#i would write a fic about this but I doubt my skill and I'm sure it already exists

[gayforolderwomen]

Currently thinking about cock warming for prof!Agatha while she grades papers, clenching around her desperately but not being allowed to move until she's done, that doesn't stop her from shifting her hips every now and then to tease you and hear those beautiful gasps however.

[kislnd]

handsy - chrismd~

synopsis: chris loses all sense of self restraint when he's drunk around y/n. notes: hey... i have returned after a very long while... with the chris fic based on this request from a while ago 🫶 getting back into the flow of writing so apologies if this isn't the best!! warnings: suggestive, alcohol word count: ~1.3k

masterlist

the pub was a haven of warmth amidst the cool autumn night, its windows fogged from the breath of numerous conversations and a slight aroma of alcohol and some sort of fried food clinging to the atmosphere.

y/n could tell chris was already a few drinks in and gradually becoming more and more competitive as he challenged each of his friends to a game of darts. "you still think you can beat me?" he teased to a more sober arthur who just rolled his eyes playfully, his voice louder than usual due to the alcohol loosening his tongue. "don't get too bigheaded, it'll be even more embarrassing when you lose." arthur grinned, standing to his feet to take chris on. y/n couldn't help but crack a smile at arthur's remarks - usually it was chris who would say things of the sort, especially when he was under the influence.

y/n watched intently as arthur went first, despite the fact he also had a couple of drinks he was still quite good - good enough that she wasn't sure if chris could actually beat him. "that might actually be a hard score to beat chris," she grinned at him from where she was sitting. "hey!" chris turned around abruptly to face her, a slight smile on his face, "you're supposed to be my number one supporter!"

"i am, i'm just realistic." y/n shrugged, "for some reason arthur is weirdly good at certain things." at this, arthur piped up, "that didn't feel like a compliment," he smiled, but remained fixed in his position, hyperfocusing on the dartboard to finish up his final few throws as best as he could.

"chris, you're up," arthur pulled his final dart out of the board, satisfied with his score. "i'll wait a second, let you feel good about your performance for a moment before i thrash you." y/n still wasn't convinced chris would be able to pull it off but she stayed quiet, anything could happen, especially if he was this dead set on winning.

the first couple of throws hadn't been too bad but in comparison to arthur's up to that point, they were slightly lower scoring. "you're going to have to really pull it out of the bag here mate," another one of the guys who was invested in the game commented. "don't worry, i know what i'm doing." chris nodded to him, y/n couldn't help but laugh - she wasn't quite sure when he turned into the grand master of darts but this mentality wasn't currently translating into skill. admittedly, she was hoping chris would win, moreso because after everything he had said, it would be a blow to his ego if he lost and painfully embarrassing.

as if by some miracle, chris' final throw was the saving grace of the entire game. arthur's mouth fell open in shock, he had been leading for most of the game and rightly so, had been expecting to come out on top. "i like to lure them into a false sense of security." chris grinned widely at arthur, who still hadn't fully processed how he had managed to bring it back to the point of victory. "yeah, i've no idea how you did that but fair play, well done." arthur shrugged, taking another sip of his beer.

chris finished gathering up the darts, went to order another pint and returned with his drink, situating himself next to y/n. "i never doubted you for a second." she giggled, shuffling a little closer to him. he smiled, resting his hand on her thigh, "whatever you say."

as the night drew on and the drinks continued to flow, y/n noticed chris' hand inching further and further up her thigh, pushing her skirt dangerously high. he was rubbing small circles on her inner thigh absent-mindedly, engulfed in the conversation at the table. every now and again, he would glance at her with clouded eyes that, despite being tired and obviously drunk, were still filled with love, maybe even something more.

y/n mentally confirmed he was in a certain mood as he inched closer to her, dragging her towards him so their sides were pressed together - one arm around her, resting gently on her lower back while the other continued to rub her thigh slowly, almost painfully. if they hadn't been in public, she was certain something more would have happened by now. chris was getting more bold, sliding his hand even further up her leg, earning a gasp from her. "chris!" she hissed, not wanting to draw attention to them, "really?"

despite being a little more than just slightly drunk, chris knew what he was doing, and y/n knew that for a fact. "what?" he smiled a dopey half smile at her, "can't i touch my beautiful girlfriend?" y/n rolled her eyes playfully, she still couldn't believe how cute he was capable of being - especially given the fact that he was generally quite mean when under the influence. she had to admit she couldn't get enough of the way it made her feel extra special, and honestly it did give her a good laugh. the way he would be super loving towards her and in the same breath call some poor victim, usually arthur, a rude name was just comical. "why don't we get this treatment?" arthur prodded chris in the side with a cheeky smile on his face. "last time i checked you weren't my girlfriend?" he snapped back lazily, head flopping onto y/n's shoulder, hand still firmly planted on her leg. "wouldn't want to be either, you're crushing the poor girl!" another one of the guys, one y/n honestly didn't recognise in the moment, added.

at this, another couple of people at the table darted their eyes towards her, noticing the way chris was near enough wrapped around her completely, bar his lower half. she felt the heat rising to her cheeks, she was never the type to do pda, but equally she wasn't entirely opposed to it - just as long as it wasn't something too crazy. "you lot as well?" chris sighed, exasperated at the attention from seemingly everyone other than y/n, "i'd like to enjoy my girlfriend in peace please," he shut his eyes slowly, clearly getting towards the tired stage of being drunk. "we can tell," arthur continued, noting chris' hand placement. y/n assumed that this was his way of getting back at chris - playfully of course - while he wasn't energised enough to argue. "i'll let you have that one, i won the darts," chris didn't bother to open his eyes to reply, he used what energy he had remaining to pull himself closer to y/n, "and i have a sexy girlfriend, so who really won?"

the table erupted into laughter - y/n couldn't tell if this was genuine shock or amusement or a blend of the two. the way chris could be so straightforward when he was drunk and come out with some of the most unexpected things was remarkable, he became almost the polar opposite of his sober self. "right, i think we'd better get home," y/n spoke lowly to chris, who hadn't moved from her seemingly very comfortable shoulder. it was getting late and everyone was visibly tired and / or intoxicated so she figured it was a good idea to slip out of the pub before the masses left.

chris only hummed in agreement, eyes still firmly shut, the few thoughts that were circling his mind were all y/n.

[theoutcastwrites]

Try Again - Il Dottore x Reader

This is a vent fic. Let's just get that out of the way. I wrote this because I needed Dottore to do The Thing™. Don't read too much into this. The feelings will pass

"You've been staring at that journal for the past fifteen minutes," said Zandik, "what's the matter?"

You weren't sure it could be put into words - all the self-doubt that tormented you as of late, the thoughts that circled your mind every waking hour. Attempts had been made, in vain, to prepare a small speech in your head in case Zandik ever caught on. That, of course, he did, but you had nothing to say; not a single eloquent monologue to convey your insecurities in a way that would provoke understanding and not bewilderment.

I feel inadequate as of late. I don't feel like I'm wanted anywhere. Nothing I do matters anymore.

All miserable words that would have been met with a stern look, a simple "you are wanted by me; thus all that you do matters to me".

You tapped your pen against the empty page of your journal. You were desperate to say something, yet whatever it was that would eventually come out of your mouth already felt lacking. Nothing was enough.

"Talk to me," he urged, "you know there is nothing in this world that can't be solved. Tell me what bothers you."

You swallowed. "I feel as if I've lost all my skills. For writing, I mean. I can't come up with anything new and whatever ideas I have feel mediocre at best; uninteresting and aimless. I don't know, I..."

I think I should just give up.

The thought had crossed your mind countless times before. Wouldn't it be so much easier to abandon your work altogether? Why continue hurting yourself with this when you could simply let it all go?

You were tempted. Still, there was something that forced you to keep trying; something strange and incomprehensible that begged you not to give up this one thing that you knew.

Zandik pulled you out of your thoughts, "as far as I can tell - from what little I've seen of your scribbles - you've been writing the same themes over and over. What about trying something new?"

"I have tried. Nothing feels fitting."

"Then take a break. If I hit a dead end in my research I find something else to occupy my mind. Surely reading someone else's works will help you view your ideas from different perspectives?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. It all sounded so simple in theory - this issue should have been so easy to solve - yet nothing had worked. You felt as though you were stuck between four brick walls with no tools to break them down; nothing but your own fingernails to scrape them in hopes that someone would hear you from the other side.

"It doesn't feel so simple," you said softly.

"Why?"

"If I take a break now, I feel as if I'll only get worse." There came the first half of your horrifyingly vulnerable confession, and with it - a lump in your throat that came to embarrass you even further. You whispered the second half with enough shame to drown an entire nation: "If I don't push something out now, I'm afraid people will stop caring about me."

Zandik didn't spare you enough time to hide the tears that already clouded your vision; for he was by your side in the blink of an eye, gently pulling the journal out of your hands and hiding it behind his back.

"Why would you let such a thought become your truth?"

He laced his fingers with yours, wiped at the stray tears on your cheeks with the other hand. His glove rubbed against your skin in a way that was more uncomfortable than soothing but you made no move to stop him. Zandik continued to soothe you in the way he knew best.

"There's no race to run, do you understand? If you keep telling yourself that you'll become spoiled lest you write now, you'll never be able to see your brilliance as I do."

Zandik's eyes softened when you weakly squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. Thank you, you wanted to say, for seeing in me everything that I do not.

"Everything comes and goes; just as dusk turns to dawn without waiting for you to keep up." Zandik placed a tender kiss on your knuckles, "so don't let one difficult moment define you, my dear."

[heretyc]

Cat and Mouse [Franco Barbi x Reader] [SMUT/NSFW] [18+]

Plot: You take far too many antipsychotics and suffer the consequences. Those consequences? Franco Barbi taking you for himself. [Female reader character.] This is porn with plot.

Warnings: 18+ content ahead. Obsessive Barbi. Lactation kink, mommy kink, breastfucking, missionary sex and MC death [you respawn anyway lol]. This shit is so filthy I had to take a shower. [Just kidding I was like a pig in mud lmfao]

TW: Somewhat dubious consent. You don't give verbal consent and you're high. You're...kinda not bothered, if that makes sense? Even through the drugs. You also get shot by Lupara. I kinda based this off of the hatefucking! AU where you were in Havana the day he started the shootout and you basically become enemies to lovers.

Also mentions of non-con birth control usage, as he rawdogs you. He is literally the embodiment of the "raw, next question" meme.

Setting: The docks map. [I can't find a good picture, but inside of the red room on the ship where Barbi shoots the glass and pursues you.]

It's doneeeee! Enjoy. I'm not exactly confident in my smut writing skills so I hope this is still enjoyable. Under the cut due to NSFW content ahead. Why do I always turn my fics poetic?? Ugh. This fic was a ROLLER COASTER.

A hiss, a cry, a grunt and a groan; that was the array of noises that escaped your throat as you tried to roam and plunder the shithole that was the docks, your nipples swollen and making you want to rip them off.

The nurse was nice enough to give you a maternity bra. Truly, she was; coming to her with your little issue, she was more than understanding.

"Oh dear," Barlow had clicked her tongue as a gloved hand squeezed at your breast, her expression showing concern, "I was afraid this would happen." She was gentle as she swabbed some milk from your nipple, shoving the soaked swab into a test tube.

Her smile was friendly yet forced, full of pity in typical Barlow, "I'll get you some maternity wear for the time being...for now. Refrain from taking those antipsychosis medications for a while, okay?"

As if that was easy; she was bullshitting you, this you knew. It wasn't like you could stop taking them, and therefore, you had to suffer the consequences.

"I'll make sure it isn't pus," she dawdled, getting up from her seat and gently taking your hand, her free one holding the tube. "From now on, please rest in the sleep room." She looked...mortified for you. "Just...rest for today. Easterman's a wonderful man, dear...I'm sure he'll let you."

Trials were hard enough as it was. Constant fear. Your brain was fried, no doubt. But now you had to worry about breast pain, of all things.

