mr. Payne, always on the loukout for danger. Crystal is leaning against the wall beside him, aching and tired and looking forward for her not-a-treehouse of a room, with its comfy bed and its soft light. She is also, despite Charles' best efforts, still pissed.

"It's just not fair," she whispers angrily, trying to angle her mouth away from Mr. Payne, just in case now is the time he decides to pay attention to her again. "I don't even know how I did what I did! It's not like he can't learn combat spells in his precious books."

"You're really convinced he's jealous of you, aren't you?" Charles chuckles, and turns back to the front of the alley just in time to miss the flat stare Crystal throws his way.

Shouldn't he see it too? He said he and Mr. Payne have been partnered for longer than Crystal has been alive. Presumably. So how can he not see the way Mr. Payne grimaced every time Crystal's magic came up after their fight against the sea creature? Well, maybe he sees it and he's just trying to sweep it under the rug, but somehow Crystal doesnt think so. It would seem too... well, too underhanded, from what she's seen of Charles so far.

"I can't think of any other reason for the hostility," she says. "Other than him being a stuck up ass."

"You have to be a little patient," Charles says, finally turning back to fully look at her. "We haven't had anyone stay with us this long before-I know you don't remember right now, but most people would be unnerved at having an unexpected guest stay in their home indefinitely."

Crystal winces and looks away from Charles. He's not wrong. She is an imposition, she doesn't need her memories to realize that, but where the fuck else is she supposed to go? She has no idea where she's from, or what she can do aside from hitting things hard and apparently hurting them with her mind, it's not exactly the kind of skillset the city seems to need. Even if it were, well. It's not like she's seen an abundance of women in the city guards--there are some, yes, but not many, and all older than her. She can't sit on a bench until she's old enough to join.

"Ah," Charles says as the door of the agency clicks open. "Here we go."

He follows Mr. Payne inside, leaving Crystal literally on the outside looking in. The walls show the dark green of the office, always the first room they see upon arrival, which kind of makes sense. It's elegant and no nonsense, but not austere, at least not unless Mr. Payne decides to make it so. There's a sense of personnality in it, Charles' trinket mixed with his colleagues' books and manuals, and after almost two weeks coming back to it every night, Crystal has to admit there's a comfort in seeing it, too. She wonders if that's what it feels like for them. Coming home. She wonders if there's a place out there that'll give her the same feeling twenty years from now.

"You will have to make a choice eventually," Mr. Payne calls out, appearing in Crystal's field of vision like a particularly miffed ghost. "If that could happen sooner rather than later, we would all be quite grateful."

Crystal rolls her eyes and steps in, carefully hiding the small pinch of relief when the spell lets her in again. She bites her gauntlets off, first, then gets started on the rest of her buckles with a grunt of annoyance. Charles said she'd get better at it, but it's been a couple of days and frankly, right now she's not seeing it. At least she mostly figured out how not to snag her hair when she takes her breastplate off, but that doesn't prevent her from glaring at Charles when he comes in and chuckles at her.

"Shut up," she grumbles, stepping into the office and going straight for the bookshelves.

[thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed]

Blood Hungry

Part Two of One in A Million

Word Count: 2.0K

Summary: your parents turn you into a vampire and you go through a very hard phase of human blood hunger.

Warnings: blood

Pairing: Wednesday X Fem!Reader

This is for the people who had asked me for part two! I’m sorry if this disappoints you I just didn’t really know what to write, but I tried my best 🥲

———

After you moved to Nevermore, you did spend a lot of time with Wednesday, but you also spent it with Yoko and the other vampires. You needed to learn stuff, even if what they could teach you was limited. For now you shared your room with Wednesday and Enid since you knew Wednesday, and for the first period of time she would help you moving around. You were still kind of weak so she helped you shower and change and get in bed. You would have never thought that Wednesday had this side of her, but you definitely didn’t mind that. Though recently, she had to admit she was jealous. As you were taking your medicines she came to you and sat on your bed.

“Are you ignoring me?” The shorter girl asked you, and you looked at her confused “what? Why would I be ignoring you Nes?” You said as you sat down next to her. “I don’t know, you just rarely spend time with me anymore. You’re always with those vampires. I almost lost you too many times, I want to spend time with you” she said and you smiled slightly at her. “Nes, they’re teaching me stuff. It’s not like they’re better than you or anything like that, I promise. Though they drink animal blood and I’m sure it’ll be a lot different, since my parents drink human blood. They’ll probably get me used to it as well.” You shrugged “but I promise you I’m not ignoring you, okay? If you feel like I am then I’m so sorry, but we can go have a drink at the weathervane whenever you want. Okay?” She nodded and feeling a little bit more relieved, she went back to writing her novel.

The medicines you were taking were slowly working. You eventually got back on your feet, and your scar was healing too, you didn’t need the bandaid anymore. You were agreeing on your parents on when to turn you, and you would have to take a few days off school to get used to the new need. After talking to Weems about it and obviously she agreed, you went to Wednesday to talk about it. “Nes, tomorrow I’ll go home because my parents will finally turn me. I won’t have any more heart problems but I’ll need to take a few days off of school because I’ll have to get used to drinking blood and all of that” you started. She was in the middle of her writing hour so she didn’t even look at you.

“Great, okay.” You looked at her confused, not expecting an answer like that. “Is that all you have to say?” You asked with a sort of disbelief. “Are you going to spend more time with those grown up bats? Or better, are you going to be always with them?” She said, turning around to look at you. “What? Of course not Wednesday! I mean I will spend time with them because we do have something in common but I’ll still spend more time with you, because you’re my best friend!” You said, really not understanding why was she acting like this. “Yeah right, your best friend” she said almost mocking you, which made you upset. “Are you being serious right now Wednesday? You have always been my best friend ever since we were kids, why would I exchange you for someone I barely know?” You said, and she turned around to look at you.

“You weren’t my best friend when you were ignoring me for weeks.” You looked in her eyes and could see how upset she was. “Wednesday I already told you-“ you realized it was no use, so you raised your arms and let them drop on your sides. “You know what? Guess I’ll leave a day sooner. See you when I get back” you grabbed your suitcase and left, luckily you had prepared it already. You asked Weems to let you go sooner and she did, so you were soon at your parents. They made sure thousands of time that you really wanted to do this, of course you did. You were so tired of always having to have surgeries to fix an unfixable problem, so they turned you. Your mother was the one to do so.

When you woke up for the first time and opened your eyes, they were bright red. You were hungry, and they immediately gave you human blood, which you thought tasted amazing. You practiced going in public with your parents and it was really hard because you kept smelling blood everywhere, luckily they taught you how to keep self control, you managed to control yourself but not for long and that worried you. You wanted to be able to be near to Wednesday without feeling the need of her blood.

Soon enough you returned to school, and the first ones to greet you were of course the vampires. Yoko was the first one to ask you how you felt, and you explained everything to her, how you felt when you first woke up. Only problem was, the blood they give you in school is animal blood, and as of now you can’t have that. Then Wednesday came up to you. “How did the turning go?” She asked as she looked at you. You tilted her head to a side “oh now you care?” You asked her, hands on your sides “I’ve always cared-“ you stopped her before she could continue. “You didn’t seem to care when just three days ago you were telling me that I wasn’t your best friend” she stayed quiet at that. “I’m sorry-“ she then said. “Are you, Wednesday? Tell me, are you sorry? The world doesn’t revolve around you and I’m allowed to have other friends aside from you. I never had that in my life and neither did you, you should try this” you said and walked away with Yoko and the others.

The following days went by smoothly, your studies did, and Wednesday didn’t bother you anymore. Little did you know that she was trying to find a way to apologize to you. She knew she had exaggerated. She truly cared for you, but she never meant for you to feel like you couldn’t have friends aside from her. She would stare at you from the other side of class and would get nervous when she saw you too affectionate with someone else. After a while, your days weren’t so smooth anymore. You had tried drinking the animal blood, buy you would always throw that up. It was disgusting and as much as you tried drinking it, it just wasn’t working.

One day after class you were heading to your room who you now shared with Yoko and Wednesday noticed that you seemed weaker than usual. “(Y/N), are you okay? You seem weak. Are you drinking your blood?” She felt weird asking it, as much as she would like to see the scene she knew it wouldn’t be a good sight. “Do I look like I am?” You asked, turning around to see her. “All this school gives us is animal blood. And I can’t drink that, not now that I’ve just turned” you said as you kept on walking to your room. “Well you could take some from me” she said without hesitance “no, forget that. Get this thought out of your mind” you said and kept walking away from her. “Why not? If you need it so bad then take it” she insisted. “I said NO Wednesday! I can’t control myself yet” you said and finally got to your room, locking her outside. She sighed once again and walked away, she felt as if she was loosing her best friend.

