#i finished the event story I CAN READ THE INTIMACY ROOMS NOW!!!

[fisheito]

Tyh...tyhree mr eiden......... 😳

[anacdoce]

I Wish

Chapter 1 - Under the moonlight

Pairing: Astarion x you (f!reader, implied sorcerer)

Rating: T

Word count: 2k

Warnings: some angst; hurt; after the events of the game

Summary: Astarion fills his heart with guilt, thinking he is unworthy of your love and is trying to push you away from him.

a/n: This is my first fanfic writing and I'm a bit nervous about it. So please let me hear your thoughts about it.

This chapter functions like a prologue for the rest of the story, because initially it was supposed to be a one shot thing. But then my brain couldn't stop there and I have already some more material written after this.

At last let me make some mentions here: first of all let me thank to @bloodlessdarling who kindly let me use her beautiful photo of Astarion, which inspired me to write all of this chapter. Second, I want to thank to @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate for her kind words, encouraging me to share my writing. And to finish let me thank my husband, who patiently has been dealing with my Astarion obsession for the past few months and for his reading and helping with this fic (english is not my native language and I was never confortable on writing in it).

Read on ao3

Next chapter

Astarion sat by the fire, reading, a routine he had maintained for the last few months of your life together. But something is off. You can tell.

For a few days he has been avoiding you. He doesn't seem interested in talking or sharing moments of intimacy with you. Sometimes you catch him glaring at you, but as soon as you exchange eyes with him he just pretends that he is doing something very important that has nothing to do with you. And you started to get worried.

This isn't the first time, though. 

Since you have dealt with the absolute and got free from the tadpoles, you have been on a hunt for a cure for him, to make him able to walk in the sun again.

Gale is helping, researching every tome that he can put his hands on, and you have followed every lead, no matter how small it was. You know that you would do anything for that man. But until now you haven't discovered nothing, and sometimes Astarion gave in to the frustration. And you understood that. You understood when he was not in the mood for joking or talking. You understood when he looked at you with sad eyes and a fragile smile, saying "Don't worry Sweetheart, I will be alright. This will pass..." But in the middle of everything, you were, always, his safe place. Astarion always looked for your lap to recover and regain strength to restart. Never before did he avoid you. So, you are worried.

As you wander through your thoughts you catch him staring at you, with a sad guilty face, and just like the last few times you caught him doing that he just looks away from you.

Enough. 

You want to know what is happening, what is he thinking, why is he acting like this. You can't stand feeling apart from him any longer. Unless... unless that is his wish, to be parted from you.

"Astarion?"

"Yes?" he responded, not lifting his eyes from the book.

"What's wrong, Love?"

He shifts in his chair, uncomfortable. You can feel his tension across the room. His breathing is heavy. "Wrong? Why would you say that?" His voice is low, cold, controlled. 

"Are you avoiding me? You don't talk to me, don't look at me. You haven't touched me for days by now." You tremble. Your heart paces. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

He closes his book. You see him shutting his eyes, his hand gripping his book tightly. His stern face, half illuminated by the fire, and you feel, in that moment, he is preparing to shatter your heart in a million pieces. "Yes. There is something, I should have told you sooner. I think..." A pause. He finally looks at you. His ruby eyes piercing yours strongly. "I think this is not working."

Silence.

You feel numb.

All of your world is collapsing. Your head is spinning. If you were not sitting down you would have fallen. "Why are you saying that? I don't understand." You manage to say.

"You will thank me in the future."

Furious, you lift from the chair "Thank you? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you hurting me like this? I love you so much..."  And I thought you loved me too. 

He lifts his head meeting your broken gaze. “I… Just… Don’t argue, please.” You sense a little tremor in his voice. He clears his throat and continues his sentence. “Accept my decision and that there is nothing you can do about it. You don’t believe in it now, but you will be grateful for this.”

As you hear this words dragging from his mouth, you feel your legs starting to betray you. You lose your strength and fall on your knees, already sobbing. In that moment Astarion, instinctively, gets up from the chair and stretches out his arms, as if to catch you while you fall. But he stops himself half way, leading his hands to the head, grabbing his hair instead, seemingly desperate to maintain control. You can feel him struggling with himself. What is he struggling with? What is he doing? 

That’s when you see, just briefly, the pain in his eyes, that pain you are so familiar with.

"Astarion, do you love me?" Your lips trembling.

"That doesn't matter." He replies, breaking eyes with you, staring at the floor.

"Astarion, look at me." He takes a moment, like he is gaining courage to do it, and when he finally meets your gaze again you can see how destroyed he is. "Do you love me?"

"I…”

“Please, don’t lie to me.”

“I do, deeply... more than anything." He finally answers.

You feel your heart racing, pain in your chest. All you want to do is to embrace him. Feel him in your arms. He loves you still. That's all you need to know. "Why are you pushing me away?"

"You deserve someone better. Someone that can give you a real life." 

"Please don't say that. You are everything to me, I would do anything for you!"

"I know! That is the reason! That is the problem!” He shouts in anguish. “That is why I'm doing this. I don't want you to pass the rest of your life pursuing something that doesn’t exist! Carrying a burden that is not yours to bear!”

“What are you talking about? What burden? I’m so happy with you, our life together is perfect! I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Is it? Perfect? How can you say that? I am a bloody vampire and we live in the darkness, hoping that one day I may find my cure! I lost count of the trips we took to look for some vague clues, founded in ancient tomes or whispered by dubious people, just to find nothing!”

“Yet.” You interrupt.

“Yes. Yet! But I fear that day may never come… and I can’t stand to look at your disappointed face every time we reach another dead end. It breaks my heart… it’s unbearable.” He sighs deeply. “I see the hope fading in your eyes every time, the hope of living in the light again, seeing the sun! All because of me. ” 

“Oh my sweetheart, is that really what you think?” His suffering was real. Here he is, again, thinking of him undeserving of your love, of your caring. If only you could give him your heart for him to guard it, for him to understand that none of that matters.

“I don’t think, I know. Who would want to live in the darkness forever? I wouldn’t! But I have to. You don’t. This is my burden! I don’t have an option. But you have. I can’t drag you to this life any longer. You deserve better.” 

He was an empty soul after this. This must have been consuming him for days, keeping his mind full of doubts, making him feel selfish and unfair. 

But he couldn’t be more wrong…

You get up from the ground and walk to him, resting your hand on his face, making him close his eyes at your touch. Your warm hand, in his cold skin.

You wait until he is ready to look at you again. You give him a soft smile, full of tenderness and understanding.

“I’m so sorry, my love, if I made you feel that way, but I think you misunderstood my feelings deeply. I know that you are a master of perception, but I think you failed that check, though. Miserably.” you giggled.

“Oh stop it… I’m serious.” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Now, seriously, If I ever seemed disappointed it was not for me. It was for you, because I know how deeply you want to see the sun again, to live in the daylight! I just want you to be happy! Fulfilled! And if I am the one who can help you achieve that, I will gladly do anything, for the rest of my life, to give you that gift… as long as you want to pursue this, I want it too.” You pause. Looking for his hands, you hold them, caressing them softly with your fingers, feeling his hands holding yours firmly. “And I don’t want better. I don’t need better. There is no better! I want you! I want you, Astarion.” You kiss his hands, gently, taking your time. “As for the rest… I don’t care if we live our lives in the darkness of the night. I like it that way to be honest. As long as I can be by your side it doesn’t matter, really.”

“You are too kind my dear…” 

“It’s not kindness, it’s the truth. Let me show you something. Come!” Still holding one of his hands you lead him outside, to the open field in front of your cottage, illuminated by the full moon light. As you reach outside you present him the sky, lifting your arms to it.

Astarion frowned his eyebrows looking at you suspiciously. “So, you wanted to show me the moon, my darling?”

“Yes. The stars, and the moon, yes.” 

“Just perfect, Love… thematic, if nothing else.” He grumps in a bad mood. You want to laugh, but you control yourself. He looks so adorable when he gets mad at you.

“I’m going to tell you something that I never told you before. Do you know that I love how your hair glows with the moonlight?” As you say this you intertwine your fingers in his soft hair, brushing his silver curls. “And your skin? You don’t seem to realize how beautiful you are under the night lights, you are like a star yourself.” You gently stroke his long, pointy ear with your fingers, admiring him in all his fragility and beauty. “So please don’t tell me this is a burden. I choose you. And if not seeing the sun again is the price to be paid, be it. I will live with you in the dark of the night, forever, because I don’t need any other light than yours… you are my light, Astarion.”

His forehead meets yours, and his eyes are wet with small tears. His hands on your small back, closing your body to his. You feel him breathing deeply, absorbing you. There is no safer place than in his arms. You have everything you need, right there. “You silly girl. Why didn’t you say none of that before?”

“Oh… I don’t know, I never thought you would like to hear it, really, knowing that you want to see the sun so badly again. I only wish you could see yourself like I see you, how perfect you are with your imperfections.”

“But you see, I’m starting to get there. To know myself through your eyes. Some days are harder than others, with all of the memories of my past pursuing me… Sometimes it is difficult for me to leave all of my bitterness and resentment behind. But some days, some days I know I am much more than that. And you helped me achieve that. I am forever grateful to you. For everything that you have given me, and still do.” He lifts your chin to reach your lips with his, giving you a softness and tender kiss. “I am sorry… forgive me.” He whispered, still touching your lips.

You cup his face with your hands, feeling nothing more than love for this man. You never loved anyone like you love him. And you never will.

“There is nothing to forgive. Just promise me that you will talk to me if you are ever haunted by those kinds of thoughts again.”

“I will do my best, my dear.” He embraces you again placing his face in the crook of your neck, as you rest yours in his chest. “I never wanted to lose you, you know? Just the thought of it makes me sick… Thank you for always being by my side. I love you so much!”

“And I love you too, more than anything!” You feel his embrace tightens around you.

“Will you stay with me? Will you be mine even if that means never seeing the sun again?”

“I will. And I am yours until the day that my heart stops beating.”

[mitts2002]

JJK pottery dates

Hii I've already made a separate inumaki fic on this so he won't be included. I was originally meant to do this for one character but I've decided to do multiple cause I can😌 Also I've never done pottery so I'm just winging this!

Itadori Yuuji

Yuuji would assume that he's gonna be a natural at pottery despite being both your first time

But yuuji would definitely not care about the end result of it

As long as he has a good time with (Y/N) that's all that matters

He'll accidentally use too much strength when handling the clay. Instructor tells him he's too heavy handed

(Y/N) on the other hand is doing pretty well. Shes almost done shaping and is ready to add some decorations

This is when Yuuji realises he does care about the end result because his looks like a complete mess

To cheer him up (Y/N) engraves Yuujis name into her pot and gives it to him as a gift.

You also offer to take yuujis piece in return

(Y/N) uses yuujis clay thing as a place for small trinkets and earrings

Yuuji uses (Y/N)s pot to plant a cactus

The couple had decided to go on a cute little pottery date for their first date, so why was Yuuji pouting in the corner?

Well at first (Y/N) and Yuuji were having a great time together. Messing around and quoting stupid memes and movie references was just their thing so when it was actually their turn to make something Yuuji had no idea what he was doing.

(Y/N) despite messing around with him had actually paid attention to the instructor and was doing just fine which made matters even worse for Yuuji. He assumed this would be a piece of cake when in reality it wasn't.

"Yuuji stop sobbing in the corner babe, it doesn't even look that bad!" You clearly lied to him but you knew it was for his own good.

"NO ITS TRASH look at yours (Y/N) so nice and pretty no one would ever want mine! Now I'll never be the world's best pottery maker" Yuuji babbled on just being his overdramatic self.

"Well I'd love love yours! I could put my jewellery in it, I needed a new trinket box anyways" you quickly thought on the spot and sighed in relief when Yuujis head perked up

"Really?" Yuuji sniffled and grabbed onto your waist. "Yeah and ill carve your name into mine! Then give it to you as a gift. Equivalent exchange" you winked at Yuuji knowing its an offer he couldn't refuse.

"Okay deal" Yuuji sat back next to you working on your trinket box while your worked on carving his name into his plant pot.

Choso

Choso was trying to learn more about the 21st century

How did he do this? By binge watching old rom coms on netflix.

In the middle of one of the movies a pottery scene comes up and chosos eyes couldn't shine more bright.

He loved the idea. It was a great way to spend your time with your loved one.

Choso immediately rang (Y/N) and demanded she arrange a date, which she did

You and Choso couldn't find any classes near you but looking at Chosos pout and puppy dog eyes begging to find a way you had no choice.

(Y/N) did the next best thing and decided to buy a beginners home kit. Now you both sat in the living room with newspapers littering the table and large aprons on yourselves.

"Okay so let's read the instructions first" you picked up the small booklet and looked over to Chosos who couldn't contain his excitement.

His buns were a little messier than usual as he rushed them the moment the package arrived but he still looked cute nonetheless. "Let me set it up then I guess we can try make a bowl? That seems to be the easiest option" you suggested while flicking through the pages and setting things up.

"Can we make a plant pot? I wanna give yuuji a plant for his birthday" Choso proposed. "Aww that's actually a great idea yuuji would love it!" You exclaimed in return and motioned him to come closer as you were ready to begin.

Choso had sat you in between his legs and leaned his head on your shoulder. His hairs tickled you and butterflys fluttered in your stomach when Choso began to kiss your cheeks slowly inching down to you neck.

"Oi behave" you ordered trying to sound intimidating but just burst out in laughter instead. "Fine sorry sorry let's focus on the pot" Choso apologised giving one last kiss to your head.

The pot was forming nicely but was a bit wonkey due to the hand size difference between you both.

Neither of you could care though, the intimacy of his hands on yours, music playing in the background and laughter filling the room from your stupid stories and Chosos dad jokes he recently learnt was just what Choso wanted.

The plant pot had turned out to be very cute and Yuuji ended up loving it.

Kamo Noritoshi

Kamo noritoshi was brought up in a strict household

During his childhood he was expected to be talented in many areas

Archery, studying, drawing, poetry, crochet, painting and even pottery were part of the many skills kamo noritoshi had devloped

The moment (Y/N) had learnt that the vase and other ornaments in noritoshis room were hand crafted by him she wanted to learn too

Now Noritoshi is sitting here behind his girlfriend teaching her how to make a vase because she wouldn't stop pestering him

"Noriii STOP being so perfect!" (Y/N) had yelled at her confused boyfriend who was simply decorating his clay piece.

"You wanted to do pottery with me and now your doing it. What's the problem?" Norotoshi sighed and turned to look at your vase. If he could even call it that.

"If you were struggling you could've asked me for help" Noritoshi scolded while your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Yeah well I wanted to do it myself" you whined and crossed your arms in defeat.

"FINE help me please it's way harder than it looks" you admitted as nori made his way over to you.

"Firstly you need to be more gentle, it's wet clay not a damn rock (Y/N)" he corrected you and put his hands upon yours.

"Your hands are cold" you whispered to him feeling his slightly calloused hands touch yours.

"Focus (Y/N)" he responded equally as quiet as you. The room fell into a comfortable silence as your and nori moulded your vase together.

When it was finally finished you kissed noritoshi on the cheek. His cheeks turned slightly red but he kept his composure.

"It's fine (Y/N) just don't break it okay" the black haired male reminded you since you were quite clumsy.

"I promise I won't! But next time you have to do this call me and I'll join"

After this date, pottery became a common occurance for (Y/N) and Noritoshi. (Y/N) kept her promise and still fills her vase with flowers nori buys her to this day.

Okkotsu Yuta

Yuta okkotsu was a nervous wreck

You were given free tickets to a pottery event and asked Yuuta if he would accompany you

Of course he agreed without realising what he was actually getting himself into

The couple were currently at the event extremely close to make a bowl together

Yuuta could feel your hair on his skin and wanted to lean closer to bask in your presence

The moment he finally mustered the courage to lean onto your shoulder a little interruption had scared you both

'Okay Yuuta you got this. My wonderful (Y/N) is focused on the bowl so just slowly lean onto her' Yuuta thought to himself before looking towards his hands that were on yours. 'I GOT THIS' Yuuta had slowly inched closer while you continuously spoke so close to achieving his goal.

"IS THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND!' a young girl with pigtails and pink bobbles yelled at Yuuta. The pair had jumped and practically ruined their bowl but yuuta couldn't care less. His chance was ruined.

"Yuuta she asked you a question" you reminded him and causing the black haired male to turn back to the small girl

"Ah yes this is my girlfriend" He responded with a small blush. "Well she's very pretty!" The cute child exclaimed.

"Thank you sweetie you're very cute too" (Y/N) cooed at the small girl and patted yutas arm telling him to compliment her aswell. Before yuuta could speak the young girl had beat him to it.

"OH YOU MUST BE ON A DATE! Sorry I ruined your bowl" she apologised looking down in guilt for interrupting you both.

"No no it's okay don't worry about it" Yuuta reasured and patted her head giving her a soft smile. (Y/N) blushed at the sight of her loving boyfriend with a child and gave the girl a quick high five before she scurried off to her parents.

"Wasn't she the sweetest little girl yuuta?" You asked and got a small 'hm' in response. "Our bowls a bit messy but I think we can salvage it right? Come closer so we can fix it properly" you grabbed his arms pulling him closer to you. Maybe that little interruption helped him after all.

[sesskagarchive]

Do you know any sesskag dubcon/rape fics?

Hello anon, thanks for asking.

We decided to compile a list so here are some recommended fics for Dubcon/rape. Some of these even come with Sequels! Happy Reading!

Admin Wicked/k9plus1

DUBCON LIST:

A Curse of Lust by Squash/Fearless miko:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net,  Rating: MA Summary: A lusty curse leaves the females in Inuyasha's group running for their lives...and towards their destiny! 

A Mere Digression, by elle6778:

Posted on: Dokuga  Rating: M Summary: A digression was what Sesshoumaru called it. ‘It’ being the heated encounters between him and Kagome which took place simply because neither of them could resist. Heed warnings and notes in the first chapter.

A Woman!, by sugar0o:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net , Rating: M Summary: Based somewhat off the idea of Mulan, staring our fav paring Sess/kags, AU, their both demons, because well it makes it easier, and I don’t want to make Sess human, its not right! [lemon w/a plot] this has 2 points, I want to write a lemon to get more comfortable with them, also I want to explore detailing my writing, I will ask that you give serious reviews/critiques, bc I want to learn from this, not just entertain and enthrall. *COMPLETE as of 9/3/9*

Acquisition, Possession, Seduction, by Mistress Sianna: 

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net Rating: M Summary: “Do not think for one moment that you can escape me.” he said slowly, deliberately. \"You Higurashi Kagome, are mine! Only I will decide if you will stay, if you will go, if you will live or if you will die.\"

Alpha, by Lyra/ lyrainthedark:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net Rating: M Summary: Kagome mates Inuyasha...but Inuyasha was reluctant. Why? Pack politics...and his brother, who is Alpha. What that means will take time to learn, if Kagome can only live long enough for the lessons... Finally Complete!

Bound by Corruption, by BelovedStranger/ Two Hearts:

Posted On: Dokuga. AO3, FF.net   Rating: M Summary: Inside every individual, darkness dwelled large or small. A young woman, cast under her elder sister’s shadow, was bent on proving her worth. A terrible threat hung over her village, giving Kagome the opportunity she had been waiting for. On a mission to save them all from the hearts of evil men, she journeyed to the Inu no Kami’s temple to beseech divine intervention. Instead, danger befell the headstrong woman. Rather than obtaining help from a merciful god, another stepped in to slaughter her enemies, but for a price. An Inugami did nothing for free. Status: Completed

Detrimental Desires, by Mistress Sianna:

Posted on: Dokuga  Rating: M Summary: The idea was to make Inuyasha kill Kagome. Little did Naraku know, that on the night of the new moon, Inuyasha looses his demonic powers. Instead, Sesshoumaru and Kagome will be forced to succumb to their most detrimental desires.