She then cursed under her breath, "You have that...Franco Barbi trial tomorrow, don't you?"

Oh.

Fuck.

She was hesitant to send you away, but off you went back into the room that was assigned to you.

And now you were here, after spending all day yesterday moping and dreading the day, and the maternity bra you were given had been ripped off, because the material was too. fucking. rough.

Why was that, you wondered as you roamed the docks, shoving the bags of poisoned medicine into your pockets. Why was the material so shit?

But then again, why did they have maternity bras.

You silenced your train of thought after that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ ───

Fucking Franco Barbi. That was what you were doing. Literally, fucking Franco Barbi.

You didn't think you'd be fucking the man who started that little gunfight in Cuba that one faithful day. You remember it fondly, actually; you killed a man for trying to rob you, and minutes later, you heard gunfire, sirens, and "spider eye lamb". All of which lead to the events which are now occurring. Well...and the constant trials against this fucker, who became obsessed with you the moment he saw you shove a knife through a man's gullet.

Barbi's hands were rough on your breasts, the gloves' material rubbing against your nipples as his tongue invaded your mouth. His saliva, thick and tasting of amaretto and almond milk, was shoved down your throat, his slimy pink tentacle-like appendage rushing to call your mouth his own. It felt disgusting and yet so arousing.

"Fuck yes, sweetness," He slurred after he pulled away, your shirt and pants gone and your back against the hard mattress he shoved you onto. "FUCK you smell divine." Your feet were planted against the floor, your toes almost gripping the wood with urgency.

The baggies of poisoned medicine were null, now; not like they mattered anymore, your pants in the corner of the red room. Much like his own, as you heard his belt buckle be toyed with.

"Gonna fuck ya," Barbi licked his lips, Lupara laying beside your head. Almost like a silent threat. Move and you die. "Gonna fuck ya tits, ya cunt...fuck- everything. FUCK. I've always wanted to do this shit, ever since that fuckin' day in Cuba."

He was eager, this you could tell, even through the haze of the antipsychotic he shoved down your throat. All you could think is, "Sorry Nurse Barlow".

But knowing her, she wouldn't hold it against you. She never did. These past couple of days, her false care seemed to dwindle and she actually seemed more...human, instead of fake. Maybe this place was getting to her.

Your tits were squeezed together, making you hiss; small trails of white essence began to stream down into the valley of your breasts, and before you knew it, a pink cockhead poked through, looking blurry to your vision.

You had never thought you'd see this fucker naked, let alone have his tongue shoved so deep down your fucking throat you thought he'd lap up your stomach acid like a desperate mutt.

Knowing him? He would. Oh, he'd mix it with amaretto and drink it like it's the blood of Christ himself.

His strange obsession for you was not at all kept subtle. Just weeks ago, when you two had first come to Sinyala - like a package deal! - he made it clear he wanted to pursue his affections, if his kissy noises were any indicator. You've lost some hair since coming here; maybe he put that shit on his wall, smelling it every night before bed. Maybe he kept some of your blood on his suit from when he killed you last Friday.

You never know with him. One day he's crying about how "you're fuckin' up my suit!", and the next he's googly eyed, begging you to spit on him. Weirdo.

Barbi's head was thrown back in pleasure as he began to thrust, his precum and the milk making it easy as pie for him to use your tits as a fleshlight, the cockhead close to pressing against your lips every time he thrust. "Fuckin' slut...that's what you are," he panted, now looking down at you with a pleased smirk. Sweat dripped down his head, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. "My fuckin' slut..."

Mutt. Bambino. Dog. Lupara.

"Gonna...gonna fuckin' cum. You want that, mommy?" He leaned down slightly, his voice a murmur, "Want me to empty my fuckin' balls on these tits? That face? God, that tongue lickin' up my spunk...FUCK!"

His dirty talk did nothing but arouse him even more, as cum shot out of his eager cockhead and onto anything of yours that it could reach; your lips, your cheeks, your chest, your neck. Your body had more semen on it than it did clothing.

"Fucking...shit..." Barbi's voice was breathy, his cock retrieved from the valley between your tits. "You're a masterpiece, you know that? Fuckin' hell." He stroked the softening organ, clearly not intending to end this anytime soon; ohhh no, not when you're at his mercy, with your tits ballooned in size full of cream.

The presence of his cum didn't assauge him from forcefully pulling you up, now fully laying you back on the bed as opposed to just your bottom half hanging off. Now you, at least, had a pillow under your head.

It makes it harder to bash your head, though. To give yourself an exit, to avoid whatever the fuck he wants to do with you. Maybe you could smother yourself.

"I told ya sweetness," Barbi rasped, straddling your hips as he ground his hardening cock into your stomach. "You get caught with ya hand in the cookie jar..." He shed his trousers and shoes, now fully nude from the waist down. Lupara had fallen off after he positioned you, and his bandolier was on the floor, clearly abandoned in favour of making sure your fucking was unbothered.

"You get fucked sideways to Hell," he took your breasts into his gloved hands once more, leaning down to suckle on a swollen nipple; a banshee would be jealous, had she heard the screams that exited through your lips, your teeth gritting in pain. This didn't quell him — your screams rivaled his moans, his eyes clenched shut as his audible sucks were all that you heard. You wanted to kick him.

"Fucking shit," his voice was muffled around your breast one second, and within the next one, he was looking you in the face, his eyes lidded in pleasure.

"I knew you were fuckin' special...you know that? I knew you were," Barbi growled out, leaned down until your noses were close to touching, "Nobody's ever been able to handle me," he rasped, "they die too fuckin' quick. Where's the challenge in that?" He huffed a laugh, breathless as he tried to regain some control. "But you...fuck no, you just...you fuck everything up in my face, and you win. Fucking...insane, to me." He pushed himself up, pushing his hair back with a shaky hand; he was eager, his body didn't lie.

"I suppose this is both a reward...and a punishment, dollface," Barbi licked his lips, moving down to shove a gloved finger into your cunt; you were wet...wait, what?

Did this really arouse you? Maybe it did. Something in you liked being a little dominated, even if your dominator was a batshit insane mafia don who whined constantly about sluts, and whores, and drugs, and "wahhh be my mommy".

God, you were fucked in the head. But that's what Sinyala does to a mind...there's no denying that.

"You get fucked by a Barbi...and you get your shit fucked in for being a business ruining cunt," he sneered, pulling out of your pussy with roughness. If your traitorous cunt wasn't throbbing with need, you're sure it would have hurt. It throbbed even more as he began to lick at his slick fingers, purring like a maine coone drinking milk from its prized bowl.

"Try me," you found yourself able to force out; those stupid fucking drugs made your throat all fuzzy, but even rage itself can overpower anything. "I poisoned your drugs...nothing else you can do to me that's worse than being smacked around by the grunts outside."

Barbi and anger were often allied; he looked down at you with a glare, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. It took him a moment before he clenched his hand into a fist, a smirk slow to invade his lips. "Oh...you'll regret saying that, sweetness. I bet on that shit. But for now..."

He positioned himself between your legs, your calves sitting on his shoulders; his head turned to peck one of them as he lined his cock against your weeping folds, slowly thrusting his hips to get his organ wet and ready.

"Fuuuuck, you're a goddess...it's like we were made for each other," He muttered, his body quivering with glee, "You're mine, and I'm yours, it's meant to fuckin' be..." He gripped your knees, his gloves slightly warm against your skin as he thrust forward...

...completely missing your entrance.

You raised a brow, the drug slowly leaving your system, "Mmm...do all Barbi's miss?"

He looked flustered, maybe even embarrassed, but he barked a "Shaddup!" before he tried again.

And missed.

"Is this how you were made? Papa Barbi forgot to pull out? Are you all that fucking clumsy?"

The look on his face screamed "I'm gonna fuck you up", and the rage that followed your question seem to assist in his attempts to penetrate you; with a roar he thrust forward, finally sliding into your entrance until your skin smacked against each other, his cock hilted within your silken walls. Third time's the charm, they say.

It wasn't painful, you were much too slick for this to be painful, but a choked scream exited through your lips, "Fuck-"

He was surprisingly big. He didn't look like the type to be packing...but then again, why did you bet on his dick to be regular sized? Why were you thinking about his dick at all?

Oh, god. What has become of you?

"That's the fuckin' ticket!" He began to piston his hips, loud moans beginning to trail from him like a whore; god, he really was a whore, wasn't he? He sure sounded like one. You gripped onto the sheets below, his head thrown back in ecstacy as he refused to slow. The pace remained consistent, time feeling like it was just flying by. A social construct, your ass. Your body experienced pleasure like never before - why does he know what he's doing? Didn't his file say he's impotent? - but your mind began to wander. "Fuuuck, be my mommy...fuckfuckfuck, pleaseee..."

He has the hips of a rabbit. He calls you rabbit all the time. What does that make him? A mutt; you've already established this. Mutts usually eat rabbits.

Maybe he'll eat you, later. Maybe he'll tire of your little game of cat and mouse.

"Fuckfuckfuck-" He growled through his breathy moans, his balls slamming against your backside with each aggressively fast thrust, "That sight of you covered in blood, FUCK, that's all I can fuckin' think about, I love ya, fuck-"

Barbi leaned down, his lips smashing onto yours; teeth gnashed against teeth, the kiss being more violent than loving as he moaned into your mouth, his hips continuing their assault. Was he even capable of love? He loved bloodshed, and drugs, and Lupara. You were next on that list.

His teeth bit into your bottom lip, pulling it with him as he pulled away, his eyes clenching shut as he let his head fall, "Gonna fucking cum, you sexy bitch," He breathed, "Gonna paint that womb white, gonna...fuck," He cared not for your own pleasure - your clit would smack him right about now, poor thing - as his pace, almost scarily grew faster.

He was a true whore as he screamed in pleasure, his hips stuttering before hilting inside once more, his balls pulsing as they emptied his essence deep within you.

His pants were heavy as he let your calves fall from his shoulders. "Fucking hell, sweetness..."

"Back at ya," you forced out once more, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your head lolled to the side. Despite him being a selfish son of a bitch, it was still pleasurable for you. He just snickered at your comment.

"Oh, sweetness?"

"Yeah?" You turned to look, only to see a barrel.

Lupara.

"I told ya you'd regret sayin' things you surely don't mean."

And before you knew it, you heard it fire. Thankfully, you felt nothing. The world faded to black, and the last thing you felt was a kiss onto your cheek. Sloppy, and full of your milk.

Maybe pumping that antidote in you was a blessing more than it was a milk-fueled curse.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ ───

"She was found in the cabin," muttered a doctor to Nurse Barlow, his face full of disgust, "With Bambino's semen. He's been in his...chambers, since the shooting."

Barlow sighed, pinching the flesh between her brows, "I see."

"Put her on an indefinite dose of Levora immediately, Aviane if you see fit. God only knows this'll be a common occurence." He huffed, shaking his head, "Hendrick's an idiot for supporting that little shit's infatuation."

"...Understood," the blonde nurse muttered, clearly distressed; she knew Easterman sending you into that trial was a big mistake. He knows of Barbi's little...crush...on you, which had made his decision much more alarming.

She had scoffed when Easterman used the pathetically tame term. It was moreso an objectification. "An obsession," she had corrected within seconds after his declaration.

Barlow looked down at you with pity, your face peaceful. The doctor walked out, shaking in displeasure. With a sigh she turned around, grabbing a small cup of water, and two packets of pills.

Popping them from the package, she whistled lowly to herself, waiting on your awakened state to take the small batch of medication.

God help you, she thought.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ ───

Welp. You never thought Hell had floors to it. Aviane - or was it Levora? - was known for causing breast pain. Adding onto your lactation problem, you felt like shit.

You laid in bed, your breasts throbbing like mad as your hair wet the pillow below you. You were fresh out of a shower, feeling dirty after your little encounter.

Maybe, this time, you could take a break-

"Reagent [Name], please make your way to the shuttle."

Oh, great. With the roll of your eyes, you got up and made your way downstairs, the other Reagents participating in chess, arm wresltling, or simply standing, waiting for their demise.

