#im 3k into this fic

[gomzdrawfr]

brain: lets write porn

also brain: no lets write porn with feelings to overcomplicate everything

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[nebuladreamz]

A little different than last year's, but here we are again. To say that this past year hasn't been absolutely wild would be a lie, cause HOLY SHIT MAN

This year's birthday is. A little different for me, but you already have the silly comic to show that so I won't make like a broken record oops

But, despite the changes and hills that life's decided I should climb or throw at, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm so genuinely fucking thankful to the people that I've known since joining this fandom. I'm not even kidding when I say that being here has actually changed my life for the better. I know I said something similar last year, but this time, hoo boy it sure turned up the AMP and test how far I could go.

So, to everyone, both new and old; thank you for being here :D

@garbagechocolate @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @bunmuffin @skizabaa

@tuzesdays @sleepykas @fernzwing @kandidandi @starsketchez

@just-a-drawing-bean @notdysfunk @ilsole @amberluvsbugs @cloudyvoid

@nomsthecat @alfinefalf @nosleepygay @theblog-with-thestuff

@cacaocheri

(Edit: ty kibbits for informing me of the. Fuck ass tagging system)

AND TAGGING OTHERS BECAUSE. POINTS. BONKS WITH HEAD. GETTING TO EITHER INTERACT OR TALK OR WHATEVER IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT

@ohno-the-sun @kibbits @ink-yy @saltyfryz @kaprisvn

@hierba-picante @sunny-sophies-garden @cookiiemancer @sneeblbop @justaduckarts

@pepethehumanz @crystalmagpie447 @woolysstuff @mocha-illustrates @duhsty1

@sanchensky @pillowspace @victarin @witherfide

[I DEFINITELY GOT SONAS WRONG AND THESE AREN'T ALL THE SILLY PEOPLE I KNOW BUT IM SITTING HERE AT 2:30 IN THE MORNING JUST KNOW YOU'RE THERE IN SPIRIT HANDING YOU ALL POPTARTS WAUGH]

[leenfiend]

what’s ur type first < prev next > full comic

[lazycranberrydoodles]

Can I see hualesbians. Please. They are everything to me I’ve read every fic in the tag and if they lose I need some consolation

so i cheated on these and did them in procreate !!!! cause!!

[kentuckyfriedmegumi]

tess’s guide to writing kiss scenes (featuring itafushi)

this is for @sunnyyflowerrs and @kat-likes-writing btw

bye so i am not that good at writing these idk why i’ve been asked to make this.  i read other people’s stuff and their kiss scenes and i’m like hnnnghghfhsnksj GIVE IT TO MEEEE!!!!! but alas… i shall deliver what the people want.

before we get into the step-by-steps of writing a kiss scene, i want to go over the general things i try to highlight in a scene that helps me when i write them. there’s the general way that kiss scenes go–build/tension, the kiss, post-kiss. wow, what a shocker, right? but overall, when i am writing a kiss scene, i like to highlight the feelings, the movements, and the energy. feelings being what the characters are feeling of course, movements being what they are doing, and energy being the overall charge in the scene. what is the context? is this a happy kiss? is it desperate? is it fast? is it soft? is it intimate? is it sexual? once you establish the tone of the scene, you are able to start building it.

let’s go.

1. the build up

as you get into building a kiss scene, there’s a lot of high tensions and emotions happening. a kiss is a very intimate form of contact and when you have two characters who are going to kiss, you need to set it up in a way that feels natural.

let’s take a desperate kiss for example. let’s say in this situation, megumi and yuuji both nearly died, and megumi was especially hurt (there will be light angst prob, sorry):

Yuuji stumbled towards the boy on the ground. Fushiguro was lying on his side, back towards him, breaths short and ragged. Guilt rippled through Yuuji the way a stone ripples through still water, jagged as it washed over him. “Fushiguro?” he asked. He could hear how pathetic his voice sounded, small and hesitant as he waited for an inevitable answer. Please answer. Yuuji dropped to his knees, feeling the pain of the fight finally settle in. The adrenaline was wearing off now, everything ached and he had cuts all over. He was sure he looked like hell and he could feel the blood caked on his face slowly dry and crust over. But nothing mattered because Fushiguro was right there. He could be bleeding—he probably still was—he could be missing an arm, he could he dying. It didn’t matter. Everything was shut out, locked away from his mind. Everything other than the body in front of him, chest rapidly rising and fall. He saw a small a shift and instinctively Yuuji reached out towards Fushiguro, only stopping not even an inch away from his shoulder. His hand was left hovering over him, scared to touch him, scared to cross that line. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself if he did.