A couple more days passed and you didn’t go to school. You kept smelling blood everywhere and you didn’t want to hurt someone. One night you decided to go to the woods to try and clear out your nose from smelling all that blood and you did, for a while. You suddenly smelled a very strong smell of blood. You went where your nose led you and you found a guy, victim of the monster everyone was talking about. He was dead and you thought that no one would see if you took some blood. So you knelt down next to him and bit into his neck, taking all the blood you needed. You didn’t hear footsteps approach until a blinding light shined on you. You pulled away from the guy and it was cops. Blood drooling down your lips as you raised your hand up.

“U-uh… okay. This is not what it seems like. I have not killed this guy, he was already dead! I just took advantage to feed myself with his blood. I promise I have nothing to do with it.” You said trying to justify yourself. The sheriff moved his torch from you to the guy and noticed the cut in his stomach and the missing arm. “Don’t worry, we know it wasn’t you.” He then proceeded to explain everything to you and then he took you back to school, where you were taken straight to Weems’s office. “You know that getting out of school after curfew is a reason to get you suspended right?” The principal told you, as you nodded and looked down. “Then why were you out?” She asked for the millionth time. “I told you, I was trying to find some human blood! I can’t just go bite random people and here you have just animal blood! What about the vampires that only drink human blood, huh?” You told her and watched as she stayed quiet.

“It’s not fair! It’s not like we go and kill people to take their blood! You should have human blood here too, maybe you could have a day in the week where everyone donates their blood because otherwise the vampires like me won’t survive here and that is absolutely not correct” you gave Weems no time to reply because you quickly left her office and went to your room. You hadn’t drank much blood from the guy so you were still thirsty, but at some point you heard a knock on the door and went to open it, only to find Wednesday with a blood bag in her hands. “Where did you get it!?” You immediately took it from her and checked it to see what type it was. “I may have done a little trip to the hospital and had Thing help me steal some” she told you, which made you look at her and then back at the bag.

You made a little opening on it and immediately started chugging it down. You were so hungry and this was just perfect. A few drops of blood getting out and dirtying your chin and throat and she looked at them rolling down. When you were done you licked your lips and looked at Wednesday “thank you so much, I really needed it” you said and smiled it at her. She walked closer to you and wiped the drops of blood. “I’m sorry” you heard her say, and tried not to smile. “It’s okay. You made up with this bag of blood” you told her and in the end you did smile. “See you tomorrow in school?” She asked and you smiled “yep!”

Tags: @neon-lights-27 @dreifhraniquo29

[antilocaprine]

For the kiss prompts: 12, in grief for frenrey :3

(Kiss Prompt List)

Ohohoho, you know how I love to write angst. And hey, I didn't write a four-thousand-word behemoth this time! Proud of me.

Please make sure to mind the tags for this one.

12: ...in grief.

This time around, Benrey doesn’t even see Gordon fall. 

It’s his fault. It’s always his fault, and he’s growing tired of watching his friends die, even if time keeps getting reset and they all come back just fine. In the moment, every time, it still hurts.

This time, he was attempting to be unpredictable. He’d taken Gordon and split off from the rest of the Science Team, hoping that maybe he could keep Gordon alive if he had fewer distractions. However, he forgot that that also meant having less backup - because as distracting as the Science Team is, they make up for it by being utterly vicious in a fight.

He’s feeling that loss keenly now, as he turns from splattering bootboy brains across the corridor walls to see Gordon in a slumped pile of orange and black, huddled against a closed door a little way up the hall. His eyes are shut, but blood is bubbling sluggishly at the corner of his white-lipped mouth, so he’s still alive.

Benrey slams his pistol into its holster so hard he nearly jams a finger in with it, then stumbles over military corpses until he can drop to his knees next to the HEV suit.

“hey. hey, c’mon, you awake? wakey wakey, eggs and…” Benrey trails off. The flexible black mesh of the HEV suit is torn away on one side, and Benrey can see glistening things that twitch and pulse in a way that should never be exposed to light. He swallows and drags his eyes back up to Gordon’s face, which is slack and pale. His freckles look dark as blood splatter, and the tiny sliver of green Benrey can see beneath one eyelid is glassy and blank.

Benrey sighs. Gordon’s already gone; his body just doesn’t know it yet. There’s no point in trying to fix him. He’s tried before, in previous cycles, when Gordon was hurt less. He dies anyway, eventually. It might as well be now this time around.

“y’know, you’re makin’ this really hard,” Benrey says, leaning against the door jam and letting his shoulder bump up against Gordon’s. “i’m trying t’keep you alive, and you keep just…getting hurt.”

His eyes flick down to Gordon’s hands, one palm-up on the floor, the other loose in his lap. When Benrey decides to avoid the military attack that results in Gordon losing his arm, whatever is causing the time loops seems to react.

Gordon always dies sooner when he keeps both hands.

Benrey breathes in slowly through his nose, then makes a face at the blood-drenched smell of the corridor. He rolls his head against the wall and stares at Gordon’s unresponsive face.

“you wanna, uh…go somewhere else?” He glances around, then tips his head back and clips his face through the door they’re leaned against. A headcrab inside the room immediately lunges for him and he jerks back, thumping his shoulder against Gordon’s, causing Gordon to slouch over even more. Something in his chest makes an awful wet croaking sound, and Benrey hurries to pull him back upright.

He ends up tugging Gordon’s torso over to lean against his chest, tucking Gordon’s head into his own collar. There were some first aid classes that Benrey wandered into ages ago, when he was bored one day and there was a free seminar in one of the conference rooms. He hadn’t paid much attention to the actual lifesaving techniques, though - he was too busy goggling at all the ways that humans could die. Choking on food because their breathing and eating tubes were right next to each other? What the fuck? Whales had that shit figured out before they went back into the ocean!

He wishes he’d paid attention now, when every day for countless days he's had to see some of his friends die, and every day without fail, he sees Gordon die. That’s what resets the time loop, Benrey has decided. Every time Gordon dies, Benrey gets flung back in time to a seemingly arbitrary moment, and he can’t figure out why, let alone what the fuck he’s supposed to do to stop it.

Gordon’s fingers are limp, but Benrey still threads his in between and squeezes their hands together. “m’sorry,” he confesses quietly, trying to ignore the rattling wheezes stuttering out of Gordon’s throat. “i fucked up. we shouldn’t’ve gone this way, should’ve gone…with the others…”

There’s no response, of course. Gordon’s breaths are growing slower, his sides heaving arrhythmically as his body struggles to keep itself alive, even in the absence of enough blood to supply any higher brain function. 

Benrey leans his cheek against Gordon’s hair. He’s tired down to his bones. He doesn’t even remember when the loop started, only that he’s been reliving the same day or so for…weeks, it feels like. Months. Maybe years…but maybe only weeks. Still, he’s exhausted, and he’s not used to being exhausted. It sucks and he hates it - almost as much as he hates the feeling of Gordon Freeman dying in his arms, again.

Time loops suck.

Gordon’s chest jerks as he heaves in a handful of rasping breaths; then he goes utterly still, sinking against Benrey’s side. Benrey tightens his grip on Gordon’s hand and leans into him to brace his weight. He never understands how humans seem to gain weight after they die.

Surprisingly, Benrey feels the corners of his mouth tighten involuntarily. The corridor is silent but for the metronome sound of blood still dripping from the gaping wound in Gordon’s side, and Benrey has to squeeze his eyes shut against an unfamiliar burning. He turns his face into Gordon’s head and presses his trembling lips against tangled brown hair.

“m’sorry,” he mumbles against Gordon’s scalp, because he’s supposed to keep them safe, all of them, and they all keep dying. “i don’t know how to - t’fix this.”

Gordon, limp and still in his arms, does not reply. 

Benrey heaves in a shuddering breath and holds the body tighter, waiting for the tingling sensation that always precludes the tug where he’s yanked back to the start of the cycle, again and again and again. He almost misses it this time, but when he opens his eyes, he’s standing in a storage room as Bubby and Tommy blast through a pile of crates while Dr. Coomer punches a single crate into splinters.

Orange suddenly takes over his vision, and Benrey steps back and looks up into Gordon’s annoyed glare. 

“Hello? Earth to Benrey? Are you even listening to me?”

“huh?” Benrey says, still blinking spots out of his eyes.

“Fucking impossible,” Gordon huffs, then spins on his heel to go pull Dr. Coomer off his crate before he starts punching a hole in the concrete again.