Sinyala's effect on people was strange; Reagents either became obedient Murkoff-owned lap dogs, eager for every trial - sorry...therapy - or partythrowers who didn't let Big Bad Murkoff ruin their hedonistic lifestyles. Hell, one of them even made toilet wine and served it around the night you and Barbi were welcomed [how was that even possible?].

One nodded at you as you walked past, and looking up at the shuttle, it simply read;

Downtown.

...Here we go again.

[ashwhowrites]

I’ve heard that you’ve been asking for Robin requests. It’s an enemies to lovers fic, reader is the new girl to Hawkins she auditions for the band, but unknown to the reader that her instrument is also Robin’s. Robin hates the reader as she thinks that she’s trying to compete and be better than her, but the reader thinks that Robin is cute and keeps on trying to impress her with her musical skills. The reader is pissed off by Robin being cold to her and gives Robin a taste of her own medicine. The two have an explosive argument which the reader reveals her feelings for Robin and I’ll leave the ending up to you. Love your writing

Love love love my girl Robin. I ended this happy! You're welcome in advance. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Battle of the trumpets

Y/N was new to town and didn't know anyone. She landed herself in band, playing the trumpet. An instrument she knew how to play since she was young, her impressive playing earned her many praises in class. She might have tried to show off, but it wasn't for the teacher, it was for the cute brunette with dashing blue eyes that played right next to her.

After a few months of trying to get to know Robin, Y/N fell short. Short-like face planted straight into the ground whenever she made eye contact. Y/N would talk to Robin about their instrument but Robin seemed like she could care less. Whenever Y/N performed a solo, which she only agreed to so Robin could be impressed, Robin rolled her eyes and huffed. Y/N wasn't sure why she was so hostile. But for a while, she gave Robin the benefit of the doubt.

Y/N stayed friendly with Robin for the first few months. She gave her a smile when she entered class and said goodbye as she left. All she could get from Robin was a grunt and shrug. Y/N was attracted to Robin's looks, but her personality made Y/N rethink her crush.

Robin could not stand the goody-goody that she sat next to. A new girl named Y/N. Robin hated that she was stunning, and played the trumpet. Robin felt like Y/N was the new favorite and all the teacher focused on.

Robin was not surprised when Y/N was granted solo after solo. She couldn't stand the way Y/N had to constantly show off. Robin knew it was on purpose too, because of the way Y/N looked back at her every single time. She also hated how fake Y/N was, always acting so nice towards Robin. But Robin knew she didn't mean it, it was a mind game.

The final straw was when they got paired for a duet. The teacher believed they were two of the best and should be paired. Y/N was excited about the idea, alone time with Robin was all she wanted. Robin, on the other hand, was seething at the news.

"Hi, Robin!" Y/N said Robin hated how cute and sweet her voice was.

"Hi," Robin mumbled, her eyes on the floor as she pretended to back up her instrument.

"I was thinking we could meet at my house? Here is my address and phone number." Y/N said, handing over the piece of paper.

~

"And then the dingus paired us together! Can you believe that? Not only do I have to constantly be right next to her, so close that I can smell her perfume. But now I have to hang out with her?" Robin scoffed, she angrily smashed the movies into the racks.

"I really don't think it will be that bad," Steve explained, Robin had a tendency to overexaggerate a lot.

"You don't know her! Trust me, it will be the worst night of my life." Unaware of Y/N being a few racks behind.

~

The air was thick, and Y/N barely offered a welcome as she led Robin to her living room. Both were focusing on the music, with no small talk between runs. Only the sound of their music.

"On this part, I'd try doing a tad shorter. The sound dies out at the end." Y/N explained.

Robin sighed heavily at the comment, "Figures you would correct me."

"Just want a good grade." Y/N kept it short. Robin had never seen this side of her before. She was cold and distant.

"Oh, I'm sorry that I'm not the best in the class, and a suck ass to the teacher." Robin fought back.

"I never claimed to be the best, but if that is the way it seems, not my fault. I also don't suck the teacher's ass. I just know how to play." Y/N snapped, her eyes sharp as she glared at Robin.

"Oh please. You constantly show off and do every single solo. You walk all high and mighty, we are all scum beneath your shoe." Robin glared back. The air was thicker than ever between them. Y/N could not believe she ever liked this girl.

"I only showed off because I wanted to impress yo- someone. I never meant to look like a try-hard. If you want a solo, I will gladly step back." Y/N sighed, exhausted from the arguing.

"Oh, the only way I can get a solo is if you step back?"

"That is so not what I said!"

"It's what you are thinking!"

"No, it is not!" Y/N huffed as she stood up and slammed her trumpet back in the case.

"Then what are you thinking, huh? No one comes close to how well you play. Poor Robin can't get the spot on her own so you might as well ha-" Robin didn't get the finish. Y/N's loud scream filled her ears.

"I'M THINKING ABOUT HOW I CAN'T BELIEVE I LIKED YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE. I'M THINKING HOW MUCH OF AN IDIOT I WAS IN TRYING TO IMPRESS YOU. GO TO HELL, BUCKLEY."

Robin sat stunned as Y/N's bedroom door slammed.

~~~

"How did last night go?" Steve asked when Robin walked into her morning shift.

"Terrible" Robin sighed, the guilt was heavy on her chest. Her anxiety made her want to throw up. "Turns out she likes me."

"And that is bad?" Steve asked, his head turned into confusion.

"Yes, it's bad! We got into a huge argument because of my big mouth, and she snapped. I don't know what to do."

"Have you tried apologizing?"

"Wow! What a good idea- of course I fucking apologized. She refused to open the door." Robin sighed again, her head slamming against the counter.

~~~

Monday arrived and Robin was nervous to see Y/N again. She walked into band and saw Y/N in her normal seat. Robin took a deep breath and went to take her seat when the teacher stopped her.

"Robin, perfect you are here! I'd like to announce to the class that the big solo at the big show will be performed by Robin Buckley." The class erupted in applause but Robin looked to Y/N.

~

The bell rang and Robin's tongue was fast as she asked Y/N to talk.

"You didn't need to get me that solo."

Y/N rolled her eyes, of course, it wasn't an apology.

"I didn't. He genuinely picked you. You were better after all. Congratulations on the solo, and don't worry about the duet. He cut it from the show." Y/N said a sad smile sent Robin's way as she left.

Great, now Robin felt even worse.

~~~

Robin thought about Y/N and tried to think of every way to fix it. She started by dropping out of the solo. Y/N deserved that part way more than Robin did.

Of course, that doesn't fix the damage Robin did. But it was a step forward.

~~~

Robin took a deep breath and clenched the flowers in her hand. She stood backstage as she waited for Y/N. She practiced the apology in her head over and over.

"Oh, hi," Y/N said, a confused look in her eyes.

"These are for you," Robin rushed out, practically slamming the flowers into Y/N's chest.

"Thank you," Y/N smiled.

"Your performance was wonderful," Robin added, the air was thick and uncomfortable. Robin felt like she could barely breathe underneath her suit. She took in the sight of Y/N in her long black dress and classy makeup.

"What are you doing here?" Y/N asked. She figured Robin went to the performance as a member of the band since she didn't have a song to perform.

"I wanted to see you, and to apologize." Robin gulped, "I treated you like shit based on my own insecurity. I saw you as a competition and I thought you were trying to push me out. I felt like a huge ass when you admitted you like me and wanted to impress me. I'm honored that you thought I was worth your attention. I know I fucked up, and I am so sorry. Pathetically, I thought coming here, dressed up, with flowers and an apology would be romantic. But I kinda feel stupid." Robin laughed nervously.

Y/N shook her head but stepped closer to Robin.

"It is romantic," Y/N whispered, her finger underneath Robin's chin as she pushed up her head. Robin licked her lips nervously as Y/N's soft skin touched hers.

"Yeah?" Robin whispered, her nervous smile made Y/N's stomach flutter.

"You know what would make it more romantic?" Y/N whispered, her eyebrow raised as she smiled. "If you kissed me."

"Right! Totally," Robin agreed, nodding her head. She felt her body heat up as Y/N's lips landed on hers. Robin never felt her heart race so fast, like it was trying to run out of her body. She placed her sweaty and nervous hands on Y/N's waist and pulled her closer.

Robin felt her knees buckle as Y/N's warm tongue touched hers. Robin gripped Y/N's dress tight and groaned as Y/N dropped the flowers to dive her hands into Robin's hair.

"Hey, Rob di-" The girls snapped apart upon hearing a voice. Y/N shyly wiped her lips as she saw a stranger with a shocked look on his face.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to walk in on...that."

"Thanks, dingus," Robin said annoyed. Major cock block much?

"I'm Steve!" His hand reached out.

Y/N coughed awardly and shook his hand.

"Y/N"

"Well I'm just gonna go and leave you two alone," Steve winked and walked out. Leaving the girls blushing and looking at the floor.

"Want to get out of here? Somewhere we won't be interrupted?" Y/N asked, Robin was a puddle at her feet.

"Absolutely."

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the dialogue prompts ask game

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Freak." and jaytim <3

send a ship and a quote and i'll write a short fic!

i'm delighted this was the most requested prompt and ship. just for that it got bumped to the front of the line. the sexual tension is implied, but this is mostly just 3k of a torture scene during Tim's Robin era. enjoy <3

“I’ve got a present for you, Hood.”

Jason didn't have to look up to see who was talking to him. The voice was a familiarly grating one. He hadn't exactly been hiding the location of his current base. It was used for meetings with the drug lords under Jason’s thumb. Plenty of his men came through, looking to buy weapons off Jason or try to barter for more territory.

That didn't mean Black Mask was welcome.

Jason picked up a random gun from the table in front of him, making a point to loudly load and cock it. “You can't buy your way back into my good graces, Mask.” He cracked his neck. It'd been a while since Jason has fought Roman. He could use the workout.

“This present isn't something money can buy,” Roman sounded a little too gleeful. There was a heavy thud, followed by a human-sounded groan that made Jason turn his head with morbid curiosity.

Well. Jason would be damned. It really wasn't a present just anyone can pay for.

“How the hell did you of all people manage to pull this off?” Jason asked. He walked across the room, heavy boots loud against the concrete. Crouching in front of Roman’s little present, Jason hummed. “I sincerely doubt you have the skills to catch Robin on your own.”

Tim Drake, hog tied, gagged, and glaring like a bat out of hell, squirmed on the ground with an annoyed growl. His face was bloody and the handle of a shiv was sticking out of his thigh. Jason grabbed him by the chin and tilted his head up, just to be sure he was the real deal.

He was. That scowl was unmistakable.

“You underestimate me,” Roman said, pleased with himself. “I killed a Robin, you know.”

Roman couldn't see Jason’s face under his helmet, but Jason still looked up at him, arching an unconvinced eyebrow. More interesting though, was Tim's reaction. Another angry growl, this time directed at Roman.

“Of course, she barely counted as a Robin but-” Roman shrugged and spread his grubby hands- “I'm more dangerous than you know. More valuable.” He tilted his head to the side, giving Jason a ghastly smile. Jason had vaguely heard stories of a girl who was Robin for a short while. “But I’m giving you the honor of killing this Robin.”

Well, wasn't that a gift.

Jason couldn't say he wasn't pleased to have Tim tied up at his feet. Just the sight made him smile. But wanting Tim dead? That unfortunately would just cause Jason more issues than it was worth. Roman didn't know Jason’s history as Robin. No one did, but the Bats. And if those Bats knew Jason actually killed Tim, they'd make his life a hell of a lot more difficult.

It was tempting, though. Jason was already picturing half a dozen ways he would do it, if he could.

So goddamn tempting.

“You think I want the strings attached to this gift?” Jason was careful not to overplay his hand. He made a show of grabbing a handful of Tim��s hair and yanking his head back to get a look at him. If Roman knew Jason didn't actually plan to kill Tim, it could reveal too much about Jason’s past for comfort.