Fix It, by Smortz:

Posted On: Dokuga. Rating: M Summary:  When Sesshomaru needs Kagome to help him, she takes advantage of the dog demon now in her debt. As they set out on a new journey, will Kagome be able to overcome the problem that arises? Pun Intended.

He Must be Breeding, by ChaoticReverie:

Posted On: Dokuga  Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru requires the perfect female to bear his heir, and Kagome… well, she doesn’t know how she gets herself into these messes.

Heated Blood by Imani Joain:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Kagome cannot help but try to fix anything she finds broken, even if it is not in her best interest to do so. When she comes across Sesshomaru in dire need of assistance, she cannot deny herself. She only hopes that he won't kill her for it. Rated MA for graphic intimacy. Staus: WIP

House of Ill Repute, by Aurora Antheia Raine:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary:  "I will never be yours." // "But you will be, miko," he nearly purred, "you will be when this Sesshoumaru is finished with you."

Irresistible Temptation, by DestinysTears:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net     Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru finds he cannot ignore this inexplicable temptation. (Oneshot)

Just Another Lemon, by Tiegrsi: 

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru has gone into heat, and finds Kagome willing to put up with his antics. Kagome thinks he was unable to find a suitable woman, and came to her as a last resort. Perhaps there are some things Kagome needs to learn

Lair, Lair, by susie: 

Posted On: Dokuga   Rating: M Summary: After nearly being nearly absorbed, Sesshoumaru's Bakusaiga is forged, and we all know the rest of the story... or do we? In a deal with Sunrise to accelerate the events of TFA, part of the infamous manga was left on the cutting room floor. Though the hack job began well before that. For the sake of public decency, and in accordance with Japan's obscenity laws, the spiciest and most controversial scenes from the original manga were banned from ever seeing the light of day. Until now. On the condition of anonymity, a diligent hacker provided via email a copy of the raw version you were never meant to see. This is Inuyasha Nights – The Lost Chapter *Dubcon

Macaria, by mythicamagic:

Posted on: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Post-apocalyptic AU. Human women were all but wiped out when the demons took over. What few remain have gone into hiding or concealed their true gender. When Kagome hears news of an orphaned little girl, she'll stop at nothing to protect her from the dangers of the world- including the city of demons and the infamous Killing Perfection. But is he friend or foe? Status: WIP

Not Impervious, by Oroyukae: 

Posted On: Dokuga   Rating: M Summary: He was supposed to be the most powerful demon in existence; one that none could best in any situation, at any time. That was not entirely accurate, it would seem. One error in judgment at the most vulnerable of times, and all that he knows lay in jeopardy. Just what would said being be willing to agree to in the direst of circumstances? {FIN}

Passion, by CiraArana:

Posted On: Spark, Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru turned to her and gazed back. He did nothing else, just standing there, looking at her... As he kept his eyes on her, his lust for blood and killing faded away, leaving behind another lust. For her. Status: Abandoned

Poison of Erised!, by Vyncent:

Posted On: Dokuga, Rating: M Summary: Tomorrow night, brother moon would be witness to the music that he heard, and felt in his very soul, as he howled his conquest to his blood red face. Tomorrow his hunger would be fed by the blood and flesh that he hungered for, and the world would know of his claim. Status: Abandoned

Poison Within, by Angelic Memories:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net    Rating: MA Summary: *Two-Shot* Due to a nasty bite Kagome is poisoned and fights for her life. Inuyasha can only think of one person who might be able to help her but there’s a problem he didn’t consider.

Secret Possession. By SakuraAngel1:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshoumaru is forced to put his mating plans into action a lot sooner than expected, and has Kagome kidnapped in order to fulfill it. When Kagome awakens, she finds herself as the new Lady of the Western Lands...with no Lord in sight… Status: Abandoned

Sleeping Beauty, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Based loosely on the Disney movie, but darker and a bit twisted. Sesshoumaru is betrothed to a little human princess who is delivered a curse by the hanyou Naraku, Kikyo, Miroku, and Kaede agree to raise the child in safety. Smuts in final chapter. Status: Completed

Striking a Deal With the Devil, by Smortz:

Posted On:  Dokuga, FF.net,   Rating: M Summary: Does anything sound funner? Kagome needs help from the new Commissioner. A man that gave 'bad reputation' its standards. However, will Kagome be able to pay the price he demands when a life is on the line? Status: Completed

The Sacrifice, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga   Rating: M Summary: Kagome is lured to a strange village, where she finds herself in an unpleasant situation. She is to be a sacrifice to an as yet unnamed youkai. Semi-non-consensual. Status: Completed

Trapped, Breeder, by sesshou_lover:

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: N/A Status: Completed

Virginity of the Soul, by Madison

Posted on: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Fresh from a betrayal that shattered her world, she was lured into getting even. Alas, the ones we trust and love aren’t always the ones we should. Semi-PWP. COMPLETE Staus: Complete

The Western Breeding, By Blackthorn:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, Rating: M Summary: The end has come. Demons have found that certain humans can breed pure blooded demon pups. Sesshomaru is leading with Kagome running from the demon lord. Once she is at his side can she learn to love her captor for the sake of her unborn pup or find a way out? Status: Abandoned

RAPE LIST:

Blood Stained, by Madison: 

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3  Rating: M Summary: COMPLETE! A sudden loss of control intertwined their fates. It dragged her through hell and he couldn't have cared less. She tried to escape her fears but the only way to do it was to face him through time and love.

Heat of Exchange, by Catalina: 

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: It is that time of year for demon women, but Kagome is experiencing something very strange. Sesshoumaru arrives to help her, against her wishes. Freshly beta'd now.

Hell’s Shadows, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: MA Summary: Formerly named "Ghost of Death" Sesshoumaru lives in hell requiring human women to increase his own power. Kagome falls into his waiting claws, while all of hell is turned upside down by her.DARK. NON CONSENSUAL.

His Wife, by Aries_heart: 

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3,    Rating: MA Summary: "With a kiss on her shaking lips, he would leave for work and once the door was closed she would allow herself to cry once more. And then the cycle will repeat."

I Don’t Want a Mate, MLMonty: 

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshoumaru goes into heat during mating season and rapes Kagome. Now she's pregnant and wants nothing to do with him. Should Sesshoumaru respect her wishes and leave her unguarded while she carries his heir?  Status: Abandoned 

Kagome’s Trust, by Fire_and_Earth_Sorceress55/Huntress-of-Flames-55:

Posted On: FF.net, AO3   Rating: M Summary: When Kagome is raped by Sesshomaru on the night of the new moon. Kagome goes home to the future as finds out that she is pregnant with pups? PUPS! Now one year later, she decides to go back to the feudal era.

Paper Cranes, by midori Haru: 

Posted On: FF.net  Rating: M Summary: Meeting, attraction, courting, commitment. For most of the world relationships form in the normal fashion from start to culmination. Naturally normal isn't enough for Sesshoumaru. And he wonders why he runs into problems trying to build a relationship from the wrong end.

Principal Life, by Catalina: 

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Kagome is dating the principal's brother, and he finds out about it. What can an untrained miko hope to accomplish when she is so ignorant of youkai mating traditions? Story is dark and now involves non consensual situations, with more to come. Status: Abandoned

Rise Again, by Catalina: 

Posted on: Dokuga   Rating: M Summary: Youkai have become weak and feeble but are attempting to strengthen their population. Sesshoumaru leads them, and discovers the solution to their problem in an unwilling human. VERY non-consensual stuff happens. Frequently.

S t a s i s, by wonderbug: 

Posted On: Dokuga, AO3  Rating: M Summary: Love, he tells her, as he trails a claw along the pathway of her shivering spine, is only a human notion. [VERY dark; drabble-ish CU/AR]

The Breeder, TexanLady: 

Posted On: Dokuga  Rating: M Summary: There is more to Kagome than anyone could ever imagine. After learning of her destiny Sesshoumaru swears to make her his at any cost. Once forced to his side can Kagome teach him to love or learn to love him. Status: Abandoned

[narukoibito]

St. Mungos, since feeling is first who pays attention and Muggle FWB for the WIP Game?

Thank you for the interest, Anon! This took a while because things in my personal life are in chaos, but thank you for the request.

St. Mungos

This is my Healer!Ginny story that has been lurking in the back of my brain since last year. I’ve written a good amount of words, but then an entirely different plot appeared and now I may have to rewrite most of it, hence it’s lack of progress. But I still really want to finish this one day.

Ginny is a Healer on the 4th floor of St. Mungos. Her first patient is someone named Harry Evans. (This is a Harry never to Hogwarts story.)

The first thing Ginny notices is his eyes. They’re the most vivid, bright green that she’s ever seen. It’s unnerving how unseeing they are. A pressure builds up in her chest, an aching pain and nostalgia she can’t place.

The morning light from the window washes over his face, dancing off these round wire-rimmed glasses. His dark hair (black like a blackboard) appears to be on some ineffable scale of entropy — tousled and pointed in every which way, yet somehow it’s charming and works well with his sharp, unconventional features. Some of that hair spills over a bandage wrapped around his forehead. 

But it’s also the pleasant, vacancy in those eyes that strikes her, like she’s looking at the embers of a once bright flame. He looks like an innocent, half-lost child, his lips curled in a ghost of a smile.

Her clipboard and supervisor tell her his name is Harry Evans. The name creates an itch at the back of her head, something she wants to scratch at, but the odd sense of nostalgia must be misplaced significance. He’s her first real patient. 

He must matter to someone important to have his own room on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s Ward 49. Usually they lumped all the long-term spell damaged patients in one place, let them wander under the supervision of one Healer. But this room is spacious and private, protected by complicated wards and concealing charms. Someone really cares about Harry Evans, and for some reason it causes a subtle burning behind her eyes. Maybe it’s because he looks like a newborn fawn. 

Who wouldn’t want to protect him?

“You’re new, but he’s not difficult. It’s mostly maintenance,” her supervisor says. “He makes it easy, don’t you, Harry?”

Harry’s gaze drifts toward the window.

Ginny scans his file. It’s actually surprisingly thick, but a lot of it has been redacted. The summary page sums it up though: he’s twenty-one; he has been here for three years; the diagnosis is vague (severe curse damage); there’s a long slew of attempted cures, none of which were successful obviously; now it’s about making sure he’s comfortable whatever that means.

“All right, let me know if run into any trouble.” Her supervisor is already starting for the door.

“Um — what about — I know his treatment is maintenance, but can I…?” Ginny’s not sure what she’s trying to say exactly. Harry Evans has seen a lot of Healers if the list of attempted cures is any indication, but she gave up Quidditch to become a Healer in the long-term spell damage ward specifically because she wanted to do something.

Her supervisor gives her a rueful smile. 

“Stick to maintenance. Harry Evans is a special case.”

Ginny turns back to Harry, who is facing her again, looking painfully innocent.

Somehow she doesn’t need convincing that he’s special.

since feeling is first who pays attention

This was a gift for the Harry/Ginny Discord Incognito Elf exchange. I managed to finish in time to gift it, but I want to take some additional time to rework it before posting. It is missed moments over the years as Ginny and her feelings for Harry evolve.

Ginny presses her face against the wall, peeking between the stair spindles. Her bright brown eye lands on the two boys hunched over a chessboard. Her brother Ron and Harry Potter, who, despite appearing to be losing, doesn’t look the least upset.

Harry Potter. 

The Harry Potter is in her house. Looking comfortable on their couch despite the faded, mended cushions. His face crinkles in laughter at something Ron says, his green eyes bright with contentment. Ginny doesn’t miss the occasional look of awe at the things she’s always taken for granted. It’s almost as if he can’t believe he is really here.

He isn’t what she expected – isn’t what she imagined he would look like after all those years listening to Mum recite her favorite bedside story, about the heroic Savior of the Wizarding World. She had pictured neat hair, a dashing smile, someone who would recognize a comrade in her and take her on all sorts of adventures. He would be different, he wouldn’t discount her dreams of flying and doing everything her brothers could and more.

Instead, Harry Potter has the messiest hair ever, a sheepish smile, and clothes that he nearly swims in. Oh, and he has somehow missed the memo and found the comrade in her brother Ron instead. 

Her fingers curl around the spindle. Not for the first time, a spike of envy shoots through her. If only she were a little older or a boy. Then maybe she would be the one playing chess with Harry. Maybe she would be the one to hide under his invisibility cloak and battle trolls and face You-Know-Who with him.

Ginny presses her face a little closer and lets out a sigh.

But Harry Potter is kind. He ignores all the times she has made a fool of herself. And he has the greenest eyes she’s ever seen. They are as green as those glowing jars of pickled toads at the Potion ingredients store Mum had taken her to. Pretty and kind and not dismissive of her patched clothes or her glowing red face.

Harry Potter. If he likes Ron, if he looks like he actually likes the Burrow, if his face grimaces at the attention at Flourish and Blotts, could it be possible that one day he could like her too?

Muggle FWB

Hah, so this was the first idea that I rambled off to my beta, which ended up with long, long emails back and forth on this idea that I never wrote! Here’s a snippet of that exchange:

Harry thinks he only see Ginny as a little sister, so when she suddenly proposes that they become friends with benefits in uni, he’s floored and says they’re practically family. Blinded by her anger over the rejection, she kisses him so that he knows what he’ll be missing. Of course, he then realizes his attraction to her. As their physical relationship progresses, they develop feeeeeeelings (gasp!). But Ginny thinks she only wants a physical relationship and once they have sex, it'll get out of her system. Harry has to work to convince her that she actually wants more.

But the backdrop is that Ginny doesn't think she wants more than sex is that when she was 11, she was kidnapped by Tom Riddle for as a kid (they met at the park a lot, and none of her brothers/Harry/anyone realized he'd been "befriending" her). Kid Harry figures out where Riddle took her and saves her.

Ginny wasn’t molested but she/Harry/everyone else is deeply affected by this event even though they don't realize it. Ginny thinks she's overcome it, and she's still a BAMF some the books but she's not fully over it as shown by her fear of being emotionally involved with Harry. It's why Harry refuses for a long time to think of her anything else outside of a brotherly way. 

Ginny has a really bad sexual experience (though it doesn't go all the way), and as a result she's disgusted by men (not scared), but doesn't feel any revulsion with Harry. After not being able to get close to any boy for a long time, she decides to proposition Harry. Harry, being noble, absolutely refuses at first, but she kisses him, he's very attracted to her, and is convinced by her that he's helping her get over this tick. So it's FWB but it fits their personalities, and still stays true to the Ginny is subconsciously afraid of a real relationship/intimacy with Harry, who realizes he wants more but doesn't know if just getting to be physical is more than he'll ever deserve and he wants what he can get if not real love from her - until, of course, he realizes he can't do it anymore and she has to decide if she's brave enough to actually let herself feel.

HAHA omg I’m reading over my emails and I talk about getting into The Changeling and only sleeping 4/5 hrs a night and then the exchange ends with my coming up with my alternate dimension idea of Harry getting thrown into the BWL!Neville universe. So you guys can see why this story never went anywhere despite several thousands words between me and my beta.

–

Whew, long post. Hope that satisfied your curiosity! 

I’m honestly not sure there are any left, but let me know if you have any other wip asks! Though note that I will be rather absent in the near-future because of life.

[kindahoping4forever]

I Love You, Ain’t That The Worst Thing You Ever Heard? // Ashton Irwin

This started out loosely based on a dream I had (🤡) and spun into something a lot more complex and interesting. I’ve been working on this on and off for months (bless @cal-puddies​ who I’m sure is glad she won’t have to hear about this anymore lol); it was actually one of the first things I tried writing on my own (I just couldn’t get this concept out of my head) and as my writing evolved, I had to keep going back to retool and make sure the story did too. Hopefully you’ll think it was worth the effort!

Warnings: FWB-but possibly more-!Ash, slight jealousy/angst but it’s mostly internal, dummies who don’t realize that they’re in love, an absurd amount of smut but it’s justified because there’s an emotional narrative to it (really), moments of Dom!Ash, oral/manual stimulation of a female, overstimulation, spanking, cumplay, (and yet also) protected sex, no for real there is so much smut you guys I think that’s a comprehensive list of warnings but I’m not sure  

Word Count: 5858

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————-

“If you’re not ready in 15 minutes, I’m going without you,” Ashton declares.

“Cool but it’s my friends we’re having dinner with, so that might be controversial,” you point out, nudging his elbows off your vanity so you can open the drawer in front of where he’s sitting.

“Oh, they like me better than you, it won’t be a problem,” he teases, handing you the beauty blender you were looking for.

You snatch it from his hand. “Dude, you literally weren’t even invited, you just asked if I was busy and said ‘oh that could be fun’ when I told you what I had planned.”

“I feel like my presence was assumed when they asked you,” he shrugs.

You toss the sponge at him and he laughs as you shoo him out of the room so you can finish putting yourself together.

You and Ashton have been together for a few months, although neither of you have ever tried to discuss what “together” actually means. Your relationship seemed to be an endless string of implications. When you met, it was implied you liked each other. When you made out at a party a few weeks later, it was implied it was as friends. When you started sleeping together, it was implied it was casual. In your mind, you were something more than “friends with benefits” but still something less than a full-on relationship.

He puts a record on and has just crossed into the kitchen to help himself to a bottled water from your fridge when he notices a vase of flowers on the counter that he definitely didn’t send you.

“Fancy flowers,” he comments. “Who sent them?” He asks, despite immediately checking the card and seeing the message “Thanks for last weekend, let’s do it again sometime ;)” alongside what seems to be a masculine name.

You’re rooting around in your closet, trying to find the top you had planned on wearing while your mind is focused on your mental checklist of everything you still have left to do before you leave; it takes a good 15 seconds for it to register that Ash has even said anything and another 10 before you distractedly call out “a friend” in response.

Ashton sits on your couch and while his hands are turning the pages of some random magazine he found on your coffee table, his eyes are fixed on the bouquet he can still see sitting on the kitchen counter. You’ve never discussed exclusivity, he would have no right to be jealous. But he can’t deny the panic that ran through his body when he saw that card and he can’t keep his mind from racing now.

He thinks he’d almost feel better if he’d found evidence you were fucking someone else; he hates the thought of someone else touching you but he’s also confident that they couldn’t possibly make you feel the way he does in bed. He’s not worried about the sex. But flowers? That implies romance, implies thoughtfulness and intimacy, which are things he wouldn’t blame you for seeking elsewhere. He knows he hasn’t been offering that to you in the ways he could, in the ways you probably deserve.

He tortures himself with these thoughts a bit longer and then props himself in the doorway of your bedroom to check on your progress.

“Oh you’re still here? You were so quiet out there I figured you made good on your threat and you were already at the restaurant ordering apps without me,” you tease, pulling on your boots.

Ash gives a half-hearted chuckle in response. “You look nice,” he compliments you quietly.

You flash him a pleasant but puzzled smile; something’s off with him, you don’t think he’s ever said you look “nice” as long as you’ve known him and he never passes up a chance to banter with you.

He makes small talk but you notice the way his fingers are fiddling with the label of his water bottle and how his eyes hesitate to look for yours. By the time you’re ready, he’s nonchalantly mentioned the flowers three times and asked you to a party next weekend, when he usually never plans that far in advance.

You pause gathering your things as you realize what’s happening. He's fucking jealous, you amusedly think to yourself. Part of you wants to tease him about it but there’s an underlying sense of nervousness to it that’s almost sweet. How could something as innocuous as a vase of flowers shake this man’s seemingly endless confidence?

"I wasn't trying to be vague before," you tell him. “I helped someone move last weekend; only a couple people showed up to help, it was pretty intense. That’s what the flowers are for.”

“Let’s do it again sometime, winky face?” He raises his eyebrows, casually drinking from his water bottle to show how unbothered he is.

You make a face. “I should’ve figured you’d read the card,” you tease. “I joked that the move was so brutal I’d sooner buy him the apartment than help again when the lease is up.” To punctuate your story, you walk over, peck him on the lips and affectionately straighten his shirt collar. “I don't know what you're thinking but I can tell you you’re probably overthinking it.”

