#hey look i wrote something

[silent-moons-camp]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Starfield (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Spacefarer | Player Character (Starfield), Mei Devine, Bounty Hunters - Character Additional Tags: No Spoilers, Origin Story, Smuggling, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol, Gambling, Nonbinary Character Summary:

They got past the Freestar scanners just fine, and were paid handsomely when they finally delivered the package. A quick and easy job, just like any other. But, sitting here in the Red Mile with an unfamiliar bartender giving them weird looks, Kanan was starting to think that maybe they should have turned down the job.

A sort of prelude to the main story of Starfield for my character, Kanan McCarthy.

[evansrogerskitten]

New fanfic!

Let Me Adore You (4186 words) by evansrogerskitten Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Top Gun (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Jake "Hangman" Seresin Characters: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace, Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, Reuben "Payback" Fitch, Javy "Coyote" Machado, Robert "Bob" Floyd, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Penny Benjamin Additional Tags: Smut, Top!Bradley, Bottom!Jake, Mutual Pining, Sweet Gay Love, Hangster, sereshaw, Fluff, Jealousy, Jealous Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Romantic Tension, Secret Crush, Pining

Summary: Jake is being an asshole again. Bradley is surprised when he finds out why.

This is for the @tgm-all4one challenge. Thank you to my best beta @letsby!

[jadewritesficshere]

Eddie x fem!reader (reader wears lingerie, no other descriptions of reader given except mentioning hitting that spot just right)

Contents: lingerie, both are a lil pervy tbh, humiliation, crying, praise kink, sub!Eddie, this is literally just horny ramblings

18+ only

It wasn't every day you came back to your house and your best friend had broken in. Maybe, every other week at best.

Usually, Eddie would be high eating your snacks (you were thinking about getting a lock for the cabinets). Or he would be watching whatever show you recorded and tease you about spoiling it (you threatened to use the VHS to beat him over the head and strangle him with the VHS ribbon if he did).

But, you had no clue Eddie was even in your house today. His van wasn't parked in your driveway when you came home. His shoes weren't in a haphazard pile at the front door. You had 0 clue he was there.

Not until you heard a thump coming from your bedroom. Which, your first thought went to the knickknacks you had that someone could be stealing (they wouldn't cause to a normal person it was junk but to you they were memories).

You grabbed a knife from the kitchen (you weren't gonna die without a fight, besides you learned a thing or two from the horror movies Eddie made you watch). You quietly pushed your bedroom door open and-

Shit.

Eddie was standing in your room in front of your mirror. Miles of pale skin just on display, scattered with contrasting dark tattoos he had. Nothing on, save for your lilac lingerie.

The palest purple lace bra, you can see from the back isn't even clipped correctly, missing the hook entirely. But the color is striking on Eddie. The lace thong cuts high on Eddie's ass, and you try not to gawk at the little black heart tattooed on his cheek. Eddie's scars seem softer amongst the lace.

How often did Eddie do this? Come over and put on your lingerie? Stand in front of the mirror and rub his fingers over his one hardened nipple. You couldn't see from where you were, but you knew his cock was hard. He'd be leaking all over your underwear, marking them.

Eddie lets out a little moan and it ignites a fire in your gut. You lick you lips as you watch Eddie, which maybe makes you a pervert but really it is your house and he is wearing your clothes so if anyone is-

Fuck why is it so hot?

"So-" you clear your throat. Eddie let's out a screech (that you are pretty sure ruined your eardrums) as he whirls around. He tries to cover himself with his arms, curls in on himself. And Holy cow he is hard.

He is big, so big, the tip just peeking out of the waistband of the panties. You can see the pearly translucent precum already dripping onto the underwear.

"I- fuck, I'm aha listen I can exp- i can explain!" Eddie fumbles over his words. You blink a few times tearing your eyes away from his massive dick (oh it would feel so good it would hit every spot just right).

Eddie's face is red, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh Baby, no," you rush over, pausing when Eddie flinches. You gently put a hand out on Eddie's shoulder, drawing him into a hug, " It's- it's okay. Please don't cry." "Don't hate me." You gasp in shock, pulling back to look in his eyes," I could never!"

Eddie's eyes are wet, filled with unshed tears. His nose is turning a bit red, from embarrassment, shame, or sadness you can't tell. But his cheeks are such a pretty pink you think it'd look nice elsewhere on his pale skin.

Eddie hides his face with his hair, shuffling his feet a bit. "So..." you pause unsure how to ask it politely so you just go for it," I can see this is a kink thing...but like, what kind?"

Eddie shrugs," Wanted to feel pretty..." You frown," You are pretty Eddie." Eddie shakes his head and gestures to his abdomen," Not with these."

Eddie really should not be drawing your eyes any further south then his face. Cause your pulse kicks up and the fire inside you lights back up your spine. You can't help but notice his dick is still hard as a rock.

"You are too pretty." "Not really." "Yes!" Not-" You shove Eddie lightly, causing him to stumble back and fall onto the bed. Eddie's eyes widen in shock as he peers up at you.

"Don't talk about my best friend that way! You are too pretty. And handsome. Funny. So talented," You sigh and step forward, into Eddie's parted legs. Eddie leans up on his elbows and blinks rapidly at you. "You're so fucking pretty Baby." You murmur, hand reaching out lightly touching his thigh.

Eddie let's out a whine before looking startled at himself. You can't help but notice his dick twitch under the pale purple lace. "You like being called pretty?" You smirk. "Like when you call me Baby," Eddie replies softly.

You aren't sure who moves first, but suddenly your arms are wrapped around each other. Your lips meet Eddie's without hesitation. His are slightly chapped but still soft, molding perfectly against your own.