“My requests are reasonable,” Roman hummed. He was wandering around Jason’s warehouse, looking at Jason's weapons. “All of my men and territory pooled together with yours. For thirty percent of collective profit.”

He really was desperate. When Jason first met Roman, the man wouldnt have taken anything less than eighty.

Jason had heard rumors that Roman was losing ground to the Maronis. It clearly held more truth than he realized.

“What about that nightclub you own on the East End?” Jason asked, studying Tim. His face being hidden was a plus. Tim couldn't read him, no matter how hard he was clearly trying, eyebrows knit together.

Roman sputtered. “What about it?”

“I want in,” Jason said. “At least fifty.”

In truth, it wasn't about the money. Jason could get money just about anywhere. But he’d heard rumors about the girls that worked there getting beaten by their pimps. Jason had been looking for a way to get that under control.

He could always double cross Roman after a couple months, once he gained the support of Roman’s men. It would be easier than shooting fish in a barrel.

“I built that establishment from the ground up,” Roman hissed.

Jason only shrugged. “I could just kill you, then kill Robin.” Under Jason’s grip, Tim flinched and started to squirm harder.

Silence.

“Fifty is reasonable,” Roman said slowly, fighting against every word. “But I want to watch you kill the Boy Wonder.”

Jason shifted his weight. “Why?”

“Sadists enjoy admiring each other's work, don't we?” Roman leaned against a table, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I want to see how you’ll do it.”

That complicated things.

“You want to waste your whole night here?” Jason tried to sound bored. “I’m going to drag it out.”

Roman just laughed. “I did the same with the girl. There's no fun in giving them the easy way out.”

Jason needed time to think of a plan that didn't end in a dead bird on his hands. Which meant he needed to stall.

“Whatever.” Jason shrugged. “Do what you want. Just don't touch my shit and stay back there. I don't want you breathing down my neck.”

With a pleased nod, Roman leaned against a table. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it.

Jason cracked his neck and pulled his kris dagger off his belt. He cut the gag off of Tim, knicking his cheek with a small cut. Tim actually looked nervous.

Leaning forward to not be heard by Roman, Jason lowered his voice to a whisper. “Put on a good performance, or I'll have to actually start hurting you.” It was the only hint Jason was giving Tim about his working plan.

Tim’s expression changed. His brow furrowed, then mouth formed a small ‘o’ of understanding. He gave Jason the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. He understood. He would cooperate. There was still hesitance. Jason didn't blame him.

He still had to make Tim bleed.

Jason raised the dagger, making a show of considering what to do with it. He brought the blade down on the part of Tim’s chest plate with the thickest armor. The knife would still definitely pierce skin, but a shallow wound.

Tim grunted, face twisting up. He was going the smart route, making it look like he was trying hard to not react. Jason hummed in approval. He twisted the kris around, digging it into Tim’s suit more. This time, the sound Tim made sounded a bit more genuine.

“You can scream,” Jason said loudly. More for Roman’s sake, to play up the sadist act. Of course, a small part of him did want to hear Tim scream. “If you don't make it interesting, I'll just have to get more creative.”

Tim gave Jason a rude scowl. He really should've been more grateful. Jason still could just kill him.

“What toys do you keep here?” Jason asked. He routed around Tim’s utility belt, looking for something interesting. Tim tried to twist away. Jason kneed him hard in the stomach, pulling a groan out of him. “Hold still.”

Jason tossed aside uninteresting things, like lockpicks and fingerprinting kits. A small noise of victory came out of him when Jason’s fingers curled around a tazer.

“This looks fun.” Jason turned it around in his hand, fiddling with the settings.

Tim was violently shaking his head.

Jason pressed the tazer against Tim’s suit and turned it on.

Tim’s whole body jerked and he screamed through grit teeth. Jason watched his expression changed like a hawk. Of course Tim was acting it up, but still. It was something fun to watch him writhe in pain.

“It’ll hurt more if you press it against his bare skin,” Roman called out.

Jason looked over his shoulder. “If I want your useless input, I'll ask for it.” His tone was deadly enough to make Roman stiffen and nod.

Killjoy.

Jason shocked Tim with the tazer again while hunting some more around the belt. Every tortured noise Tim made was music to Jason’s ears.

The next interesting thing Jason pulled out was a small emergency flare.

With a curious hum, Jason lit the flare. Tim flinched and gave Jason a concerned look.

“What are you-” Tim asked shakily. He was cut off by a hard punch to the face. Blood poured from Tim’s nose.

“Don't rush me,” Jason growled. He pulled his kris out of Tim, setting the tazer aside. Jason held the blade against the hot flame from the flare. The metal warmed until it glowed bright red. “I’d really recommend holding still, unless you want to lose an eye.” Jason brought the red hot blade to Tim’s face. Tim froze, breathing hard.

instead of cutting, Jason just pressed the flat of the blade against Tim’s face. A horrible cry came out of Tim’s throat, but he stayed still. The scent of burning flesh filled the room for the long minute Jason kept the hot blade in place.

When he lifted it, Tim curled in on himself, coughing and choking on the blood from his nose. The wavy design of the kris left an interesting mark on Tim’s cheek, swirling back and forth.

“If that scars, I swear to god-” Tim mumbled through grit teeth, moving his mouth as little as possible.

“It won't scar,” Jason hissed back. “Probably.” Which was a shame. He sort of hoped it would. Jason cleared his throat to raise his voice. “I want Batman to know who killed you,” he explained, spinning the kris around in his hand. “He’ll see that and he’ll know whose blade it was.”

“You’re sick,” Tim wheezed. His voice was so small. Too small for Roman to hear. Jason huffed in annoyance.

“Don’t be shy you’re going to insult me,” Jason taunted. He tapped Tim’s thigh with his shoe. A reminder they were doing this for show.

Tim inhaled sharply. “I said you're fucking sick,” he raised his voice. He spat out a mouthful of blood, clearly trying to hit Jason. Jason just shifted out of the way, letting it splatter on the concrete.

“That was rude.” Jason was glad his helmet hid his smile.

He looked at the flare still lit in his hand, shrugged, and put it out against Tim’s stomach.

“Oh god!” Tim tried to twist away. The suit protected him from the worst of it, but he’d have at least second degree burns. Not to mention the parts of the suit that were currently melting and burning into his skin. “Fuck!” Tim’s scream definitely sounded genuine. He was stuck between trying to stay still to keep the burn from spreading and trying to get away from the pain. It was a glorious little struggle to watch.

The flare eventually ran out of juice at about the same time Tim’s lungs ran out of air to scream with. Jason tossed it aside and studied the new wound, pressing his fingers into it exposed raw flesh.

“Stop,” Tim begged, shuddering in pain. “Please, fuck-” he shrieked when Jason dug a nail into the burn.

“He folded easier than I thought he would,” Roman chuckled from his spot across the room, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.

“Well, you see how fast Batman goes through ‘em,” Jason said nonchalantly. Roman didn't know that was a self jab, and he didn't need to know.

Jason cut through Tim’s chest plate, exposing his bare skin. The fabric got stuck and torn on the burn, pulling a whimper out of Tim at the wound being agitated even more.

It always was a damn shame just how pretty Tim Drake was.

If Roman wasn't in the room, Jason would've torn off that damned domino mask by now to get a good look at Tim’s eyes while Jason hurt him.

Jason sliced Tim’s chest open, a wide arc just above his nipples. It wasn't too deep, but still made Tim cry out.

“Now I know-” Jason said, going back to Tim's belt- “somewhere in here, Batman makes you carry acid to cut through metal and whatnot.”

“No, no,” Tim wildly shook his head. “Please don’t.” He went pale at the thought.

Jason found the little vial he was looking for and held it up, right in front of Tim’s face. “Should've done a better job hiding it.”

He unscrewed the top and tipped the vial, dripping it into Tim’s fresh cut. Jason was careful not to use too much. Only a few drops were needed to start eating into Tim’s flesh.

The scream from Tim was blood curling. He tried to fold in on himself, twisting around on the ground like a wild animal.

Jason’s heart was pounding.

The shiv that was still stuck in Tim’s thigh got yanked out so Jason could drop poison into that wound too.

“Stop!” Tim’s voice already hoarse. “I'm gonna- I'm gonna throw up, god.” He sounded hysterical. His head tilted back and he sucked in lungfuls of air.

“You better not on my boots,” Jason warned lazily. He spilled acid into the burn mark on Tim’s stomach. Then, he got an even better idea. “Open wide.” Jason grabbed Tim’s jaw and forced it open with his fingers.

“Shit-” Tim whispered. His tone of voice sounded different. “Jay- don't. Seriously, please-”

Jason ignored him and let a few precious drops fall into Tim's forced open mouth. Then he forced Tim’s jaw shut again and clamped a hand over his mouth. He plugged Tim’s nose too, just for good measure.

The noises were muffled, but unmistakable. Jason’s body was thrumming just watching Tim twist and struggle to get out of Jason’s vice grip.

When Tim’s face started to turn red from the struggle for oxygen, Jason regretfully let go.

Tim immediately spat out mouthfuls of blood and spit, trying to get it out of his mouth. He was wheezing.

Not screaming, though. Jason was about it to lift the kris to stab Tim again, when he got a better look at how Tim was shaking.

Shudders running up and down his body. His legs were squeezed together. When he breathed, it came out in soft moans.

Jason’s heart almost stopped.

“You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” Jason murmured. So quiet he almost didn't hear himself. He got a glare from Tim that seemed to be an affirmation. Jason’s mouth curled into a cruel, unseen smile. Jason tapped the hilt of the kris against Tim’s crotch, making him flinch. “Freak.”

The realization only made Jason want to hurt Tim more. In all their fights, how hadn’t Jason noticed Tim was a masochist? This changed everything. He didn't have to hold back so much.

He actually wanted to see what it took to break Tim now.

Jason stabbed the shiv into Tim’s hip, as close as he could possibly get to Tim’s crotch. Tim squealed, flinching. Then his full body shuddered again. And just when Tim sighed in relief that Jason had avoided his most sensitive area, Jason picked up the tazer again and pressed it right there, against Tim’s crotch. And he turned it on.

This scream from Tim was different. Still tortured, but in a new Jason’s own pants were getting tight.

“Get out.”

“What?” Roman asked, when he realized Jason was talking to him.

“I said get out,” Jason repeated himself. He stared at Tim's bloody, shivering from. “You got a show while I warmed up, now I want some privacy.”

“But-”

Jason pulled a gun out of a holster. He fired it in Roman’s direction. Not quite hitting him, but instead blowing the cigar out of his mouth.

Roman made a pathetic, scared noise. “The deal was-”

“Do you want my men keeping the Maronis off your territory or not?” Jason growled.

“Fine.” Roman stood up, adjusting his jacket awkwardly. “Mail me a finger or something when you finish. I want a trophy.”

“I’ll save a middle one just for you.”

Roman scoffed, but held his tongue, storming out of the warehouse.

“Ass,” Jason muttered. He pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside.

“You didn't have to use the acid,” Tim said, notably sour about it.

“Big words for someone who enjoyed themselves a little too much.” Jason sliced off the rope holding Tim’s ankles and wrists, then tugged off his domino mask. Tim groaned in relief, getting to stretch his joints. He carefully got to his hands and knees, breathing hard.

“Thank you-”

Jason grabbed Tim by his hair and wrenched his head up. He pressed the kris to Tim’s throat. It pulled a gasp out of Tim and he tried to grab Jason’s arm. Jason just twisted his wrist, easily dislocating it. “Oh nuhuh, you little freak,” Jason purred, enjoying Tim’s yell of pain. He leaned in close to Tim’s ear and grinned, all kinds of fun ideas running through his head, now that they had privacy.

Things were about to get a lot more fun. Probably for both of them.

“I'm not done with you.”

[suusoh]

I think a lot of people seem hesitant to write about Johan Liebert, believing there’s a need to portray him "accurately" or "seriously" or else don't write him at all.

This fear is completely valid and understandable of course; experiencing it myself. Most works in the "x reader" section tend to lean heavily toward psychological thriller and suspense, all crafted with such skill and depth with downright the most beautiful writing style ever. (can you tell I want to inject these fics right into my veins.)