in what i’m writing, i’m trying to show yuuji’s specific focus on megumi. this is a desperate kiss scene, so what i am trying to go for is this sense of i nearly lost you, so nothing matters other than the fact that you are right here with me.

notice that for this, i have feelings, movements, and energy.

feelings. yuuji is WORRIED, poor guy, all he can think about is whether or not meg is okay. i’m highlighting yuuji’s own pain and injuries, and immediately tossing them aside. yuuji does not care if he is hurting, all that matters right now is if megumi is okay.

movements. yuuji is placing himself near megumi, he reaches out for him, but he stops himself. this creates ~tension~ which makes for a juicy kiss scene. having some sort of tension also helps the build as emotions are rising. even in less /dire/ kiss scene builds, there may be some sort of tension going on. maybe they are both shy, maybe one of them isn’t sure the other likes them back, maybe they’re just plain nervous.

energy. this is the charge of the scene and mainly relies on surrounding context. this may be a bit easier to write based on how the scene is going. for this kiss, what is the overall tone of this that you’re going for? is this romantic? is it comforting? it’s important to have that extra layer so the reader has a better understanding of both characters’ emotions and motives as they reach the kiss.

2. the kiss

the kiss itself is the climax of the scene, everything is leading and converging to this very moment (no pressure right?). when writing a kiss, the feelings, movements, and energy are all VERY IMPORTANT because this is what the readers are reaching for when the scene starts.

let’s have a slow/soft kiss now. for this one, megumi and yuuji have been ~in love~ but they haven’t kissed and this is their first one. the build for this type of scene would focus a lot on the jitteriness in the characters. write in things such as trembling hands, increased heart rates, LOTS of blushing. aight, time to make these boys kiss, you get build and a kiss now:

Itadori was looking at Megumi. His cheeks were tinted a soft rosy color, and Megumi adored the way his eyes shone, despite his overall fidgety demeanor. He was usually so confident and easygoing, why was he so nervous now? Megumi wasn’t really in the position to ask questions, he could feel the heat rising to his face as Itadori looked at him. he smiled and Megumi could have melted right there. His eyes were so warm, his smile was so warm, Itadori was so warm. Megumi could feel his pulse quicken and he felt like his head was spinning in circles. But it was impossible to miss the way Itadori’s eyes flickered down, away from his eyes, a bit lower on his face. Megumi swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Megumi,” Itadori said, stepping closer. Megumi’s face was surely as pink as the hair of the boy in front of him. he nervously fidgeted with his hands, unsure of what to do as the ever-increasing warmth that was Itadori stepped even closer. Megumi searched his eyes as he took one more final step forward. Itadori stopped for a moment, gauging a reaction, as if he was making sure this was okay. Megumi could feel his breath, their faces just inches apart.   It was like time slowed. Itadori shifted, his hand coming up to Megumi’s face, as if Megumi wouldn’t want anything more than what was about to happen. He felt warm calloused hands lightly brush his cheek and Megumi jumped slightly at the contact. Itadori was already starting to lean in when he stopped at the sudden movement, worried that Megumi was going to rebuff him. Megumi reached up with his own hand, grasping Itadori’s arm and holding him in place. their eyes met. They stood like that for what felt hours and seconds all the same before Megumi started to lean in too, eyes half-lidded as they fluttered from Itadori’s gaze to his lips. Their breaths mixed and Megumi just knew that Itadori could feel his racing pulse beneath his fingers. It didn’t matter. With one final resolve, they both moved in. It was like everything in the world stopped. A burst of warmth spread from Megumi’s chest throughout his body, enveloping him as he sighed into the kiss. Itadori’s lips were soft. Megumi could feel a light tremble that was probably, definitely from the nerves, and he was certain that he was probably, definitely trembling too. Itadori’s hand on his cheek moved a bit lower, fingers ghosting the nape of Megumi’s neck. They tangled in his hair while the pad of his thumb rubbed softly behind his ear. Instinctively, Megumi’s grip on Itadori’s arm tightened. As a result, Itadori pressed himself into Megumi further, other hand snaking around to his back and pulling him against his chest. And god, Megumi wanted to melt. They broke apart, only for a moment, before Itadori moved back in and resumed the kiss. Megumi could feel his mouth part slowly and Itadori responded in kind. Both of them moved with gentle, subtle motions, taking in small breaths in between. Megumi shifted his head, tilting slightly to the right, allowing Itadori to deepen the kiss further. They kept the pace slow, their kisses light. Megumi’s heart was racing a million miles a minute and his mind was overflowed with only thoughts of Itadori—the tenderness in his touch, as if Megumi was the most precious thing in the world to him.