Ash tightens his jaw and runs his tongue over his lips as he listens to you. "Didn't even know you liked flowers," he shrugs as you smile softly at him.

When he doesn’t immediately follow you out of the bedroom, you know his wheels must still be turning. You get your keys out of the dish and text your friends that you’re leaving now. He finally appears and just as you’re about to tell him you really need to get going, he grabs you and gives you the most over the top, absurdly intense kiss of your life. One hand twisted in your hair, one hand pressing you against him, tongue claiming your mouth as his. He's clearly trying to prove a point - what and to who, you’re not quite sure - but he certainly proves it.

He pulls away, fire in his eyes and casually says, “You lock up, I’ll get the car started?” as if nothing happened.

You stand there, stunned for a moment, quickly attempt to repair your smudged lipstick and lock the door to meet him outside.

The car ride is mostly silent, save for the radio. Ashton plants his hand on your thigh the second you get in the car and it doesn’t budge the entire time. When you grab drinks with your friends at the bar, his hand never leaves your back. During dinner, his arm snakes around your waist the second you slide in the booth next to him. To the outsider this would seem possessive and you're guessing it partly is but you think you’re pretty good at reading Ash at this point and to you, it feels more complex than that.

He’s still his engaging and charming self, chatting endlessly with everyone about everything but you can tell he’s in his head and you’re not entirely sure why. You recall how unnerved he seemed back at your apartment. You think about the number of times he’s leaned in to whisper a joke or comment in your ear tonight. You feel the gentle way his fingers brush over your hip while you wait for the check and you start connecting the dots.

It may have started with jealousy but this goes deeper than some basic macho territorial bullshit. You’re fascinated as you consider this development. He never seemed to feel angry or betrayed at the thought of someone else holding your attention; he just seemed troubled. Sad. And now it feels like he’s constantly reassuring himself of your presence, like as long as he keeps touching you, keeps engaging you, you’re undeniably there with him.

Your head swims as you consider the implications of this. You never doubted you both cared for each other but is it more serious than that to him? To you? You focus on him talking with your friends and you don’t realize you’re staring until you feel his eyes on you. He looks at you with amused expectancy; you just shake your head and smile fondly.

Your friends say their goodbyes and you start down the street back to the car park. Ash reaches for your hand and it kind of breaks your heart so when you stop to wait for the crosswalk, you place his arm around you and snuggle into him. He looks at you quizzically, as if he's surprised by your affection. He truly has no idea how transparent he is sometimes, you think to yourself as you mumble something about being chilly.

As you make your way down the block, he starts chattering away about the night’s events and with each comment you burrow further into his embrace, appreciating the cool night air and the sound of his voice.

By time you’ve reached the parking structure, you’ve got your arms wrapped around him, inside his jacket. He sways with you as you wait for the elevator, “Am I dropping you back home?”

Your answer comes out muffled as you’ve decided to take this opportunity to bury your face in his chest. “Your place.”

He kisses the top of your head and clarifies, “Thought you had work tomorrow?”

As the elevator doors open, you say, “But your place is closer now” with a glimmer in your eye and you pull him, first into the elevator and then into you. You give him a kiss reminiscent of his over the top, absurdly intense one from earlier but yours has no underlying point to prove. You’ve decided you need him, only him and you want to be sure he knows that.

The car ride is once again silent but this time there is a different tension in the air. His hand finds its way onto your thigh again, though this time it’s definitely a few inches higher. You can’t help but study him, as breathtaking as ever, lit only by the glow of evening LA traffic. You’re now almost as lost in your thoughts as you know he was earlier. He was so perturbed by those goddamn flowers, why? If you had found a gift from someone you didn’t know at his place, would you be feeling the same way? You’re pretty sure you would.

He catches your gaze at a stop light or two but he doesn’t say anything, just gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze and turns back to the road. As soon as he shuts the engine off, you’re practically lunging across the car to get your lips back on his again. He indulges you for a minute and then breezily laughs, “let’s get you inside then” as he pries you off of him.

Once inside, it’s a dizzying clash of teeth, tongues, lips and limbs as you stumble up the stairs into the bedroom. You’re not sure exactly when it happened but suddenly he’s in his underwear and has you naked and spread in front of him.

He runs his fingers through your folds as he looks at you with a predatory glint in his eyes, asking, “Wet already, huh? This all for me?”

That’s apparently the extent of his teasing mood as he dives right in and starts eating you out before you even think to answer. You gasp and immediately tangle your fingers in his hair as he ruthlessly attacks your clit, first swirling it with the tip of his tongue and then sucking it in between his lips. The way he alternates broad strokes of his wide tongue with deliberate rapid fire flicks has you whimpering faster than you thought possible.

“Been wanting to taste you all evening, beautiful, thought we’d never get away,” he murmurs as he teasingly presses light kisses into your thighs.

“Ash…” you start, still attempting to catch your breath. “What is going on with you tonight…”

He chuckles and replies, “Says the woman who practically jumped me in the parking lot after dinner?” He pushes himself up your body to kiss you deeply, both of you groaning as you taste yourself on his tongue.

He pulls away just enough to continue, “Says the woman who could barely wait for me to put the car in park before she pounced again?”  He kisses you even harder, distracting you enough that you don’t notice his hands have begun to wander until you feel two fingers slowly dragging against your pussy.

You break the kiss with a moan and Ashton seamlessly moves his mouth to your neck, giving several teasing bites and nips before he raises his head to look directly at you and say, “Says the woman who I suspect has been dripping for me since the kiss I gave her before we left for dinner?”

He pushes his fingers into you with ease and expertly starts working them. “Maybe even before? Has my girl been wanting me this badly all night?”

You feel your skin flush as you hear the words “my girl” come out of his mouth; this is new. That’s as far as your thought process gets because then he’s curling his fingers and all you can focus on is the way your walls are beginning to twitch and tighten around them, “Ash… please…” is the best response you can manage.

His hand that’s not buried inside you traces down your throat and over your breasts. “Please what, baby? Think you know you’re gonna have to do better than that,” he teases.

“... Want to cum… PLEASE…” you breathlessly pant out, rocking your hips against his fingers which have slowed to an agonizingly slow pace, keeping you just on the edge of orgasm.

“Oh don’t worry, pretty girl, you’ll cum alright,” he teases with his bottom lip fixed in a mock pout. “Gotta make it up to you, I obviously should’ve filled you the second I walked through your door tonight,” he speeds his fingers back up and adds his thumb into the mix, rubbing it against your clit, causing your legs to shake.

You grip his arm that’s working you over, digging your nails into his bicep as your entire body tenses and you pulse around his fingers. “That’s my girl, that was a good one, wasn’t it?” he coos as he pumps his fingers into you a few more times for good measure.

You can only breathe heavily in response; your mind and body are both reeling. There it is again: my girl. That kiss by your door, his hands on you all evening, now my girl. You’re not sure if it’s intentional or if his subconscious is giving him away, but he’s claiming you. You’re much more comfortable with that idea than you thought you’d be.

The second it seems like you’ve started to catch your breath, Ashton withdraws his fingers from your body and sucks them clean, exaggeratedly groaning his approval. You reach out for him, hoping for a kiss but before you even realize what’s happening, he’s back between your legs lapping away at your center again. “ASH, what the FUCK,” you cry out, legs involuntarily closing around him.

Unfazed, he easily spreads your legs back how he wants them and looks up at you, face obscenely wet and glistening from his task. “You tasted so good on my fingers, I wanted more straight from the source,” he shrugs and immediately returns to his mission.

You involuntarily let out a tiny moan at his remark before tugging on his hair to get his attention. “Too much” is all you manage to get out before he licks at your clit in just the right way to make you jolt and let out a guttural groan.

He pulls back and snickers against your thigh. “That’s what I thought, do I know my girl or do I know my girl? Know when you're ready for another one before you even do, know how to leave you speechless with just a couple flicks of my tongue,” he sneers, rapidly fluttering over your clit in demonstration. “Know this pussy even better than you do, bet you’ve never had anyone else who can say that, have you?”  

You grab onto his shoulder and moan as soon as you hear that magic phrase, my girl, again. Ash’s dirty talk has always been a huge turn on for you but tonight the language is as telling as it is arousing: you are his. You decide that you like it, you want that and you like that he wants that.

You sigh deeply, disappointed but not surprised, when he pulls away just as you feel your climax begin to build. He kisses up your stomach until he reaches your tits, spreading sloppy kisses over one while he squeezes the other, rolling over the nipple with his thumb. You’re not quite sure why tenderness is your instinctual response but you go with it, softly running one hand through his hair and stroking his face with the other.

He looks up at you and his eyes are as breathtaking as always, glowing with both a familiar fire and also a softness you’ve only seen on occasion. You can’t help but smile as you tell him, “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a complaint or a compliment, my dear?” He asks with a smirk as he turns his attention to your other breast, repeating his actions.

“Not sure… both maybe…” you reply, in a dreamy haze of fondness, amusement and desire.

“I’ll take it,” he mutters against your skin. Satisfied with his work on your chest, you see him start to move back down between your legs.

“Ashhhh… no, need more,” you object, attempting to pull him back up to you.

“That’s what I’m tryna to give you here, baby,” he chuckles, allowing you to pull him up to your lips.

You frantically kiss him and grabble between your bodies until your hand finds his erection still confined in his boxers and you give it a squeeze. “GOD, Ash, honestly I just want your cock more than anything right now,” you hate how pitiful you sound but you also hope it’s enough that he’ll give you what you want.

Instead he looks you directly in the eye, grins and taunts, “But when don’t you want my cock more than anything?”

He impishly pecks your nose and confidently states, “First you cum on my tongue. THEN you can cum on my cock.” And with that, he’s suddenly peppering quick kisses all the way back down your body, musing almost to himself, “No one else can make you feel this way, can they, darlin’? Know how to get you off like this? Gets you this needy?”

Ashton dives back in with a renewed sense of purpose and has you cumming within moments; you swear at a certain point you can feel him grin against your sensitive core, clearly reveling in the nonsensical murmurs you don’t even realize you’re letting out until you hear them yourself.

“Good girl, sound so pretty when you cum for me, taste even better,” he praises, pressing a final kiss to the inside of each of your thighs before he’s on his feet, finally stripping off his underwear and retrieving a condom from the bedside table.

You’re tired from his teasing but the anticipation of finally having him inside you fuels your decision to snatch the package from him and begin tugging at his cock as soon as he’s within arms reach. You roll the condom on him as he tucks your matted hair behind your ear and says, “Been so good tonight, baby, you decide how you want it.”

You purse your lips in amusement because while his offer appears generous, based on the tone of the evening and the charged mood you're both in, there's no way he doesn't already know you're about to choose his preferred position.

You reach up and kiss him lustfully one more time before you dramatically turn over and raise yourself up on all fours, looking over your shoulder at him with an expectant look. He raises an eyebrow at you and you playfully roll your eyes at him, "Are you going to pretend like you're surprised or are you gonna fuck me?"

He grips your ass cheeks, kneading them in each hand, fondly clicking his tongue, "Cum twice already and still so impatient.”

You expect him to tease you; he always does and after the evening you’ve had, you assume you’re in for another tortuous display of dominance so it takes you by surprise when he’s suddenly sliding in to you. You hear his breathing become noticeably more pronounced as he buries himself and his fingers lightly trace down your spine, his actions pausing for just a beat longer than you'd like.

Without even giving it a second thought, you start eagerly moving against him. "Need me that badly you can't even wait one second for me to catch my breath?" He taunts in a voice that's both amused and aroused. He wraps his hand in your hair and yanks hard. "So desperate for me to wreck you, gotta fuck yourself on my cock?" He punctuates his question with a swift smack to your ass.

You attempt to scoff at his teasing but a simple, strained “FUCK” leaves your lips instead as you steadily rock yourself back against him. He doesn’t seem to mind your initiative, responding to your movements with approving groans and keeping his large hands occupied by covering your ass, first with sharp slaps followed by firm yet tender rubbing to soothe your reddening skin.

You hear yourself chanting “More. Please. More.” in a staccato rhythm matching the way you’re throwing your body back on him. He complies with your request, hand coming down on your backside multiple times in rapid succession and you cry out in satisfaction. You love the sting but you think you love the fact that you’ll be wearing his marks for days even more.

A particularly strong blow has your arms giving out, dropping your upper body down to the bed with a moan. He takes this as you handing over the reins and quickly moves his hands from your ass to your hips, grip digging into your skin as he takes over and starts pounding into you.  

“Goddamn you wrap around me so good, it’s like you were made to take my cock weren’t you, beautiful?” His praise has both your mind and body humming; it’s been a long evening and although you’ve already had two orgasms, you find yourself overwhelmed by the undeniable need to cum with him inside you.

He pushes down on the small of your back to pop your ass and fuck you at a better angle but the way his fingers firmly but gently fall on your skin reminds you of how he touched you earlier in the evening. In the restaurant. On the street. In the car. Always wanting to feel you, always confirming your presence, always reassuring the both of you that your rightful place was with him.

An unexpected wave of affection washes over you and suddenly you’re needing him in a much different way. You manage to feebly say, “Ash? Babe?” as you muster the strength to raise yourself back on one arm while you fling the other behind you, blindly searching for him.

You almost never call him pet names so it immediately jumps out at him; he notices the shifted tone in your voice and halts his actions. You turn your head to meet his gaze as he pants, “You alright? What’s happening?”

Your hand finally finds his resting on your hip and you give it a squeeze, “Changed my mind. Need more of you on me.”

The confusion and concern that were clouding his features softens into something familiar yet somehow undefinable as he gingerly pulls out and leans forward to give you the softest kiss you’ve received all evening. “Well, let’s do that then.”

You spin around to face him and sit back on your knees, pulling him into another soft, slow kiss, brushing his hair off his forehead. He basks in your tender attention for a moment before he’s guiding you back down onto the bed, situating himself to fully lay on top of you, between your legs, careful not to break your kiss until you’re ready.

He slips back inside you and before he even gets the chance to ask, a breathy “Yessss” is all the confirmation he needs to know that this is what you were craving. You wrap your legs around him and run your hands across his broad back, “Just wanted to feel more,” you explain.

Your eyes are closed, relishing the feel of his weight on you and the stretch of him inside you, so you don’t notice the way he silently studies you for a moment before he lifts himself up and starts thrusting into you again.

For all the filth that’s come out of your mouths this evening, this round finds you both unusually quiet, letting your joined symphony of moans, groans, “yeah”s and “fuck”s say everything that needs to be expressed.

You feel him reach for your hand and move it to rest above you on the pillow, interlacing his fingers with yours; you respond with a squeeze and then one up him by turning your head to nip at the moon tattoo closest to you, simply because you can. He’s left his signature up and down your body tonight, it’s only fair you get to leave a small token of your appreciation on his.  

He hisses at the feel of your teeth lightly grazing his skin. “Come on, darlin’, play nice.”

“Since when do we do that?” You breathlessly reply and then bask in the glow of the grin you receive in response.

Still smiling, Ash shakes his head. “If you’re able to make smartass remarks like that, clearly I’m not doing my job here.”

He takes one of your legs from around his waist and lifts your thigh back towards your chest; your mouth opens to moan but nothing happens as he pulls almost entirely out and then fucks into you so much slower and deeper than before. He chuckles, “That’s more like it.”

You consider rolling your eyes at his teasing or panting out another sassy quip at him but the way he’s moving in you feels so otherworldly you honestly don’t care about anything else. You grab on to his forearm and dig your nails in.

“Feeling good, beautiful?” He reaches between you and mercilessly rubs your clit. “Who’s making you feel this good?”

The sound emanating from your throat might be his name but mainly sounds like a series of whimpers.

He rubs harder and thrusts deeper. “Didn’t hear you, speak up. Whose cock makes you feel like this?” You continue crying out nonsensically as you feel yourself on the verge of your third orgasm.

You need him close so you pull him down to you for a kiss. He sloppily licks into your mouth, panting against your lips. He’s almost as gone as you are. You bite at his bottom lip and say, with a bit more desperation than you anticipated, “Gonna cum for you, Ash.” He nods understandingly and pecks your lips once more.

His lips move to your neck as his thrusts speed up again; he’s determined now and you’re moaning in earnest. You feel that familiar burning in your core and your eyes instinctively flutter shut, savoring the fall into bliss.

"Uh-uh, eyes open, baby. Want you to look at me. Need to be sure you know whose cock it is you're cumming on,” Ashton commands.

You force yourself to focus on him as you start to unravel, your entire body on fire, tensing deliciously; your mind is screaming his name but only indecipherable whines fall from your lips. Ashton is relentless as he fucks you through it, his thrusts never slow; no matter how impossibly tight your pussy squeezes around his cock, he never stops driving into you even rougher and deeper than before.

His eyes remain locked on yours, making the entire experience feel unbelievably more intimate. You swear you can feel every pent up emotion from the evening - the jealousy, the worry, the possessiveness, the passion, the… love? - in his gaze and you’ve never had a more intense orgasm, physically or emotionally.

As you come down from your high, you hear him praising you, “Yes, baby... love making you cum… you always give so much… always such a good girl for me.” His words alone would've earned a reaction from you but he sounds as wrecked as you feel, causing you to emit a deep and breathy moan at this realization. He’s panting so heavily you know his release won’t be far behind.

You feel like you're mad with desire at this point; you're beyond satisfied and you know you couldn't possibly cum again but you still feel like you're wanting something, you still need more of him. Feeling emboldened by watching Ash lose control and the euphoria still pulsing through your body, you find yourself digging your nails into his arms and muttering, “Want your cum, Ash.”

He lets out a grunt as his hips slam into yours. “Oh, you’re definitely about to get it,” he smirks.

You sigh partly out of exasperation and partly out of arousal for what you’re about to request. “No, Ash, I want it,” you pant. “Want you to cum on me, make me yours.”

His hips slow as he processes your words. “Fuck” is all he can manage to growl under his breath in response. He pulls out and you whimper at both the absence of him and the anticipation of what’s going to happen.

Ashton peels off the condom and you can’t take your eyes off him as he wraps his long fingers around his cock and begins to stroke himself. It only takes a few tugs before he’s gasping and murmuring your name and you have to moan along with him when you feel his warm cum spurting onto your stomach and chest. He maintains a firm grip as the rhythm of his hand varies, making sure he squeezes out every last drop for you.

He hangs his head in exhaustion for a beat and then takes in the sight of you: fucked out, chest heaving, painted in his release. You catch him staring and offer him a tired yet mischievous smile; he seems to pick up on your wavelength and smirks as he runs a finger through the substance on your breasts and brings it up to your lips for you to suck off.

“Jesus, baby,” he groans, shaking his head almost as if he can’t believe his eyes. “Don’t move.” He affectionately rubs your thigh a few times before he moves off the bed and ducks into the bathroom, returning seconds later with a wet washcloth.

He climbs back next to you on the bed and presses a passionate kiss to your lips before he starts gently cleaning you up; it’s quiet for a few moments and the intimacy is not lost on either of you. You reach up and brush his wild hair from his eyes. “Hey,” you start, fondly.

He smiles much softer than he has all night. “Hey yourself,” he giggles.

You pause and feel a bit of leftover boldness coursing through you, so you comment, “You seem like you’ve got something on your mind.”

Ash bites his lip and exhales deeply, clearly considering how to answer. He looks down, avoiding your eyes, and fusses over a mark on your hip that’s sure to form into a gnarly bruise by morning. “Sorry if I got a little crazy tonight, I know I‘m usually better at checking in with you,” he muses.

You sit up and squeeze his shoulder. You feel the urge to reassure him but you can tell he’s on the verge of opening up and you don’t want to derail him. You’re trying to find the courage to prompt him further when he surprises you by admitting, “It just really fuckin’ got to me when I thought... “ he trails off, looking away again. “I got weirded out about those flowers and I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry.” He tosses the washcloth onto the nightstand in exasperation.