You run your hand down Eddie's neck, to the pale bra strap and snap it. He gasps and you take the chance, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of weed, mint gum, and just Eddie.

Eddie moans against you, hips bucking forward seeking friction. You pull back, gasping for air. Eddie let's out a whine," No, come back-" "I ain't going anywhere Baby."

Eddie's eyes flutter shut as he bites his lip. He hums as you kiss his jaw, lightly nipping at his pulse point. He shivers against you, hips bucking forward again. You suck lightly as you decide to give him some relief.

Your hand snakes down, grasping him firmly. You lightly squeeze through the lace, giving just enough friction as you move your hand.

"Look so good in my lingerie Baby, you should wear it more often." You murmur between kisses. Eddie nods absently, gasping and moaning beneath you. "Got a red pair that has some nice straps, you'd look so metal and so so pretty."

Eddie freezes, mouth falling open. His brow wrinkles slightly as he moans, pleasure overtaking him. His hips spasm, even his thighs twitch, as he comes. You can feel your underwear get soaked along with part of his stomach.

You stroke him through it, extending his pleasure until he whimpers and pushes at your hand. You pull back, smiling softly at his face. Eddie's eyes flutter open, darting down to your lips. "Kiss?" He asks quietly, unsure. You simply smile and kiss him again.

[bythesigninthescarletprison]

Writing prompt #3

"Go on, darling," the villain said, eyes glittering in the dying light of the city. They made a sweeping gesture to indicate the patch of gravel rooftop just before their feet. "Kneel. Kneel and I will spare them."

The hero's fists clenched, so hard they could feel their broken nails digging into the flesh of their hands. Their jaw tightened, eyeing the villain, the enemy they had spent half of their life fighting, outwitting, snatching victory after victory on credit, praying that they'd get out before the bill came due.

Well. Now the debt collector was breaking down their door.

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts, darling." Their grin grew wider.

And they were offering such generous settlement terms.

"No," the hero said softly, eyes fixed on the crumbling skyline.

Six hundred thousand lives saved. Protected.

"Then go on, precious. Kneel."

And all it cost was one hero's freedom.

The hero knelt.

[gravitywonagain]

Inquiring Minds

holy shit, i finished a thing. well, a draft of a thing, but still counts!

based on this post about wwx being just dead enough be susceptible to the compulsion of inquiry

--

It was, in retrospect, the stupidest possible way to be found out. Wei Wuxian will readily admit that. Unfortunately, the level of stupidity was not a determining factor for the level of reality — as was the case for so much of Wei Wuxian’s life.

It all happened because one of the two dozen Jin disciples who bothered to show up to the war got a little drunk and a lot prideful and ended up starting a fight he couldn’t finish. Or, that was the going theory, anyway. The Jin leadership — such as it was — wanted an investigation done. As if they had nothing better to do. As if there weren’t reasons to be conserving spiritual power and not wasting it playing Inquiry for a guy who had decided to pick a fight — hopefully, hopefully it was a fight — with a Nie disciple who, granted, did not have the startling musculature of some of her shixiongs, but was still a fucking Nie disciple! 

This guy was not worth their time. This guy was not worth Lan Zhan’s time. Or his attention, or his spiritual power, or the stress it would put on his guqin strings— okay, maybe Wei Wuxian should have taken a moment to purge some of his resentment before walking into the tent. 

But he didn’t. This is important. 

Because then Lan Zhan began to play. 

And there was this strange… tugging sensation in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s gut, right where his golden core was supposed to be, pulling him toward Lan Zhan, or toward the empty space in front of Lan Zhan. 

Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have ignored it. He gets that now. He does. But he always wanted to be near Lan Zhan, and his body had been doing all kinds of weird shit since he’d had his core cut out, and who was to say this wasn’t just another weird side effect. 

Well. It was. A weird side effect. After a fashion. 

But that’s not the point! 

He should have noticed then. He should have left then. But he didn’t. 

The melody changed and the tugging sensation stopped. Which was great! 

Until something else started. It felt like a kind of drunkenness, light and hazy in his head, loose around his tongue. Three or four bowls in. 

He shook himself to dislodge it, but the motion only drew a sharp glare from Jiang Cheng. 

The tent was full of spectators. At least two representatives from each major clan were present, plus several “close friends” of the victim -- like four of the fifteen total Jin disciples -- who probably just wanted something else to do outside of eat, sleep, and fight. Wei Wuxian couldn’t blame them, exactly, war was remarkably boring most of the time, but it was getting awfully stuffy in there. 

Lan Zhan changed the melody again, something almost lexical about it. Wei Wuxian could almost hear the question being asked, even before Zewu Jun’s voice chimed in, translating for anyone who didn’t know the qin language — which was pretty much everyone else in the tent besides the Twin Jades — “What is your name?” 

Wei Wuxian caught his own response between his lips, pressing them together tightly, as the guqin sounded three distinct notes which Zewu Jun reported as Jin Zixin. 

So, good. It was the right guy. That was great. Nothing weird at all. 

He should have left then. He didn’t. 

Lan Zhan played again, and again Wei Wuxian thought he understood the phrase, the question, even before Zewu Jun said for the tent, “How did you die?”

Wei Wuxian felt the answer fly to the tip of his tongue and bit his teeth around it, through it. His cheek bled with the force of keeping quiet. 

It was weird. So weird. But maybe, Wei Wuxian justified to himself, maybe it was just an effect of holding a secret inside for so long and having someone actually ask the question out loud. Maybe, it was just the same automatic reaction of answering with your name when someone asked for it. Maybe he was just too fucking tired, and the resentment under his skin just wanted something to laugh at, something to entertain itself with. Like the five of ten Jins standing in the back of the tent. War was boring, okay?