I absolutely fucking LOVE these. Okay? let's establish that. I eat up these works every time, they clear my skin and water my crops.

What saddens me a bit is to think that starting out writers who read these fics, instead of getting inspired by such beautiful works, accidentally intimidate themselves out of writing for Johan because they think that is the standard of what a Johan fic should look like. I suspect many aspiring writers believe they need to meet certain "requirements" before they can write about Monster or Johan.

It's easy to think that you have to read countless analysis posts on monster, watch the series dozens of times, or have a good grasp in psychology and philosophy before you're allowed to write about him (guilty ✋️).

While it’s beneficial to understand a character well, I've noticed an underlying sense of "perfectionism" found within the fandom, creating this sort of cycle:

-> Look at the Johan/Monster tag: You see no "bad" or "inaccurate" fanfics—only well-written ones. -> Try to write for Johan: You feel your work will never match the quality or accuracy of what's already out there, so you hesitate to share it. -> Avoid uploading your fanfics: you think your work is "inaccurate," so you might as well not upload it. Someone might even bash you for it.

And then the loop begins at the top again. Breeding the idea that only meticulously researched, serious fics are worthy of uploading. I believe these amazing fics should be a source of inspiration to you to share your own stories instead of holding back. I doubt the authors of those fantastic pieces want anyone to feel intimidated. In fact, I'm sure that they, along with many readers, would likely LOVE to see a selection of variety and creativity in the fandom.

It's good to be cautious of your characterization, great even. It means you've at least put in the work right? But you shouldn't let the fear of making something "untrue" to Johan's character stop you entirely. It might help to look at certain fanfics as a way to guide you, but not to set strict laws on yourself. He’s meant to be an enigma, a puzzle to interpret in various ways. For example, one author might say he enjoys tea, while another might explain he prefers blue Gatorade in their story. The beauty of writing him lies in these interpretations!

( Also there are people on platforms like TikTok and YouTube using Johan as a mascot for the "sigma male manipulator". Writing Johan x reader going on a cute date as a little treat for himself with his newfound humanity is absolutely fair game at this point 💀 )

Numerous serious fandoms, like Sherlock, Hannibal, or Dexter, have their share of fluff and unserious fics that don’t delve deeply into character analysis. Yet they’re written, uploaded, and enjoyed by the community.

Fandom and fanfic writing should be a space and a chance for you to experiment and indulge in your creativity. That's what everyone is doing here, it's not a competition for "best writing". You shouldn't feel any pressure to write for anyone else but yourself and write what you wish to read. If anything, I'm pretty sure all the johan peeps are begging to have more people write, eating up any sort of writing like the dogs we are. woof woof bitchh!

You might think that your fanfic about Johan running away to join the circus is stupid, but somewhere out there is someone waiting to find and read a fic of Johan running away to join the circus.

[caterpills]

20 Fanfic Author Questions

Hi!! I was tagged by the lovely @cha-melodius and @anincompletelist for this!

I've only written 2 (!!!) fics, so you're going to have the excuse the repeats in answers!

1. How many works on AO3?

2 🥰

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

99,315

3. Top 5 2 fics by Kudos

This is More of a Comment Than a Question

If You've Got It, Haunt It

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Red, White, and Royal Blue

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do! If you've left me one, I have probably responded to it. I love getting comments, lots of warm little fuzzies. Plus I'm always so excited to see what others liked or noticed about the fic 🥰 (Sometimes commenters picked up on things that I didn't even realize and that is just awesome.)

6. Angstiest Ending?

Uhhh, I don't really write angsty endings? Comment/Question is angsty (but not terribly so) but the ending is still happy, full stop. I'm probably always going to put characters through it, but they'll end up together. I'm a sap, what can I say?

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

Happiest? This is More of a Comment Than a Question. While, yes, If You've Got It, Haunt It is pure hilarious chaos aka "a silly goose time", the payoff (I believe!) is more satisfying in Comment/Question, just by the sheer nature of it being a multi-chap versus a short one-shot!

8. Do you get hate?

I don't think I've gotten hate. I've gotten a few comments that have come off really unkind. Those aren't great either, but they aren't outright hate.

9. Do you write smut?

I do not! I read a whole heck ton of it (😏) but it never felt easy for me to write. The closest I'll get is non-explicit sex and other soft intimacy, but you're probably not going to see my writing venturing into E-ratings because it is not a skill I possess!

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nah. I don't think I ever would either. I love AUs, but most of the time, my fandoms and their characters are staying in their own little separate bubbles! (Doesn't mean I won't read them though!!)

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Nope! (Or at least, not that I know of!)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not, but if someone ever wanted to, that would be cool!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not... yet. 👀 (iykyk — there's a doc with ideas, and me saying "okay hear me out" every five seconds.)

14. All time favourite ship?

I'm not answering this! You can't make me choose.

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I can't really say. I have docs for all my WIPs (some y'all don't even know!!) with the intention of finishing them. Some have become more work than originally planned and I'm generally a slow writer. So like nothing is abandoned, but it may be in a few weeks or a few months before they are done!

16. Writing strengths?

URGHHH, this question. Narrative voice, I think? I'm confident that the narration, when in a certain POV, is sound and that you can really hear it come across when reading. Also, details. I've gotten complimented a lot on all the research and little narrative bits I throw into fics. (Pulled from the reality of living it, baby *finger guns*)

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Before ANYONE boos at me, I'm going to say setting. You may not think so, but some of the most difficult parts for me to write were/are the descriptions of places. I'm also shit at worldbuilding. Also, I don't really know how to be succinct. And while people may say "it's not a bad thing!" it truly is a detriment because I'll spend three paragraphs describing something that needs three sentences.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

Totally cool with it!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Pretty sure it was me becoming friends with the actress who plays Lex in Jurassic Park, and then us going to Jurassic Park, written on a yellow legal pad when I was eight.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

It's always going to be my first born, my whole heart: This is More of a Comment Than a Question

I'm going to quickly tag a few others, but zero pressure: @alasse9 @14carrotghoul @onthewaytosomewhere @theprinceandagcd @jafffacakess @porcelainmortal @faketrex @emeryhall @dezinthecloud

[sweet-s0rr0w]

writing interview game

honestly, i very much doubt that anyone wants to read what i have to say about writing, but i got tags from some lovely friendly people (thank you to @garagepaperback, @citrusses, @arminaa8 and @wholahoop) so let's start and we'll see where it takes us.

how many works do you have on ao3? 31

what's your total ao3 word count? 368,607

your top 5 stories by kudos?

Nor All That Glisters 

Kept in Cages with @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (art)

Dreaming Skies with @tackytigerfic

Among the Elements

When The Party's Over

do you respond to comments? no, i'm awful, i don't think about it too much or i feel absolutely overwhelmed. i read and appreciate every single one though (except the draco simps complaining about glisters you know who you are) and in my dreams i will reply to you all one day.

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? i don't really do angsty endings, although i did recently write a creepy timeloop fic! also, if anyone wants a laugh please check out the first bookmark on that fic, which is named After the Time Loop:

(also, 'a good enough fic' yeah well your reading comprehension skills aint all that either mate)

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? maybe kept in cages?

do you write crossovers? no

have you ever received hate on a fic? not just hate on my fic, hate on my fic that somehow led to me being accused of something i didn't do and basically ostracised from fandom for like nine months. wild!

do you write smut? intermittently

have you ever had a fic stolen? no-one would bother. though i think AI is stealing from all our fics right?

have you ever had a fic translated? yes! the lovely @moonletterss has translated several of my fics into brazilian portuguese! and by the way i had the nicest comment a few weeks back from someone who'd read the translation and came to say thank you to me too, so i'm super grateful to you moon <3

have you ever co-written a fic before? yes, i had the time of my life with @tackytigerfic on dreaming skies and my dream is to write a drarry with them one day if they'll have me. i think there are probably two other people i'd love to co-write with, but i'd be too shy to say!

what's your all-time favourite ship? so basic, but drarry

what's a wip that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? omg i started a fic many MANY moons ago which was actually supposed to be a gift for @vukovich with a fairly morally corrupt draco who works for vice squad and is sent in undercover to let some guy pick him up, and harry's his handler and has to watch him in frustration as he shows off for all the hidden cameras etc. not sure it's something i would write well these days but you never know!

what are your writing strengths? dialogue, pacing (i think)

what are your writing weaknesses? everything that's not dialogue, also i joyfully skip back and forth all over the shop when i'm writing a first draft which means i have to force myself to go back through in order afterwards to make it all make sense. there are better ways, i'm sure, but i really don't care.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? oh, definitely! what, as opposed to jkr's 'eet ees lucky zat 'e is marrying me'?? yes, no thanks to that. i'm sure i've had some french in there before, and i seem to recall asking people for italian and german advice though i reckon that was like book titles and not dialogue. but definitely i would!

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? oh god, f1, always the one that got away.

what's your favourite fic you've ever written?

nor all that glisters (i'll never not be proud of that as an achievement, especially given the pit of postpartum despair i was in), dreaming skies, or silhouettes

tagging: @tackytigerfic, @maesterchill, @kamaela, @shiftylinguini, @moonflower-rose, @epitomereally, @lemonlimelea, @sorrybutblog, @oknowkiss and anyone else and if you've done it pls lmk so i can hunt it down and reblog <3

[oh-no-its-bird]

your uchiha houhua au is living in my brain rent free....im sleep deprived today bc i was reading/thinking about it late last night lol, its so good!!

after the massacre he would essentially be sasuke's guardian, right? maybe not officially but still, he'd be in charge of sasuke as the only older family around? idk if he'd be a GOOD guardian but i can see his paranoid ass just always handing sasuke more weapons and money, just in case

i need to know more about sasuke finding out about houhua and itachi's thing for each other!! and does sasuke still end up going to orochimaru in this au?

YEAHHH IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE IT !!! Uchiha Houhua remains one of The Favorites(tm) I really need to finish writing chapter 1, I'm like. So so close. So close.

I also need to update my tumblr vault fic with all the more recent Houhua au posts, since theres been a good amount of new content, but I'm putting it off till I'm done writing chapter 1 for the actual fic

No but I'm honored it could take up space in ur brain !!

YES! After the massacre, Houhua basically becomes Sasuke's officially unofficial guardian. There's no real paperwork for it done, but like, they really only have eachother

Sasuke flocks to him as the only other Uchiha, and Houhua takes him in both out of pity + not wanting him to be alone, and also partially because he knows Sasuke is a main character and his survival heavily depends on sticking close to main characters in the hopes that it'll help bump his character importance points

Houhua and Sasuke are stupidly rich now just because all of the Uchiha belongings and funds are theirs now.

There's a bit of trickiness bc technically, most of it should go specifically to Sasuke (as he's now default clan heir, though that isn't exactly worth much now) but Houhua is older than him

Houhua will probably end up splitting things between them, and Sasuke will trust him enough to do it (+ be too young to really realize that's something as important as it really is)

I think in canon, and lot of Uchiha shit got stolen or went ""missing"" in their death, mostly bc Sasuke... wouldn't know what to watch out for / prevent people from trying to take. But with Houhua here, it's going to be way hard for anyone to do any sort of grave robbing

Houhua is absoloutley gonna be taking inventory and his past life's experience means he knows to be on guard for people looting the compound when he's not looking !! There might even be some fun drama w that in the future ,,,

Houhua is stuffing weapons and money into Sasuke's pockets, very much fussing over him every chance he gets.

(Because Sasuke is his meal ticket!! He insists to himself, going out of his way to demolish anyone who looks at Sasuke even a little bit funny)

I honestly think Houhua would make for a good guardian for Sasuke overall, tho he'd for sure have his faults. The key word here is 'guardian', not anything like a father— Sasuke is gonna end up seeing Houhua as his (new, better, real) big brother over shitty Itachi over there

Houhua, as Shang Qinghua, lived to be very old (for a human, not for a cultivator) and had a hand in raising and training many disciples.