Benrey stands very still, breathing in the smell of broken wood and unwashed bodies to clear his nose of death. He rubs his hands together almost compulsively, knowing they’re no longer saturated in Gordon’s blood but still feeling it on his skin. He thinks he knows what he did wrong - splitting up is obviously never going to work. They have to stay together. He’ll figure something else out as they go.

“Hey! Benrey! Are you coming?”

“Leave the man alone, Gordon - he’s obviously contemplating his place in the universe!” Dr. Coomer scolds. Gordon rolls his eyes, bright green and frustrated and alive, and stomps out of the room.

Benrey ducks his head and follows. What else can he do?

Time loops suck.

[sanversandfriends]

Sanvers fans know her from her amazing contributions of art and fic to the Big Bang, but @morganastorm24 is also a multi-talented writer and artist for multiple ships in the DC universe. She also has love of everything Lois Lane. In honor of the Planet's star reporter, we've asked her to share a glimpse into her writing process. Thanks, Morgana!

Tell us a little about yourself. How did you get started writing fic? Have you written for other fandoms? What are your favorite tropes?  

I've been writing for as long as I can remember - even longer according to my mum. I've always loved creating stories and would sit with my teddies and toy horses, reading them stories (even before I could read, because that's what pictures are for, right? Telling a thousand words and all that). For my 6th or 7th birthday, I apparently asked for a "really nice writing set and an even nicer book to write in". I was given a ring binder with plastic pockets, a notebook and a pencil case full of stationery. I still have that ring binder to this day, though it's not filled with all my random childish scribbles like it once was. 

I started writing fanfiction not long after Star Wars: Attack of the Clones came out. That's the earliest fanfic I can remember writing, anyway. I wrote Anakin and Padme's adventures after they got married, and then when rumours started flying about what was going to happen in Episode 3, I wrote my very first "fix it fic" by finding a way to keep Padme alive (as I couldn't bear the thought of my favourite character dying). Most of those very early fics never left the pages of the notebooks they were scrawled in and nobody else ever saw them (thank god!), but it wasn't until I started reading fanfiction online that I realised I could actually do that too - share my ideas with the world. I dabbled a little in fanfic for the tv show Casualty (a British medical drama), had more success with Doctor Who, wrote some more Star Wars, then Merlin and eventually (and most recently) Supergirl (with a dash of other DC). 

What were your inspirations for this particular story? What was it about this/these ships that grabbed you?

This fic was born of a single image - namely Chyler first revealing that she was going to wear a black and blue super suit and become Supergirl for one episode. That image alone was enough to get my mind racing with possibilities and ideas of how it might come to pass. I have to be honest and say I stopped watching the show after the Crisis stuff, so I've never actually seen her episode as Supergirl, but maybe that's a good thing? At least this way I know that my version of her is different and unique.

I am and always will be a huge Sanvers stan, but there's something so appealing about AgentCorp as well, and the show really dropped the ball when they wouldn't let Alex and Lena be together. They're an interesting and dynamic pairing - they share interests, are both huge science nerds and yet so completely different that its great fun writing them both together.

As for Lois and Kara - that one literally came out of nowhere and took me by surprise. I'd never intended for it to happen, and yet now that it has, I'm wondering why I never thought of it sooner!

Has the time spent away from your story changed your outlook or approach to any of the storylines or themes? Have you had any new inspirations or breakthroughs/revelations in the meantime? 

Absolutely. I got to a point with the fic where it had grown stale, and I was constantly hitting up against a wall with no idea how to get around it, or to power through it. So, I walked away from the fic and decided to focus on other WIPs and new creations instead. Coming back to it now, I've been able to see everything with fresh eyes, and I can see not only where I was going wrong before, but also a way to fix it. Changing the villain, adding characters, getting rid of redundant plot threads and adding more relevant pieces has really helped to get this work to a place where finally, I can see the finish line and I know I'm going to make it. That's a huge relief, considering where I was 2 years ago when I first started writing it.

Any advice for new or aspiring fic writers?

Never give up. No matter how hard it might be, just put words on a page. It doesn't matter how rubbish they are, as my BFF always says, "You can't edit a blank page." Let yourself suck, let yourself write horrendously. It's all good practice. Even if those words never leave your notebook or the document on your computer, they've taught you something, they've helped you to improve, so be proud of them.

Writing is also a bit like a painting. Not even Da Vinci or Van Gogh sat at his easel and created a masterpiece on his first try. There's the initial sketches to plan out the idea. That's your plot or summary. Then you add basic blocks of colours. That's your first draft. From then on, you work away slowly, adding details, shading, contouring...those are your second, third, fourth drafts. Keep revising and editing as much as you need - there's no right or wrong number of times you should be doing it. Because each time you do, you're adding more detail to your masterpiece. And what you end up with is a work of art.

One final piece of advice... writing is not a solo event. All those times a writer is depicted sitting along, tapping away at a keyboard or scribbling in a notebook, it's so misleading. Get yourself a writing buddy. DKGwrites and I are best friends, we met through fanfiction (and I'm eternally grateful for that everyday). We have regular writing sessions together, and ok it's 90% messing around, distracting one another, talking utter nonsense or throwing random videos and links to each other, but that 10% when we do actually behave and get down to the task at hand, it's so much more fun writing together than it ever is when we try to write alone. Silliness aside, we help one another, bounce ideas off one another, motivate and encourage one another, and it's the best thing ever. So find yourself a writing buddy, and have a blast!

If you were going to promote this fic with a single line, what would it be? 

What if Supergirl was a badass redhead called Alex Danvers?

We'll have more about her artwork in the coming weeks, but in the meantime, check out her work on A03!

[spaceclefairy]

The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, Ch. 16

Pairing: Michael de Santa/ OFC; Trevor Philips/OFC; Michael de Santa/OFC/Trevor Philips; Michael de Santa/Trevor Philips

Summary: Los Santos is a hellscape, but if you’ve got brains and a little determination, it can be a real hell of a playground. Michael needs money, Trevor needs whatever Trevor wants, and Franklin’s moving up in Los Santos. Jen’s just along for the ride.

This is gonna be fun.

Author’s Note: I’ve been writing this beast of a thing since 2013. It’s been through a thousand different incarnations, but it’s been in my drafts for the last six years. I realize this fandom isn’t as popular as it used to be, but I might as well have a little fun and finally start posting it.

Also, not to be that bitch, but this is on Ao3. I would very much appreciate kudos/comments, if you’re so inclined!

Part 1  ||   Part 2  ||  Part 3  ||  Part 4  ||  Part 5  ||  Part 6  ||  Part 7  ||  Part 8  ||  Part 9  ||  Part 10  ||  Part 11  ||  Part 12  ||  Part 13  ||  Part 14 || Part 15

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

Lester’s contacts came through beautifully.

When Jen arrived at her office the next morning, the only people in the office were her own employees, peacefully doing their jobs. There were no IAA interns rummaging through her files, no IAA agents stalking her employees through the halls, no IAA agents sniffing and smirking or lauding their hierarchy. Possibly better still, absolutely no sign of an FIB agent could be found. 

Jen grinned as she strode through the office, clicking away in her tall, tall heels - there would be silence today, for at least a brief little while. Mary at the front desk handed Jen a stack of mail as she entered the office, smiling politely. She’d seen the news that morning, pleased that she no longer had to keep tentatively looking for a new job. The rest of Jen’s employees waved and greeted her as she walked by each office heading to her own. 

Absolutely beautiful.

Wonderful, beautiful silence for a brief little while. Brief, being the operative word.

Jen had no sooner sat down to begin her day when her phone started ringing. She grinned as she looked at the glass screen - Dave Norton, right on time.

She answered. "Howdy, Dave."

Dave's voice crackled out as a scandalized huff. "What did you do?"

Jen stifled a chuckle. All the years of maintaining decorum despite immense displeasure had given her a stellar poker face. "What are you talking about, Dave?"

"The shitstorm going down on Weazel News? Breakdown of election results being published? Covers blown? Ring a bell?"

"I haven't turned on Weazel this morning, so that’s news to me. Come to think of it, though, it's awfully quiet in the office for once," Jen observed. "Look, Dave. I've got a massive murder trial in a few weeks. It’s all I can do to get out of bed in the morning some days. Where would I find the time to do all that? Or get the resources?"

"Oh, stop. I know who you know," Dave snapped. "Good Lord, Jen! We told you we would handle it!"

“Well, it’s been handled now,” Jen replied simply, stifling a giggle with the back of her hand. "What are you complaining about anyway? I’m watching Weazel now. Looks like it was only IAA info that got leaked, not FIB."

"Be that as it may," Dave huffed, "But now the higher-ups are talking about a government-wide review of all personnel."

"Wouldn't hurt, I'm sure."