The notes from Lan Zhan’s guqin hung in the air, resonant and waiting. The moment seemed to stretch out too long. It dragged and Wei Wuxian gradually felt the words stop fighting him to escape. 

But the Jin ghost didn’t answer either. 

When Lan Zhan played the same phrase over — “How did you die?” echoed on Zewu Jun’s tongue — the compulsion was much stronger. This time it was like Wei Wuxian could feel Lan Zhan’s spiritual power pouring through him; the strongest of wines, several jars of it. 

He couldn’t fight it. 

His mouth opened. 

I fell. I fell. I fell. 

“I fell.”

All eyes in the tent turned to him. 

Jiang Cheng’s elbow caught him in the ribs. He didn’t even bother to glare. He said, “Not you, Idiot.” 

The qin sounded and everybody looked back to Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun, waiting to hear the Jin disciple’s answer. 

Zewu Jun hesitated for the barest of moments, stuttering into the start of his translation before finding the confidence of his voice once more, recounting whatever it was that the ghost had strummed out. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t hear a word he said. He was, instead, pierced on two sides. 

On one: Jiang Cheng muttered to himself, “Wait,” and then his eyes went wide as he looked back at Wei Wuxian. 

On the other: Lan Zhan’s fingers froze above the strings of his guqin and he turned to stare over his shoulder at Wei Wuxian with something like horrified understanding dawning within his gaze. 

Wei Wuxian finally realized he should fucking leave. Immediately. 

He wanted to run. He knew better. Knew what that would look like. 

Instead, he was going to simply walk out of this tent as he had walked out of so many already during this campaign. Gravel crunched under his heel as he turned. 

But his brother knew him too well. Jiang Cheng’s hand clamped tight around Wei Wuxian’s bicep, his grip unyielding. With his golden core, Wei Wuxian might have been able to break it. But the real bitch of it was that it was his golden core that was holding him in place. 

Jiang Cheng tensed as if readying for a fight, but Wei Wuxian already knew how that fight would end. So he let himself be restrained. 

He turned back to face the Inquiry. 

Lan Zhan was still staring at him when Zewu Jun finished speaking. He was still so stuck in place that his brother had to prompt him into finishing the ritual. Which he did, with all the grace and skill expected of him. He really was just so beautiful to watch. 

All the while, Wei Wuxian listened to the music and bit through his tongue to keep it silent. The questions continued to drag at him -- “Do you know who killed you?” Wen Chao. “Do you have any last requests?” To leave this fucking tent. -- though the pressure to answer eased significantly as the Jin ghost became less stubborn about it. Wei Wuxian settled for reciting the answers to them in his head until they no longer felt pressed against the thin seam of his mouth. 

It took approximately sixteen-hundred years. 

All seven Jin disciples supporting the war effort left the tent after the ghost had recounted his final moments. The attempted sexual assault was not unexpected, judging by their faces, but still disappointing to hear about. Clearly not the entertainment they were hoping for. Luckily for Wei Wuxian, they were apparently too wrapped up in their Jin nonsense to realize new entertainment was fidgeting in the corner and trying not to sever the tip of his tongue completely. 

The Nie, represented by Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, left shortly after the ritual concluded. If Nie Mingjue had to tug his brother away, Wei Wuxian was too busy keeping his mouth shut to comment on it. 

And then there were just the four of them. Plus the corpse. But they were like six months into a war, so the corpse didn’t actually seem to bother any of them. It hadn’t even started to smell yet. It was still pretty intact, too, and now that it was verifiably a criminal, Wei Wuxian wondered idly if the Jin would let him use it in their next battle. Probably not. 

His idle wondering ceased abruptly as his brother’s fingers bit deeper into the meat of his arm. 

“Wei Wuxian,” he said, all of his surely filial worry for his gege boiling over into a spitting, incandescent fury. He never had to say he loved his brother, Wei Wuxian could always tell. It was the teeth gnashing that gave him away. “What the fuck do you mean you fell?” 

Right. 

Wei Wuxian played it as cool as he could with a definitely-not-bleeding tongue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jiang Cheng.” He shrugged, but his arm didn’t move very far. 

“You answered Inquiry,” said Lan Zhan. Succinct as ever. 

“No!” Wei Wuxian said, maybe a little too loud, but not at all childishly. 

Zewu Jun narrowed his eyes and pulled out his xiao. Wei Wuxian tried not to flinch about it, he did. But Zewu Jun only played a short, non-Inquiry melody, and a shimmering, blue barrier manifested around the interior of the tent. 

“No,” Wei Wuxian said again, this time at a totally normal volume. “I was just… messing around. You know how I do that, Lan Zhan. Always a rule breaker.” He grinned, desperately trying to play it all off. Realizing faster and faster how very badly this was going for him. 

Lan Zhan surprised him, then, saying, “Not when it matters.” 

“What?”

“Wei Ying doesn’t break rules when they matter.” 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know where the fuck that was coming from. But he couldn’t say he hated it. 

Except that he did, because it was going to be a problem for this whole I’m just a silly rascal defense he was setting up. 

Jiang Cheng still hadn’t let go of his arm. His fingernails were starting to split the fabric of his sleeve. And worse, his eyebrows were scrunched together in the way they do when he’s thinking through all the angles of a problem. 

Zewu Jun still had his xiao in hand, and he was looking at Wei Wuxian like he was deciding whether to perform an exorcism or an execution. 

But Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan hadn’t moved from his seat on the mat. He had turned his body so that he was facing Wei Wuxian, giving him his full attention, and was looking up at him with… pain in his eyes. Shining, wet pain. 

“You died?” he asked. “Are you dead?”

“I don’t…” Wei Wuxian trailed off. He couldn’t find the words. 

He didn’t know. Which was, possibly, not the best sign. 

“I can’t be dead,” he said, looking over at Zewu Jun, Jiang Cheng, then back to Lan Zhan. “Can I?”

Zewu Jun, still wary, said, “You responded to the compulsion in Inquiry. Inquiry is a song that speaks to and compels answers from the dead. It does not generally work on the living.” 

“Well--” Wei Wuxian started, defensive and scared. But again, he didn’t really know where to go with that. 

“Where were you, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng asked him. “Why didn’t you meet me at the bottom of the hill?” 

Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun shared a look. They didn’t seem to know what Jiang Cheng was talking about. But Wei Wuxian really, really, didn’t want to get into that whole mess. If anyone was going to see right through him and his flimsy tale about suddenly remembering the location of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, it would be Lan Zhan. Actually, Zewu Jun would probably figure it out, too. And then maybe even Jiang Cheng. Now that he wasn’t all broken and desperate and gullible. 

Fuck. With the way Jiang Cheng was looking at Wei Wuxian, the way his hand released some of the pressure around his arm, he might already have. 

Wei Wuxian laughed, hoping it came off more smoothly than it felt in his chest. “Ah, Jiang Cheng.” He brought his own hand up to lay over his brother’s. “What if I told you--”

“No,” Jiang Cheng cut him off. “No more bullshit. Where were you?”

The mirth, false as it was, drained out of Wei Wuxian as he saw the pain building behind his brother’s eyes. 

There was movement in his periphery and then Lan Zhan was standing on his other side. His fingers wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s other arm with a much gentler grip than Jiang Cheng’s. Something imploring about the touch. Like he was seeking confirmation to a theory, or maybe proving to himself that Wei Wuxian was actually there. 

“I…” Wei Wuxian trailed off. 

Zewu Jun’s gaze was hard as steel, but aimed, it seemed, at Lan Zhan’s hand, rather than at Wei Wuxian in general. 

“There was a rumor,” he said in slow, even words, “that Wen Chao had thrown you into the Burial Mounds.” He waited a moment after he finished speaking, as if trying to reconcile the words himself, before he looked up to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. 

Of course, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to meet Zewu Jun’s eyes. He didn’t want to meet any of their eyes. He wanted very much to be out of this tent and away from knowing gazes altogether. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite figured out how to teleport using resentful energy yet. So in the tent he remained. 

He looked down at his feet. His boots were crusted with dirt and blood and other bodily fluids. War really was super gross, in addition to being largely boring. 

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, still looking down. “Everyone knows that nothing leaves the Burial Mounds.” 

Lan Zhan’s hand tightened around Wei Wuxian’s arm. Jiang Cheng’s loosened, but didn’t let go. 

“Yeah,” said Jiang Cheng, like an accusation, “it would be impossible.” 

Wei Wuxian still didn’t look up from his feet which meant that he missed whatever silent conversation happened between Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan that had both of them tightening their grips on his arms just before fingers were pressed to the pulse points of his wrists. He struggled, flailing as much as he could, but against Lan Zhan’s golden core and his own, he stood no chance. He could barely budge them. 

He screamed but the sound only reverberated inside the tent. 

The only thing he could think to do was to call up the dead. The dead man still lying in front of them. The Jin. Rapist. Criminal. He could use that wicked corpse to fight off the people holding him down, taking his secrets. Smoke curled out of his sleeves and he--

He stopped himself. 

It was over anyway. 

Even if they couldn’t read his spiritual energy, or lack thereof, his fighting them was confirmation enough. 

He went limp in their grasp. His knees buckled. 

It really was the stupidest possible way to be found out. 

“Where is it?” asked Jiang Cheng. But it was clear from his voice that he already knew the answer. 

Lan Zhan was silent. 

Zewu Jun looked to his brother for an answer, not understanding what they had just discovered. 

“His golden core,” said Lan Zhan. “It’s gone.” 

“Wen Zhuliu?” Zewu Jun asked. 

But Jiang Cheng made a sound that was somehow both a laugh and a sob. 

Wei Wuxian regained control of his arms. He sprawled himself out on the tent floor, exhausted from his struggle. He laughed, too. “After a fashion.” 

Jiang Cheng fell to the ground next to him, hands cradling the place where Wei Wuxian’s core now spun. “What the fuck?” he said, quietly, to no one in particular. Then, loudly, to Wei Wuxian in particular, “What the fuck!” 

His cheeks were wet. Jiang Cheng’s, his own. He looked over to confirm, and yeah, Lan Zhan’s too. Zewu Jun had nothing to cry over, except maybe confusion, but he was too cool for that, so he just stood in the middle of the tent, shocked, presumably, as his brother, another sect leader, and a demonic cultivator broke down around him. 

Wei Wuxian stared up at the tented canvas ceiling and cursed himself for not leaving the tent when he first noticed something wrong. 

“Jiang Cheng,” he started, but Jiang Cheng cut him off with a wet yell. 

“Why would you do that, you fucking idiot?! What the fuck were you even thinking?! How did you-- How--” 

He seemed to lose steam trying to figure out what happened on “Baoshen Sanren’s mountain” and potentially also why Baoshen Sanren’s voice sounded so familiar. 

Zewu Jun’s voice was remarkably calm for a man witnessing-- whatever he made of what he was currently witnessing. He said, “Wei Wuxian, I believe your Sect Leader would like to know how you lost your golden core.” 