You give him a faint smile. “Ash, I told you ---”

“I know and I believe you but I just started thinking... and then I couldn’t stop,” he confesses quietly. He stands up and pulls on a pair of shorts before busying himself by starting to tidy the bed.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom. You figure he could use some time to process whatever it is he’s still trying to work out so you wash your face, brush your teeth and slip on a t-shirt of his you find discarded on the counter.

You venture back into the bedroom and find him tossing the pillows back onto the bed after having changed the sheets. He still looks lost inside his thoughts and you yearn to ease his mind. You walk over and hug him from behind, burying your face into his back; he gives your arms an affectionate squeeze.

“I know we don’t really talk about this kind of thing but I feel like you should know I haven’t seen anybody else since we started talking,” you offer, your confession muffled with your face still pressed against his skin. “It hasn’t even been a conscious thing, I just… haven’t been interested, I guess.”

Ashton pulls you to his side and kisses the top of your head. “Thank you for telling me that,” he murmurs, rubbing your back.

You quickly come around and kneel on the bed in front of him so that you’re at his eye level and you wrap your arms around his neck. “And I liked everything that happened tonight; you know I would have told you otherwise,” you assert. He nods in acknowledgement so you continue, “I like hearing you tell me I’m your girl, I like when you make me feel like I’m yours... ”

You feel tempted to look away, to fidget with the necklace he’s wearing but you resist. You look straight into his hazel eyes, full of warmth and attentiveness, and state, “You know, I could be yours, if that’s something you decide you want.”

Ash only lets your words hang in the air for a split second before he wraps his arms around you tightly and kisses you slowly; it’s intense and passionate but not in the same over the top, cocky way that he kissed you back at your apartment. This kiss is also trying to prove something but it’s a message meant only for you and he’s taking his time to make his point clear.

When your mouths finally separate, you take a deep breath and steady yourself on his arms. You open your eyes at him and grin. “Was that your way of asking?”

—-

Crystal’s tag list:

@cal-puddies @mymindwide​ @suchalonelysunflower​ @pxrxmoore​  @loveroflrh​ @ghostofmashton​ @sexgodashton​ @feliznavidaddycal​  @castaway-cashton​ @boomerash​ @cashtonasfuck​ @megz1985​ @ashdork-irwin​ @ashtonangst​ @angelicfluffs​ @findingliam-o​ @abadaftertaste​  @myloverboyash​ @youngbloodchild​ @irwinsbetch​ @ashsun​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @wiildflower-xxx​  @metalandboybands​ @another-lonely-heart​ @realisticnotes​ @makeamovehemmings​ @ashtondaddy90​ @golden166​ @burstintocolor​ @mfartzzz​ @babyoria​ @saphseoul @petunias-pet @youngblood199456​ @notinthesameway-  @seanna313​ @calumftduke​ @zhangyixingxing1​ @stardust-galaxies​ @Redeserts @Zackoid

Click here if you’d like to be tagged for future fics and click here if your name is on my list but crossed out (Tumblr won’t let me @ you)

[bettsfic]

march pinned: ending the sex project

in the march edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and upcoming consultation availability, i have personal essay recommendations and a segment on the definition of a project!

for more information on my creative coaching services, check out my carrd.

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

fuck february, amiright?

i thought january was bad. but february. february was the stuff of nightmares. my cousin passed away from covid (you can read about her here; she was really an amazing person and i feel so lucky to have known her). i was finally formally diagnosed with PCOS (bittersweet, i guess). my car broke down. i took two (2) days off and it took me two and a half weeks to get caught up again. i can only hope march treats us all a little more gently.

the good news is, i finished revisions on my short story collection to send to my agent, finished workshop submissions for the semester, and now i can return to my first love, fanfiction. that i am constantly working through original fiction to return to fanfiction has been making me think a lot about the nature of a creative, capital-p Project. so, this month’s BTALA (been thinkin a lot about) is going to inspect the concept of a “project.”

new resource

last month i unveiled a folder of my favorite short stories which i’m pleased to hear several of you have perused and gotten some inspiration from. this month i’ve compiled my favorite personal essays. there are fewer essays than there are short stories because i’ve broken them into two groups: personal and craft. next month i hope to have the craft essays compiled.

i’m always looking for more things to love, so if you have recommendations for your favorite short stories and essays, i’d be happy to hear them!

writing-related posts

how to physically maneuver the revision process

the difference between M and E ratings of fic

resources for worldbuilding (check out the reblogs for more!)

a couple syntax/prose book recs

how to break a long work into chapters

march availability

unfortunately i have to cut my coaching hours down a bit, so i don’t have any openings left in march, but i have some availability in april. if you’re interested in a writing consultation, please fill out this google form!

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

what i’m into rn

for the past year, i’ve basically been trapped in a 10x10 room, and my health is definitely reflecting that, both mentally (does anyone else feel like they’re living in groundhog day? just, every day being exactly the same except fractionally worse than the day before??) and physically (i reorganized the kitchen and could barely move for two days).

reader, i have discovered something called “walking,” in which i put on real human shoes and go outside. it feels strange, bestial. neighbors wave hello to me. a harrowing experience.

while doing this, this walking, i’ve been listening to the lolita podcast which a friend recommended to me, a ten-episode series that dives into everything lolita: the novel itself, its context, adaptations, greater cultural responses, and — as a sticker on my laptop says — vladimir “russian dreamboat” nabokov. as far as i can tell it seems well-researched and presents the many perspectives of lolita in a fair way. i’m only a few eps in, but i’m entranced so far. highly recommended if you, like me, have a complicated relationship with lolita.

i’ve also found myself mildly addicted to a mobile otome game called obey me, which. look i know it’s like the definition of cringe but it’s also mind-numbingly fun and if i want to spend my minimal free time pretending 7 demon brothers are all vying for my affection then that’s between me and god. it’s a lot of what i loved about WoW: frequent events, bright colors, a daily to do list of simple but satisfying tasks, many many rewards, and it doesn’t take itself very seriously. and if i have 4k fic written of mammon/reader that’s nobody’s business but mine and my longsuffering ao3 subscribers.

i’m telling you this because i don’t know anyone else who plays it and am desperate to trade headcanons. so if you play, or start playing, hit me up!! i will give u mad tips and daily AP.

been thinkin a lot about

the project. the project. even the word “project.” PROject (noun). proJECT (verb). what is the project? “project” comes from the latin pro and jacare which means “to throw forward,” or projectum which means “something prominent.” a projector throws forward an image. to project onto something means to throw your perspective onto something else. to embark on a project is to make something prominent in your life. the concept of “the projects” comes from public housing projects, the government throwing forward affordable housing.

what is the project? in joseph harris’ essay “coming to terms” he says that “to define the project of a writer is…to push beyond his text, to hazard a view about not only what someone has said but also what he was trying to accomplish by saying it.” harris’ perspective is that of an english teacher encouraging his students to read critically, not just to summarize a text but to find its project, its greater purpose. and while i first read this essay in a seminar on composition pedagogy, it stuck with me as a writer. it made me reconsider the greater nature of the creative project.

how many of us, if asked to describe our writing project, would begin with a plot or character premise, the nuts and bolts of a specific story? maybe even the working title? but i wonder, is breaking out the plot really the project? is the discipline of sitting down and typing really the project? and when the story is finished, is the project over? what is the project?

in 2019, i wrote 86k words of a novel. i began revising that novel last fall, and i’m finding that i’ll probably keep maybe less than 10k of that initial draft. i’m not bothered by that. the novel i wrote before that started at 125k, then i rewrote the entire thing to 200k, then i whittled it back down to 160k, and next i’ll be tasked with paring it back down to 80k. i’m not bothered by that either. in the past five years or so i’ve written about 2 million words, and i’ve only published 20k of them. only 1% of what i’ve written, i’ve published. in the words of lauren cooper (catherine tate), i’m not bothered.

i used to see publication as the birth of the project, and writing it akin to a long gestation period. then i saw publication as the death of the project, and its life was lived in its drafting. now, publication seems irrelevant to the project. the confines of a story and its many revisions are also irrelevant to the project. the beginning of a story is not the start of the project and the end of the story is not the end of the project. the project is larger than the story, its revisions, its publication, and its eventual readership.

i think it took me so long to see this because for so many years i was still in my first project, the sex project, an exploration of trauma and sexual identity, which began in 2014 with destiel fanfiction, endured through many fandom shifts, my MFA, years adrift as an adjunct, all the way through 2020 with the completion of my short story collection. i used to wonder how anyone could write about anything other than sex. to me it was the only topic worth my attention. i was certain that i would spend my entire life being a sex writer and i’d never find fulfillment writing a young adult sci fi adventure or a highly literary novel about complicated family dynamics. i was baffled by people who were interested in other things, who could write entire novels without using the word “cock” even once.

then my sex project ended. i don’t know when exactly it happened or why, but suddenly i realized i never wanted to write another artful description of an orgasm or find a tactful euphemism for a vagina ever again (personally i prefer “wet cunt” because not only is it blunt, i find it phonetically pleasing). obviously i’m still writing explicit fanfic but it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. sex feels more sidelined to me, even if it’s still the center and drive of a fic. i no longer get any personal satisfaction from writing it, although i do get satisfaction in sharing the work for readers to enjoy.

it’s like i’ve somehow solved the biggest puzzle of my life. or i guess made peace with my meanest monster, that extremely complicated double-mind of desire that some non-sex-repulsed asexuals feel: you want to feel desire you can’t actually feel so you write it into fiction, to try to understand this thing you can’t have and which society tells you you’re missing, and you don’t even know if you don’t have it, because you still feel desire for affection and intimacy, and maybe even a desire to be desired. and for those of us who are asexual and have c-ptsd, sex you don’t actually want (but don’t know you don’t want, because maybe you’re ambivalent and mildly curious and touch-starved) and an unrelenting drive toward people-pleasing can be a dangerous combination. how can you ever know what consent is if you always put other people’s desires above your own?

maybe i’m alone in this. maybe i’m not. maybe for most people, wanting sex is a light switch: yes i want it, or no i don’t. but for me, i had to write a whole lot of words to figure out things like desire, consent, intimacy, forgiveness, the shape that good love takes. the lengthy theoretical flowchart of “i might be interested in having sex if this and this and this and this and this happens in this exact order and under these exact circumstances.”

it was hard to write something into reality that i have never seen except in pieces, in subtext i clung to with no lexicon to give it shape and meaning. te lawrence in lawrence of arabia. some of tarantino’s early work. the film benny and joon. and weirdly, the star wars prequels (that one’s hard to explain; i’ll spare you). i don’t think the sex project was about coming to terms with my asexuality as much as it was trying to organize my thoughts and feelings by continuously rendering my own experiences within a greater, shinier ideal — like how you sometimes have to unravel the entire skein of yarn to find the loose end, and only then can you get started.

i guess i’m in the infancy of the power project now. i’m moving toward themes of control, infamy, greatness. the exact circumstances in which atrocity occurs. how people rise into leadership and fall from grace. the consequences of success. i don’t know why this project has come to me, or what, if anything, it has to do with me. i’m not famous and have no intention of becoming famous; i don’t have social power or influence, at least not beyond my little corner of fandom, and i’m not interested in having it. and yet, here we are, already hundreds of thousands of words in.

my fics digging for orchids (tgcf) and a standing engagement (the hunger games) deal with the detriments of fame. and even float (breaking bad) to a degree is about the aftermath of being so close to power. my novel cherry pop, loosely based on macbeth, is about an ongoing power exchange between two teenage girls. my other novel, vandal, is about a girl who believes she has magic powers and casts a spell on her neighbor to fall in love with her. and i’m in the very early stages of a novel called groundswell, a cult story i’ve been wanting to write for years. i had no idea why i couldn’t write it until i realized it wasn’t yet my project. i’m not even to the stage of developing characters, let alone a premise or plot. i’m still just building my aesthetic pile (i discuss the aesthetic pile here, as well as vandal in more detail), watching documentaries on cults, reading books, finding inspiration, marking down ideas as they come. it may be years before i’m ready to sit down and write it.

now that i know what the project is, i have more patience with myself. it doesn’t bother me to rewrite a novel from the beginning, or to scrap novels altogether, because the story isn’t the project. the project cannot be diminished by cutting words, sentences, paragraphs, entire chapters. the project does not have a product. the project cannot be published. the project is in the practice, in dragging the impossibly large into clear, acute existence, so you can see it. so you can see the very center of what you thought was an unknowable thing.

[19tozier]

the hands of love (bill denbrough)

warnings: adult bill, stress/anxiety, mentions of canon horror, takes place after events of chp2, it’s not relevant to the plot here but eddie and stan are alive Because I Said So

inspired by the song hands of love by miley cyrus

[losers&reader are adults here]

you aren’t sure what wakes you up at first.

you blink a little stupidly, still caught in the wisps of whatever dream you were having. the room is dark and cool around you. moonlight streams through the gaps in the shutters, turning the air to haze that looks so solid you think you could pass your hand through it. and it’s quiet, the only sound the soft creaking of the ceiling fan above you. bill isn’t even snoring.

bill isn’t even snoring. you frown.

you turn onto your side, reaching onto his side of the bed. you expect for your hand to meet solid flesh, to trail up over his shoulder and splay over his heart, but all you encounter is emptiness. the cold sheets aren’t even rumpled.

you sigh to yourself. it must be one of those nights again.

the lights prove to be too much for your eyes so you leave them off, stumbling to pull on one of bill’s t-shirts over your bare body. you don’t bother with pants, only underwear. if all goes well, you’ll be back to bed in no time.

the rest of the house is just as quiet, all the lights turned off. your footsteps are soft as you pad down the hallway, instinctively turning the corner to get to the last room on the left. there’s no other place he could be.

just as you suspected, there’s a golden glow at the bottom of the door, casting the faintest shadows onto the wall across from it. if you strain your ears you can hear the sounds of his keyboard, and eventually, a stilted groan. resolved, you reach forward and slowly open the door.

it’s mostly dark in bill’s office, only a single lamp on his desk spilling slanted light over the floor. bill’s hunched over his computer, his face screwed up in a grimace behind his reading glasses. he doesn’t hear you walk in, even though you aren’t really trying to be quiet, too focused on whatever it is he’s writing.

he gets like this, sometimes, so into his own head that he can’t differentiate between up or down. he’s so easily stressed, your bill, when he tries to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. unfortunately, he does that too often, retreating further and further into himself until you have to gently coax him back out.

fortunately, you’ve perfected the best way to love him.

he startles when your hand trails over his arm, brushing up his shoulder as you tuck yourself against his back. his chair is uncomfortable where it digs into your side but it’s worth it to hold him for just a second. like second-nature, his hand comes up to cradle yours, slotting your fingers together.

“what time is it?” he mumbles to you, blinking like he’s suddenly aware of just how tired he is.

you hum, turning your head to kiss just behind his ear. “i’m not sure,” you admit quietly, rubbing your thumb along his collarbone. “but you should come to bed anyways.”

he sighs, leaning back against your chest before he shakes his head. “i need to finish this draft by thursday. i-i can’t s-s-stop now.”

you frown worriedly. his stutter only comes out anymore when he’s stressed beyond belief. if it’s coming out now, when the only thing keeping him up should be the words flowing through his brain, then things are worse than you’d originally thought.

“that’s three whole days from now, love,” you say softly, not giving voice to your worries just yet. “you’re already almost done, you said so this morning. you’ll have time.”

he groans, pulling out of your embrace to slump his head into his hands. you watch, feeling helpless, as his hands fist into his hair. “b-but it’s not perfect, i n-n-need to—t-t-to—fuck—“

your heart clenches. you move from your spot on the arm of his chair to sit on his desk beside his computer, pulling his glasses off and coaxing him forward until his head is pillowed on your lap. he’s so tense he’s trembling, or maybe that’s him trying to keep it together. either way, you’re suddenly terrified.

“what’s going on, bill?” you ask, your voice pitched so low that if he wasn’t so close he wouldn’t be able to hear it. your fingers brush through his hair, soothing where he had pulled on it. “this isn’t about the book, is it?”

he shakes his head, pulling himself closer to you. like this, he reminds you so painfully of the little boy you’ve only ever seen in the few pictures he has of his childhood. he doesn’t seem inclined to speak but you know you just have to give him time. you keep stroking through his hair.

eventually, he sighs, his breath warm against your bare thigh. he squirms a bit, not eager to open up, but he’s always been brave, and your heart swells with pride for him even as he mumbles, “w-what if they h-hate it?”

all at once, you get it.

“oh, baby,” you soothe, bending your head to kiss the back of his neck. he holds onto you tighter, not willing to show you his face yet. “is this about the losers?”

miserably, he nods, his forehead rubbing onto your thigh. he doesn’t say anything else but you don’t really need him to. you understand what he means now, because the book he’s writing—the book all about the childhood trauma he and his friends faced that, even now, you can barely hope to understand—is the most important thing he’s ever done. you know he feels the pressure to get the story right without telling too much, and you know he feels the pressure of telling his friends’s stories without doing it wrong. it’s a lot, and if this were any other book you might even tell him to do away with the idea, but you know that he needs to.

“w-what i-if they h-h-hate it?” he asks again, much quieter this time, the words smeared into your skin. his voice is damp and his shoulders tremble even more. “w-what if i-i f-f-fuck it up a-and—“

“bill,” you interrupt him, gently. you tug at his shoulders until he sits up, looking up at you with his watery blue eyes. you sigh, leaning down to press your foreheads together. “you know they’re not going to hate it.”

he whimpers, just slightly, and your heart breaks. “b-but w-what if—“

“but what if nothing, love.” you thread your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp the way you know he likes. “you’ve been talking to them about it the entire time. you haven’t made any decisions about this book without everyone’s approval. you know how much they already love it.”

he’s silent, just staring into your eyes, so you smile softly, bringing one hand to cup his jaw. “if you’re really so worried, call them in the morning and talk to them about it. they might be able to help.”

bill stares at you for a second longer before he blows out a sigh and nods. his shoulders slowly stop trembling, the tension leaking out of him until he slumps against your chest.

“t-thank you, baby,” he mumbles against your collarbone, adorable exhausted now that you’ve managed to get through to him. you grin to yourself, kissing the top of his head.

“come now, billiam,” you say, adopting the tone that richie or eddie or stan might use to make fun of your husband. “it’s time for bed.”

he huffs a weak laugh, pulling back to kiss you gently. “anything for you.”

it’s cheesy but you know he means it. your cheeks flush pink even as you hop down from his desk, twining your hands together to tug him out of the room after you turn off his computer and lamp. he just lets you lead him to your bedroom, his eyes barely staying open now that he’s broken his own trance. even now, after all your years of being together, after everything he’s been through and all that he’s told you of the horrors he faced, the fact that he trusts you so completely still makes your chest burn with your love for him.

your bedroom is just as dark and quiet as you left it and you waste no time climbing back into bed. you don’t bother taking off your clothes, you’re too tired and comfortable anyways, so you just lean against the headboard and watch him strip off his shirt and jeans until he’s left in his boxers.

he climbs into bed beside you, but instead of curling up and nodding off the way you thought he would, he cuddles up beside you, nestling his head on your shoulder and slinging a heavy arm over your hips. his leg nudges between yours and his other arm slides between you and the mattress, effectively trapping you against him. you don’t mind one bit.

“thank you, (y/n),” he says again, sweeter now in the darkness. he’s no stranger to intimacy and he knows exactly how to put his thoughts into words, but sometimes simpler is better. maybe it’s because you and him work together so well that everything becomes simple. no problem is too big with you by his side. “i love you. i d-don't know what i’d do without y-you.”

you press your lips to his forehead. “i love you too, bill.”

you want to wax your own poetry to him, go into all the intricacies of how much you love him and how much you know you are better with him by your side, but your eyes are suddenly too heavy to keep open anymore. he’s soft and warm on top of you, relaxed now as he slips into sleep, and you aren’t far behind him.

that’s alright, you think as your eyes drift closed. you can just tell him in the morning.