I like to reference Pride Is Not The Word I'm Looking For (aka the single best Shang Qinghua fic of all time) for my characterization for him, so he's like. Genuinley a good teacher and uncle, when he tries to be. He is just also burdened with crippling self doubt and likes to insist that every nice thing he does is canceled out by his own selfish reasoning behind doing those nice things

In Naruto world especially, filled with shitty murderous parents and a government that churns out murder babies, I think Houhua will be winning awards in his own parenting skills

Then there's also the fact that Houhua did know and interact with Sasuke before the massacre, just not too often. He was Itachi's weird cry baby friend, he'd hang out with him sometime

They just were never really close, and never really got to interact 1 on 1 for long— till, ofc, the massacre happens, and now Sasuke is latching on to Houhua and hyperventalating if anyone so much as looks like they're going to try and separate them

Houhua's existence as a whole allows Sasuke to be a lot more vulnerable, both because he is not "the last Uchiha" and also because Houhua will no doubt try to piggy back off of his revenge quest or even try to steal it entirely (to try and become a more important character, he insists to himself)

So Sasuke is just. Nowhere near as alone as before. And Houhua's own relationship with Itachi helps Sasuke believe Houhua might get it... more than other people, at least.

Ofc, there's also conflict in Sasuke maybe not thinking Houhua gets it "enough", or like Sasuke himself does, because Sasuke was, ofc, Itachi's little brother.

^ I think that would inevitably come in to play later, when Sasuke realizes Itachi and Houhua might have feelings for eachother. Sasuke would be so fucking hurt and feel so fucking betrayed, believing that maybe Houhua never "got it" to begin with

Things get even more complicated depending on when Sasuke learns this tho, because eventually Houhua is going to share his suspicions about the massacre being not as simple as it looked. So Sasuke's own feelings on Itachi are gonna go on a roller coaster of their own, trying to figure out if he himself can or should forgive his brother or no

Its all just a mess tbh, I love to see it

I HONESTLY DUNNO IF SASUKE WILL GO WITH OROCHIMARU OR NOT !! On one hand, mmmayybe ,,,, if he does, Houhua will go with him, full stop.

But there's also a chance that Houhua might try to take his place too! And he and Orochimaru are inevitably going to interact eventually, bc I have plans ,,,

(I mentioned it in another post, but if Houhua ever shares about the system and his past life with literally anyone, I would choose Orochimaru to find out. I think I could get the most milage out of him, and Orochimaru would absoloutley try to hack into the system for immortality and power or some shit)

I think whatever route I go with w Orochimaru will just depend on what I'm feeling when I get to that point in writing the fic. We will have to see where the story naturally leads me, you know? All of the options are so good, so it's hard to choose

ANYWAYS THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASK !!! I love Houhua au so much, I think its so much fun. Ur ask actually reminded me I really have to keep writing chapter 1, so this has kind of spurred me on to go do that

Hopefully I finish and post it soon!

[not-a-space-alien]

Two Sides of the Same Coin: Chapter 1

Story Masterpost

My writing hiatus is OVER!!! I'm super excited to come back and share this Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction I've been working on. It will have 6-7 chapters. The main focus is on Astarion. Karlach is also here a lot, and Wyll and Gale are supporting characters. It will also have elements of giant/tiny for the middle chapters!

You can probably figure out from context clues, but the setting for this fic is a playthrough universe where the party does NOT do Astarion's personal quest in act 3.

If you'd like to be tagged when new chapters come out, leave a comment or message me to say so and I'll put you on the taglist :) Or Subscribe over on AO3 （＾∀＾) 👉 AO3

Chapter 1 doesn't have any warnings besides typical Astarion-levels of angst.

***

“We'll do it after all this, Fangs. I promise.”

They wouldn't, of course. Astarion knew better than that.  They weren’t going to help him kill Cazador to be finally free once and for all “after all this crazy shit with Netherbrains and mind flayers and tadpoles and the world-destroying cult is over.”  They were just telling him whatever it took to get what they wanted out of him, which was his help in defeating said cult.  Astarion was very familiar with it because it was how he operated basically all the time, just telling people what they wanted to hear.

If they were all still alive and standing after all this, Astarion very much doubted any of them would want to keep him around, let alone help him with his goals.  All of them had turned down his offering his body to them, and once they no longer had use of his skills with a blade, there would be nothing to keep them around.  Certainly nothing to motivate them to help him.

Everyone had helped Gale with what he wanted because understanding the Netherese magic might help them destroy the brain.  Everyone helped Wyll with what he wanted because his father was a powerful lord and needed to be saved to stop the Absolute.  Everyone helped Shadowheart with what she wanted because she had that whole thing going on with Aylin and Selûne, which they’d needed to do to defeat Ketheric anyway.  Everyone helped Lae’zel with what she wanted because she was a gith warrior and an expert in slaying ghaik and knew about the relic and everything.  Everyone helped Karlach with what she wanted to do because, well, Gortash was one of the chosen three and they needed to kill him anyway.  Everyone had helped Jahira and Halsin and Minsc and Minthara and basically everyone Astarion could count until he ran out of fingers to count on.

But then when it came his turn to ask for help?  The way they kept assuring him it was okay to do?

Apparently defeating Cazador wouldn’t help.  It wasn’t necessary.  Because Cazador wasn’t affiliated with the cult, or the hells, or the mind flayers or the tadpoles or the undead or the Sharrans or the anyone that needed to be dealt with to prevent the sky from falling on them.

No, he was only affiliated with Astarion, and of course nobody would die if Astarion kept living in paralyzing fear.

Gale, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, Karlach–they all seemed to agree it could be put off until after the more pressing matters were dealt with.  Astarion maybe thought he hadn’t communicated well enough how pressing this was for him, personally, but he wouldn’t humiliate himself by getting down on his knees to beg.  He stopped asking after that–he couldn’t bear to be told no anymore than he already had.

“My be-fanged friend, I think we have matters a touch more urgent to attend to first.  Your vampiric sire will be top of the list as soon as getting distracted might not have such disastrous consequences.”

“This vampire lord is chraith, for sure, but our most urgent enemy is far more of a task.”

“You helped me with Viconia, so it’s only fair I help you with Cazador–but after the detour to the Sharran temple, I think everyone feels we’ve wasted enough time on things that can wait right now.”

“We'll do it after all this, Fangs. I promise.”

They wouldn’t, of course.  All this momentum that had built up to stop the cult would dissipate as soon as the Netherbrain was destroyed, and then suddenly nobody would have the interest in staying together.  They’d been talking about going their separate ways after this.  Nobody would want to keep going for yet more high-risk hijinks, especially not to help some random vampire spawn who, all things considered, wasn’t even of much value to the group.

He’d managed to get into a group of people who seemed to care about him, who told him it was okay to ask for help, and then he’d found it to be still another lie.

Astarion found the one member of the camp who wouldn’t judge him for it, Scratch, curled up with the dog in his arms, and wept as quietly as he could.

“I’ve had an infinite parade of lovers.  But a friend? I can’t think of a single one.”  He still couldn’t, not anymore. 

***

They did it.  They actually did it.

They’d managed to somehow beat down the cult of the Absolute, face the Absolute itself, and win.  They’d destroyed a netherbrain.  Astarion could hardly believe it.  He was, somehow, a hero who’d saved the world.

He was riding the high and the tidal wave of mixed emotions so much that he’d almost managed to forget about his problem.  He was only forcefully reminded as they stood there on the docks, in the sunlight, and the sunlight, well.

He’d managed to forget that the sunlight was his enemy, waiting with hungry, pricking fingers for him to let his guard down.

He started slapping at his own skin like he was on fire and had to put it out, while his companions stood by in horror and urged him to find cover.

He ran blindly.  It was a miracle he didn't fall off the dock into the water.  Ha managed to find shadows under a pile of crates.

He curled up and rocked himself, trying not to let himself fall back into despair.  His life in the sun was gone, burned up just like the sun had burned his skin.

He could very faintly hear Karlach yelling–apparently she also was getting her reward for all her hard work, which was also burning alive.

What a world.

Astarion managed to use his cloak to shield himself from the sun to move away from his hiding spot and go deeper into the ravaged city.  He wanted to get away from his… companions.  He knew no help was coming, and he wouldn't subject himself to the humiliation of being refused help while also having to hide from the sun.

He had enough gold in his pockets to buy passage on a boat when the sun went down.  He had to just get as far away from Baldur’s Gate as possible.  Get somewhere Cazador wouldn’t be able to reach him. 

It was madness that Astarion hadn’t done that in the first place.  He should have just put as much distance between himself and Cazador the second he was free from his command, consequences and mind flayers be damned.

He skulked about in the darkness of the under-city until it was night, then went up to the docks. His companions were gone, which was good. He couldn't face them.

Now he just needed to find a boat leaving Baldur's Gate, any boat whose crew he could talk to here after hours, maybe talk them into letting him below deck now so he wouldn't have to board later in the sun.

He was so busy frantically stretching his neck to find such a target that he didn't notice the presence at his elbow.  But damn if he didn't recognize the voice.  It was the voice driving his nightmares.

“Where exactly do you think you're going, boy?  I've been looking for you everywhere. We've got places to be."

[kittenshift-17]

hey I have a request if you still do them. Could you write a short dramione fic where Hermione sneaks into the Slytherin house pretending to be someone else (maybe w polyjuicd?) and Draco uncovers hee true identity?

It's the books that give her away.

Draco's attentttion snags on the figure sequestered in the corner of the common room, trying to blend in, and he immediately knows that despite the face she wears, that figure is not Flora Shafiq.

His money is on Granger.

No one else in their right mind would build a veritable book tower to hide behind in the corner of the Slytherin Common Room, especially not Flora, whom Draco happens to know is dyslexic and so hates reading on principle (she's still young enough to bluster and pretend reading is easy and beneath her rather than admitting to the disorder and actively working on her reading comprehension skills) and thus, would never be caught surrounded by that many books if you paid her. Draco's also fairly certain Granger has been spying on them all for weeks now, though he's not sure why, but the way "Flora" is eavesdropping reminds him a bit too much of the curly haired muggleborn to buy the performance.

It's easy to convince the few rowdy remaining occupants of the common room that bed would be preferable to remaining down here - perks of having rich parents feared by most, he thinks sarcastically. When Goyle lumbers down the stairs toward the dormitories, Draco gets to his feet and saunters over.

"Learn anything interesting, Granger?" He drawls in her direction.

"Flora" knocks over one of the precarious book stacks with a squeak.

"What?" She asks nervously. "Oh, it's you, Malfoy. Was there something I can help you with?"

Flora would never say that.

Draco pounces the second she gets to her feet, his hand gripping her shoulder tight while his wand tip finds her throat menacingly, and he forces her around and up against the nearest wall. She squeals in surprise, batting at his arm to try and knock him away to no avail.

"Tell me why you're impersonating a dyslexic third year, Granger," he hisses in her face.

She blinks up at him, well over a foot shorter than him given the age of the girl she's pretending to be.

"Granger!?" She huffs indignantly. "I'll have you know..."

She trails off when Draco digs his wand into her neck a little harder.

"Don't play dumb with me, Witch," he hisses. "We both know it doesn't suit you."

She blinks again before huffing and seeming to shrink in on herself a little bit.

"How did you know it was me?" She sighs, pushing his wand away. Draco allows it only because she's admitted her deception.

"Flora can't read," Draco informs her. "What are you doing here, Granger? Do you have a death wish?"

"She... oh, that's why the words were all wonky," Granger says in realisation, eyes widening like they do when she knows the answer to a problem in class. "I thought I'd bungled the potion for a bit there."

"Tell me why you're here before I hex you, Granger."

"It's none of your business."

"Except that you're spying on me."

"Not everything that happens around here is about you, Malfoy."

Draco highly doubts that. He glares at her meaningfully and she lifts her chin, stubborn as ever.