Wei Wuxian laughed at that. Because yes and no. 

“No, Zewu Jun,” he said, still laughing. He tried to stop, but it was just too funny. “No,” he said again, slightly more sober, “he wants to know why and how he now has my golden core.” 

He didn’t really mean to say it. He felt drunk again, like he did when Lan Zhan was playing Inquiry. Ready to spill all his secrets at only the slightest provocation. Zewu Jun could probably ask him just about anything right now -- Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng too, for that matter -- and he would answer it. It wasn’t exactly a safe mindset to be in. But he couldn’t really do anything about that now. 

At least there was some kind of privacy barrier over the tent. 

Zewu Jun stood. Speechless. 

Lan Zhan’s tears fell silently. 

Jiang Cheng glared, hands clutched tight against his lower dantian -- whether to hold something inside or to tear it out, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure. 

Wei Wuxian felt light as a feather. Drunk and dizzy with it. A weight had been lifted, he supposed, but one he was never supposed to let go. His laughter died down to the occasional press of his lungs. Tears collected in his eyelashes until everything was blurry. 

Emptiness yawned inside him, but it was gentler somehow. As if the secret itself had been clawing away at his slowly healing wounds. 

“Fuck,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh. And again, quieter, “Fuck.”

He really should have left the fucking tent. 

Also, wait. Was he dead?! 

--

(7/18/24: now on ao3)

[waitineedaname]

I finally realized you can see how many people are subscribed to your ao3 account. WHAT DO YOU MEAN 150????

[krsnaradhika]

My Solace ❤︎

You know, to me Raghava feels like warmth. Like the sun. He's magnanimous, gentle, very warrior like yet very caring. He'd pat your back and bob his head to all the stories you'll rattle off with even tho sometimes all you're muttering is nervous and delirious gibberish. Not a giggle, certainly not a giggle but he has an infectious chuckle, and it further pronounces his dark cheekbones and his lotus-akin eyes crinkle in half moons when he does that. He's the Raghava Rama, and he makes you bow before his excellence and kingly aura, like that of a parent and mentor at once. You cannot help but gawk at his lotus feet which house many ardent devotees near them.

And Kanha, he'll tilt your chin up from the same elysian feet and wipe the streams that flow down your eyes. "Hey, hush now. You asked for me, didn't you? See, I am all ears today," he says, and there's your nook in his eyes. There's a certain tranquility, but you can see his notoriety right there pulling your leg. He's like the moon, the tantalizing breeze in the desert of life and you've sempiternally yearned to bask in the serein of his sight. He's Dvarakadhipati- what a witty and robust and pulchritudinous man and oh lord where are my words falling- and yet you can't seem to haul yourself away from his eyes and apologize for the felony you seemed to be committing by not greeting and bowing to him sincerely. You're choking, speaking is far off...the only sound you can make out is a cry everytime your lips part. There's sympathy in his handsome facial features, and his peetambar is now gently being dabbed against your forehead, brushing off the sweat beads that deck it. "You've fought, and I am so proud," he whispers once again, only for you to burst out in a hysterical fit of tears once again and now he's giggling and wrapping his mighty arms around you. There's home as you huddle down against him, and he ruffles your hair affectionately.

"Thank you. Nobody's ever said that to me before, lord."

[swiftsaltsweet]

Hunt's next chapter.

I'm legally not allowed to write anymore. u_u My doctor said no.

[starsoforionwrites]

+1600 words that came literally out of nowhere and I did not plan for

[novelconcepts]

one goal

To say Van is a good goalie is too simple. Too ordered. Van is a goddamn excellent goalie.

Which is what makes playing against Taissa so fucking exasperating.

(based on a conversation with @americanhooligans)

T, 2,975 words

To say Van is a good goalie is too goddamn simplistic. Too neat. Too ordered. There’s no order to goaltending, no simple rhythm. The game is ever-evolving. The players are always finding new tricks, new holes in the goalie’s defenses. The fun of it is in the puzzle, how there are never quite enough pieces to form a complete image. To say Van is a good goalie is too goddamn simplistic. She’s made an art of the thing, of the complex mix of reckless courage and idiot instinct required to make those saves. No one can do what she can. She even has a full contingency plan for showdowns with each and every Yellowjacket. She’s observed them all, has their moves down to a science inside her head. The way Lottie hesitates. The way Shauna jukes to the left. The way Nat’s bullet-straight shot can be stopped only because it always, always angles down at the last second. She knows them all. She’s basically Batman.  

[cottagecori]

hey. send the message. do it.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

You won't judge me if I share this, right? But I think Peeta would want to be pegged by Katniss at some point. Maybe in COBLMF, maybe in another modern au of yours, hell, I think Spellbound Peeta would love to try it. And it would be so hot and tender too, with Katniss whispering reassurances in his ear while he's just whimpering and gasping in pleasure at both her cock in him and her words

I won't judge you, Anon. I will, however, put this below a cut and add a RATED E for explicit sexual content warning to it, though. Set in the COBLMF universe for reasons. One of which is the fact that anything I write that far in the future for Spellbound would inevitably contain spoilers.

If Katniss regrets anything about last night, it’s the alcohol, she thinks as she groans and silences her alarm. She takes a few deep breaths and turns her head to stare at Peeta’s still motionless body beside her. They’re both still naked, and she stretches just a little, attempting to alleviate the ache that’s taken up residence in her thighs and her butt, and gah! Even her pussy still aches from last night as she rolls over to snuggle up against Peeta’s back.