"Need I remind you that if I get tapped, so does your boyfriend?" Dave grumbled.

To be fair, Dave had a point. His career-making takedown of one Michael Townley hadn’t come without a price.

"More threats, Dave? Come on, we’re on the same side. That’s not your style."

Dave sighed. “It’s a warning, Jen. You should have let me handle it."

"I had nothing to do with it,” Jen lied. “Check your sources."

"I will,” Dave snapped. "Now, I’m going to go clean up this mess. You better pray Steve doesn’t start snooping around in my files. And be careful, please."

"I'm always careful."

Jen hung up the phone and cackled while she dialed Lester’s number. She really liked Dave, truly. If he put half as much work into actually being a good agent as he put into pretending to be a good agent, he might have had a shot at being director once upon a time. But Dave, deep down, wanted glory without putting the work in. And that mindset, in Jen’s experience, was easily exploitable.

Lester picked up on the first ring. Jen could hear the crackle of Weazel News in the background. No doubt the nefarious little nerd was enjoying the spectacle that was the product of his handiwork.

"Lester, I could kiss you!"

He snorted. "Keep it to yourself. I don't want your boyfriends beating down my door."

"You'd let me if I tried."

"Probably,” Lester conceded, “Oh, and you’re welcome."

“As always, my friend, I appreciate our time together,” Jen replied in her sweetest voice. "Also, I'm sending you the recording of the call Dave Norton made just now in case we need a little… insurance. Thanks again."

Jen hung up and tossed her phone onto her desk. The pleasure of silence was golden. She could focus on actually doing her job now rather than monitoring agents and babysitting her staff. She could get ready for all the cases coming up, get this mess of a murder trial off the ground… She might even get to go home on time today.

Huh. Now, there’s an idea. Getting home on time meant Jen might be able to get Michael to come over, maybe even spend the night. He had been back in Los Santos for a week, having successfully gotten the price on his head rescinded. He hadn’t come over yet for want of a little relaxation.

Jen grabbed her phone and texted him, asking him to come over tonight. To her surprise, he responded in short order with a quick sure (Michael wasn’t known for his texting skills). 

Excellent. Jen could get everything ready for tonight. A little wine, some candles… She could get that whiskey Michael likes and order some movies, relax for a while. Wonderful.

MaryAnn threw open Jen’s office door, yanking Jen out of her euphoria. Never let it be said that MaryAnn practiced proper work etiquette. 

MaryAnn’s manic grin was contagious. “What did you do? How did you get them out of here?”

Jen shrugged, matching her grin. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Bullshit,” MaryAnn laughed, taking a seat in one of Jen’s cushy office chairs. “I know you better than that. Did your creepy old boyfriend have someone killed?”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said.” Jen shook her head, but the grin never left her face. “Wasn’t me - pinky swear. Some internet do-gooder pulled the records and leaked them last night. Check Weazel.”

“And you didn’t even point them in the right direction?”

Jen shook her head. “Nope.”

“Well, I’ll be,” MaryAnn said, crossing her arms. “Someone really likes you.”

Thanks, Lester.

Jen snorted. “As much shit as I get on the daily, I’ll take any win I can get.”

“Well, that means we can get down to business prepping for this trial.”

Jen eyed her whiteboard over in the corner. It was covered in notes and crime scene photos - a gruesome collage of a trial plan. “Finally. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

“You and me both,” MaryAnn agreed. “Well, as much as I’d love to let you bask in your victory, we need to get started.”

“You pull the file, I’ll start calling witnesses.”

“Done.”

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

Michael spent most of the week following the fertility idol debacle moping in his sedan. A week after yelling he loves Jen, he sat in the Burger Shot drive-thru, moping in his sedan. One full week of Burger Shot Depression Specials, blitzed out of his mind at 11AM on the good cognac, while Franklin shakes his head at him from the driver’s seat of the sedan. 

Michael had texted Franklin maybe an hour before requesting Burger Shot, not for the first time this week, after downing about a hundred dollars’ worth of good cognac for breakfast. He was resolutely ashamed of himself, but too depressed to stop. Franklin, bless his soul, agreed to drive him, if only to ensure Michael wouldn’t drunk-drive himself to Burger Shot in Los Santos lunch traffic.

“Jen calls the sedan the Saggy Balls,” Michael hiccuped from the passenger seat while Franklin contemplated his life choices. “She says it makes me look old.”

“You are old, dude,” Franklin replied, accepting the reeking, greasy bag of double-doubles that will surely incite The Widowmaker, the final heart attack that will send Michael to an early grave, from the window cashier. “Why don’t you just call her?”

Trevor had already given Franklin the run-down of what happened on the beach, from the fertility idol right down to Michael’s duh-moment revelation. Therefore, he already knew why Michael wouldn’t willingly call Jen. It’s not like the man was an expert at dealing with his feelings in a healthy, sensible fashion.

“I’d rather fuckin’ die, Frank,” Michael moaned, taking a bite of his double-double cheeseburger with bacon. Grease beaded up in shiny specks on the bun, and Franklin wished Michael would eat a salad, for his own sake. “I got a plan. I’m trying to get my life back. I want my kids back. I want Amanda back.”

“You sure about that last one, man?” Franklin asked. He really shouldn’t complain about what Michael eats (why was he even concerned about it in the first place?). He was chowing down on greasy ass fries while idling at the red light.

“I want my life back.”

“Whatever you say, bro.”

Not a moment later, Michael’s phone vibrated. He groaned and laid his head against the headrest. “It’s from Jen.”

“Why are you complaining? Don’t you love her?”

“Yes,” Michael said flatly. That much has been established. He flicked through his text messages. “She wants me to come over tonight.”

“Maybe I’m missing something, but I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“I can’t keep seeing her if I want to get my life back.”

“Ain’t you been seeing her for, like years? Just go-” Franklin stopped, huffing. “You know what - you’re not gonna listen to whatever I tell you. You’re gonna drunk dial me at 2AM and ask me to come get you from Tequila-la’s and take you to Cluckin’ Bell.”

Michael was lost in his own thoughts. “You know what, I’m gonna go see Jen tonight. I’m gonna go tell her I can’t keep doing this.”

Franklin shook his head. “You’re gonna be diggin’ your own grave…”

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

Jen answered the door dressed in a black button-down and her underwear, a glass of wine clutched in her hand and a grin on her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and she'd tied her mass of puffy orange hair up out of the way. An empty bottle of wine rested next to another full bottle, belying that she’d already started enjoying her night.

She had to be drunk. She wouldn’t have answered the door in a button-down (his button-down, one he’d left here before) and her underwear if she wasn’t at least tipsy. He’d surprisingly never seen her drunk before. Or, at least, she never let on that she was drunk. 

It was… nice. She looked happy, kind of like the morning after the first night he’d stayed here, like she’d actually been able to let loose and relax. She wasn’t often this happy, always stressed about everything and exhausted and even more harried and harassed than usual with the election issues hanging over her. And that trial she’d mentioned - the serial killer one. He’d followed that story himself - seen some of the crime scene photos on her computer once, too - and it looked like a doozy.

Looking at her made Michael’s heart ache. He was going to ruin a perfectly good night by just being himself.

Or, at least he was, until she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Oh, fuck him. Michael’s hands were latched onto her waist in half a second, kneading her soft flesh with the tips of his fingers. She tasted like bad decisions, like he was about to really fuck up his life if he stayed here any longer.

The button-down was a stupid idea; she should have just answered the door naked and put him out of his misery. He’s got it so fucking bad for her, and there’s not a thing he can do about it.

Jen pulled back with that wicked grin on her face that let Michael know, in no uncertain terms, that she had his number. Guiding him over to the couch, she sat him down and shoved a drink in his hand. "I bought that good whiskey you like, the entire Richard's Majestic catalog, and snacks, Mike. Snacks. So, get cozy because we're celebrating!"

Michael reclined back against the couch, crossing his legs. The glass of whiskey in his hand was cold and sweating lightly. "What are we celebrating?"

Jen flopped down onto the couch next to him and slung a muscled leg across his lap before curling up against his side. "The death of my IAA annoyances - not literally, of course. Lester leaked the election results and blew all their covers."

He instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Good enough reason to celebrate, I guess."

Jen tipped her glass in salute. “Any reason to celebrate is a good reason. But this reason is an especially good one.” 

Michael had to agree - any reason to celebrate was good enough for him. He’d never been one to turn down a good time, for whatever good it did him.

Jen snuggled closer into his side. "Plus, it's your first night back here since Madrazo called off the hit. Figured we could have a night to ourselves."