ayyyyyy look at that kiss!! once again, we got the big three.

feelings. for this scene, it was important to show that megumi is nervous (capital n), but he WANTS this. he wants yuuji to kiss him and he wants to kiss yuuji. when they finally do kiss, there’s this overwhelming feeling where all of his anxieties finally calm. notice how i focus a lot on megumi’s feelings to convey the importance of this kiss for them. i also highlight yuuji’s nervousness in meg’s perception through his actions. the constant glancing at his lips and the way he moves in slowly to kiss him help show that yuuji is just as nervous as meg is.

movements. a lot of people thing that writing kiss scenes are awkward and i can see how they would be. you don’t want to focus TOO MUCH on what they’re doing, unless you’re writing more explicit content. in this snippet, i have brief descriptions of their actions, but a lot of movements are also focused outside of what their mouths are doing. yuuji brings his hand from megumi’s cheek to his neck, his other hand comes his back and pulls him closer. but you don’t want to focus too much away the kiss. i bring it back to that by writing how megumi is the one who deepens the kiss, parting his mouth and allowing yuuji to take over.

energy. this kiss scene is meant to be soft and tender. notice how i sort of drag it out bc the boys are supposed to be a lil nervy. i convey the energy by using descriptors of their subconscious actions, bc the body is also reacting to the kiss. heart rates are increased, they’re looking at each other’s lips, they’re lips are trembling. but i also have the feelings and movements be really soft and slow. they don’t crash together, they slowly gravitate towards each other.

3. post-kiss

this part is probably the easiest to write. both characters are coming down from their high and there’s a swirl of emotions that starts to die down. usually nerves dwindle as both characters soften. depending on the situation, you can have them soften into each other, or perhaps they pull apart in regret.

bc i’m cruel, let’s do both! sorry in advance…

Fushiguro was kissing him. It should have been the best thing in the world. It was the best thing in the world, but all Yuuji could focus on wasn’t the heat from his body, the grip on his shoulders, or the soft press of Fushiguro’s lips against his own. All Yuuji could think about was the endless list of lives that he had taken. The people that he should have saved, that he could have saved if he had just died. Fushiguro was kissing him, and he didn’t deserve it. But couldn’t he be selfish? Just this once, could he take what he had always wanted? Fushiguro had asked to be saved, he had asked for Yuuji’s support. Yuuji wanted nothing more than to give that to him. He wanted to give it all to him. And so he did. Yuuji stepped closer, grabbing Fushiguro’s collar and pulling him further in. He could feel a small gasp before he swallowed it with a kiss. Fushiguro was kissing him, how could he not kiss him back? The feeling of Fushiguro’s hand carding through his hair stopped everything. His touch was gentle as he tangled his fingers through Yuuji’s hair. There was a certain tenderness in the way that he moved. No. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be touched, kissed, loved as if he were a good person. Not after everything he did. Not after everyone he killed. And he especially didn’t deserve it from someone like Fushiguro. No, Fushiguro deserved so much more. Yuuji deserved nothing. So he pulled back, his grip on the collar loosening. Yuuji had to force his hands down at his sides as he took a step back. He was still quick to notice the way Fushiguro followed him, only briefly, before he pulled back with a certain look on his face. The kind of look that Yuuji hoped to never see again. “I’m… sorry,” Yuuji said. Fushiguro stiffened and his gaze fell. “No,” he said, face dark as he turned away from Yuuji. Suddenly, everything was so much colder. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have k– I shouldn’t have done that.” It wasn’t you. It’s not you. It’ll never be you. I’m a monster, I’m a murder, I don’t deserve you. You could have so much more, so much better than me. A million thoughts raced through Yuuji’s mind—so many things that he wanted to say to assure Fushiguro that he didn’t pull away because he wanted to. “We should probably get some rest,” was what he said instead, “before we go to the third years.” “Right,” Fushiguro replied. “It’ll be a long day, I’m sure.”

eeek sorry, chooms. i’m just trying to provide ~variety~ here in my kiss scenes. whipping these up on the spot means i just sorta write whatever comes to my brain. this kiss meant to be angstier. it’s bleaker. yuuji’s thoughts are dark and self-depreciating. he kisses meg back, but he immediately feels bad about it because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. this translates to his movements, with him gripping the collar in desperation, but immediately pulling back and restraining his himself at the end of it. as for the energy, notice how in this kiss and post-kiss how there’s an overall darkness in the tone. there is less focus on the kiss itself and what they are doing and more so in the dark thoughts plaguing yuuji’s mind. this adds to the post-kiss, as it sets up his regret in kissing meg in the first place.