His skin is warm with sleep and is emitting, other than the faint traces of alcohol laden sweat, the morning after scent she secretly loves so much. A little musty and dirty because of the sex. God, the sex last night. She squirms at the memory, already feeling the heaviness of need settle once more in her core. She wraps her arm around his waist to bring herself even closer to him, but it does little to alleviate the growing desire she’s feeling.

They’d had a little too much wine with dinner last night. She’d been so lightheaded and giddy and happy as they sat on the couch afterwards, her head in his lap and Peeta’s fingers combing through her tresses, that when he’d asked her to tell him her dirtiest sexual fantasy they hadn’t yet done, she’d almost offered them up. Both of them. 

But she’d snorted and giggled to hide her embarrassment over her own naughty fantasies and deflected instead. 

“I honestly can’t think of anything,” she’d said and tugged him down towards her head, arching her back so that she could kiss him. “What about you?”

“Now I feel like I can’t say anything, if you’re completely satisfied,” he’d said, although his blush told her that he was holding back. Surprisingly, she hadn’t felt insulted. She knew he wasn’t saying that he found their sex lacking or unsatisfying. Because she doesn’t find their sex lacking or unsatisfying at all, but that doesn’t stop her from sometimes… imagining things.

“No, tell me. I wanna know,” she’d teased at his curls and tried to hold his mouth close to hers, because even just thinking about Peeta concocting new things for them to try had her feeling aroused. But he’d still pulled back a little.

“It’s a little out there,” he’d said, his voice gruff and sending a shiver down her spine. Of arousal. Of awareness as his hand skimmed over her belly and the growing need for him to slide his hand down inside her pajama shorts, down between her legs where she’d already grown slick and swollen. 

“It’s a fantasy. It’s supposed to be a little wild,” she’d encouraged, shifting herself to also encourage him to touch her, but he’d kept his hand frustratingly above the waistband of her shorts. And it occurred to her that, depending on what Peeta’s fantasy was, maybe she’d find the courage to tell him hers, too.

And then he’d told her.

“I’ve always wanted you to take complete control of me and fuck me.”

“Haven’t I done that?” she had asked, laughing a little and thinking of how unhinged he gets when she holds his arms down on the bed with her knees and rides his face, or pins them down with her hands and rides his cock for as long as she wants. As many orgasms as she’s able to reach and can still feel her legs.

“No, I meant…,” he’d licked his lips and bent over to whisper close to her ear. “I meant that I want you to ride my ass.”

“Oh,” she’d said quietly, and even though it hadn’t quite sunk in what he meant, when he cupped his hand under her head and lifted her towards him again, she’d kissed him back.

And it wasn’t long after that conversation before they were sprawled out on their bed, naked and in the middle of what she could only call rutting. It wasn’t to fulfill her unmentioned fantasies, nor would it fulfill Peeta’s fantasy either, because he’d been in charge. In complete control, teasing her right to the edge of an orgasm before backing off and changing how he was fucking her. Again and again and again, until she’d been a sweating, sopping, pathetic mess. Begging him desperately to let her come.

He held her down, powerless to move herself as he’d driven her to the brink. She’d clung to him, scoring lines down his shoulders and arms with her nails in his skin. Biting his pectorals and biceps, pulling his hair and thrashing her head as he tormented her. Clawing his back and then his ass when at last, the coil he’d wound impossibly tight inside her had sprung loose in a flood of heat and relief.

And as they laid there in the aftermath, her fingers lightly caressing over his taut buttocks, he’d wriggled slightly, until her fingers were teasing at his crack. And that’s when it hit her. What exactly his fantasy meant he was asking her to do.

Katniss blushes now, heated and discomforted. She knows he’s bi. Known it for a long time now. And there was that night, after she met Soup, when she used Peeta’s old crush on the burly man to fuel the fire of their sex. But this… this feels different somehow. She’s not big and muscular or burly. And if that’s the kind of man he likes to be with, Katniss has no idea how her strapping on a fake cock to fuck her husband could possibly fulfill his fantasy or even come close to his expectations.

But she loves him. Irrevocably and undeniably, she loves him.

Hadn’t she considered a threesome, after all? She’s actually a bit confused that a threesome wasn’t the fantasy Peeta had professed. It was one of hers, and this feels like something close enough to it that maybe it’d be better to try a third person instead of a fake cock. She considers bringing it up, but she still can’t quite find the courage.

The next time the topic of their as yet unfulfilled sexual fantasies arises, it’s a few weeks later, when Katniss feels a little stressed about the school year starting back up and on a whim, she uses her panties to bind Peeta’s wrists together while she rides his cock. Hard. She comes before he does and rolls off of him. Worn out. Frustrated that he didn’t come with her.

“You didn’t come,” she says as she turns her head to the side to look at him. He also hasn’t broken loose from her panties, and Katniss knows that he can. Easily. Which means he wants to be tied up a little longer.

“I want to try something,” he says quietly. “But you’re probably thirsty.”

And she is thirsty, like she often is after they make love, so she pushes herself off the bed and leaves him still partially tied up as she gets a glass of water from the kitchen. She gulps half of it down and refills it. When Katniss returns to the bed, Peeta struggles to sit up and Katniss offers to untie him, but Peeta shakes his head. 

It’s then that Katniss understands. This is one of those nights when he wants her to call all the shots. She helps him drink. And when she sets the glass aside, Peeta turns over onto his knees, resting his weight on his forearms, his ass lifted in the air for her. With Peeta’s knees and thighs spread like this, she has a perfect view of his balls, hanging heavy and low with the heat of arousal. His cock, still thick and  blushing with the need to come, angles slightly down with gravity. It’s like he’s presenting himself to her, and the very thought of it sends an arrogant, powerful thrill through her body.