"I'm throwing you out of here," Draco decides, hauling on her stolen robes and dragging the slight girl over to the common room entrance. "As prefect, it's my duty to protect my house from unwanted interlopers. And I'm giving you detention with Snape for the misuse of prohibited potions, impersonating a fellow student, endangering a fellow student, theft..."

"Theft?!" She squawks indignantly. "I committed now such crime."

"No?" He asks. "So you just happened to possess an outfit that perfectly fits Flora Shafiq, adorned with the Slytherin house crest? And I suppose you make a habit of trading in expensive and highly volatile potion ingredients that cannot be purchased by under-age wizards without parental consent or sponsorship from a Master?"

She glares at him and holds her tongue.

"As I was saying, detention, Granger," Draco sneers triumphantly as he expels her from the common room none too gently, watching her flail when he gives her a hearty shove out the door.

"You're awful," she informs him rulde when she rights herself.

"Said the pot to the kettle," he retorts childishly. "I'd better not catch you sneaking in here again, Granger. You won't like what happens if I do."

She fluffs her robes and stomps her foot furiously before she spins away, stamping off down the corridor, muttering extremely unkind things about him and his lineage the entire way. Draco sends a stinging jinx after her, but she rounds the corner before it can collide and he huffs, annoyed, as he returns to the common room and makes his way to bed, wondering all the while what Granger could possibly be trying to accuse him and his friends of this time.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Hi babe, congrats on your milestone!❤️

It's so hard to pick between all these choices😩

Would you please write for Harwin Strong - spanking🧎🏻‍♀️

Win some, lose some (Harwin Strong x Reader)

Summary: Harwin and his wife have a disagreement over communication skills. The end result is exactly as the title says.

Warnings: Mature language. Spanking. Established dom/sub dynamics. Light aftercare. I'm not sure it counts as smut but smut?

Requested: Yes! I get it, tough choices. Hope you enjoy!

A/N: Due to a mistake on my part, I did not erase the space for spanking on time. I got two requests. So, Alicent anon, don't worry. I will write yours too, but I will try to space it out to not post two similar fics. 

You sit on a small armchair by the fire with a sullen expression. Nerves pool on your stomach, but they are quickly won over by the feelings of annoyance. You have been told you will get punished after he is done working, but you are more angry than scared. You did act out to get his attention, and even then, Harwin cannot even pretend to care. He is just treating your punishment as another task in a long list he has to fulfill before going to bed. 

Harwin sits at his desk, going over something that has countless numbers and math. A budget, most likely. You know the Master of Coins has been pressuring the gold cloaks into tightening their belts, or so to speak. 

The transition of leadership has not been an easy thing. Many of the men were loyal not to their cause, protecting the citizens of King’s Landing, but to their previous Commander. 

You do not begrudge Harwin for taking the position. It was an honorable one, being the Lord Commander of the City Watch. It spoke of the trust both his father and the King had in his abilities at combat and leadership. Yet… You can’t help but feel that the change has taken its toll on your marriage. 

He is always busy. Gone are the days that you would spend lazing around in bed or curled together by the fire. Or even the days Harwin took you for a ride or hunt. Now, he comes to your shared rooms at odd hours, and gets up every day at the crack of dawn.

You try to remind yourself that Harwin is a busy man, and that his attention and opinions are required elsewhere. The men need him to direct the training exercises, the council wants his input for the security of the King as he visits the small folk. It’s a good thing. 

You squirm in your seat, pouting. Harwin looks up from his papers and tuts. 

“Don’t. You will only get yourself in more trouble if you keep pouting.” 

“I just don’t think I deserve to be punished.” You answer, bravely. And it’s the truth. You don’t feel like you deserve a punishment. Why did you have to obey his silly rules when he was not there to witness the consequences of your disobedience? What was the point, even? Harwin was never home. 

“I doubt that’s your decision to make. If it depended on the rule breakers, all the cells would be empty.” Harwin’s voice was collected and calm. Cold, even. Yet, it was not that what made your blood boil. His words were. The comparison. It reminded you of the reason all of this started. Why did he have to bring work into everything? It seemed that even in your time together, he was not fully present. He simply cared more about his job than he cared about his wife. 

“… You said I was allowed to stay in your study if I didn’t distract you.” You retorted, gritting your teeth. Your whole face was heating, not in shame but anger. Your ears were burning, your neck felt hot, and you were about to do something that you would really regret. Closing your eyes, you breathed in deeply.

“And what did you do?” Harwin put the parchment and quill down. He looked at you for the first time. His expression was unreadable. You thought of getting up and grabbing that dammed budget and tearing it to pieces. 

“I was not distracting you! I was only… Playing with myself.” And what if you were? Really. It could hardly be called that. You had only been squeezing your thighs together. And perhaps rolling your hips a little. “And I never touched myself!” 

Why did you have to obey his silly rules? He was never here. The prohibition for touching yourself had started as a fun way to spice up your bedroom activities. Harwin enjoyed your neediness, when you had not been touched for a while. You suspected he also enjoyed the idea of being the only one that got to touch you in such a way. 

Before, it had not been hard to comply. As any self-respecting young maiden, fearful of the Seven, you had never even approached a hand towards your cunny. Only for washing yourself, and never lingering or exploring too much. 

Harwin had been the one who had introduced you to the pleasures of the flesh. It had been him who had encouraged you to explore all the wondrous feelings your body had to offer. Doing it without him seemed silly. You had touched yourself at his instance, and found great pleasure, but it was not the same that when it was his hands on your skin.

But after nearly a month of not being able to have sex with your husband, you understood exactly why you would want to please yourself. You craved the release. Even if you knew it would not be the same, you were so desperate, any peak would be better than no peak. Even if it were one brought on by yourself.

It was hardly your fault. Anyone would feel aroused after nearly a month with only stolen kisses to get you by.  The sight of your husband in only a linen shirt and pants, bent over his desk had been too much. Watching as the muscles of his back flexed, how his big hands swallowed the quill he was using to take notes.  All that, mixed with the goblet of wine you had been nursing and the fact that Harwin had handed you his cloak to keep warm. Surrounded by his smell, inhibitions lowered by the wine, it was a miracle you had not jumped his bones yet. 

You felt like you were burning up with need. So you squeezed your thighs a little, and rubbed against the edge of your chair. You didn’t try to be subtle, secretly hoping that the sight of your neediness might entice him to do something about it. 

“That’s hardly better, little one. You were purposefully looking for loopholes.” Harwin said, oblivious to your thought process. He wore a stern expression that made you want to fold immediately. 

A month, you reminded yourself. You had been feeling alone for a month. 

“I know, but you had not been paying attention to me!” You complained, steeling yourself. This was a discussion you truly wanted to have beyond brattiness. It had not only been the lack of marital duties, but you missed spending time with him.

It comes out whinier than you intended. Much more pitiful, too. You don't realize, but Harwin's mood immediately shifts, from playful to serious. He can tell this is truly bothering you. 

Harwin pulled his chair back and spread his legs slightly. Your mouth nearly watered at the sight of his thighs spread in a pose that was so dominant. 

“Come here.” He ordered, brows pinching together. You didn't want to, knowing only punishment could await from your defiance. But you still did. Once you were in front of him, Harwin caressed your cheek with his thumb. “Was my poor wife feeling neglected?” 

To your horror, your eyes started to feel watery. 

“You spend all your time with the gold cloaks. Never with me.” Then, in a whisper so small, it tugged at Harwin's heartstrings. “Do you not want me anymore?” 

“I had not noticed you missed me so.” He confesses, pulling you into his lap. His touch is gentle, as always. His hands feel warm and solid against your waist. You straddle one of his thighs, still pouting. Harwin pulls you even closer. “I will make time for you, from now on.” 

“Thank you.” You mutter shyly on his neck. It's what you needed to hear. You stay on his lap for a while, cuddling in silence. The steady thump of his heart and his warmth comfort you. It's something you have deeply missed.

Despite wanting nothing more than just curl into his lap and sleep the night away, you still feel restless. Your button throbs between your legs, wanting attention. You cannot help but wonder what it would feel like, getting ravished by your husband after so long. How his hands would feel on your skin, deliciously calloused. How his face would pinch in the sweetest agony. How he would sound, entering you. 

Would he be capable of sliding right in, with how wet you are? Or would Harwin have to open you up as he had done on your first night together? 

You squirm. Harwin, thinking you are uncomfortable, shifts you to sit properly on his lap, resting his forehead on top of your head. The casual display of strength makes even more wetness gather between your thighs. 

“Are you alright, Wife?” Harwin starts running his hand over your hair, soothingly. He is unable to see your expression, and you are glad for it. You are so embarrassed it's starting to be physically painful. Here is Harwin, trying to comfort you, and you can't think of anything else but getting him into bed.

"You are much too pretty to be shedding tears over the likes of me. I apologize, for being so lacking lately. I have been paying so much attention to my duties with the King and forgotten about my most important ones.” 

“Harwin…” That he regrets it had not even crossed your mind. Too blinded by your feelings, you had never thought about how your outburst would make him feel. 

“As your husband, I made a vow. To be always yours. To protect you. I have not fulfilled either of those duties, being so far away.” He whispers, very quietly. You want to reassure him, but are unsure how. 

“You always come home to me.” You go back to your previous position, straddling his thigh, to be able to look him in the eyes. It breaks your heart. His brown eyes are all hurt puppy. 

“Perhaps physically. But my mind is still away, even when by your side. It's not right. You are my Lady. Mine to cherish. I have been a poor husband to you.” And it is true. You had thought about it, using much harsher words. Harwin clearly didn’t mean to hurt you, but you had been trying to rile him up on purpose. It makes you feel awful. You don’t want him to feel bad about himself, you just wanted to air out your frustrations. 

“Never say that. Never.” You muttered, fiercely, touching your forehead to his. “I have never thought you a bad husband.” 

“Only because you are too kind. I will do better, Wife.” 

You sigh, knowing it's no use contradicting him. Instead, you pull him in for a kiss, hoping he can hear all you cannot say. The kiss starts to get heated very soon, his hands grasping greedily at your hips. It has been a month since you had the time to do more than just kiss. Time to play one of your games. Both of you crave it, need it. 

As you pull apart, you give him a naughty little grin. 

"I still broke your rules.” 

Harwin chuckles.  His eyes have turned dark, pupils blown with lust. 

“Dirty girl. Do you want a punishment?” 

“Yes, please.” You look up at him, all starry eyed. Perhaps he will tell you to spend the night on your knees, serving him. Or perhaps you will have to obey his every command. Or, if you are very lucky, you will get to peak over and over until you pass out. 

Your breath hitches in excitement. You can't wait. 

“Over my lap. Hike up your nightgown.” 

The words burst your bubble immediately. Your shoulders slumped and you went back to pouting. Spanking was not what you had expected. While the physical side of it was fun, a little pain to go with your pleasure, it always wore you out mentally. There was something about it that left you feeling very vulnerable.

You understood why Harwin did it, though. It was an easy way to put you in your place. Spanking you in such a manner tugged at your subconscious. It was the manner in which children were punished. He doesn’t need harsh words or much pain to force you into submission. In fact, it stings even more when he does so with gentle words. You feel silly, after it. Harwin will coo and call you his good girl, and you will melt for him and do as he says.

"But… But…” You protest, despite knowing it’s useless. 

“You thought you would get something else?” Harwin asks, carefully tucking your hair behind your ears. His hands almost swallow your face. It gets you all shy. “My poor wife. Where did all your intelligence go? You know you did a poor job of communicating your needs. Instead of telling me of your loneliness, you threw a tantrum." 

“I… Harwin…” You plead, looking up at him. You are not sure what you are begging for. For Harwin to guide you, perhaps. You feel helpless. 

“Over my knee.”

Faced with the choice, you cannot bear the thought of disappointing him further. He is right, in a turnabout way. You could have done things different. In another life, a perfect one, you would have knocked the door to his study and asked to talk. You would have sat, like two adults, and told him you were frustrated because you missed him. Instead, you had mixed the games the two of you play with your real anger, turning into a bratty mess. 