Let’s do another one:

Megumi rushed in, crashing his lips against Itadori’s as the grip on his arm tightened. Fuck Sukuna, fuck the higher ups, fuck everything else in the world. They were crazy for thinking the world could ever just be free of Itadori Yuuji. Megumi wouldn’t allow it. Not when he was right there in front of him, real, and alive. Megumi could feel Itadori stiffen in hesitation for a moment before he was met back with the same fervor, the same desperation Megumi had kissed him with. All of the noise of the outside world, all of the noise in his head silenced immediately at the feeling of Itadori’s lips moving against his. His hand was quick to make its way to Megumi’s face, caressing his cheek with a gentleness that he was definitely not kissing him with. Megumi didn’t care about that, though, so he tilted his head and let his arms fall around Itadori’s waist and pulled him flush against himself. A small gasp escaped from Itadori before it was immediately swallowed by the kiss. Megumi drank him in like he was dehydrated and Itadori’s lips were a cold glass of water. They could have stayed that way for forever. Allowing their pace to slow, Megumi’s grip on Itadori loosened. They morphed into a kiss that more loving and intimate. It was as if the rush of emotions slowly recessed back into the ocean of Megumi’s mind—not repressed but rather settled into something a bit softer. When they parted, Megumi held Itadori close and rested his forehead against the other boy’s. He was smiling. That same goofy, stupid smile that he smiled when he was about to watch a movie with Megumi, or when Megumi summoned his Divine Dog, or when he was cooking with Megumi. The smile that Itadori reserved only for him. “Hi there,” he said. Megumi gave a small smile in return. “Hi.” He could tell his heart was racing, he was probably blushing too, but all he could think about was that he kissed Itadori. Even crazier, Itadori kissed him back. Megumi couldn’t help the small chuckle the escaped his lips before it was too late and Itadori was giving him a small nudge. “Are you thinking about me?” Itadori teased. “Shut up,” he said with no real annoyance. “Fine.” And suddenly, Itadori was kissing him again.

For this post-kiss, we have them softening to each other. The kiss was a big boiling point of emotions as megumi kissed yuuji, then after the kiss, they part and it’s a sweet, loving moment between the two of them. we have megumi’s feelings being read about yuuji, we have his movements in resting their foreheads together, and we have the energy shift from a passionate kiss to an intimate moment.

overall

i mean that’s basically it! i didn’t plan on it, but i wrote four kiss scenes (well, three kisses and one build to a kiss) and broke down my little formula for each one. i hope that this provides some enlightenment in how to write a kiss scene and i hope my ramblings make sense here. i was always of the belief that kiss scenes were super hard to write, but after writing one for IYTFPTGFMTFILWH, it just sorta all clicked for me. i hope that this guide helps it click for you too, fellow author.

if anything, i hope you enjoyed the itafushi kisses. happy itafushi friday.

[acapelladitty]

Should have this posted tomorrow night hopefully 👀💦 (9pm GMT as always babey)

[flavored-soda]

the amount of fics i could write where its literally just buck sucking tommy off is both concerning and amazing

[bow-of-aros]

A Debt Unpaid

Summary:

Curt couldn't have at least waited a little longer before getting captured? At least Owen could show him this cool feather he found :)

I went into this wanting to practice writing with a bit more detail and I think I got more than I bargained for. No I wasn't blushing writing this shut the fuck up. ANYWAYS I hope that you enjoy these silly gay spies and their stupid adventures and Owen getting to be evil in a fun silly sexy way because I sure did <333

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

The click of the safety disengaging echoed through the room, swiftly followed by the cold barrel of a gun being pressed against the back of Owen’s head. Honestly, the fact that someone had managed to sneak up on him disturbed him more than the actual firearm did.