As she gazes at him, trussed up like a feast for her, Peeta’s cock lurches once or twice, and suddenly she understands.

This is as close to his fantasy as they can get without actually owning a strap on.

She kneels behind him and massages his cheeks, both of them. Gripping tightly and noting the way he arches and thrusts back towards her, almost eagerly. Leaning forward, Katniss slides her hands up his spine, down his sides as she lays on top of him. Their skin warm and caressing each other as their bodies shift and sway. Katniss positions her knees a little wider and Peeta moans when she starts rocking her hips against his ass.

Not because she’s actually fucking him, she realizes as she kisses him between his shoulder blades and savors the way he trembles beneath her, but because he’s thinking about it.

Still moving her hips in a slow grind, Katniss slips her hands down. Down to caress and tease his clenched thighs for a moment before finally wrapping her fingers around his cock. 

“Oh fuck, please,” Peeta groans and she watches his fingers flex and clench, gripping the pillow as she slowly strokes his cock. 

Humping him like this doesn’t do much for her, but the sight of Peeta at her absolute mercy like this does. He pulses in her grip, and the feeling of power grows to heady heights. She drops soft kisses all over his back. Shoulders. Spine. Neck when he arches beneath her and she can reach it. He buries his face in the bedding and moans in a way she’s never heard before when she strokes faster, grips him harder. He sounds desperate and a little pathetic, but when she backs off and Peeta merely turns his head to whine that he was getting close, Katniss discovers that she loves it. Loves having this kind of control and power over his pleasure.

And there’s a part of her that knows, it’s because she sounds just as needy and pathetic when he’s teasing her to the brink of an orgasm with his hands and mouth.

“I’m tired,” she says simply. Suddenly, when inspiration strikes.

And then she grabs a pillow, balling it up as best she can and positioning it between his knees. She pushes down on his hips until Peeta’s mostly flat on the bed.

“Fuck the pillow, sugar,” she murmurs as she lays on top of him again, and Peeta’s whole body quivers beneath her, but he does it. She spreads her legs enough to rub her clit on one of his ass cheeks as he works his hips and ass, frantically humping the pillow.

Positioned like this, she can nibble on his ears and caress his sides, up his arms to pluck teasingly at the panties still holding his wrists together. Katniss relaxes into it, enjoys the feeling of him chasing his pleasure beneath her, enjoys the way his movements and his needy whimpers maintain a low level of desire inside her, too.

“I’m close. Can I come? Katniss can I come?” he eventually pleads, and she rises up to her knees, pulling him by his hips, and he follows willingly until he’s kneeling beneath her again. 

“No. I make you come,” she practically growls and Peeta’s groan tells her that’s exactly what he wanted to hear. Wrapping her arms around him again, she grabs his cock, fondles his balls and murmurs to him, tells him to thrust. So he does. He slides his cock through her grip, his moans growing louder and more desperate. His body bucking beneath hers. 

And when he comes, with a shout and a head to toe shudder that nearly unseats her, Katniss already knows. She’s going to fulfill his fantasy. Completely. Or at least, she’s going to try.

Once they’ve showered and dried off and Peeta is combing through her wet hair so he can braid it, she asks him, her voice tentative, unsure of the words. “So… the couple of times you were with a guy…you’re a bottom?” 

He hesitates for just a second, but doesn’t fully stop combing her hair. She loves it when he does this. It relaxes her until she feels like putty in his hands and words just slip from her mouth unheeded. He leans forward and kisses her neck in a way that makes her shiver and moan slightly. 

“Depends on the guy I was with and what we both wanted. I’m versatile,” he tells her. So both then. Makes sense to her, given what their preferences are in the bedroom, neither of them in complete control all the time.

He finishes braiding her hair, and they lay down in the dark. She waits, wide awake with her mind churning, until he’s sleeping soundly before she disentangles herself from his embrace. She pulls her laptop onto her crossed legs and glances at him, to make sure he stays asleep as she waits for it to boot up. When it does, she opens a private browsing window, bites her lip and shakes her hands, psyching herself up before tapping in the words.

How do I peg my husband?

An hour later, she closes the window and drags herself to bed, convinced only of the fact that in order to do this, she’s going to need a boatload of courage. And probably more wine.

[jedipoodoo]

Im not entirely sure if your asks are open or not so feel free to ignore this but i read your post about the batch with reader whos selectively mute and thats something i deal with and really related to so i was wondering if you would do the batch with someone who stims and it can vary from a small twitch to a stim that can be physically painful mine can be a small twitch or my head rolls back really fast and i usually end up smacking it against the wall pretty hard again feel free to ignore this if your not comfortable writing it thank you though for your other works im really enjoying them your writing style is amazing 😊

Notes: no warnings, gen fic (no implied romance), discussion of stims and stim toys, SFW, Wrecker has ADHD symptoms, neurodivergent Bad Batch, no use of Y/N.

Thank you for your kind words! I'm so glad you like my writing style!

"Oh hey!" Wrecker's hand shot out, cupping the back of your head before it could hit the wall.

"Careful, you could end up like me!" He grinned at you, pointing to the scar.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment beneath your helmet, your shoulders hunched in an effort to keep yourself from stimming and swinging your head back again.

"Thanks Wrecker," You mumbled.

Wrecker watched the tension in your muscles as you suppressed your usual urges to stimulate your body. He could fairly see your thoughts racing.

"Here," he handed you a little board covered in switches and dials.

"What's this?" You asked. You flipped a couple switches, but nothing happened. Several colorful wires hung off the side of the board, and a couple of them were plugged into outlets marked with the corresponding color.