That’s what was killing him. Michael knew he shouldn’t have come over. No matter what the situation, no matter what time it was, any time he walked into Jen’s apartment, he didn't want to be anywhere else. He should have asked her to meet him for dinner or something - made it easier for both of them. He could have called things off, let her blow up and leave, gotten drunk and forgotten all about the past… seven years. 

Yeah, that totally would have worked… He totally, under no circumstances, would have ended up right back here in Jen’s apartment, in exactly the same position, completely brought to his metaphorical fucking knees.

There was no scenario in which Michael wouldn’t fuck this up in some way or another. He’s just gotta do it. He’s just got to open his mouth and do it.

Twenty years ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem. He’d never had a problem telling a girl to get lost (except for his wife, Amanda, who he married because he got her pregnant, in some chivalrous attempt to own up to his choices). Never had a problem being the asshole, the bad guy, the jerk… He could sweet talk right up to the point where he wasn’t interested anymore, when he got what he wanted (ass), and would tell them to get lost.

Not this girl. Not Jen. Michael knew good and well he couldn’t do it because Jen was Jen, and she was his. He just didn’t want to acknowledge he knew it.

Before Michael could blink, they’d finished the first movie. He couldn’t even remember which one they’d watched - he’d been lost in his own thoughts. One of the shitty action movies, probably, that comprised most of the Richards Majestic catalog. Jen crawled out of his grasp to grab the remote and press play on whatever movie was queued up next. The loss of heat next to him was jarring after being so comfortable for so long.

The next movie in the queue was a romance. Michael preferred action movies all day long, but he wouldn’t turn his nose up at a decent romance. Especially not a Richards Majestic romance - they had just the right formula of hot and cheesy. 

Jen crawled back up under his arm, another full glass of wine in one hand and a refill of his whiskey glass in the other hand. “I remembered you like Some Like it Hot - figured you wouldn’t mind watching this one next.”

“It’s one of the best, as far as rom-coms go.”

“Rom-coms aren’t so bad,” Jen teased, taking a healthy sip of her drink.

“Says the woman who almost exclusively watches mafia movies and B-horror.”

“I don’t want to hear shit from you, Mr. Action Movie.”

Michael pinched her side, earning him a gentle slap on the thigh. He shouldn’t be encouraging this, shouldn’t be playing with her and teasing her like he always does, but he wants to. And her lips are so soft when she kisses him, and she feels so warm against his chest, he just can’t make himself stop.

The minute Jen straddles his lap, he's done. Lost. No hope of holding out. She tastes like liquor and a lost cause when she kisses him, like communion at church, and he's the damned sinner clinging to the hope of salvation.

Michael damn near rips the buttons off of the shirt she's wearing - his shirt his shirt his shirt - just to get it open. He doesn't care to push over her shoulders or even try to get it off of her completely. He lets it hang open while he grabs her tits, pinching and pulling blindly while she kisses him. Fuck he loves these tits, these soft, heavy tits that make him forget how to think-

She didn’t have underwear on - how had he been sitting here half the night and not noticed?

Jen takes him by the throat. He fucking loves when she does that. She doesn't put pressure on his windpipe, it's just to force his head back so she can leave deep purple bruises on his neck that won't even be close to hidden by his shirt collar. He groans deep in his chest, and he swears he feels her smirk against his skin. He’d never admit out loud he likes being handled like this, loves when she leaves those dark bruises where everyone can see, loves when she puts him in his place. He can’t function like this, reduced to a groaning mess with every kiss and lick and touch.

She grinds down in his lap, stroking her naked pussy along his still-clothed cock. He could scream, he really could, but he doesn't. He lets her use him to work herself up, use him to get herself wet for him. 

Michael’s searching fingers find her wet little cunt grinding down in his lap, and he wastes no time plunging his fingers into her. He crooks his fingers against the spot that makes her shake, and she howls against his neck. He can feel the muscles in her legs tense from the effort of hovering over his lap. Her nails dig into his shoulders, and it’s only the thin barrier of his shirt that saves him from red little half-moon bites in his skin.

Jen pulls at the buttons of his shirt with shaking hands while he fingers her. “Get- get this off.”

“Get it off me, then.”

The way her eyes flash at him, that dangerous little warning of don’t test me, makes Michael’s cock twitch. He twists his fingers, adding a third finger to stuff her full, and the shaky whimper she lets out makes him grin. She works faster, though, almost ripping a couple of his shirt buttons right off.

“That’s right, princess - you don’t want to be the only one naked, do you?”

Jen yanks his shirt open so she can get her hands on him, and Michael just lets her rake her nails down his chest. He loves testing her like this, loves when she gets rough with him. It doesn’t matter how much he likes to be in charge. Jen is Jen, and he wants this any way she’ll give it to him.

Michael can feel her starting to tense around his fingers. "Come on, princess, you know you wanna come for me."

Jen stops him with a hand on his bicep. "Don’t get mouthy. Stand up."

Michael is damn near bewildered, but he does as she commands and stands. His jaw hits the floor when she turns toward the back of the couch, knees in the cushions, hands resting on the top of the couch.

Jen doesn't do this. Hasn't done it, not once, in the seven years they've been seeing each other. She likes the dominant role, and Michael is more than happy to take the lazy route and let her use him any way she wants. Vulnerability and submission are not her preference - she likes to be in control, and getting fucked from behind isn't enough control.

And, for a long moment, Michael finally forgets himself. Forgets he wants Amanda back, forgets he tried to keep himself from getting in this position in the first place. This vulnerability throws him for a goddamn loop. 

And Jen is impatient. "You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna fuck me, Mike?"

Michael’s pants hit the goddamn floor like they're on fire. He lines his hard, leaking cock up with her cunt and thrusts, and thank god he fingered her for as long as he did because she's tight and dripping wet and rocking back against him and-

He squeezes her ass and gives it a sharp swat before pulling her back onto his cock as hard as he dares. He's not gonna last like this - not by a long shot, but damn if he's not gonna get her to scream his name before he does. He leans over her, chest to her back, and guides her upright, knees buried into the couch cushions,  with one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand squeezing her tits.

Michael's teeth nip at Jen’s earlobe, his tongue tracing the outer shell of her ear. He thrusts up hard, pinching her nipples. "Gonna come for me, princess? Gonna come for Daddy?"

Oh, he knows she wants to sass him, wants to fight him, wants to shove him back down on the couch and take back control for that comment, and he fucking wants her to, but he can feel her hot cunt start to tighten and flutter around him. No, she’s not going to fight him for control. She wants him to fuck her stupid, take her like he wants to take her.

"That's it, let Daddy make you come."

“Don’t-” Jen jerks the hand squeezing her tits down to her clit, where he circles her presses and dips his fingers between her folds. Her nails dig into his forearms, searching for stability and balance while she falls apart in his hands. "Fuck, Mike-"

"Try again."

And Jen plays his game. To his amazement, she plays his game. "Come on, Daddy, make me come-"

He does. With quick, rough strokes, and his fingers pressing down and circling and teasing her swollen clit, he makes her come. Long, and hard, and slow, until Jen is howling his name like he’s never heard her do. It breaks him, and he comes in hard spurts, twitching and rocking up into her.

“That’s it, princess,” Michael groans into her neck, “love your cunt, love you, baby-”

Michael grabs Jen’s chin, twisting around so he can kiss her. She’s still fluttering around him, still coming all over his cock, and he feels like he’s never going to be able to stop.

And when Michael finally softens enough to pull out, Jen collapses down on the couch in a sweaty, satisfied little heap. 

From that moment, it takes approximately five seconds for Michael to freak the fuck out.

Because he said it.

Michael had never gotten dressed so fast in his life. His hand is on the front doorknob before Jen even really realizes he’s leaving. He doesn’t know if she comprehended what he said, and he’s not sticking around to find out.

“Michael, where the fuck are you going-”

The door slammed behind him, and he could hear her yelling. He’s in the elevator and on the way down to his car before Jen can even grab a robe.

He let his phone ring and ring as he climbed into his car, and he ignored every call.

[for-d2b48c]

Before I say anything, I just want to say that I was listening to that song you sent while I was on my trip back home. It just feels like a warm hug from you. 

The thing about reading your message is that I always cry when I read it. I even cried before writing this but I need to calm down first so I can type my sincerest thoughts. That’s why I need to act cool about it at first and take it all in before saying what I really felt or else I’ll just say I love you too a thousand times while crying. Maybe the reason why I said thank you right after you said those words to me is because I know you don’t always express yourself easily to anyone so being that honest and raw with me is just something I was thankful for. Because of that, it’s my turn to be honest, raw and cringe. 