Nobody should’ve been able to get the drop on him. Curt was on this mission with Owen and he’d agreed (after far too much coercion) to stand watch while Owen cracked the safe as he had more expertise in this particular model.

But, this man was here, and Curt wasn’t, which likely meant—

“We have your partner.” Yeah, that.

Owen heaved a long-suffering sigh, “Already? We just bloody got here, for Christ’s sake!”

Sure, Curt had a tendency to make stupid decisions on missions. But did it really have to be so soon? He knew that he should’ve kept an ear out, just in case.

The gun nudged against the back of Owen’s head, reminding him of its presence, “We’ve got you too,” the voice said, “So don’t get all uppity about it. We’re going to take you back to your friend, tie you nice and snug so you can’t move when we torture you, and then he’s going to tell us everything he knows.”

At some point, Owen needed to have a conversation with the first person to monologue their so-called “evil plan.” He’s not sure whether it would be to scold or thank them, but he’d probably figure it out.

“So you don’t plan on starting on him until I’m there? That’s good to know. Now, just give me one moment if you wouldn’t mind—”

It was almost embarrassing how easy it was to disarm the man. By the time he pulled the trigger, Owen had already redirected his aim and the bullet whizzed harmlessly past his ear. The crunch of his fingers as Owen twisted the gun out of his grasp was nearly drowned out by the bullet firing up through his jaw.

As the man fell to the ground, Owen spotted another in the doorway who reacted just a second too slow, clearly not having expected his colleague’s death, and he hit the floor just moments after the first.

Owen took a brief moment to disarm them both, listening for footsteps that didn’t come, muttering to himself all the while.

He went back to the safe, making quick work of it. “Oooo look at me! I’m Curt Mega! I tell my partner that I’m going to keep watch and then immediately leave him to be shot because I probably saw something shiny on the ground!”

The door swings open and Owen swiftly tucked the blueprints that they’d been sent to find into an interior pocket in his jacket. He was just about to close the door when he noticed a set of quills carefully tucked along the side.

One of the more pompous ones found a home alongside the blueprints, if only to make Curt laugh with its reveal. He’d probably make some jab about Owen finally being a ‘proper Englishman’ or some other inane claim.

Speaking of Curt, he probably shouldn’t be kept waiting any longer than necessary. They may have wanted Owen to aid with questioning, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t get started without him.

Owen slipped out of the room, moving through the shadows and bringing the knife he always keeps, quite literally, up his sleeve into his palm. Just because nobody had come running at the two gunshots didn’t give Owen any room to get sloppy.

Shadows are his best friend and he makes sure to stick close, slitting the throat of any unfortunate soul who crossed his path before they could make enough noise to alert anyone else to his presence. All the while, he kept a keen ear out for Curt’s voice. Knowing him, that would be what Owen heard before anything else.

And, of course, Owen was proven right mere moments later when he heard “You call that a punch?! My grandma can hit harder than that and she’s been dead since I was two—OW! What the fuck was that for?”

“Your friend will be here any moment,” A man with a thick Russian accent spoke, which was odd considering they weren’t in Russia last time Owen checked. He was big and burly and certainly someone that he was going to have to look into after they were finished. “I’m sure that when you hear his pretty little cries, you will be more inclined to speak. Or perhaps we will try it the other way around? That way I can have some real fun with you, da?”

That was…not exactly reassuring.

“You’re a fucking creep, did you know that?” Oh Curt, always so eloquent.

Owen peered into the room through the window in the door and was shocked to be presented with a clear line of sight. With all the effort he put into getting here, this was honestly quite disappointing.

Well, he’s not one to look a waste an opportunity such as this, so Owen wastes no time in lining up his shot and pulling the trigger. An arm flies up to his face to shield it from shards of glass and he opens his eyes once more to the Russian dead on the ground, blood pooling from a perfect shot to the head.

“My my, Agent Mega,” Owen swung the door open with a flourish because he had earned the right to be a little dramatic goddamnit, “We really have to stop meeting like this.”

Admittedly, a bit of his ire did melt away at the beaming smile Curt directed at him. Lucky for him, Owen had quite a bit of ire stored up, so it didn’t make much of a difference.

At Owen’s dry stare, Curt’s grin morphed into something a bit more sheepish as he said “It was an accident this time!”

Jesus Christ. “Are you implying that there were times that you were caught on purpose?”

Matters were not helped by Curt’s unapologetic shrug, “I get bored sometimes.”