[fisheito]

This was my introduction to bunny waiter eiden,which warrants a cut because I'm me🫢😑😐

I wuz screaMun because ppl weRE FAST ON THAT SHITE the dash was lighting up with eiden intimacy room details and i was Aghast LIKE NO!!! I CANNOT LOOK UPON YE .

I must RUN INTO TH3 QI LALAPP .APP. POSTHASTE

Oh got THERE HE IS . DIVERGENT DREAM? PLEASE ohhh look he's doing magic tricks just like he was just showing off to kuya in sleepless fun fair awww the continuity!!!-----

SHUT UPPPP I AGREE WITH YOU 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺😭

So I FINISH READING the chapters that are released and i get to the Battle stages and OhMo what's this i see

Multiplier?+?+?+++!!!

Ohhhkaaaaayy that means i have to roll for eidento get my max rewards NoOooo;;; he's always eluded me I'm gonna lose all my comtracts qnd BE EMOTIONALLY CRUSHED 3 YEARS IN A ROW (ノД｀)ノ eiden PleaSe come to me i want your furniture my floors are barren i am in desperate need of chairs for my tables and your little nightstand of beverages PLEQSE. I HAVE SO MUCH OF YOUR FAVOURITE FOOD. PLEASE.

PSPSSPSPPSPSSPSPSPPSSPS

GasP NO...ITCANTBE!!!!

>?! In THE FIRST 20 PULLS. wsit who are u protecting what is the story behind your line--

MY NEW FURNITURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU BEAUTIFUL BLESSED GENEROUS EIDEN MWAH I ML OVOE U

now. what are you. Are you going to help me in battle what's your deal

Light guardian!!! That's cool!! Don't have a light guardian in my battle roster!!

Wtf is going on!!!!! This doesnt look like a set of pure guardian skills!@!!! WHATEVER! IT'S FINE! IT'S EVEN BETTER, ACTUALLY BECAUSE I DOUBT ANY REGULAR GUARDIAN CAN OUTCLASS SR MORVAY ANYWAY

Hmmm...... does that mean i won't really need this eiden for most battles? Morv has been carrying me and idk if it's worth it to build eiden to 3 stars because i only have 1 of him... that would cost a LOT of memory shards... :/

BUT EVERY EIDEN HAS BEEN SOOOO USEFUL UPON RELEASE. I CANNOT MISS OUT ON HIM THIS TIME!!!

CRYSTALS FOR YOU, .YMY LIEGE 🫴🫴🫴🫴🫴🫴 . Did i just drop the 5400 memory crystals I've been saving for years oh whatever i still have SOMe left

WAughH i NEED TO LEVEL HIM NOW I DON'T KNOW WHEN I'LL NEED HIM IN BATTLE BUT I NEED TO BUILD HIM *NOW*

MUST REACH MINIMUM TIER 6 SPECIAL ABILITY!!!!! I CAN (PROBABLY) AFFORD THAT MUCH I CAN BUILD HIM MORE WHEN I ACTUALLY USE HIM IN BATTLEA AA A A A AAAAAAAAAA WHER E IS MY GOLD I NEED COIN

AND NOW FOR THOSE INTIMQCYROOM BUFFS

Aaahhhh..... eiden is now the default face once i enter the Intimacy Rooms..... yes, this feels proper. Arrival of the king. Positioned Where he rightfully belongs.

Oh Glorb I FORGOT THAT GIFTING EIDEN PORTRAITS DOESNY USE ANY POINTS LET'S GOOOWWEEEEEEEEEEE

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS SALTED AND SEASONED I nEED TO HEAR HIS 18 SECOND ORGASM NOISE (<- so the legends say.idk. i never counted. I should count now. what The FriauK wAS TGAT SQUEAK)

How did it only take ~200 portrsits to unlock all 5 rooms what have i been hoarding for why didn't the other eidens come to me SIR I'M KEEPING YOUR FAVE SNACKS IN MY PANTRY FOREVER SO YOU'LL BE ENTICED TO VISIT. EIDEN YOU'RE KILLING ME IM RUNNING OUT OF ROOM FOR MY OWN SNACKS BECAUSE YOURS ARE TAKING UP ALL THE SPACE--!!

5-room-buffed now. BReathes. ok. Fine, we're good. We're o k ay. I cant watch the rooms yet, though. Not until the full event is released. I need to know everything before i dive in. AAAAAHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHH I FINALLY HAVE AN EIDEN AT TIME OF RELEASE!!!!! A CURRENT EIDEN!!! HE IS WITH ME AND I'M NOT BANKRUPT! WWAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

..nd this is me after that whirlwind of emotion, which all happened in <10 minutes

Eiden put me in some sort of trance

Whe4rn am i.?

Why are my coffers empty

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hullo, Steph, and happy new year! Sorry if someone has asked this already, but I’m searching for Jealous John fics (preferably new ones). Just finished reading “White Knight” by DiscordantWords, and it is amazing!!! Once again, thank you SO MUCH for all the work and effort you put into this blog... the fandom wouldn’t be the same without you.

Hi Nonny!! 

Thank you for the well wishes! I hope you had a good holiday season yourself

I don’t have very many new Jealous John fics, but I do have some new ones to add to my past lists! So, why not, let’s update my Jealous John and Jealous Sherlock Fic rec list!!

JEALOUSY Pt. 5

See Also:

Jealous John

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4

JEALOUS JOHN

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock’s closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don’t need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine’s chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn’t ask John.

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it’s a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

JEALOUS SHERLOCK

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard’s secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

You’re On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it’s time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain–and notorious flirt–John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John’s head.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he’s consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

[rubbrfrk9]

REBORN

I HAD A NAME. I used to be somebody.

I had a profession, dignity, a position in the class structure.

Nowadays, I see through a cracked lens - society is broken, and the people participating in it are all prisoners.  The people you see shuffling in the great to and from, every morning, every evening - they’re miserable.  Ask any one of them if they wouldn’t leave their life, and - perhaps after some hesitation - they would say Yes.  

Even the ones who have kids - the ones in love - all of them.  In fact, those with ties to other people are the first ones to get in line.

For me, it was curiosity that opened the door.  If one follows the classic Hero’s Journey, the arc that every myth and story takes, I heard the Call - just like you - through a buzzing, pixelated source… the great and sordid world of the internet.  

One wrong step can put you on an entirely different path.  

When you look back, the path you were on is obscured by the surrounding environs - pressed firmly closed, as though no thing had ever once passed through.

I should introduce myself before I preach anymore.  I am rubbrfrk9.  You’ve read the stories on the website, you might’ve seen my name watermarked on pics as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.  

That hasn’t been our name always.  But what our name was before does not matter.

All hail the Rubbered One!

And if you’re reading this, then you’re as curious as I was.  

Do you dare follow your own Call?

If you do, keep reading.

THE CALL COMES FOR YOU. You don’t come for it.  The Call has been there, waiting, for you to pick up the other end, for as long as you’ve been alive.

Like I was saying, for me, it was curiosity.  It seems like it is for you, too.

I was always a curious guy.  It’s how I became a teacher, I guess.  I loved to learn about shit.  Endless amounts of shit.  The subjects that interested me were sucked dry by my voracious need to know.  On top of it all, I was cursed (blessed?) by a need to collect, a completionist’s frenzy, and so I found myself needing not just to know, but to know it all.

Everything.  A question could not go unanswered.  I was a very vocal kid, always asking the dread “Why?” to anyone who had the faculty to answer.  Of course, I learned quickly that faculty does not imply ability; and later still, that ability does not imply honesty.  Soon enough, I started shutting up and consulting other avenues of information - books.  I loved books.  I read anything I could find, from my mother’s tawdry romances on the back of the toilet to magazines at the doctor’s office - but my preferred genre was Horror, without a doubt.

I loved to read stories of unfortunate people, blind to their predicament, be lulled to the predator in the story.  I loved how the protagonists were slowly overcome by a sense of dawning knowledge, and were thus able to conquer - or not - the abiding horror.  The best ones were when the hero failed, in my opinion - those dark, twisted passages of despair and helplessness …

I was a weird kid.  

I didn’t have very much luck making friends.  I didn’t really understand what a “friend” should be.  I knew that it was some sort of social construct, but I hadn’t figured out how it worked yet.  Taking the time to do that analysis set me back, quite substantially, in the invisible school of society.  Maybe, at heart, I was always a bit of a freak, even before I came out.  

Funny to think of that, now, sitting here, writing from behind my gas mask and full rubber suit.  

All hail the Rubbered One!

I love how tightly it encases me.  How tightly it erases me.  

Slowly, now.  Don’t give up too quick.  Finish the story first.

As I was saying.  Curiosity.  After college, I became a teacher.  A professor.  Very highly regarded in my field, but poor with social interactions.  Dates?  Of a professional courtesy, only, and as awkward and dry as a lecture.  Actually, for me, lecturing was my second home, aside from my tidy and obsessively-ordered apartment.  I loved standing at the podium, talking about the books we read together.  How they are structured, and how events, following a certain chain, can be transformative.  

Although sometimes, horrific.

Life that is contained entirely within the snowglobe of acadæmia becomes brittle, after a time.  Even the most relentlessly anti-social of us have a heartbeat, a pulse, and a sexual drive.

Most sexual drives will tend towards the obligatory, the procreational.  Attractiveness, physicality, congruence, intercourse, and then the subsequent emotional tangle.  Sex is more than just a body meeting a body a-comin’ thru the rye - it is a rendezvous of energy, some of which we can’t even begin to understand.

Some kind of cosmic interplay happens during sex.  

Something so bright, so chimeric, that I was blinded just thinking about it.

I fled from it, like a medieval monk from a vision of God.

SPARE TIME. I spent most of my time in my apartment in my bedroom, perched with my skinny knees up, my face obliterated by the powder-white light of my phone.  I’d scroll endlessly.  And always pictures of men.

I’d known I was gay way before most people do, but I’d never bothered to “come out” or anything that obvious.  I just kept my feelings to myself, for as long as I could - which may not have been the healthiest thing to do, in hindsight, and when they finally vibrated at the seal on the pressure gauge, I spewed it out all over the internet.

Tumblr was my outlet.  You could find something for every kink, from men transforming into donkeys to using politics as a sexual tool.  I considered myself omnisexual.  I could be convinced, really, to like anything.  Except a few things.

I never really got into the big “full fetish” scene.  I’d, of course, seen the pictures go by - of Folsom, Folsom Europe, even some kinksters trying to make a name for themselves, become influencers, with pictures so heavily edited and filtered they almost looked fake.

But for me, my kink was - get this - intimacy.  I loved pictures of men, beautiful men, kissing, embracing.  Tangling together, with bliss inscribed on their faces.  And it was that expression that did it for me - the bliss, the complete and total walling-off of any worldly concern but the physical, the presence of another’s lips, breath, proximity -

It got me off, every time.  Imagining myself in those positions.  Wearing those clothes.  Caught up in those bedsheets.

Then, I’d stare into the mirror, and flex my coming-along biceps.  My quads.  I’d get dressed for the gym, and I’d go work out for an hour.  

I loved my routine, even if I felt the dreary recalcitrance to wake up every morning and head to work, just another body with the other bodies, shuffling to and from.  The night time is when I felt the surge of life - I would be free of the grimy shackles of the city, I would pound through the tumblr feed, I would shower, I would go workout.  

Life was half-bliss.

But as anyone who has half of bliss will tell you, it is never enough.  You must go searching for the second half of bliss - and I found mine on the night in question.

Knees up, one foot tapping a heel in idle, anxious rhythm.  Eyes greedily consuming, picture after picture, and then -

My thumb hovered over the screen as if about to lay a fingerprint down on a reader.  I stared.

The picture, my gateway, was a bedroom picture much like any other I saw in my daily feed, except for one crucial ingredient - one of the men was entirely encased, from head to toe, in shiny black rubber.

The rubber was so shiny, so depthless, so reflective, that it almost seemed as though its host was Not - as though there were some kind of blotting-out, erasing, blankening … And yet, this Not Person was being encircled by the arms of another man, a strong man, by the looks of it, his biceps bulging around the Rubbered One.

Even now, looking back on it, I find it insanely difficult to pry my eyes away from the memory of that reflective rubber.  That shiny, reflective black rubber.  And the detail!  I could see the hollows of the eyes, the imprint of the big toenail, the curls of the ears down to the tragus - it was truly as though this was not a suit being worn, this was a suit that was animated, had breath and energy of its own.  

Perhaps it was, in hindsight, seducing the man which embraced it.

I don’t know how long I stared at the picture.  A long time.  I was fascinated with everything about it - the mess of clothing on the side of the bed, socks and shirts strewn around, as if someone had melted and left only their garments as markers that they ever existed at all.  Even a pair of glasses lay askew on the carpet, next to a pair of jeans and Chucks.

If I listened, I could almost hear my own heartbeat, beating in time with the glints of light off of that rubber surface, as though the Rubbered One were moving, in infinitesimally small increments, writhing on the bed in either pleasure or agony -

I blinked, shook my head, and pressed down deliberately on the screen, for the little “Save Image” dialog to appear.  I needed to see that again, sometime.

It was a lot sooner than I thought.

I had to excuse myself from my lecture.  I was shaking, and my breath was wobbly in my mouth.  Words had come out gummily, and I was worried that someone would be convinced I was having a stroke.  I’d send in a TA to finish off the lecture, not that anyone in the darkened hall was paying attention anyway.  

I went into the nearest bathroom, a single-room lavatory, and sat down hard on the toilet.  Instantly, my hands fished out my phone from my pocket and called up my Photos.

There, on the top of the digital heap, was the faraway glisten and shine of the Rubbered One.  I sighed in relief, in pleasure.

You would too, if you’d seen the picture.  Don’t judge me.

A whisper of triumph, of pleasure, of satisfaction, threaded through my mind as I opened up the picture.  There it was again.  That endlessness, that Void, that Nothing.  I craved it, and I didn’t know why, and I needed to know why, and to know why, I needed to keep looking.  I needed to keep looking to stop looking.

The Rubbered One had moved.  I remember its legs being in a different scissor - left on top of right, and now it was right, on top of left.  

This did not frighten me.  Perhaps it should have.  Pictures are not supposed to move.

But in my addled state of mind, I was blissfully unaware of the warning - or even, really, of the thought itself.  It slid right out of my head, as if on a glossy sheet of black ice.  I smiled, warmly, the shuddering ceasing.  

Then, surprising even myself, I unzipped my pants, and hauled out my cock.

Nothing would stop me.  I was a man determined.  I could even smell the rubber, could feel it lifting, wafting out of the screen of my phone.  That smell, that smell that I have no words for - something utterly inorganic, but somehow seductive for that very reason.  

I jerked off, right there, in the bathroom around the corner from the lecture hall.  I sat so still, my hand doing all the work, that the motion-sensing lights clicked off, leaving me alone, lit only by the powdery light of my phone.  There, in the enclosing, mummifying dark, I jerked myself off and came with a jagged, oblique moan that slid out of me, catching me by surprise.  

I may have even been in such a hurry to get inside that I didn’t even lock the bathroom door.  This suspicion came to me as I exited, stuffing myself shakily back into my khakis and my blazer.  You see, the door had opened seamlessly, with no hint of a lock dis-engaging.  

In fact, the momentary thrill of being caught as I masturbated to the Rubbered One flicked a little shiver of pleasure up my shaft anew, and I started shuddering so much that I had to grab the wall for fear of falling over.

All hail the Rubbered One!

There was no way I could go back to my lecture now.  I fled the campus for the safety of a local coffeehouse.

OTHER THINGS STARTED HAPPENING. Like how I thought I was having a stroke, before?  I found that, when I spoke, my mouth felt oddly compressed, as though I had lockjaw.  I went to the doctor, but when they told me to “open wide and say ahhh” I had no trouble - my jaw, seemingly re-oiled, complacently opened its full width, and I made the obligatory noise.  

Nothing wrong with my temporo-mandibular joint, advised the healthcare professional.  

And yet, as soon as I left the office, trying to speak to the Uber driver, to give him directions to my apartment, the same muffling, mysterious pressure returned, and I was only able to speak in tight, restrained tones.  

It didn’t occur to me until much, much later, that this was the voice of someone wearing a rubber gas mask, much like the one I am wearing now.

After awhile, I stopped talking altogether.  Of course, this did make it rather difficult to be a professor, and so that had to stop, too.

But what does a mute member of society do, when the one thing they have in life is a degree in English Literature?

Well, the first step is despondency, and denial.  I spent a month at least, just searching tumblr for more pictures of the Rubbered One.  Sure, there were plenty of pictures - the fetish for rubber has never been a subtle one - but none of them had that same irresistable sheen and shine, that fathomless Void, of the Rubbered One.  I’d exhausted most of the blogs.  I kept returning to the photograph I had saved to my cloud - and jerking off to it, again and again, like a desperate man.  Like a junkie.  If I went without, or even thought about going out, my hand developed such a tremor that I looked afflicted with tardive dyskinesia.

It got so bad, and the attacks so frequent, that I eventually just made the picture my home screen on my phone.  That way, if the tremors started, a quick pocket-dig and finger-flip would open up the likeness of the Rubbered One, and instantly, I would calm.

And (he?  It?) continued to move.  Perhaps, now that (he?  It?) knew that I had noticed the movement, it happened more and more, and faster, as though I were watching a video rather than a photograph.

Now, in addition to the slow, sensual scissoring of its legs, the Rubbered One was turning its head, away from the suckling devotion of its prey and turning to look at me, choosing me, directing its energy towards me.

I already had my rubber in the mail.  It took some doing, some difficult work, some self-measuring, but before long the order was placed and the shipment was made.  It was, of course, a link that I’d seen on tumblr, from one of the many rubber fetish sites.  Drone, and a series of numbers, I think.  One of the ones that’s talking about being absorbed into a Hivemind, a Central Core.  Nothing that ever really appealed to me.

The only thing I wished to absorb into was the Rubbered One.  

I ached, yearned, to be the man in that picture.  I was even jealous of him.  Who was he to show his devotion to such a being, such a beautiful entity?  Would not I be a better candidate for the first apostle position?  

But I knew, somehow, deep inside, that I wouldn’t even be considered until I had donned my own rubber.

Here’s where it gets a little weird, right - this is usually the point when in the story, the protagonist gets a little real, sizes himself up, maybe learns something about themselves.  Call me crazy, I know, but at this point, I just knew on the inside, so strongly, that I would never be worthy of the Rubbered One if I wasn’t Rubbered myself.

And so I waited, agonizingly, nearly tearing my hair out, for the package to inch itself across the ocean to my apartment mailbox.  I’d ordered the full suit, of course, the one that most closely approximated my photograph.  

I was utterly consumed, I was ablaze with obsession.  For the first time in my life, I felt an utterly overwhelming feeling - a lack.  I felt as though I lacked something that I had had for just a moment - one sweet moment, hovering, crystalline - and now that I no longer had it, I could never live a whole life again.

And everywhere I went - watching with a hawk’s eye the slow drainage of funds from my bank account - I smelled it.  Rubber.  There was even an auto repair shop, blockaded on one side with piles and piles of tires - I altered my daily neighborhood walk so that I could slowly amble by it, inhaling the thick, gray smell.  The more of it I could get on me, the more I wanted.  If there were a cologne that smelled of rubber, I’d wear it - hell, I’d bathe in it!  I twitched for it to be near me, on me, inside of me.

THE DAY MY NEW FACE CAME IN THE MAIL. I was wearing rubber gloves, made for chemical and construction workers, pressing them to my face, and inhaling as deeply as I could, when my phone made its little ringing noise to signify that a package was Delivered.

It could only be one thing.

It would only be a matter of moments before I could prostrate myself in front of the Rubbered One.