Remember when I used to say that I just want to be somebody to you, it also means that I was already accepting the fact that maybe I can only be a friend or even lesser than that and I’m okay with it as long as I’m with you even though I know that I want us to be more than that right from the start. There would be times that I would think I’m stupid for accepting things the way they are but I just can’t stand to be away from you. I keep repeating to myself that I need to be strong so I can take care and be there for you because I love you. Maybe that’s why I was so taken aback when you said those things because I was prepared for the worst. Looking back on it, being pessimistic is not something to be proud of so now, I want to apologize for that. Even now, I can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs because I’m scared of losing you. What if I can’t hold your love in the best way you deserve? What if my best is not enough? What if we just let our fickle minds control us? What if the future will not treat us well? There are so many days to count to call it a lifetime and surely there will be good and bad ones but whenever I think about you and the things that you will bring to my life is just something so good that it just brings me tears, I love you so much. Being with you just makes all of my worries go away. I’ll be the luckiest person if you’re going to be my pillar and I’ll try my best to be one too for you and even for us. 

I said in that tumblr blog that I’m lucky that I met you but I’m luckier to be known by you. I don’t know why but I need to thank you for being you. I already said this before but I will never get tired of reminding you how amazing and wonderful person you are. I even admire how you wrote your message at 5am yet it came out so well written. I love that you are bringing the best in me. I love how you perceive things with your smart nerdy brain. I love how loser you are even if I believe that I’m the most loser one in us. I just love you the most when you’re being you. 

One of my favorite things you said in the notebook you gave me is the one where you shared about the old couple you met. I remember that when you mentioned marriage in your message. It’s funny because I’m scared of thinking about the future yet here I am talking about marriage. I guess you will be the one to teach me about taking things slow or fast. I never said this and I should have brought this up sooner but I have never been in a relationship. I met people but it was never serious and I didn't even come far. I experienced a lot of rejections that’s why having someone who felt the same way is surreal for me. I don’t know where we will go after this but one thing that I’m sure about is I want to be a friend to you who can listen to the smallest and biggest things you want to share and I want to be your girlfriend or lover who will be there for you no matter what and give everything you ask for. But the most important thing is that I want you to feel safe and loved, and grow as the person you always wanted to be so please tell me how can I help. I know relationship as a topic will take a lot of talking but I promise that I’ll always try to understand everything and be better, I love you so much, my tan.

[vixnovacoda]

The Cure We Seek || Chapter 3

Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Set after the events of the Mindflayer tadpoles and the Netherbrain, Astarion and fellow companion Nemeia spent years in search of a cure for the free vampire spawn where they have taken to settling down within their splendid city of Baldur's Gate and trying to establish a life of normalcy for themselves in a world that aims to constantly work against them as a dark past threatens the couple's peace.

A/N: Going to be going on hiatus for a couple of weeks for personal writing. Will be back soon with more!

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

[AO3]

Nemeia

Permitted and answering the mustered call of trouble, Nemeia took to the winds. The last-minute attached silken cape draped and billowed behind her, moss fraying from the edges of the recently acquired – yet already claimed by nature (fascinating how fast it works on its own accord when around so much death) – fabric as they hurried down cobblestone streets, and Gandrel taking lead. Blurred became the onlooker’s faces upon their breakneck speed. Age may have begun to play its part on her, but a lifetime of running had her barely breaking a sweat in comparison to the long grey-hair-streaked allied monster hunter as he heaved and hoed his body down steep incline after steep incline. In another decade's time, he’d probably be better off retiring. While Nemeia’s only retirement from this form of life will likely come in death’s fearsome, beautiful shape.

   She didn’t fear that fate. Won’t run to or from by then either. It’s an impossible feat when you’re expecting it. So, for now, she runs to someone who cannot and can do her part in time for dinner. After all, to her, it’s just another day in the life of a Baldurian hero, an adventurer and (her preferred) druid.

   “When are you planning on telling me who is after this child, by the way, Gandrel?” called out Nemeia, patience wearing thin with the mystery. It was a trait she was beginning to suspect learning from Astarion. He really had rubbed off on her in more ways than one.

   “When there are no ears around every bend and wall,” he responded.

   “And if someone suddenly attacks us, what then?” she countered.

   “Then you will know who to look out for going forward in that hypothetical, which I assure you will likely not happen… if we are fast enough,” retorted Gandrel and she disliked him a little more, which is to say that she never did before. The sudden need for secrecy was eating at her. She understood the probable reason for why, but, still, curiosity gets to everyone and she would rather head into a problem knowing all she could first. Perhaps if she had been more prepared for the inhabitants of the Abyss plane then he’d be less wounded and she would be closer to finding his cure. The last thing she wants is a repeat of events here and now.

   Taking one step ahead, Nemeia passed him with her eyes checking every inch and shadow in front of them. “I prefer you when you’re direct and honest, less vague.”

   Gandrel gave a small displeased chuckle. “So do I, my friend. But it is not without importance.”

   “Doesn’t mean you cannot spare some proper manners. It’s been some months after all,” she scoffed.

   “Is that why Astarion does not like me still? My uncouth behaviour?”

   “… I suspect it is for a multitude of reasons, I’m afraid.”

   “Yet you don’t entirely.”

   “Keep up the ambiguous act and hello-less greetings every time we meet and that might sooner change.”

   Salt clung in the air with damp humidity as the seedy raucous dock life came at them in waves of merchants, traders and fishermen. A steady stream of people going one way that Nemeia and Gandrel defied. Stifled, Gandrel kept his head afloat above it all. “Well, he should know by now how, like you, I honour my word and have taken a new perspective on the monsters I hunt.” A second chance given at the drop of a hat when thousands of undead lives were spared. One self made choice that put an end to a cycle of abuse; put Astarion above the monster that originally turned him; proved that, when given a chance, not all monsters are monsters. Which made Nemeia ponder what might have happened had Astarion sacrificed all those lives in the end, his kin, the children. Nothing good, she was sure. This was better. This life he deserved; the life he never got to have. “He should know I mean no harm,” Gandrel repeated in a bewildered state, manoeuvring through the early crowd.

   “Such things take time,” became her sage old answer, “meanwhile, I am aware, which shall have to do until then.” She pushed her own way through, dodging fish-filled barrels and yelling crew members like a prowling cat on a mission.

   The noise lessened and the puddles became grimier as the two peeled off into an alley between two tall steel buildings where the path forced those to hunch in order to navigate under shadowy guidance. Turning corners, they no sooner approached a derelict warehouse with aged windows and bordered up entrances. One could only assume it was abandoned had they not already been expecting to find anyone. It probably even had empty crates left-over from some long forgotten trade. The perfect hiding spot.

   With applied caution, Gandrel tore loose planks free off one of the doors and motioned for Nemeia to follow as he slipped past, shifting the weight of his feet for a lighter, harmless approach. “Child?” he called and mice scurried across the open, box scattered, and skylight illuminated floor. “It is I. I brought the associate of mine I told you about, the druid. She has offered to help you.”

   Metal rafters squeaked.

   Their heads snapped to above where a faint shape crouched. Small-ish. Further high up than should be feasible. While Gandrel seemed unfazed, Nemeia tilted her head, bewildered. In fact, he smiled warily and spoke, “Come now. It’s safe, you have my word.”

   “How on Silvanus’ rooted earth…” she muttered beneath her breath as the figure lurked deeper into shadow, walked down a nearby wall without nay a hand and dropped beside a stack of crates. All the while a pair of graphite eyes stayed on her like a skulking predator monitoring their prey. Nemeia had heard some about Dhampir and their abilities that set them not far apart from their vampire heritage, how they could walk wrong side up walls etcetera, but had never bore witness to one. If she was being honest, initially she had scarcely believed Gandrel meant a real Dhampir and thought his quarry was either fully mortal or undead, and went along no matter what for the sake of a child’s life. Yet, here approached, a child stuck between the world’s scales. Not exactly undead, not exactly alive. Her pale flesh did not even crisp when entering the sunlight where revealed were her worn and muddied little feet and sanguine-crusted black hair, shirt and trousers. She was a mess, that much was certain.

   Pity swallowed rocks in Nemeia’s stomach as she could smell the horrors the half-elven, half-vampire child might have borne. One too many encounters with blood brought ideas that her clothes weren’t previously this red-tinged shade of black. Whether they were because of her or not, though, was not certain. Bringing herself down to her height, Nemeia extended out a hand, beckoning the child closer, and closer she came. Her chest rose and fell at the rapid beat of rain battering against drums. The child shook, not quivered, and appeared smaller, not taller – in fact, she could not have been older than nine years old – and her grey eyes stared widely, glistening wet with frightful tears. These were no acts of a predator, she was prey through and through.

   Nothing to fear. There was only a child.