A bruise was already blooming across Curt’s right cheekbone and Owen took a deep breath to restrain himself from making it symmetical.

Curt was bound securely to a chair, as these things typically went, and faced an identical chair with restraints that Owen assumed were meant for him. A brief survey of the situation led Owen to see that these ties would not be swiftly undone, or not swiftly enough, at least.

Or, that’s just what he told Curt, but who’s keeping track?

“I don’t want to take any risks, so I’m going to do a sweep of the building and dispose of any stragglers,” Owen said, smirking as Curt’s jaw dropped slightly, “I’ll return as soon as I’m able to free you. Maybe take this time to consider what landed you in this situation.”

He turned and walked back out the door to Curt’s “Owen? Owen don’t leave me here! I swear to God—Owen!”

It didn’t take long to finish his sweep, anyone Owen hadn’t originally found or had made their escape was dealt with. And then he did one more quick survey for anything he might’ve missed.

Just in case.

The view Owen was greeted with as he returned was certainly a gratifying one. Curt sat slumped in his seat, staring sullenly at the door as his bottom lip jutted out slightly. He looked like a kid put in the timeout corner, which is exactly what he was at the moment.

“So,” He said, walking forward and leaning down until he was inches away from Curt’s face, “What did we learn from this?”

Curt just rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, so Owen leaned in a little closer. “What was that?”

“Don’t get distracted when I’m supposed to be watching your back.” At least he looked a little remorseful, so there was that as consolation.

Owen reached out to give him an approving, if slightly condescending scratch under his chin. “Good boy. Now—oh?”

Red began to seep into Curt’s features as Owen wrested his hand from where it had been trapped between Curt’s chin and his chest. His partner’s lips were sealed shut, likely to prevent any more sounds like that choked-off squeal from escaping.

But it was too late, and Owen longed to chase that noise.

“Ah yes, sorry, I must have forgotten about your little weakness.” Owen tucked his hands into his pockets as he circled Curt, surveying for weaknesses. He leaned in close from behind and whispered, “What a truly unfortunate position to be trapped in. If only someone had advised you against doing anything stupid before this mission began.”

As his breath ghosted against Curt’s neck, he took note of the violent shiver paired with the suppressed flinch at the sensation, and an idea began to form.

Of course, Curt did what he was so prone to doing, and started talking. “Look, Owen! Why don’t we just call this whole thing a mistake on my end and get going, huh? I’ll scan the blueprints and you can take the actual thing because I know how much you Brits love your filing. Whaddaya say to that, old boy?”

Oh, he was nervous. Risking Cynthia’s wrath in an attempt to appease Owen was a dangerous game, and he was almost tempted by the way his voice wavered near the end.

But… “We both know that you were going to let me take them anyway.” Owen unzipped his coat, “You know, I found something that I think you’ll enjoy with me being a proper Brit and all.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Thrown by the abrupt change in topic, Curt tried to crane his head to see what Owen was talking about, but Owen made sure to keep what he was doing firmly out of sight.

He withdrew the feather from his inner pocket, twirling it between his fingers before swiping it questioningly across the nape of Curt’s neck and oh, reaping the rewards of situations like these was a beautiful, wonderful thing.

A sound that was nothing short of a scream tore itself out of Curt’s throat and the chair that Owen would’ve sworn was bolted to the floor just shifted under the force of Curt trying to throw himself bodily away.

Silence echoed for a brief moment before Curt cracked. “Owen! You don’t have to do this! Look, I’ll do anything you want!”

Huh. “Anything?”

“Yes, you fucker!”

Owen wished that he could bottle up this moment and keep it forever. He’d never want for anything else.

“Well then,” He ran a soothing hand through Curt’s hair before gripping it tight and whispering in his ear, “Laugh for me, love.”

With Curt’s head near immobilized, Owen got to work. He was just as methodical and precise in this venture as he would be in any mission, cataloguing gasps and squeaks and squeals with a single-minded focus employed only in interrogation rooms.

To start, he slowly dragged the feather across the nape of Curt’s neck, waited a brief moment, then did it again. The fist in his hair kept him still enough and his pleading fell on deaf, uncaring ears.

It seemed as though his pitch jumped when the feather was centered, brushing over the top of his spine.

So, when Owen decided to focus his attention a bit more on that spot, “OWEN! Ohohohohohowen holyshit fuhuhucking PLEHEHEASE! Shitshitshit sohohohohohomewhere ehehelse!”