I hooked up my laptop to my flat-screen television, where the Rubbered One had also become my desktop wallpaper.  I opened up the picture file and let it sit, in the middle of my living room, the picture of Him.

Again, I fell far into His Nothingness, His All-Consuming Void - He turned on the bed, in the picture.  He silently got up.  He moved so subtly that it was impossible to tell if my hallucination was real, or some sort of digital magic.  He kicked, as if insulting, the pile of clothes left by the bedside.

The whole time, He kept his head, His black eyes, His shiny face, impassive and monstrous, but so aloof, so superior - His direct gaze - riveted on mine.

All hail the Rubbered One!

With barely a shimmer, He stepped out of the frame of my television and deliberately into my living room.  Tendrils of black squirmed out around the square of my screen, lashing to and fro idly, almost amusedly.

None of this seemed unreal, or even fantastical.  It was simply as it was - I was in a sort of ecstasy, like the kind the saints have, all-consumed, raptured.  The Rubbered One had chosen me!

Go, He told me without speaking.

I was on my feet, I was sprinting, I was dashing, my hands, still in their gloves, slippery on the door knob.  I was down the stairs before I realized I was barefoot, or that I was still wearing the heavy-duty black rubber gloves.  And there it was - my Rubber.  It was, of course, still in the box, it needed to be freed -

I cradled it in my arms.  I inhaled, as deeply as possible, again.  I could smell it, whining at the edges of my nostrils, begging to be freed.  I felt it, inside its cardboard prison, shifting and rustling.  Whispering.

I brought it upstairs with as much care as a mother would bring home her day-old newborn, but once inside, slamming the door behind me, I pillaged the drawers for the scissors, tearing into the box that would dare imprison my -

And there it was.  Still in a sad, folded-up heap, but it was mine.  

Now, said His voice in my head.  I didn’t have to turn around to know that He, the Rubbered One, was standing behind me - had moved silently from the living room to the kitchen.  I felt Him questing at the edges of my consciousness, starting the interview process.  

I felt a strange mix of craven desire and hot-blooded lust twist through me.  How I wished to possess the Rubbered One!  And how I wished to be possessed by Him!

I began to don my Rubber.  I felt it coo as it met my skin, as I replaced my own with its black sheen.  I saw my toes go, then the top of my foot - ankles, calves and shinbones, kneecaps and thighs - I watched as the black tide continued its creep up my body, as quickly as night follows dusk.  

The Rubbered One put His hands on me and I was nothing, I was everything.  I was part of a gigantic, moaning chorus of voices, I was absolute silence.

I saw Him reach out to me, his Nothing fingers and Nothing hands, his Void arms, his Void body.  I saw Him pull my self to His, and I felt us as we docked, somehow, for an imposssible moment, sharing the same physical space.

Then, with a sound that reminded me of a slurp and a sucking, closing noise, I was no more.

RUBBERBORN. I ceased to exist as I knew myself.  

I had a name.  

I wasn’t much of somebody, but I was somebody.  

Now, I was part of a growing, aching consciousness - I was part of a vast, growing hunger.  My thoughts were no longer my own.

All hail the Rubbered One!

I buzzed and chirred, excited beyond words.  I was ramrod hard, even in the rubber, which smoothed everything away, everything - all emotion, all thought, all nerve, all worry.  All features of my face - gone.  All features of my body - slurped up.  

I stood in front of the mirror.  All sign of the Rubbered One was vanished.  I could see, somehow, through my suit, though it had no eyeholes.

I saw through Rubber eyes.

I understood that I was Rubberborn.  That this was my destiny.  

The words “my” and “me” and “I” and “mine” were erased, scratched out heavily.  I was plural, now.

We were plural.

We stand in front of the mirror, staring at ourselves, our new body.  A mere morsel in the face of our hunger.  

Do you feel it?

As our eyes swivel slowly, tracking across the room, away from the mirror.  Looking into the camera lens backwards.  Do you feel the chilly fingers of our gaze landing on you as you read?  Playing along your bare shoulders, the pliable, delicate skin of your arms?

The Rubberborn understand and acknowledge that this body can be used for purposes that satisfy the hunger.  

They gave it the name rubbrfrk9.  The name you know, the author of these stories you read, curious in your own way to know how the rubber feels.  The same name you’ve seen watermarked on pics of us as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.  

Or maybe you already know - maybe you’ve already felt the ecstasy, struggling into your own shirt or pants.  Gloves or socks.  Mask or hood.  

Perhaps all of the above.  

Perhaps the voice of the Rubbered One is even now mingling with your own thoughts.  Sinuous, twisty, shiny and smooth.  Silken whispers, just an undercurrent of sibilant breath in the background, there.  If you strain, you can make it out.  Can hear our voices.  

We can sense you.

We know.

We are coming.

Say it with us now: All hail the Rubbered One!

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 10

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated… (Rumbelling of the 1993 film “The Piano”)

Rating: E for smut, dark subject matter and violence. 

Special Note: There is a forced kiss in this chapter, please do not read if this sort if thing upsets you.

Also available on AO3

---

“I lied to you earlier.”

Belle stopped tracing patterns on his back. He rolled over and sat up, leaning against the headboard. Patting the spot next to him, he showed he wanted her close.

“I implied there wasn't anything of yours here. But there is.”

He reached under his pillow and pulled out a small green cloth-bound book. It was “Aesop's Fables,” from her childhood.

“Another lie - no, exaggeration. I can read, just not very well.”

He opened it and traced her name written inside.

“You wrote your name in this one. Belle French. The rest had printed bookplates, this one was in your handwriting.”

He looked up from the book to assure himself that he had her full attention.

“Names are important. They have power. I wanted to have yours, this piece of you, here with me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept it.”

She kissed the side of his neck, forgiving.

“Labhrainn. My name. You are the first in all of New Zealand to hear it. I trust you to keep it to yourself.”

She mouthed the name, enjoying the feel of the syllables on her lips. Labhrainn. Unusual, but it suited him to have an uncommon name.

Her wry smile made her thoughts clear to him. “Don't tease, now. I didn't choose to be saddled with it.”

She squeezed his hand. Sharing a secret was a unique form of intimacy, and she was glad he'd given her one.

Gold snapped the book shut. Belle got up and collected her clothes. He wished their morning together would never end. “You're leaving.”

Her only response was to hold out her wrist so he could help with the buttons on her sleeves. Gold's shirt hung open, his buttons still scattered about the room.

Concerned with how much time had passed, Belle hurried to finish getting dressed. She had lost a few buttons of her own. As she reached to pick up the one she spied on the floor, she knocked it down a knot-hole in the floorboard.

“I need to know. What will you do?”

Belle tidied her hair in the mirror.

“Does this mean something to you?” This woman had changed him. He didn't recognize himself with all this talk of feelings and emotions. She was like a drug, putting him in an altered state. The words just kept coming.

“I already miss you, Belle.” Standing, he reached around her waist and breathed in the scent of her neck. “I'm a difficult man to love. But do you love me?”

Belle stopped fussing with her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face had not changed, but everything was different. What had transpired between them was overwhelming, but she had to get back to Tilly. There was a lot to process, choices to make. It wouldn't do to be impulsive and come to a rash decision after the morning of mind-blowing sex. Not wanting him to doubt that she cared for him, she turned, pulling his shirt further apart to kiss him on his chest over his heart.

Gold was confused. Was this an answer? He studied her face. “Come tomorrow,” he told her with urgency in his voice. “If the answer is yes, that you want us to be together, come tomorrow.”

She put the book on the table next to the chipped cup and left before he could tempt her to stay.

---

That morning, Gaston had decided to work in the barn instead of going straight out to the new property. When Tilly’s shouts reached his ears, he'd returned to the house in time to see Belle leave and an angry Tilly stomp away. Belle didn't even notice his pursuit in her rush.

He crept up to the cottage, a hunter stalking his prey. From the bottom of the porch steps, he could almost make out Gold's quiet murmurings. When the slapping and scuffling noises began he advanced to the window without making a sound. He saw Gold and his wife in a passionate embrace. He reeled, dropping to the porch, his back sagging against the wall. The muted sighs, moans, and breathless sounds of pleasure paralyzed him.

Anger and curiosity trapped Gaston between them. Curiosity won. He looked again. Gold was on his knees under the cage of her hoops. Belle ripped at her clothing, yanking off her corset. He grimaced at the sound of fabric tearing.

Gaston continued to play the voyeur. With Belle's eyes closed, swaying like she might fall over, she'd never notice him. Gold was intent at his task between her legs, licking and kissing. Then he stopped, and Gaston darted back. He heard Gold tell Belle she was delicious. He knew men sometimes did this sort of thing, they told bawdy jokes and stories about it. But the idea of kneeling before a woman, worshipful, did not appeal. Although Belle was enjoying herself, if the loud panting was any sign. He peeked again, and yes, Gold had returned to his ministrations. Did he enjoy doing that?

After Belle had tensed like she'd been struck by lightning, she helped Gold to his feet, then ripped his pants off. He hadn't realized she was such a wanton. Gold's stiff cock answered his question, he'd obviously enjoyed the time spent on his knees. He observed that the man was well endowed, then chided himself for even noticing such a thing.

Realization that he was in a vulnerable position came to him. Granny or those Maori could show up at any moment, and he didn't want to be caught spying. Besides, they'd moved to the bed, which he couldn't see without sticking his head in the window. They'd notice that.

A black cat butted against his hand, looking for affection. Irritated, he swiped at it, causing it to run off hissing under the house. There was just enough room for him to follow. And a knothole in the floorboard to make it easier for him to eavesdrop. The panting and moaning were endless. How long did this act take?

A period of relative silence followed. Gold spoke some nonsense about books and names. It was difficult to pay attention; he was getting uncomfortable, and he was certain a spider was walking across his hand. A button dropped through a knothole nearby. At last, Gold asked something important.

“What will you do?”

After Belle left, Gaston did not go straight home. He needed time to think. What would Belle do? Her actions tomorrow would answer the question. Maybe this was to be a single occurrence, to show her gratitude for the return of the piano. For now, no one else knew. That was the most important thing. People would mock and laugh if they found out. The secret must be kept. As long as she didn't go back, everything would be fine.

---

That night, Belle was giddy. How did couples get anything done when there was such fun to be had? Her first lover ought to be ashamed of himself. He had either known nothing about a woman's body or just didn't care.

Trying to calm down, she asked Tilly to read her favorite book aloud. She saw Mr. Gold's – no, Labhrainn's – expressive face on the prince, herself on the princess. When they got ready for bed, Tilly brushed Belle's hair. Unable to contain her high spirits, she grabbed her and tickled. The two rolled around, laughter ringing through the house.

Pleased with her mother's good humor, Tilly demanded a shadow puppet story. Belle acquiesced. Now the sorcerer was not evil like everyone assumed. He was only lonely, and the princess he'd stolen away fell in love with him. Tilly applauded this romantic development. Belle hoped Tilly’d be as enthusiastic about her mother’s romance after she’d had time to process it.

In the next room, Gaston paged through a book on botany, eyes not seeing the pages. His jaw clenched, and his neck was stiff. When he could no longer take the sounds of happiness that assaulted his ears, he took his axe and went outside to chop wood until the window of the bedroom darkened.

Long after Tilly fell asleep, Belle replayed the morning's events. She wondered if Mr. Gold would enjoy her mouth on him to completion. The next day could not come fast enough.

After breakfast, Gaston announced he was continuing his task of building a fence on his new acreage. As soon as he was out of sight, she instructed an irritated Tilly how to spend her morning. She was upset about being left behind again, but they didn't have as much of a confrontation as yesterday. She had to teach her boundaries. It would be difficult for Tilly to understand, but she was a bright and loving child. Given time, she'd realize Mr. Gold hadn't stolen her place in her heart, he'd expanded it and there was more than enough room for them both.

She hurried along the path. Brimming with happiness, she wondered what he would do when he saw that she had come back to him. There was much to discuss, which would be difficult, considering he didn’t sign and had a hard time with reading. But sometimes she felt as though he heard her in his head. He would understand that she wanted to be with him, wanted the three of them to be a family. She and Tilly could teach him sign language and help him with his reading.

As she raced past a grouping of trees at the edge of Gaston's property, the man himself stepped directly in front of her. Shocked, Belle stopped short and almost tripped. Gaston's face was blank, his eyes empty. She decided in an instant to keep walking, acting like nothing was amiss. But he followed her, grabbing her arm and wrenching her back to him. He did not speak. Pulling her hair, he kissed her hard, bruising her lips. There was no affection, only dominance, a show of power.

Belle’s heartbeat roared in her ears. She kept her mouth clenched shut and did not fight back. Her jaw ached from the effort. When he stopped to breathe, she shoved him with all her strength and ran away. Gaston was faster. He caught her, and she clung to a stout tree branch, kicking at him as he pulled. The rough bark dug into her hands.

“Maaammmaaa!” she heard Tilly call from a distance. She was coming up the path. Relief at Tilly's disobedience brought tears to her eyes. “Mama, Aunt Cora is looking for you!” At the sound of her voice, Gaston froze. Belle gathered her composure; Tilly must not see them like this. Gaston took her arm and marched her back to the house.

“There you are,” said Cora as they came into view. Her sharp eyes noted Belle's pale face and Gaston's grim mouth. “We were just stopping to thank you for allowing Tilly to be a part of our little play. And, I know Gaston would appreciate having an enjoyable meal for a change, so we wanted to invite you to dinner for Christmas.”

“Thank you Aunt, we will attend. However, we are very busy. Don't let us keep you.” He walked straight past her to the woodpile and cut lengths of board. His axe hit the mark each time despite his speed and wood split with a crack.

“Well, I never saw such rudeness.” Cora stalked off to where Regina was waiting with the horses when it became apparent Gaston was ignoring her.

The rest of the day Belle lay on the bed. When Gaston started hammering planks over the windows she covered her ears, the sound of the nails in the wood like clods of earth falling on a coffin. He finished his work with a wooden bolt on the front door, enabling him to lock it from the outside. That would keep her home. She would not go back to Gold.

Tilly sat next to her mother. “You shouldn't have gone to Mr. Gold's house again after he returned the piano and books. I don't like it, and neither does Papa.” Why did Mama want to spend time with him without her? Mr. Gold was nice, and she liked his cat, but it wasn't worth getting into trouble. Calling Gaston 'Papa' was the best way her child's mind could conceive of how to get back at her for causing this upheaval. Belle ignored the ploy and closed her eyes.

[ddaenghoney]

Series: of Silver

Part 23

Attending a performing arts university, you’ve been managing just fine until the fall semester of your third year starts off by making out at a party only to realize the random guy was actually transfer Jeon Jeongguk, whom you had previously agreed to help get used to the city.

Pairing(s):

Jeon Jeongguk x Y/N

Below the cut is a written scene from the story, but you don’t need to read it to follow the plot for the fake texts portions!

masterlist link is in blog description

disclaimer: any character depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Warning(s)/genre(s): College!au, fluff, developing relationship, love triangle(s)??, some angst/drama here and there– Jeongguk has a dog this series isn’t allowed to be too tragic.

Tag(s): @butterflylion @rjsmochii @mahakookie @dammit-jjk @joanc24 @detectivebts @insaisissables @fuzzyballoontrash @sweet-unicorn-world (if you would like to be tagged send me an ask to let me know!)

If you enjoy, let me know!! : )

set after the events of this chapter

wc: 1048

warning(s): none

“I’m so full.” You sighed, lying back into your bed. Jeongguk sat beside you, back against the headboard while he finished off the fries, watching curiously as you curled around the large dog plush that was his, but ended up in your dorm room most often. “Remind me that eating ice cream before everything else isn’t always the best idea whenever I try and do this again.”

“Oh, so it’s definitely happening again then?” He smiled as you turned back to face him, pouting as you admitted quietly,

“I mean, knowing me yeah.” You sat up when he started collecting the trash, joining in the clean-up, “Did I get you enough food? You ended up eating most of my fries.”

“I think if there’s food next to me more likely than not I’ll just eat it.” You laughed at the straight-face statement, taking the bag full of trash in his hands as you slid off the bed beyond where his legs stretched out.  

“That’s what happens to me when I have a bag of chips. My weakness.” You dangled the greasy McDonald’s bag, reaching for the doorknob, “I’m gonna toss this, I’ll be right back.”

Jeongguk sat crisscross, taking the giant plush in the meantime while he waited. He bit his lip, quietly wondering what to do, not that you would take long. But he just looked around to kill the time, noting the pairs of shoes haphazardly beside your closet, then the zip-up you usually wore to classes draped over your desk. Considering how busy you were, he was somewhat surprised by the lack of clutter on the desk that pertained to books or schoolwork. Just your laptop folded closed with a notebook left open beside it, and the shelves mostly full of various cosmetics or toiletries. The corkboard had a small planner dangling, but more pictures displayed, one of which was one you’d used his Poloroid to take of him and you.

He smiled at the fact, lessening his grip on the plush while arching his neck to see what the others were of; many of Seokjin and you, one that looked to be of your family, and a couple that you took of places that seemed random to Jeongguk. He presumed they meant something to you. He startled at knocking on the door, followed by your voice calling that you left your key in the room.

“What if you’re breaking and entering?” He asked you while opening the door only enough for his head to peek at you. Your eyes rolled and your arms crossed, contemplating his words,

“Wouldn’t that be you? You’re in my room.”

“You know,” He smiled into a chuckle, gripping on your hand when you reached for his as he properly let you back into the room, “That’s true. By the way, you have that picture of us on your desk?” Jeongguk bit his lip in endearment as you tensed, your lips tightening into a flustered line.

“Well, yeah.” You pushed him back towards your bed before he could start teasing, “It’s cute, I like it. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I like it too.” Jeongguk’s voice rang contently, dragging you with him as he fell onto the mattress, hugging you against him as you wriggled around, “But I need to take another so I have one too, baby.”

He let you adjust on his chest, relaxing into your hand as you began running it through his hair. Quiet as he watched you think, noticing the lingering flush on the apples of your cheeks, but also the gentle smile while you looked down at him. “You feeling a little better, babe?”

“Yeah, Jeonggukie.” You nodded, while his hands repositioned to a soft grip on your waist. “You helped me. Thank you.”

“I didn’t do much,” He mumbled humbly, bashful at the prospect considering the two of you just ate food while you ranted and he cut in to say some affirmative comments. You smiled at the aversion of his gaze, trailing your hand from his head to cup his cheek. He looked back at you barely catching the smallest hesitation in your expression before you leaned to press your lips gently against his forehead.

“No, you did a lot.” You tried hard to ignore the awe that seemed to reflect in his eyes when you pulled back, but you had the feeling the heat traveling up your neck was giving itself away in your expression. “I mean it. I’m glad I have you.”

Jeongguk felt his chest swell from the unexpected gesture. The hands holding your waist squeezed a little, still taken aback, but happy from the action. He considered the difference in now as he held you peacefully versus the first time he’d met you and the two of you ended up in a mess of drunken kissing that he still couldn’t believe happened. Even though in that sense, the two of you had gone quite far, it was in an impersonal respect, vastly different from the implication the gentleness his voice held when he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes gave him the surprise of the question, your mouth opening to answer but then pausing. Jeongguk nearly added that you didn’t have to say yes, but somehow he was quiet, settled in the knowledge that you knew you could tell him no, that you didn’t have to do anything against what you wanted. His thumbs rubbed tiny patterns on your waist, when he waited for the answer even though he knew it hadn’t been but a second since the question was asked before he watched your head very softly nod, then a sincere but tiny mumble, “Yeah.”

Jeongguk held you, doing more to lean upwards to meet you than making you move towards him. Finding your lips eyes shut, you relaxed at the contact. Your hand fell from his cheek to stray towards the back of his neck, while his arms properly wrapped around you, gentle like protection. The proximity felt warm, slow, like every passing moment was meant for him to be content in the kiss. Uninterrupted by imposing thoughts, just a meaningful action of intimacy, that was incomparable to what he remembered from meeting you.