   The girl – as hunched and frail as she was would have disappeared into a thin blob if one viewed her from the wrong angle – looked frantic between Gandrel and Nemeia like a fawn awaiting their parent’s permission to cross the field one final time. Wordless, he nodded, and the small hand took hers. This could work , thought Nemeia and she offered a small smile in kindness. This could work . “What’s your name?” she requested.

   A hushed lilt came from the girl in an answer. “I don’t remember.”

   “You don’t have a name?”

   “I–I don’t remember.” Head hung, her voice trembled.

   Seeking confirmation, Nemeia briefly eyed Gandrel.

   “That’s how I found her. She wouldn’t tell me much, only what I already informed you of,” he responded.

   “Alright then. That’s alright.” she turned back to the nameless girl. “Let’s start with my name then. I’m Nemeia Acunín.”

   Attention caught, she steadied her crystal gaze at Nemeia, the white-tipped horns, the tail and all else that indicated her infernal bloodline. “But that’s…”

   “Elven? The druid who took me in offered ‘Nemeia’ to me when I didn’t know my own name either while the other half belongs to my husband. Maybe one day, we will be able to find you a name of your own if you’d like.” She gave the tiny hand a gentle squeeze.

   But the girl did not respond.

   “I’m here to help you, okay? No harm will come to you for as long as it takes to find you a new, safe home.”

   “Nemeia here has guided many others already. There is no one better that you would be safest with, child,” chipped in Gandrel, and the little girl only stared her down, peering with deep intent as if she were looking into her soul.

   Suddenly, the girl broke the spell of silence. “Who is Arilune ?”

   And a sweet smile turned sour at the hidden claws wrapped around Nemeia’s hand. ‘Arilune.’ Echoing, shattering, ringing throughout her thoughts like water droplets. The mere mention was enough to send an army of shivers up her spine. She hadn’t heard that name in a very long time, not since…

   Sloshing water loudened from the nearby docks, and Nemeia shot up. “Gandrel, the girl, who’s after her?” she demanded.

   Gandrel, though confused by her sudden switch, answered plainly, “a cult. Mainly one woman.”

   “Which cult?” Her hands tensed and dread made her sweat.

   “I.” He stopped himself. Never had he seen her this way. “Are you alright, Nemeia?”

   “Which cult?” Fear reduced her words to a shuddering shout.

   Taken aback, Gandrel mulled in the silence for what felt like an eternity before finally caving in. “A cult of Levistus. He’s some Archdevil, the last I heard,” said he, and all ran cold as recognition froze Nemeia – it wasn’t really recognition, familiarity more so, but dread at being right; at her worst imagining coming true. Pain tingled at the ends of her fingers while the world seemed planes away, and an icy breath burned her neck, ghostly, but present. “Thought you could evade me forevermore, did you, little druid?” reverberated a male voice which drew frost to form in the air beside her.

   She wanted to turn, to twist around, to face and retaliate, but she could not. It took all her willpower to defy the deal she had been a part of even now; her feet rooted to the ground. Without looking, she knew who it was with the utmost clarity. Nemeia could never forget the sole owner of her soul, the Archdevil whose worshippers hunt a young dhampir, Levistus.

   The Archdevil constrained her upper arms in a vice-like grip, and even though this moment was theirs and theirs alone – a haunting memory that felt too real – he brought himself to a whisper with the hiss of a viper, “Someone has been living comfortably for long enough, it seems they need a reminder towards their place on this world.”   

   Nemeia shook, trying, not so well, at breaking free, as vague noises blurred from her surroundings. Not again, no, cried Nemeia. Tears began blistering on the edges of her widened eyes. For years, she had run. For years, she had ‘freedom’. Finally, she had started to have a life of her own with people she loved and cared about. Now the man— the monster who chained her soul from an age-old, stupid deal made at death’s door and that tormented her as a puppeteer and his puppet, the very one she foolishly believed she could escape, was back and she could only imagine what more torture he would inflict at her pathetic retaliation.

   Except she didn’t need to imagine at all; she knew the warning. The memory was tucked far back, left to be forgotten. A pair of voices overlapped and pierced into the depths of Nemeia’s mind, male and female, Levistus and another, spoke at once, “I will take away everything you hold dear, then I shall take you and ruin you.” Vividly, fire. Burning. A place called home. Family inside. Levistus pushed the painted picture inside her mind, coating her eyes with the image, shoving the screams down her throat that once was nothing became specific, the home was hers, garden and all; the screams twisted pitch and turned recognisable, Astarion, burning alive in a house he could not escape under the light of day. She almost didn’t want to believe it, but the last time she didn’t was a mistake she could never forget. This was a fate she did not wish for anyone, let alone Astarion, especially not after all they’ve been through.

   Water froze on her cheeks and ash clogged up lungs with the neverending visage, till she tore free and bolted out of the place, completely ignorant to the calls shouted in her direction as Levistus left a lingering phrase behind from his frostbite grasp.

   “You are mine and I always get back what I own.”

   She runs, and runs, and runs, home on the horizon. Nothing else mattered.

   When Nemeia runs, it is not her death she fears when engulfed by the flames. It’s leaving the kind Astarion she got to meet behind, and that fear fueled her barefooted steps in their desperation to run faster than they’ve ever done. She would gladly approach death a thousand times and push it back if it meant the world had more time to spend with this version of the man she loved.

[starlit-clouds]

I hought I would finish this fic way sooner than I would, but alas August passed and it was not done then

On the bright side, I finally completed it!

Gonna post it soon after editing it, but imma do that in the morning because it is midnight for me and I am weak. But! I can give a sneak peek!

It’s called “Siblings in Spirit (And Paperwork)” and it has ALL of that Dad Fukuzawa(TM) content and contains PEAK Ranpo and Yosano sibling bonding. I’ll put a short snippet it under the cut that I was going to use parts of for the summary anyways!

————————

Word count: roughly 793

Timeline: Ranpo and Yosano are 15/16 and 14/15 respectively in this

—

“You should do it.”

“No way!” Ranpo protested immediately. He gestured widely towards the door to Fukuzawa’s office. While the glass was frosted in a way that he couldn’t see too far inside, he knew Fukuzawa was sitting at his desk. “You should do it!”

Yosano put her hands on her hips. “No. You.”

“No! You!”

“No. Y—” Yosano cut herself off and paused, thinking for a moment. “You know what? We’re getting nowhere with this. I say we both need to calm down and talk this through again.”

“‘We both need to calm down’? Yeah, right. I’m the one who’s being rational here. I think you need to take a moment to think things through.”

“Oh?” She crossed her arms. “And why do you think that?”

“Because you wrote the papers in the first place. So since you’re the one who wrote them, that means you should give them to him.” Ranpo the pointed to the papers in Yosano’s hand. “Plus, you’re already holding them.”

She huffed and shoved the papers into Ranpo’s hands. He was forced to grab onto them to prevent them from falling onto the floor. He attempted to force her to take them back, but when that failed, he settled for simply glaring at her.

“Those reasons don’t even make any sense. If we’re really going by who did what, then you should be the one to give him the papers,” Yosano reasoned. “I already did the work by writing them. You can do your part by giving them to him. It’s only fair.”

“But it’s not about what’s fair,” Ranpo claimed. He had started to try and give Yosano the papers back. He was failing. “It’s about what we need to do for the plan to work. And believe me, it absolutely pains me to say this but…” Ranpo’s tone indicated anything but. “It would be a thousand times better if you were the one to do it.”

“Now you’re just making things up. It would be better if you gave them to him.”

Ranpo stared at Yosano. “No. You.”

“No.” Yosano stared back at him. “We are not going back to that.”

“Yes, we are.”

“No.”

“Yes. And I think you should be the one to do it.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“You were here first,” Yosano blurted out.

“No— wait. What do you mean?” He squinted at her suspiciously. “What exactly is the point you're trying to make there?”

“Well, you’ve known Fukuzawa for longer than me. Obviously it would be better if you were the one who gave him the papers.”

“Yeah, but the whole point of this is that he doesn’t know what they’re for until it’s too late for him to change his mind, so we don’t need the emotional manipulation of me doing it,” Ranpo pointed out. “We’re meant to be discreet. Which really means you should be doing it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You’re normally the one who gives him all of the paperwork, so it would be suspicious if I was suddenly giving him papers to sign.”

Yosano stared at him. And stared. And stared some more.

She was still staring as she glared and took the papers from Ranpo’s hands.

Ranpo cheered. “Ha ha! Yeah, that’s right! You’re the one who’s doing it!”

Yosano glared even harder before she ignored him by turning to face the door. As she entered, Ranpo leaned up against the door with his ear pressed up against it.