"I get a little nervous when my hands aren't doing something. That's why I like lifting Gonky so much." He pointed his thumb at the passing GNK droid, and Gonky waddled a little bit faster to get past the two of you.

"I get really nervous if I don't shut down a bomb every once in a while, but coming across those doesn't happen very often anymore," He laughed, and you had to as well. At least that was one perk to being on the run, no diffusing bombs every other day.

"Tech and Echo put this together for me to help me when my brain needs the exercise," He twirled a few of the dials and flicked one of the knobs, turning on a couple of flashing lights.

"Echo called it a stimboard. One of his guys in the 501st had one like it."

Hesitantly, you flicked a couple more switches, even plugged and unplugged a few of the wires. You can see how Wrecker might find it entertaining.

"Thanks big guy, but I don't think this'll help me with my stims," You rubbed the back of your neck and handed it back to him.

"Well then we gotta find somethin' that will!"

"That's okay, I don't need- woah!" Wrecker grabbed your arm and yanked you out of your seat, pulling you into the cockpit with Tech and Echo.

"Do you boys think you could help us make a stimboard for them?" He asked.

Tech looked up from his datapad and adjusted his goggles, reminding you so much of the countless bespectacled doctors you'd seen throughout your childhood that you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Given their tics, it would be hard to make a board like yours for them," but he hummed thoughtfully.

"Maybe something like a massage gun? Something that can tap them on the back of their head without it breaking their skull?" Echo suggested.

"You guys don't have to-" You started, but they were already throwing out more ideas, and Wrecker's eyes were alight with such a stimulating distraction in the middle of hyperspace.

"What do you think?" Tech asked.

You sighed, but couldn't help a smile.

"Sounds great, guys."

[squigglywindy]

Tiny baby little short writing thing I just wrote in twelve minutes at work. I’ve been doing a lot of safety sitting lately and therefore of course I had to torture the boy

Watch was the worst job of all.

It wasn’t even a particularly long job, and it certainly wasn’t a hard job, it was just…the worst.

It was necessary. Even though it was rare for anything to actually happen, there were a few notable occasions on which it had. And on those nights, they had been glad to have someone awake to warn them. And that justified all of the other nights; when someone was doomed to sit awake, watching and waiting, hoping nothing happened while a small part of them secretly wished that something would. Nothing big, of course. Nothing particularly dangerous. But something.

It was Wind’s turn to watch, and the way they divided it up meant that he only had to do so for three hours. Three hours. What an unbearably long time.

It was second watch, which meant that everybody had had ample time to fall asleep and the hope of small talk had long since passed. Soft snores were just enough to ruin the peaceful quiet without offering any actual entertainment, and Wind stared at the moon and squinted, like if he stared at it intensely enough then it would slide across the sky and morning would come faster.

A cricket chirped, and Wind jerked his head over to peer at the leaves, hoping to catch sight of the little bug. It chirped again, but still refused to show itself and offer even a moment of relief from the crushing boredom.

His eyes burned with uncharacteristic exhaustion. On a normal night, he could stay up this late easily. He would stay up chatting with whoever was on watch without a second thought about the time or whether he would regret it when he was sleep deprived in the morning. But here, now, with nothing to do and no one to talk to, he found himself fighting against sweet sweet sleep which promised an escape from this torture.

A bush rustled, and Wind looked away from the leaves, hand twitching toward his sword. His heart raced and he internally berated himself for feeling excited. But even a fight was something to do, and that’s really all he wanted. There were nine heroes, all in one place. They would be fine. And besides; the adrenaline would wake him up.

A rabbit hopped out of the bush, cheeks working as it gnawed on a blade of grass, either not noticing or not caring that it was in the middle of a camp filled with people ready to wake up and stab something at a moment’s notice.

“Hey,” Wind sighed, releasing his sword and slumping impossibly further into the ground. One, two, three…he counted as the rabbit plucked and chowed down blades of grass. It got to seventeen before it hopped back into the bush and Wind sighed at the loss of his latest friend.

He groaned and looked back at the moon. He wished it was easier to tell time. He almost wanted to swipe Wild’s Slate just so he could obsessively watch the time pass properly, but he didn’t because he thought that might be the thing that would actually make him lose his mind.

He gave in after another minute, desperate to know how long he’d been doing this and how long he still had to go.

He crept quietly across the camp and tapped the Slate’s screen, feeling something inside of him wilt when he saw the time. He’d been on watch for seventeen minutes.

He flopped against a log, uncaring if he seemed dramatic with no one around to see. Seventeen down, and only an eternity to go.

[renlyslittlerose]

Rating: T

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker

Tags:  5+1 Things / Established Relationship / Fluff / POV Ahsoka Tano / Obikin as experienced by Ahsoka / She's a lil oblivious at the start but she gets there eventually

Summary: Skywalker and Kenobi had a bond. Ahsoka had heard people talking - little rumours here and there that fluttered throughout the temple hallways, sinking into the thoughts of both the naive and the curious - about just how close they were to one another, but she'd never seen anything unusual. They were just close; there was nothing more to it.

Or;

Five times Ahsoka is oblivious to how close Obi-Wan and Anakin are, and the one time she picks up on it.

[141-point-12]

Dance Like You Want to Win

Though Hal had always dreamed of what it would be like to pilot a mechanical marvel like the ones he'd seen on screen, he seemed fated to always remain an arm's length away from the action. But when Snake finds himself in trouble during a mission gone wrong, Otacon has no choice but to climb into the pilot's seat at last.

My submission for the PHILANTHOPY Otasune Zine that came out earlier this year. It was a great project with so many talented artists and writers and I was thrilled to be a part of it!

READ HERE on AO3