Nothing more different than how much you meant to him in that moment.

[pynkhues]

Hi! So I love your blog and your headcanons and ask responses but and I really want to ask you something thought provoking but my brain is like not cooperating so... what I really was wondering is do you have any hot tip fic recs? I am pretty new to GG and the tag on Ao3 is starting to get kinda long so I would love to know your picks before I start trawling through!

Ah, thanks, anon! And oh my gosh, there are somany great fics on ao3!! I barely know where to start, so I’m just going torec my straight up faves. This kind of blew out a little bit, so I’ve kept itto one fic per author (but assume I’m like, reccing all their works, haha)annnd I’ve put it under a tag to save everyone’s feeds, haha.

Happy reading!

Fora Moment We Were Strangers byopenhearts. 

I think I’ve already re-read this one like, a hundred times, and it’sjust so, so perfect. Intimate and domestic and sexy and sweet and just the rightamount of heartbreaking. Basically Rio, Beth, Marcus and Emma end up playinghouse due to Reasons, and it feels so true to character, and true to the show.It’s great.

He looks for another several seconds before a mild little grin colorshis face for a moment, then vanishes as he backs away.

“Nothin’. You just get pissed about weird shit is all.” He actuallyturns to leave the room, adding, “Laundry,” as he does, for emphasis.

Beth could probably choose not to rise to that, but she doesn’t. He’s inher house, messing with her, getting in her space and doing things withoutasking or being asked and it’s freaking her out, beyond just the fact that he’spresent and has made it clear he’s ready for a repeat performance of the barrestroom whenever they can find the time and privacy.

“My laundry,” she corrects, following on his heels, and she thinks shecan tell just by his shoulders that he’s holding in a laugh, which is obnoxiouson both their parts. “My house. My kitchen, my dishes-”

“I’m tryna be a pleasant houseguest, damn!” he says under his breath,both of them immediately mindful of Marcus in the next room.  Then, “thissome real last year shit, you know? You got all bothered about me bein’ in yourhouse where people could see, what your friends gonna think, how’m I gonna makeyour pretty life messy today like you-”

“Rio?”

StayPut and Play Along by FakePlastikTrees.

There are almost no words for how much I love this fic. It’s set after1.10, so it’s a little older, and basically assumes Rio really did cut Beth andthe girls loose after beating the crap out of Dean. They didn’t retaliateagain, but started their own shady business in the world of highstakesgambling, and it is just sogood and hot and the dynamic between them is *chef kissy hands*. 

Eyes trained on the wall, she takes a deep breath and asks, “Why did yousend me my necklace?”

“Well, what do I want with your necklace? Plus, you have my gun. Thoughtwe could trade.”

The statement makes her want to punch a hole in the wall and she has totake a steadying breath before slowly turning back around to face him. When shedoes, he’s standing, looking at the picture of the kids on the nightstand.

“Car man’s gone, huh?”

“Rio–”

He turns to her before she can finish a thought and as if he’s beenwaiting to say it, blurts, “You look good, Elizabeth.”

He’s serious now, all mischief gone from his demeanor.

FierceKingdom by emeraldcut

I’m a total sucker for fic which focuses on Rio’s relationship withour other good girls, soemeraldcut’s story with Annie and Rio sitting in a car basically baiting thehell out of each other makes me totally giddy every time I read it. It’s so, somuch fun, and she gets both their voices down perfectly. 

“Are you married?” she asked.

That got his attention. He gave her a blatant once-over. “You’renot my type, sweetheart,” he said, mock apology in his voice.

“Ha!” She scowled, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out.“You would be so lucky, but I never thought I was. You obviously like theolder ladies.” She didn’t know his age, but beneath the scruff, he had ababy face, she could tell.

“Why do you care?” The glint in his eyes told her that he knewexactly why.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s my job to care. Don’t you havesisters?” Now she was just baiting him.

Rio’s jaw rocked back and forth. There was a shift in the energy aroundthem, and he almost looked uncomfortable.

Annie had watched this guy hold a gun to Beth’s head without flinching,but her messing with him about something romantic with the same woman had himlooking uncharacteristically awkward. “Her husband’s a super douche.Capital S, capital D,” she announced in the midst of his silence, feelingher stomach lurch. Annie thought this was a joke, thought it was all in goodfun, just entertainment, but now she wasn’t sure.

WeSuck Young Blood by sylvianorth

Another one thatmarries domesticity with wonderful character insight and great writing! Thisone basically diverges from canon at 2.03, but it honestly could’ve replacedit. It’s such a logical progression, beautifully drawn, and with some prettysexy scenes too (a running theme in these recs, haha).

“It’s been two weeks since you said you were going to teach me.”

Rio squints at her. “Uh-huh,” he says, like he’s not sure where this isgoing. He takes a piece of bacon off her plate. “I am teaching you.”

(Sitting here at the table in her sun-drenched kitchen, Beth feels likeshe’s trapped in a cage with a leopard but Rio is genial, drinking coffee,discussing current events in the paper and asking questions about her kids.Sometimes his questions get so specific that she wonders if he goes throughtheir backpacks when she’s not looking. Once, he brings a box of Danishes forbreakfast and recommends that she save some for her children’s afterschoolsnack.)

Beth shrugs. “It’s just – it’s been a while and we haven’t doneanything. You just show up here and drink my coffee and tell me to be a bossbitch and leave and I don’t know what’s going on. You haven’t even showed mehow to fire a gun. I still can’ t lie. I still can’t kill anybody. You don’teven tell me what being a boss bitch entails, only that I’ve gotta do it. Imean, I got rid of Annie’s boss, so if anything, you owe it to me to teach me.”

Una Lady Como Tú bySleepylotus

This one haseverything! Beth and Rio on a stakeout! Snarking! Shotgunning! Car sex! It’s sogood, and so sexy, and just genuinely a lot of fun. 

“This wasn’t supposed to take this long,” Rio grumbled, tapping theclock with one long finger. “Your kiddos gonna wake up wonderin’ where Mamais?”

He almost sounded worried about them, which threw Beth off a fewdegrees. “No, they’re with their father at the family cabin up on thePeninsula,” she answered. “They’ll be gone all week.”

This won her a sideways look that sent a small shiver down her spine.“You all alone in that big house, baby girl?”

Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her chin. “I’m perfectly fine on my own,thank you.”

Rio chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, I believe that.” Strangely, itsounded like he really did.

PTA Vibes by greyish 

This is just so.much. fun. The banter! The Rio POV! The swings and roundabouts of the Beth xRio intimacy! It’s honestly just got such a great energy to it, and is sowell-written, I love it. 

The first PTA meeting he walked into, she’d given him a look of totalabject horror before quickly resuming her standard Passive Housewifeexpression. He’d enjoyed riling her up until she completely cracked, yellinggluten-free snacks are non-negotiable! at him across the table like a maniacand stunning the rest of the room into silence. They’d stared at each otherintensely until someone awkwardly cleared their throat and suggested they takea tea break

(She’d pulled him aside and demanded to know why he was trying to fuckwith her by attending a PTA meeting. He denied it lazily, not even trying tosound genuine. She’d carved out a space in his life like it was nothing. Hewanted to retaliate. Invade every aspect of her existence.)

She’d stormed off and spent the rest of the break agressively loading apaper plate with pieces of cantelope and then left it on the table withouteating any. He’s pretty sure that’s when the betting started.

A Bit of Reciprocity by nottonyharrison

Another one set post2.04, this is just really, really great. It’s more these quick snapshots ofBeth and Rio that comply with canon, but also give really great insights intoboth characters. It’s fun, and dirty, and complicated, because the charactersare fun, and dirty, and complicated, and I just love that. 

She straightens her dress and checks her makeup before she leaves, Heruns a hand over her hair to flatten a couple of strands at the back, and runsa hand towel up her leg and then she’s gone, the door closing softly behindher. His eyes lift to the mirror and he can see his hands shaking.

He didn’t kiss her, not on the mouth. He recognised her husband as heturned in his chair trying to catch the wait staff’s eye. If he’s being honestwith himself, the idea of her returning to the table dishevelled and obviouslyfucked out turns him on more than anything, but there’s a time and a place andthis definitely isn’t it.

HaveIt Your Way by ohmisterjapan

Oh my god, everything about this series is just hot. It’s a realpowerplay series, so if you’re not into that, it might not be for you, butohmisterjapan captures so well the dynamic between Beth and Rio, and both oftheir alpha personalities competing in, ya know, a very sexy way. It’s so, so,so good. 

“You set up a meeting already?” he cuts her off, visibly irritated.

There’s a beat.

“I handled it.” She holds his eye contact. He feels one of his guysshift behind him.

Another beat. He grimaces a little then leers.

“Oh you handled it? You made a decision without talking it through withyour partner, huh?”

“I did what needed to be done.” She’s deliberately light and assertivewith him and he’s so pleased and displeased at once that he barks out a laugh.He looks round to both his guys; they’re poised but, Rio notices, look a littleuncertain. He’s tries to push that observation away because if he acknowledgesit then he might also acknowledge that he, too, feels little uncertain ofhimself. And then he feels a twinge of foolishness. He snaps himself out of it.He taught her.

Suream using you byAniara 

This is actually, I think, one of the most underrated fics in the GGtag. It’s tagged as Rio/OC, but it’s actually more like Rio/Beth but from theopinion of an OC he’s fucking instead of Beth, and ugh,it’s so good. I mean: 

“[Rio’s] eyes soften and he looks away. It’s too late because before hedoes she catches the rest of his features turn almost tender. She’s seen thatlook, not just in Lee, but all the men who’ve been interested in her. It’s alook of beginning but this one is clouded with apprehension. He’s hot for thispearl lady and not just for her body.

It gets to the point his skin buzzes sometimes when she sees him. Shehalf expects him to whisper her name when they’re getting it on but he doesn’t.He’s tight lipped about most things, she figures, so why not this.”  

Annnnnnnd, I mean, it’s not a rec exactly, but a casual reminder that I’mflashindie on ao3 and you can read my stuff here, haha. :-) 

[softscholasticism]

•delilah, darling•

rami malek x oc

a/n: hi y’all:) this is my first orginal character fic! if you have any questions about it please dm or ask me but i hope you enjoy! also please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

word count: 3.5k+

warnings: fair warning, i do put the deacon children in a little bit of a negative light, it’ll make sense but please remember that this is fiction, also freddie’s death is mention in this first chapter:)

C H A P T E R O N E: you make me smile.

July 27, 1981

Four band mates were located in the studio, trying to come up with anything to write some kind of piece of music. Nothing was coming to mind of course, Roger and Brian were trying to not throw Paul out of a window just because he was present, John’s wife Veronica was due at any second, and Freddie was playing random notes on the piano trying to think of anything. “This is bollocks, we’re not getting anything done, let’s just go to a party.” Roger sighed in frustration, standing up with his beer and pacing. Everyone looked up at that, it seemed that a party would diffuse the tension and maybe even create an event that would be good enough to write a song about.

Suddenly, the studio phone produced a shrill ring, John sprinted to it just in case it was Veronica. “Hello?” He called, the guys all looking at him expectantly, getting ready to have to rush to the hospital. “Holy shoot,” John glanced at the rest of the band nodding his head which confirmed their suspicions, the baby was on its way. The men began to frantically get their stuff together, throwing on coats, throwing away bottles, putting on shoes (or in Brian’s case, those wretched Clogs). “We’re on our way darling.” John hung up the phone and grabbed his car keys, the other men had been drinking and they were not about to get in a crash on the way to the hospital. Paul stood up as well, expecting to be able to go, but immediately sat back down as soon as Brian and Roger stared him down, practically planning his imminent death through their eyes.

The car ride on the way home was eerily quiet, John had done this before with Robert, Michael, and Laura but each time his wife had a child, it didn’t get easier. There was always something that could go wrong or he could possibly miss the birth due to travelling or touring. Freddie kept trying to ease his nerves by telling stories about his cats as well as describing possible future names he had for them. “My favorite name would be Delilah, it has such a lovely ring to it don’t you think Bri?” Freddie looked in the rearview mirror, smiling at Brian’s indifference to the name.

Speaking of names, John began sweating even more so than before, him and Veronica switched off names every other child and this time, it was his turn to pick the name and he had no clue. “I have no clue what I’m going to name my own child.” He sighed and swerved the car due to the surprise attack of name ideas from his fellow bandmates. Luckily it grounded him enough to keep his composure as he drove to the hospital, a slight smile as the boys argue over which of their names is the best fit.

The four men stumbled into the hospital, John rushing up to the front desk to demand where his wife was. It wasn’t long before one of the boys was recognized, specifically Freddie with his iconic mustache and looks. As the crowd began to get louder and closer, John burst through, “She’s in room 405!” They sprinted back, leaving the crowd in its wake. Luckily the elevator opened as soon as they reached it, a nurse pushing a patient on a wheelchair out of the hospital. The nurse’s eyes grew as she realized who was running in the elevator and hurried to let them through. Once they were all inside, Roger pressed the button for the fourth floor rapidly. John rolled his eyes and huffed at the blonde, “Rog, pressing the button a million times won’t make the lift go any faster.” Roger stopped, glared menacingly at John and then proceeded to push the button rapidly again.

The elevator dinged, the doors not even fully open before the band rushed out in search of the room. When they reached it, John’s three other children were there too but being watched over by Veronica’s parents. Once they noticed that their Daddy was here, they ran over to him and John’s nerves towards this next birth faded. His wife was a trooper and if she had the power to give him three children, what’s another? The children gave the rest of the band hugs and talked to them as John went inside the room to check on his wife. She smiled tiredly at him, she was obviously in pain, but nothing that she hadn’t handled before. Her forehead glistened with sweat, hair tucked back into a ponytail, she would always complain about how she looked during labor but John thought she looked like she was glowing. Veronica was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life.

“Hi darling,” he whispered, grabbing her hand, “how do you feel?” She laughed and proceeded to describe that she was ready to have this baby out of her. However her face changed, she began to look serious and John was worried that something was wrong.

“John, have you thought of a name for our daughter?” She leaned in close to provide emphasis that he better not give her the wrong answer because she was not having her child named something ridiculous like Roger always suggested. Her husband gulped, nerves that once were lost, now resurfacing.

“About that darling, I was wondering, would it be alright if Fred were the Godfather?” She was incredulous, that didn’t give her the answer she desperately needed, her child was not about to be named after a bloody drug or alcohol or some breed of feline. Veronica made sure to voice these opinions, it’s not that she cared if Freddie were the Godfather, in fact she quite like that idea, but she knew how wild the man could be. “I want him to name her and I swear to you our baby girl’s name will not be ridiculous.” John assured her, not wanting to cause his wife anymore stress than she was already experiencing.

Veronica nodded her head. “Alright, you better figure this out though, I think she’s coming soon.” With that, John went to go speak to Freddie.

As he approached the boys, who were still playing with his other kids, he patted Freddie on the back. “Fred, can I talk to you for a second?” Freddie obliged and told the children that he would be back in a jiffy. Together they walked down the hallway a little further, that way they could still be near the room and so that people couldn’t be nosy (Bri and Rog). John rubbed his hands across his hair, trying to gather how he should go about asking. “So, I guess, Ver and I would like you to be the Godfather of the baby and choose her name, but it can’t be anything bloody ridiculous after drugs or a vodka you liked in Japan.” He ultimately decided blurting the request was the best option. He watched with a cringe on his face for Freddie’s reaction and was immediately met with arms around his neck as Freddie jumped around.

“Yes, yes, yes darling, of course!” He twisted around, licking his lips in excitement, his eyes glowed with mischief as he thought of a name for the baby. “I have just the perfect name for her, Delilah.” He sighed, thinking about all of the ways he was going to spoil his Goddaughter. John briefly remembered Fred talking about the name Delilah for a future cat, not his daughter.

“I thought you wanted to name your cat, Delilah, Fred?” Freddie’s smile only got bigger as he explained that he would name his favorite cat after his favorite Goddaughter. Roger and Brian suddenly called for John and Freddie, exclaiming that the baby decided to starting coming out right at that moment. The band allowed John to be the only one in there for intimacy sake and so Veronica wouldn’t be stressed about the birth. She worked so hard and the doctor’s were so helpful and in just a few short moments, John’s breath was taken away at the sight of his daughter in his wife’s arms. Veronica had done so beautifully and looked just ethereal as she held her fourth bloody child.

She looked up expectantly at John as the nurse asked for the child’s name. A cheeky grin swam across his face as he spoke, “Delilah Elizabeth Deacon.”

July 27, 1986

Delilah Deacon turned 5 on this particular day and requested that she ​must ​see her Daddy and Uncle’s perform for her big day. Today was the day that Queen would perform in Budapest, Delilah had no clue what a Budapest was but all that mattered was that she got to see her Daddy and Uncle Freddie.

While the stage was being built, a small party was put together. Freddie had this marvelous cake put together that had her face on it as well as some of her favorite things such as unicorns, dogs, and anything Queen related. Freddie held on to the small child as she excitedly blew out her candles, the crowd around her cheering as all of the candles were successfully blown out. “What ever did you wish for, my dear?” Freddie asked, Delilah shook her head though, remembering when her Daddy told her that if she told anyone, it wouldn’t come true. But she knew what she wanted, and that was to have a house just like Garden Lodge one day. She basically lived there. When Freddie decided to not have massive parties, John would let her stay over and Jim and Freddie would watch over her, treating her like one of their own. Freddie just laughed and spun her around as the cake began to be passed to everyone.

Once the stage was finally finished, Freddie took Delilah to the stage, they were quiet, soaking in the vast stadium and the roaring crowd that would soon fill it. Freddie loved Delilah with all of his heart, he spoiled her rotten despite John’s protests. Her bought her so many clothing items and so many toys and books, he would give her the world if he could. In a way, he knew Delilah loved him just as much. She was different from the rest of her siblings, quieter, softer, she liked drawing and reading over playing with toys and watching cartoons. As her siblings got older, Freddie noticed that they would isolate her from playing, he believed that they were jealous of their relationship. John and Veronica loved her just as much as the rest of the children though, Freddie was amazed at how much love two people could carry not only for each other but also for their children. The dark-haired man was so grateful that Freddie allowed him to have just a fraction of that when he watched Delilah with Jim. He got to pretend, even though it felt so real.

Delilah suddenly demanded that Freddie must dance with her at that very moment, so he picked her up and twirled with her, softly singing her favorite Queen song, ​Somebody to Love. ​Delilah sang along with him, feeling like a princess in the Disney movies that Daddy watches with her. A soft ​click, click, click sounded from the right of the stage and Freddie saw Brian with his camera in hand. He was definitely going to have to ask for those pictures later.

“Freddie, you better have a good show for me tonight.” Delilah said seriously as Freddie finished the song. His eyes went soft as he looked at her, her short brunette hair and blue eyes looked up at him with hope. He kissed her hair and told her that he would always have a good show if she was in the audience.

As they stopped dancing, Freddie sat her down at the front of the stage, their legs dangling over. He could still hear pictures being taken of them but he didn’t care. All he cared about was his Goddaughter at this moment, he didn’t have nerves about the show later, he didn’t think about his health, he didn’t think about anything other than Delilah. “Delilah, darling, I need to tell you something.” She looked up at him once again, and his heart melted at the sight of them, so big, so innocent, something he hoped would never ever go away. “I want you to remember how proud I am of you, my love. I want you to know that you can be whoever you want to be but you must be the best version of it. Don’t let anyone take away who you are, because you are so loved by me and Jim, by Rog and Brian, by your Daddy and Mummy, by Phoebe, you have so many people. If you ever feel alone, just remember that you have a home with us and we will always be here with you darling, right here.” He poked a finger into her chest, she smiled and did the same. More clicks went off in front of them capturing every moment that they never wanted to forget.