Taking careful note of the lack of the words no or stop, Owen decided to acquiesce and move so he was facing his partner. For the first time since this truly began, Owen was able to get a good, proper look at Curt’s face.

And he was glowing.

Owen nearly had the breath knocked out of him by the sheer beauty of the man in front of him. A wide smile was plastered across his face and his eyes were shining. However, some of that may be due to the few stray tears that had begun trickling out and that Owen tenderly wiped away with his thumb, smile softening when Curt leaned into the touch.

“You,” Curt huffed, “Are an evil man, Owen Carvour. Do you plan on letting me out any time soon?”

A hum reverberated through Owen’s chest as he contemplated before firmly grasping Curt’s chin, angling his head up to look him in the eye. “My fun’s only just started, love. But, I’m sure that I could be persuaded to show a little mercy. You did miss out on your interrogation, after all.”

Curt’s breaths were coming in sharp bursts, eyes glued to the feather inching ever closer, “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Well, I’m feeling rather generous so I’ll make this easy. Simply admit that I’m the better spy and we can be on our merry way.” Owen’s lips curled in a challenging grin, watching Curt’s eyes snap up to his, narrowed.

It was an out, simple as that. Owen was giving Curt the opportunity to ask for this to stop with minimal damage to his ego. He wasn’t a monster, the moment he sensed genuine discomfort was the moment he stopped.

Which is why, when Curt’s response was “Kiss my ass, Carvour,” Owen didn’t feel even a shred of remorse.

“It’s your funeral. Let me know when you change your mind, agent.” He angled Curt’s head a little higher and fluttered the feather under his chin, revelling in the frantic laughter that immediately spilled from his lips.

He stayed there for a while, exploring, learning that tracing his jaw elicited breathy giggles while dusting over his collarbones drew out little snorts in between. All the while, Curt tugged desperately at his bonds, cursed Owen out in several languages, and laughed.

But not once did he tell Owen to stop.

And then, Owen’s hand slipped, and the feather curled around Curt’s ear.

“SHIT!” Curt froze for a moment, shocked by his own reaction. He looked up at Owen and a spark of fear entered his eyes. “Now, baby, we can talk about this!”

“Talk all you want, Mega. There’s only one thing I want to hear.” Still, Owen waited a few moments for a concession that never came, just in case.

Nothing. “Suit yourself.”

His first attempt at threading his weapon of choice behind Curt’s ear was met with a jolt so fierce that Owen almost feared that he’d given himself whiplash. For his own safety, Owen pressed a firm hand against Curt’s cheek, holding it still so as to prevent any potential injuries.

Then, excruciatingly slowly, Owen dragged the feather along the shell of his ear, allowing some of the fronds to slip behind and dance across vulnerable skin.

Curt’s mouth dropped open in a soundless scream before words came rushing back to him. “NononononONONONO OHOHOHOHOWEN PLEASE! I CAHAHAHAN’T! SHITSHITSHIT NAHAHAHAH HAVE MEHEHERCY!”

And since none of those were the correct words, Owen switched over to his other ear, giving it the same treatment. For a few moments, he darted back and forth, occasionally swiping across his neck to keep him guessing.

Owen looked at the feather curiously. All this commotion over something so delicate, he truly would never understand this man he’d somehow fallen in love with. As an experiment, he stuck the feather into Curt’s ear and twisted it.

That’s when Curt went from cracked to shattered.

“OKAY! OKAHAHAHAY I GIVE! YOHOHOU’RE THE BEHEHEHETTER SPY!”

At that, Owen immediately withdrew, tucking the quill into his pocket for safekeeping as he worked to undo the binds.

They were expertly done, just as he’d suspected, and Curt certainly wasn’t helping matters slouched over the way he was. But Owen didn’t say anything and Curt was very nearly recovered by the time he was done.

“That wasn’t so hard now was it?” Owen crouched down between Curt’s legs to look up at him, placing gentle hands on his knees. “Do I need to carry you out of here or can you walk?”

Curt just flipped him off before standing, ignoring the slight wobble in his balance as he found his footing. “What, that? That was nothing!” Owen reached a hand threateningly towards his pocket, prompting a nervous step back, “Wait no I’m sorry! You win I lose and all that.”

A smug smile situated itself on Owen’s face. “Yes, well, let this be a lesson to you to try and avoid this situation in the future. Perhaps next time I will have to use the other side of the quill.”