Fukuzawa looked up as she entered. “Yes?”

“I have some documents you need to sign. Preferably as soon as possible. As well as while I watch,” Yosano stated as she strolled towards Fukuzawa’s desk.

She watched him closely as she put the documents in front of him. She flipped through some of the pages before she reached the end, pointing to a box at the end of the page.

“Sign right here. Please,” she added after a moment.

Fukuzawa picked up the papers and flipped them back to the front.

“Wait! What are you doing?!” Yosano quickly snatched the papers away from him.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m reading them over?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she rushed, absolutely not suspiciously at all. “You can just sign them without reading them.”

‘I’m pretty sure I should read documents before I sign them,” Fukuzawa said, sounding somewhat amused.

“Uhhh…” Time seemed to freeze as Yosano saw Fukuzawa begin to look back at the documents. And then she panicked. “I’m going to go now!” She announced. “And I’m taking these with me!”

Before Fukuzawa could read what the documents were about, she clutched them close to her chest and she whipped around to the door. She quickly hurried out of the room before things could get too awkward.

—

Or: Ranpo and Yosano try to trick Fukuzawa to sign adoption papers without him finding out until they’re already in effect. This goes as well as it could be expected.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49812589

[emmadoodle]

Tickle Test

The tickle potion has successfully been created, but someone needs to test to see if the potion actually works.

Sequel to This fic

Words: 1.6k

Big thanks to @mushiewrites for watching me write and giving me little pointers and advice throughout! Made writing this so so much fun!!

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

The potion was put nicely into several bottles and laid out in front of the three friends. The process of completing the concoction was an adventure in itself but it was far from over. Someone was going to have to actually test if the potion actually worked, and the silence that had its hold on the three of them was loud enough to make its big question known: Who was going to be the tester?

"Not it!" Sapnap suddenly destroyed the silence with a startling declaration and touching his finger to his nose. Dream jumped, ready to say the same but he then looked over at George, who's eyes were very fixated on the bubbling and colorful elixir. Dream could see the flickering pink reflection in the man’s irises.

Dream couldn't tell if it was interest or fear, "George I can try the potion if you don't want to," Dream offered, since it had practically been established at this point that he really didn't mind being tickled. Yet George didn't look over at Dream right away, still lost in thought at the sight of their finished potions. Finally the brunette turned to the other too.

"I mean… it just feels like I'd kick myself later if I didn't at least try something new, right?" George wasn't sure what it was about the idea of trying this potion. Maybe it was the unknown, the curiosity? Or maybe just the adrenaline of being the first in thousands of years to try a long lost magic. But thing one was for sure, he was going to drink it sooner or later anyways, so why not get it over with now.

Both Dream and Sapnap widened their eyes at George's offer. In the past, at the mere mention or threat of tickling, George was out of the room. He was the most defensive person Dream personally knew when it came to this kind of stuff. So this was completely out of character for him.

"Are you sure?" Dream questioned, hand coming up to lightly smack against George's forehead, "do you have a fever?"

"Maybe it's the potion fumes," Sapnap chimed in with a chuckle.

George finally laughed at Dream's playful concern, head leaning back at the soft force of his hand. He playfully smacked Dream's hand back off of him in retaliation, giving both of them a reassuring smile.

"I've not lost my mind, and yes, I do actually want to try it. It's enticing isn't it?" He motioned over at the bottled liquid, blushing a little as he tried to convince them just why he was deciding to do this. He hadn't really thought far enough ahead at the idea that this could easily lead to teasing.

"Well alright, I mean it's true, seems like it'd be quite the experience," Dream nodded and grabbed one of the bottles to hand to George. He took it with only slight hesitation as Sapnap sat back against the wall to watch the show.

Dream sat as well and motioned for George to do the same, knowing it's very likely if the potion works he could fall and hurt himself. He opened up his arms, an invitation for George to settle himself in his friend's lap.

"I'm not a dog, idiot," George scoffed, and it became evident but his wavering voice that embarrassment was starting to kick in.

"Yeah but…" Dream actually didn't have much of a reason to have George sit with him other than he felt the need to hold his friend close for this, but he still managed to find one, "uhm, we don't know exactly how the potion works. Yeah, we don't know if you could thrash and end up hurting yourself, I'll just keep you grounded in my arms as well!" George rolled his eyes as Dream gave him puppy dog eyes.

"Ugh, fine," George sat down, turning his back towards Dream before scooting towards him. His back reached Dream's front and he felt comforting arms wrap around him over his waist. Whether he meant to or not, George melted into the comforting hug.

"Alright you fucking lovebirds, just take the fucking potion," Sapnap said rather exasperatedly, but he still found the sight endearing.

George sat up just a little, looking down at the potion still in his hands. He popped off the cork, and spun the liquid around inside the bottle. He knew he was stalling, but he felt Dream tighten his hold slightly and comfortingly, almost as if letting him know he can take his time. He squeezed his eyes tight, took a deep breath, and downed the potion, tilting his head back to get it all down as quickly as possible.

The taste was better than he was expecting, which came as a relief. It tasted of sweet berries, with the aftertaste of what he could only be explained as tasting like how flowers smell. It was fizzy, and popped on the way down almost like pop rock candy, but still there was no tickling sensation yet. Although the popping made him jump, expecting it at any second.

He set the bottle down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, letting out a shaky breath through his nose. It was done. There's no turning back now.

"You good?" Dream asked, and George just nodded, not daring to open his mouth. It'd been about ten seconds now and nothing had happened yet. Dream was starting to wonder if it was a dud, but then George suddenly tensed.

He sat up straight, and Dream could feel him holding his breath. His muscles were tense as he sat completely still. Deep within his stomach, he could feel a slight warmth begin to grow, the same carbonation like fizz was back, but this time accompanied by a strange tingling. It was a weird feeling to say the least, taking him completely off guard.

And then it started to grow, the fizzing being replaced by more and more tingling, almost replicating the fuzzy feeling of when one of your limbs falls asleep. Against his will, a smile began to form on George's face, and his previous tense state was replaced with squirming.

"Pfft- is it working George? Are you okay?" Dream tightened his hold around his waist and then almost immediately loosened some, not wanting George to feel trapped at all. In response to Dream's question, a muffled whine escaped past George's lips before he covered his mouth with his hands.

As much as he tried to keep his hands tight over his mouth, the laughter soon found its escape anyway through his nose. The feeling in his stomach was starting to spread to his sides, growing in intensity faster than before.

George arched his back slowly and began squealing. His hands were still glued to his mouth but he was beginning to lose his grip. As the feeling climbed and reached a few of his bottom ribs the dam broke. He gave up trying to hide his laughter in favor of wrapping his arms around himself.

"Well at least we know it works," Sapnap spoke over George's growing laughter, watching as the older man started kicking his legs against the ground, writhing in Dream's arms.

"Ihihihit wohohohorks ihihit wohohahahaha!" George threw his head back onto Dream’s shoulder. At this point the buzzing had morphed into a constant ticklish pulse that swirled under his skin, almost as if a million fingers were kneading into his worse spots at once. Its effects finally covered his ribcage and under his arms, and there were vibrating tingles shooting through his neck as well. He could feel the pulses focus in on his hips, traveling to his thighs and knees. George could no longer focus on one place anymore, it was everywhere.

George twisted in Dream’s hold, trying to bury his red face into his friend’s shoulder, before arching his back and turning back to how he was before and bending over at the waist. Dream held his arms around his middle, trying to pull him back against his chest. George was full on cackling now, arms flailing to grab onto anything, since only an invisible force was causing him to fall into hysteria.

George eventually gave up his thrashing and allowed Dream to pull him backwards. Though it was hard to notice at the time, having Dream there was comforting, and kept George from panicking. He came to terms with the fact that he was going to have to let the potion run its course, going limp in Dream’s arms as the feeling made his mind go numb.

Dream grabbed onto George’s hands, George squeezing back hard anytime it felt as though the magic potion hit a sensitive nerve. It wasn’t too long after that the tickling died back down to the way it had started with its gently buzzing. Leaving his legs and his ribs and his sides, until finally it lingered in his tummy for a final thirty seconds. Even though the leftover tingles in his stomach kept him giggling, George happily began to catch his breath, leaning all of his weight into his friend.

Dream patted down George’s messy hair after the older man finally let go of his hair, “Are you alright?”

George nodded at this, clearly exhausted. Before Dream and Sapnap had the chance to ask any more questions- what it felt like, how it worked, what it did- George fell asleep in Dream’s arms. Dream didn’t have the heart to move him, so he decided to stay there with him, hands running through his hair.

A content smile was permanently etched on George’s face.