Eventually the band had to go and start the show and before they knew it, it was almost halfway done. Delilah watched with wonder in her eyes as she saw her Daddy leap around the stage with his funky dances moves that he would practice with her and her siblings in the kitchen, she saw Brian move his fingers faster than she had ever seen it happen before, Roger and his duck faces he would make during drumming a song, and Freddie, who was in her favorite yellow jacket he had. Her eyes sparkled as he pranced around, she of course knew the words to every song, her headphones bobbing as she danced around on the side of the stage with Phoebe. The lights sparkled and gleamed, watching her Daddy’s band was what her idea of heaven was and even at the young age of five, she knew just how special it was.

The end of the show came and ​God Save the Queen b​ egan blasting, John beckoned her on stage and carried her around, she laughed and squealed with joy as she was passed to her Uncle Freddie after John kissed her head. Freddie was so sweaty and smelled bad and she made sure to proclaim this offense. He just laughed and placed the crown he was wearing on her head. Laughing as it slipped off, luckily Brian catching it and holding it in its place. Delilah felt as if she was on top of the world in front of this crowd of thousands with her most favorite people. In her Uncle Freddie’s arms, on his stage with the rest of the band saying goodbye to the crowd, even as she got older, she would never ever forget this night.

What she didn’t know is that she was also saying goodbye to seeing Queen perform live ever again with Freddie and her Dad.

November, 1991

At age ten, Delilah knew that her life was different, not everyone’s Daddy was a famous bassist apart of an even more famous band. Not everyone’s family was as big as hers. Not everyone had to experience their favorite person in the whole world dying. Freddie was dying, Delilah knew that, of course she knew that. Freddie was skin and bone, he was practically blind, and last time she visited him, they had to stay in his bed because he couldn’t get out of it. Delilah had to come to terms with an illness that no one should have had to suffer through. She knew that this might be the last time she would get to see him, but even though she knew this, she could never be prepared for it.

Walking up to Garden Lodge felt like walking into home. She had her own key, all of the workers knew her, the cats knew her (her favorite being Delilah obviously). Garden Lodge was her second home and she desperately hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time she would get time see it. As she walked through the front door, Jim greeted her with a hug. “Hi, love, he’s upstairs like last time.” She nodded and grabbed his hand, needing all the strength she could get from having to see her Uncle so sick and frail. “Remember, he’s still very sick, but I promise you he’s still the same Freddie.” Jim assured, leading her upstairs. As they reached the large wooden doors, she braced herself and put on a smile. The door creaked open and Jim spoke, “Freddie dear, you have a guest.” Lethargically, Freddie turned his head and upon seeing who it was, his eyes grew a little bit brighter.

“Delilah darling, I’m so delighted to see you. Please do come sit with me.” He softly pat the side of the bed, she moved towards him and Jim helped her climb onto the massive mattress. His heart hurt, because he could barely see Delilah’s blue eyes but kept his smile on because all that mattered was that she was there. She cuddled up against him, Jim sat in front at the edge, one leg tucked under the other. These days when she visited the Lodge, they didn’t talk much, just enjoyed each other’s company.

Jim smiled sadly at Freddie, lightly tapping his leg, “Freddie, don’t you have something for Delilah?” Freddie sat up a little bit more as Jim passed a small box to Delilah and another small box to Freddie.

“Delilah, darling, I got you a present, this one I think is my favorite out of all of the ones I have give you. Let’s open it together, dear.” Delilah helped Freddie open their boxes, feeling how cold his skin was and trying to not remember how a short time ago it had been so warm. Freddie had been so warm. Finally when the paper was all taken off, they opened the boxes and inside each one was a small necklace with a heart locket. “Look inside, Delilah.” Freddie whispered, exhaustion reaping over his body at just the small task of opening their presents. She opened the locket, there were two pictures, one from when Delilah was dancing around with Freddie in Budapest and the other of a picture of her Jim and Freddie at Garden Lodge with Delilah the cat. They had just gotten the cat and Delilah cried when Freddie named the cat after her.

“Delilah, darling,” Freddie spoke softly, one hand one Jim’s and the other on her own, “I have the same locket as you.” He pulled his own out to show her. “No matter where you go, or where I go, we will always be together, dear. Like I told you in Budapest, I am always here for you even when I’m not. Delilah you are going to do so many great things in this world and I want you to remember me and remember that Jim and I are always here for you. The Lodge is your home just as much as it is ours. We will stick together, and I promise that I will be there for you, Jim too of course.” Delilah’s eyes welled with big crocodile tears as she clasped her arms around Freddie’s neck. Just like she knew Freddie was dying, she knew this was their goodbye.

One week later, Delilah woke up to John solemnly walking into her room with her mother and sat on her bed. There were tear tracks coursing down both of her parents cheeks, and like she knew Freddie was dying, and how she knew that the last time she saw Freddie he said goodbye, how she knew that she was going to have to grow up sooner, she knew that Uncle Freddie was gone. No words had to be said, she raised her eyebrows as she looked at her parents, and their nods were enough.

Delilah’s heart felt like it was torn out of her chest, her favorite human being on this earth was gone from a terrible illness that she didn’t understand. Delilah knew lots of things, but she didn’t understand why they happened. She didn’t understand why Jim wouldn’t be able to live at the Lodge, she didn’t understand why her Dad left the band and decided to stay out of the limelight, she didn’t understand why the universe had to take her Freddie away. She sobbed and sobbed, too much sadness for her ten year old heart that now felt much older than that.

Veronica went to the other children’s rooms to go and tell them the news while John stayed. “Delilah, darling, I’m so sorry.” He sobbed into her hair, his heart shredding itself at the loss of one of his best friends and the loss of his daughter’s Uncle. His arms wrapped around her and together they laid in bed for what seemed like days. Delilah’s locket was pulled out from underneath her nightshirt, clasping it in her hands and wishing that Freddie could’ve stayed with her forever. John didn’t know how to move forward from this and neither did she and that’s what hurt the most. John was scared that he would never see Delilah smile again because here they were mourning the loss of the one who made Delilah smile.

tag you’re it: @ironqueen98

chapter two

[grandmasterofwangxiancultivation]

you were the ones I was meant to find - Lan SiZhui birthday event!

Sooooo, I did a thing.

It’s ot3.

And our main voice is, of course, the birthday boy, Lan SiZhui! HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY! It took me a bit to write/finish this, but I managed! You can read it as standalone or go first for my previous ot3 one shot here, to understand a bit better.

Enjoy or ignore this post :3 | Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Rating: Teen and Up Audience Prompt: Happiness and Family for mdzsnetwork event @modaozushi Pairing: OT3! Jin Ling/Lan SiZhui/Lan JingYi Additional tags: canon Universe, polyamory, disciples ot3, fluff Summary: It wasn't the same without Jin Ling, of course.  They missed him terribly, bones aching with every day spent in his absence -the newly found intimacy of whispers and caresses in the night, the warmth of his body close to theirs, the gleaming look he gave them that morning, when they all woke up in the same bed, thinking this is it, this is right, this is peaceful and electrifying and perfect.

Read under the cut or ao3.

It took them more than a week to organise another night-hunt. Letters were sent back and forth from Cloud Recesses to Koi Tower in elegant writings and concealed words, trepidation locked in the hearts of their authors but hands steady and firm in their movements and intentions.

A comforting thought, to know that they wanted to meet again within the shortest possible time.

The Lan disciples would carry out their duties diligently, mindful of their cultivation and abilities, maintaining a concentration that kept slipping through their fingers every time a detail or the sight of something specific reminded them of that unfilled hole in their chest.

In those moments, profoundly aware of their surroundings and minding that they were alone, JingYi would glance swiftly around them, making sure no one was watching, and then entwine one, two fingers with SiZhui's with delicacy, the smirk on his lips a contrast that made the other boy blush and smile secretively.

They would find a secluded spot between trees and bushes, and SiZhui would indulge in the mischievous glint in JingYi's eyes as he pushed the shorter boy gently against a trunk, large enough to hide their figures, and kiss him until both their trembling legs couldn't sustain them anymore, numb and shaky like their arms and breathes.

The risk of being seen wasn't high -they never ventured in the patrolled areas, nor went out at night, mindful of the essential rules of their clan. But there was no way they could keep their hands to each other when they were alone, lulled by the mountains’ wind threading through the leaves, silencing every thought in their heads, making them shift closer and closer until they were already kissing by the time reason came back to them.

It wasn't the same without Jin Ling, of course.

They missed him terribly, bones aching with every day spent in his absence -the newly found intimacy of whispers and caresses in the night, the warmth of his body close to theirs, the gleaming look he gave them that morning, when they all woke up in the same bed, thinking this is it, this is right, this is peaceful and electrifying and perfect. They had gazed at each other with both the dizziness of being still half asleep in a wonderful dreamland and the awareness that came with the brightness of a new day -that bittersweet reality made of goodbyes, unavoidable but not final.

It had been only one night, but it burned vividly and unscathed in their memories -how in the light and in the dark, Jin Ling had been painfully beautiful and felt scarily afar, untouchable even though they were in the same room.

They loved how at ease their minds and hearts got while they had been together, like nothing could go wrong in the world as long as they held onto each other, and without the Lanling disciple… it was too silent, the sensation of missing too imposing, innatural.

SiZhui and JingYi wanted to see him, so they asked for another night-hunt and got cleared to go a week and a half after the last one.

The memory of that event was still fully present in everyone's head -SiZhui had seen, coming back to Gusu, the blatant relief in Brother Wei's eyes when he had walked toward him and Lan Wangji without so much of a limp or hesitation, letting them know that everything was alright, that he was okay and happy to be home again.

The brush of a hand on his hair, another on his shoulder, and he had felt his heart beat in delight, the warmth of a dream long forgotten and suddenly resumated still sweet on the tip of his tongue, the ground on which he walked solid and reassuring like when Lan WangJi used to stand behind him and teach him how to play the guqin.

Only better, because Senior Wei was there as well. It was hard to call them in a way different from what they had always been, but sometimes he relished in dreams where he called them Father and Dad. It was okay as it was, though -their worrying warmed his heart in a way very few things in his life managed to do.

Sometimes, Lan SiZhui would look at the adoration mildly sparkling in WangJi’s eyes and the mirth and joy shimmering in Brother Wei’s while they are too absorbed in each other to care about people detecting those gazes, and think I want that, too with such a fierce longing and hollowness in his chest that left him feeling bad for days, as if the envy churning in his stomach was an unspeakable sin, something he ought to feel ashamed for.

Now…

He turned on his side, giving his back to the sky through the window he was absentmindedly looking at.

Blood raced in his veins, breath stuck in his throat once again, and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could settle comfortably on the pillow and watch.

JingYi laid on his back, forehead ribbon-free and hair sprawled all over the thin mattress of the room they were occupying while taking care of their mission. His lips were slightly parted, air puffing in and out through them, creating an endearing sight that made SiZhui’s heart flutter wildly. It wasn’t the first time he saw JingYi like this. The boy liked napping next to him, lulled to slumber by SiZhui playing for him during his solo exercise with the guqin. He could clearly remember the consistency of his hair through his fingers -no, they ached to do just that.

On his chest, Jin Ling's slim form was draped above him like a blanket, hair cascading all over them like the finest silk, legs intertwined, the Lan boy's arm circling his waist while the other's right hand was hiding under his shoulder.

He loved looking at them -it was a weakness both he and JingYi shared, it seemed, SiZhui knew from their many talks in the secret corners they claimed for themselves in Cloud Recesses, away from vigil eyes.

(He still remembered when JingYi first confided it, settled on his bed, arms folded under his chin as he cheerfully stared at him, saying I have always watched you two from afar with a fascination in his eyes SiZhui had felt deeply mirrored in his heart.)

His irises probably had a certain wavering quality in the way they were fixated on the scene, as if scared of missing even a single detail. SiZhui was sure, if only he had the possibility of observing himself from the outside in that exact moment, he would probably be reminded a bit of his fathers.

Never had he felt so blessed -or maybe he was just a hopeless romantic, having grown up with stories of fated partners and dual cultivation while growing up in accordance with the Lan rules. In the end, there had been no truer love story than that of Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian as a role model, for him.

He caught a movement with the corner of his eyes.

The Lanling boy was wiggling a bit, sinking in JingYi’s embrace, tucking his nose into his collarbone. Their inner vests slid along their skin, the warmth of the night preserved by their closeness, and SiZhui shifted and bit his lip, embarrassment crawling up his face.

He didn’t avert his eyes, though.

Jin Ling's eyes scrunched a little. A couple of minutes later, they opened, still clouded by sleep but vigil enough to make him instinctively relax at the sight of SiZhui’s gaze locked on him. He smiled, drowsy, eyelids only halfway open.

SiZhui’s pulse leaped up.

“A-Yuan” Jin Ling murmured, making his hand slide on the sheets until it reached his and squeezing it lightly. “Awake already?”

It took SiZhui a while to take the words out of his head and through his mouth.

“I- yes. We rise at five, it’s just… a bit earlier than that” seemed like a good explanation. Jin Ling's lips cracked in a knowing smirk and SiZhui giggled and sent JingYi’s still sleeping face a look.

“Did you watch us until now?”

Not one for lying, SiZhui sputtered and flushed once more, before replying bashfully: “I, uhm, I did, yes”

Jin Ling's eye lit up in awareness, a spark lightning his gaze in that dangerous, obstinate way of his.

SiZhui shivered.

“Come closer?” the boy proposed, tugging him in by his hand, still wrapped in his fingers.

There was no way SiZhui could say no, and he shifted, wary of his building desire to touch the other. He came so close that his arm brushed JingYi’s even when he tried to be mindful of him.

Jin Ling tipped his head to the side, hair following his will and dropping like a curtain, almost inviting SiZhui to run his fingers between every strand -he felt them itch, and clenched his fist for a couple of seconds.

“Is JingYi comfortable?” he asked softly, to distract himself.

Jin Ling huffed to hide the self-consciousness he felt from being reminded of his position.

“He is” came in a mumble, pink lightly dyeing his neck and noble cheekbones. He lowered his face on JingYi’s naked chest and briefly closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

“We talked about you two, yesterday, while you were downstairs with the other disciples” he admitted bashfully.

“Oh, really?” SiZhui managed to say, surprised, head turning and gazing intently at the ceiling.

“Mh” Jin Ling confirmed, his eyes never leaving his form. “He told me how you spent your days in Cloud Recesses, and how much you insisted for this night-hunt” he added, fiddling a bit with JingYi’s robe.

“W-Well, we both wanted to arrange this as soon as possible-”

“-for me” Jin Ling promptly interrupted, and then blushing heavily at inference and force of his words, eyebrows frowning in obstinacy.

“I-I mean, I knew since we have been exchanging letters and planning this for days and I wanted to see you both so much as well-” he stuttered, reluctant to give away the truth and, at the same time, eager to provide a good explanation, avoiding his gaze with embarrassment clear in his voice and irises.

What he said, though, was enough to put a wide, brilliant smile of SiZhui’s face, his features brightening in pure joy, eyes gleaming and complimenting the healthy reddish glow on his cheeks.

In that moment, he felt everything surrounding him all at once -the wind coming through the window, the soft noise from the outside, of people awakening slowly and getting ready for the day, and from the inside, early riser and attendants, probably.

The gentle embrace of sheets half covering him, the protective layer of his inner robe, the warmth that was not only his own, but came from the other two bodies on the bed -and those two bodies, entangled together, bathed in the incoming morning light, a sight so precious and breathtaking, which SiZhui would love to wake up to everyday-

Startled, his smile vanished and he couldn’t manage to look at Jin Ling anymore -but his eyes dropped on his parted lips, and the tenderness of his feelings spiralled away from his thoughts in seconds, a denser, still new sensation invading all his senses.

Jin Ling knew what that heated gaze was hiding -he had been hinting at it, wanting it, desiring it, trying to make himself inviting enough to have SiZhui’s eyes on him like that, with that same barely repressed fervor and an underlying crave matched only by his own. The Lanling boy wasn’t one to sit still or keep quiet when he wanted something, and that hanging, infinite moment wouldn’t be an exception.

He leaned forward, shifting from JingYi’s chest slowly until he could stretch his arms over SiZhui, a hand planted next to his shoulder and the other stroking the Lan boy’s untied hair with nothing short of wonder and resolve in his flaming golden irises.

“Let me kiss you?” he murmured, resolut but coy, fingertips hovering against his temple with vibrating impatience.

“A-Ling” SiZhui could only say, eyes wide and shiny, consent blatant and unequivocal in the loging, aching tone of his voice, in the way his arms reached for Jin Ling as the younger boy descended on him, eager but careful, plenty aware of his lack of experience.

Their lips met and everything in SiZhui shattered, tension leaving his body and building up again. His skin flared fiercely and indomitable as Jin Ling’s tentative, curious lips mapped his own, caressing them with timidity steadily forgotten. Sizhui’s were a bit dry, so he couldn’t help but moan gratefully when Jin Ling licked and nipped at them, a hand coming up to SiZhui’s cheek to keep him immobile while he was exploring.

He didn’t dare move, but every part of his body was visibly quivering.

Jin Ling tried again -his mouth covered his and he breathed SiZhui in, moving his lips with a delicacy that reminded him so much of the Lanling boy and the few, intimate moments their shared.

Now he could add another one.

SiZhui felt like he had given him enough time to taste the thrill of kissing someone -he loved those gentle attention and wanted nothing more than for Jin Ling to be comfortable with him.

He lifted a hand, threading it through his hair and pressing down, making their lips connect a bit more decisively. Jin Ling muffled a startled cry, fingers going down to grip SiZhui on his shoulder, his arm. The Lan boy, smirked and tipped his chin up, poking at those lips with his tongue and nuzzling them with slow, calculated strokes.

SiZhui was no expert in matters regarding the physical side of a relationship, but he and JingYi had been kissing for days, and he -them- had wanted nothing more than to do the same with Jin Ling.

Albeit younger, the Lanling boy didn’t shy away from SiZhui’s throughout attentions -he eagerly draped himself all over the other, opening his mouth gently and groaning satisfactory at the feeling of having him so close, tongue brushing against his, mouths fitting perfectly, breathes mingling and barely keeping up with their racing hearts.

SiZhui flipped him on his back, hands gripping his hips and lips parting once more as the kiss deepened to a soothing, pleasant pace, cosy and slow and a bit off, marked by their inexperience, but all the more exciting for that exact reason. Jin Ling’s fingers trembled as they grazed the skin of the Lan boy’s chest and both painted at the sensation, drifting apart but remaining close, noses brushing against one another.

There weren’t words suitable enough to describe how painstakingly beautiful Jin Ling was like that -how delectable and delicate and alluring and desiderable he was, how much restrain SiZhui had to exercise to bring himself not to go any farther than that.

“SiZhui, JingYi told me that today is-”

“So eager for five in the morning, you two.”

The both jumped at the sound of JingYi’s voice, turning with a hint of embarrassment clear on their faces to look at him.

The other Lan boy appeared smug and amused, with his head propped up on his elbow as if his was enjoying the show -he probably was, if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by. He didn’t lose a moment to get closer and reach for SiZhui, pulling him between him and Jin Ling with a subtle laugh.

“What Jin Ling was going to say-”

“-ehi!”

“-is happy birthday.”

“But I wanted to say that!”

“You were too busy eating up his face! Sorry, beautiful mistress” JingYi winked, and Jin Ling appeared conflicted, stammering while his face went crimson from elation and fury.

“You--!”

SiZhui muffled a laugh and pulled them in a tight embrace, making them all tumble on the wide bed. Kissed them both, calming their spirited words and intense glares, settling with Jin Ling monopolising him by laying down on his chest again -it seemed like that was his favorite spot then the Lan boys were concerned- and JingYi wrapped on his side, playing with his hair and whispering in his ear if he had something to say.

He felt like that simple, quiet moment had the potential to fill him up and making him never sense cold again.

“I’m so happy I got to share this with you” he said, Jin Ling and JingYi’s smiles the best gifts he could ask for, forever stored in the depths of his heart.