You want to fix things. To not have to think, anymore. You take off his cloak and fold it neatly. Then, you hike up your nigh shift and lay down on his lap. You rest your hands on the floor, stretching to be able to do so. 

“Don't. You could hurt yourself.” Harwin rubbed your arse, gently. Warming you up. Then, without warning, his hand came down. You nearly shrieked. The sting was harsh, yet he seemed unwilling to let up. His hand came down again and again, in the same spot. You knew Harwin, though. Soon, it was not only going to sting. He liked building you up to it. 

His hand moves to your other cheek, spanking you with a slightly curved hand. It hurts differently, that way. It allows him to feel the overheated skin, how the flesh wiggles with each impact. 

Shame curls around your spine, twisting your stomach. You are still wet. It’s a deeply humiliating feeling. You are unable to think clearly, your mind slow and weary. As if you were treading through molasses. 

“I will not make you count, but you have to behave. No trying to get away.” Harwin warned, before spanking you again. This time, you started wiggling your toes in discomfort, fighting the urge to kick and scream. 

Your bottom feels already hot and abused, but Harwin is not letting up. You are really starting to hurt. Your vision starts to blur, and you try to grasp at the carpet, fighting to stay afloat. It’s no use, no use at all. Soon you are weeping with all you have.

“Are you going to stop being a good girl for me?” Harwin asks, rubbing soothingly at your shoulder blades. It’s only then that you realize you have been wiggling around, trying to get away from the pain. 

“I’m… Har-…Harwin… Sorry.” You blubber, unable to form the sentence right. You want to speak, but you are crying too hard for it. You feel dumb. Look at you, a noble lady with access to the best education Westeros has to offer. You had the best tutors, a Septa all to yourself. An education fit for a Princess. Yet, you can’t create a single sentence, overwhelmed by your feelings. 

Too big feelings, Harwin had called them once. You were, after all, a silly girl who needed her husband to guide her. Sometimes, your feelings get the best of you and make you unable to think clearly. 

That was why you liked these games. Submitting quieted all the voices in your head. There was nothing except obedience requiring your attention. Harwin made all the tough choices and took care of you, and you could focus on only being. 

“You are doing so good.” Harwin whispered, as he rubbed at the already abused skin. You hated how much it made you preen, getting praised. “So good for me. Just a little longer, and we will be done.” 

You slump on his lap, defeated. The hits keep raining on your vulnerable behind, and this time you are unable to quiet down. You whine, and weep and scream, but do not move an inch. You are sweating with the effort from keeping still, and there is nothing you want more than to bang your palms against the floor in a fit of rage.  But you do not. You keep still and focus on being good for Harwin. 

Your mind slows down. There is nothing but the pain, and breathing through it. Like being submerged in syrup, thoughts barely form before sinking heavily. You blink, trying to focus, but are unable to. There is only Harwin. 

His smell, his hands so big against you. His warm thighs under your stomach. His erection pressing against you, the way he sounds, excited little inhales at each hit. How he times them, alternating the placement in a predictable two-one count. Reliable. To care for you, hold you down, push you when you need him too. 

Time drags on. Perhaps it’s only a few minutes, or perhaps hours pass. You are unable to tell. Harwin lowers you gently to the rug and lays down beside you, careful not to press into your arse. 

“How are you?” He asks, tenderly brushing your tears away. You blink up at him, hazily. Still trapped in molasses, the words seem uttered from far away. You sniffle. 

Harwin smiles at you. You don’t feel capable of speaking just yet. With great effort, you raise your hand and brush his cheekbone. He leans into your touch. 

“I see, I see.” Harwin chuckles, and pulls you closer to him. You go willingly, nearly purring in contentment. 

You drift off like that, head on his chest, nestled close to his heart. 

[scribbleboxfox]

I feel like I've been a bit harsh towards RvB these past few days. Admittedly, emotions have been running high with the show ending and all that.

I do love the show, and I'm glad we got something of a definitive end. I think if it had happened sooner, it would've made me (and maybe you, too, reader) a lot happier.

Restoration did have its highlights. The voice acting was fun; Caboose's new VA sounded awesome, and honestly Caboose really carried the season for me. It was nice to see some of the newer characters (Dylan Andrews and Agent One) again. It was REALLY nice to see Tex again. I loved the 479er cameo, too.

Now that it's all over, I'm stuck reflecting on the show as a whole and what it meant (and still means) to me. When I first started watching Red vs. Blue, I was pretty depressed. But then Season 13 happened, and suddenly I was writing again, after going through a period where I was certain I'd never tell another story. Not only that, but I was drawing not just for school and work, but for fun! There was a period of time in my life where the only thing I was drawing was RvB-themed art; be it either general fanart or art for my fic. That's changed now, obviously. I've branched out a lot, but I doubt my skills would have improved as much as they did, as rapidly as they did, if I hadn't fallen in love with this show. I also made so, so many friends because of RvB. One of them, I even live with now!

It's funny — sitting back and looking at the big picture, now — how much of my life was shaped by this one show. Where would I be without it? I'm not sure I want to think about it.

Anyways, this is all just a long-winded way of saying "thank you, Red vs. Blue." It wasn't always a perfect show, but I think it's imperfections are a large part of why it has such a creative fandom. And I'm glad I got to be a part of it.

Bow-chicka-bye-now, you funky little space marines. Thanks for everything. <3

[idyllic-affections]

general friendship headcanons (liyue).

summary. what is it like being friends with some of liyue's citizens?

trigger & content warnings. no applicable warnings.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. baizhu & reader, beidou & reader, qiqi & reader, xiao & reader, zhongli & reader. 0.7k words. no pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. second part of the series!!!! i'm doing inazuma later because i don't know inazuma characters as well as i know liyue + mondstadt characters... basically i'm procrastinating LMAO i do write for ningguang and childe but i skipped out on them because (1) im burnt out but also want to post something (2) bc im not completely confident in my ability to write them yet rip

baizhu is the kind of friend who's always on top of your health—mental, physical, or otherwise. he'll always remind you to take breaks if you've been working on something for a long time. he'll remind you to eat if you're the kind of person who forgets to. he'll remind you to take any meds if you have them, and if you run out? don't worry, he'll refill your prescription for you (only after very thoroughly assesing you to make sure the medications you take are right for your body's needs, of course). he's honestly quite doting! very attentive to your needs overall. i also like to think he's keen on listening to you talk about your interests or hobbies. he listens and remembers.

beidou is the fun friend who'll take you on all her fun adventures, and if you can't accompany her for any reason, she's happy to relay her tales to you! she's got storytelling skills comparable to only the most famous, admired bards and poets from all across teyvat, even if she herself isn't really aware of it. she's the kind of friend who can take you on all kinds of fun adventures—whether those adventures be out on the wild sea or on sturdy land, she's your lady if you're looking for a bit of a thrill. she'll definitely keep you very safe, too. she's strong enough to protect both herself and you, so don't worry about running into trouble (which is definitely a bit inevitable if you accompany her around). she'll take care of it!

qiqi is the kind of friend who's like your clingy little sister. see, once she actually manages to remember your face and name, she will virtually never forget it. she has a little page dedicated to you and everything about you in her journal. qiqi never wants to forget you, so she does her best to remember! she'll follow you around like a lost duckling, cling to your sleeve, or lay her head comfortably on your shoulder if you're both willing and able to carry her. she also reminds you to take care of yourself... she has, without a doubt, picked up this habit from baizhu, but it's nonetheless very touching. she'll make little handmade gifts for you, maybe she'll pick flowers and give them to you. everything she does for you is soft and endearing. qiqi is very much like an attached baby sister, indeed.

xiao is the kind of friend who's always there for you... at least, physically, anyway. he doesn't have the words to comfort you very well and he can be a bit standoffish and quiet, but he will be there if you need him. getting close to xiao is no easy task, so if you manage to, he'll definitely hold you very dear to his heart and would never forgive himself if he were to let something happen to you. he'll always be there to fend off any danger that threatens your safety; all you have to do is call out for him. he'll be there. he swears it. he's the one you can sit in calm, safe silence with. there's no pressure to fill the quiet with small talk. xiao is someone who could simply enjoy your presence without needing all the conversation to go with it (but i totally think he'd listen if you talked).

zhongli is the kind of friend who's so willing and delighted to share his knowledge with you. if you want him to talk, he can, and can do so for as long as you're willing to listen, even if that is for hours. he could even talk you to sleep if you so desired (who wouldn't fall asleep listening to the soothing tones of his voice, really?). he's the one you could take with you to museums or libraries or ancient ruins if you're into that kind of thing—if he happens to recognize something while you're out and exploring some ruins, he'll offer to tell you about them! he's so poor at hiding the fact that he was morax, so honestly... yeah, he might never tell you directly, but surely you could figure it out on your own? regardless of if he tells you, if he doesn't... i doubt it would change anything.

[annabtg]

Can I ask why you like James? Everything he and his friends did are toxic male traits. They deserved to be expelled for how they treated Snape. All that guy wanted to do was study and spend time with the girl he loved. Snape shouldn’t have called her a mudblood but that was provoked by James. That guy had ruined Snape’s future and made him turn to the dark arts. How can you support someone like that?. Lily was in love with Snape and I’m certain James snuck a love potion to her or manipulated her into thinking Snape was evil. Snape deserved a happy ending with Lily, and he would have been a better father to Harry than James ever could have. Unfortunately, James arrogant and bullying personality rubbed off on his son. I don’t get how you people can like character like that. Snape deserved Lily because he loved her more than James ever could have.

Is this 2015 Quora?

Well, I meant to get some writing done, but there's always the afternoon, I suppose. I can never resist an opportunity to ramble about my favourite characters!

Can I ask why you like James?

Sure you can (case in point) but why do you care? Do I know you? Do you read my writing? It doesn't seem like it, because he has a central role in it, often highlighted with tags such as "James Potter is a Little Shit", so you'd have an idea already. You're probably just asking to distract me from writing more fic about him. Slightly bothersome, but ultimately beneficial to my essay-writing skills.

Everything he and his friends did are toxic male traits.

As a pharmacist, I will tell you that the dose makes the poison. Anything can be toxic if you take enough of it.

They deserved to be expelled for how they treated Snape.

They did die in the end, which I understand is not as good a punishment as being expelled, but it will have to do.

All that guy wanted to do was study and spend time with the girl he loved.

Spending time with the girl you love is only a nice and honourable thing if she also wants the same thing. If she tells you she's not interested, it's creepy and disgusting.

Snape shouldn’t have called her a mudblood but that was provoked by James.

I fail to understand how a boy who can't even begin to utter the word and is obviously smitten with a girl, can convince another boy to call that same girl a racial slur. It seems rather counterintuitive.

That guy had ruined Snape’s future and made him turn to the dark arts.

Okay listen, I know that working with teens can be a pain sometimes but overall getting a job with tenure at the most prestigious magic school of Britain at the age of 19 is hardly a ruined future. I have many friends who would turn to the dark arts for it.

How can you support someone like that?

Well, he's hot and I have a thing for arrogant smart-arses.

Lily was in love with Snape and I’m certain James snuck a love potion to her or manipulated her into thinking Snape was evil.

Wait, no, we're not on 2015 Quora. 2015 Quora would be claiming that Lily was an ungrateful bitch who treated Snape so badly even though the poor sod loved her with all his life. Because honestly, we never see her showing any kind of love towards Snape. She's always lashing out at him or trying to get something out of him. So self-centered.

Snape deserved a happy ending with Lily, and he would have been a better father to Harry than James ever could have.

As the wonderfully loving way he treated Harry in the books proves beyond doubt, I assume?

Unfortunately, James arrogant and bullying personality rubbed off on his son.

I'm going to have to play the scientist card again but I have to inform you that genes don't work quite like that.

I don’t get how you people can like character like that.

Does this post help at all?

Snape deserved Lily because he loved her more than James ever could have.

Lily was a whole person and could choose her own partner. If she would rather marry the guy who loved her less, that's on her, not on James. I suppose he must have had some qualities that compensated for his less-than-perfect love.