“You don’t have to do that!” Curt quickly made his way out of the room.

Owen trailed after him, musing “I could write my name. Let everyone know exactly who it is that you belong to.” He smirked at the slight stumble in Curt’s step, “Or I could simply write Curt is ticklish over and over again. What do you think?”

“What I think,” Curt whirled around, blush high on his cheeks, “Is that I’m fucking exhausted and need some sleep. To make up for this, you better be in that fucking bed with me or so help me God I will—”

“Can’t make up for something that you so clearly enjoyed.” Owen cut him off, thoroughly enjoying the way Curt gaped as he stumbled over his words.

“I—I didn’t—You little.” He took a deep breath and composed himself, “I did not like it and you owe me.”

Owen heaved a put-upon sigh, as though sleeping while holding the love of his life in his arms was some sort of chore and not the one thing he would rather be doing for the rest of his natural life. “I suppose. It’s never good to leave a debt unpaid, you know.”

Seemingly satisfied, Curt continued leading them out of the building, leaving Owen to mutter to himself, “It seems as though making you admit it shall have to wait until next time.”

It was always good to have something to look forward to, after all.

[winpocalypse]

for the person who was looking for a pining dean fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892687/chapters/73565595

oh man, this one sounds awesome! thanks for sharing

If Gold Rusts... by ulexite

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

I wrote orv fanfic instead of studying for my final exam yayyyy

Description:

Kim Dokja, adopted son of Hades and Persephone, and an official Demon King, is on the run from his own parents... and the entire underworld.

They mostly let him play, but if he slips up then it's back to the underworld with him. Join him and his adventures in the Empire, whose prince is extremely handsome and popular, and also incredibly irritated at the magic wielding pretty-boy that is stirring up trouble with his very presence. Traveling scholar his ass, this guy is just a pain in one! And why is everyone that joins his group incredibly loyal?

Kim Dokja, adopted son, might have accidentally started adopting some children of his own. Now he's starting to get worried he won't be able to go anywhere without these people following his every move.

I'm going insane from sleep deprivation

Don't read this if you expect yjh to be there. He's for a later chapter. First we need a set up.

[ohbo-ohno]

heartbreaking news: your fic does actually need a plot and can't exist on vibes alone

[scrollonso]

Forgive Me, Father (6/??) (23k words)

As loyalties shifted, it felt like a moment of reckoning, where paths split and trust in a mentor faltered. Bez found himself drawn to a darker path, enticed by Marc's persuasive words promising a new direction.

One

Two

Three (smut)

Four

Five

Six (smut)

[kacchanot-fucking-deal-with-this]

I swear I meant for this fic to be a shorter story. I promise I was trying to practice my short form fanfiction. I didn't mean for it to exceed the word limit by more than triple the amount. You have to believe me, the details got out of hand and I'm only halfway through and it's twenty-nine pages, and I truly did not intend for it to get out of hand.

[purplepeptobismol]

Holy moly!! As I was writing chapter 8 of IWMOY, I went back to my ao3 and noticed that it’s almost at 3k hits :O !!!! Uhmmm you guys should totally share the fic to others who might like it 🤭🤭🤭 and— oh idk— maybe recommend it in other platforms so we could all talk about it (pleaseeeee my brain cells are completely invaded by it AUGHHH)

You guys totally want to read this so bad ooo 🌀🌀🌀

[sp3akfromtheart]

day four: UNIT for @torchwoodfanweek

Pulling the gun from its holster, she sent off a warning shot into the air, catching her breath. He could run, but it was a futile effort. She had long since forgotten her name or her true purpose, knowing only one instruction, contained in her pocket. A crumpled sheet of paper, with the word “UNIT” printed on the top right corner, and words scrawled in bright blue ink. Kill Captain Jack Harkness.

Standing back up, Gwen tightened the grip on her gun and spat on to the pavement. She knew that no one would pay any attention to her. London was covered in an orange glow from the summer sunset, and she liked being out after dark. But it didn’t matter, she could pass through the men in suits through financial districts on their way to work in the bright hours of the day, or amongst the stumbling drunks of the city’s night. She was invisible to them all, except to the captain himself. She had been following him all day, and had managed to catch him three times in the past month, but everytime she tried to kill him, divine intervention saved him from her swift hand of death. Not that it mattered, she knew that whatever she shot at him wouldn’t last long, but she didn’t care, she needed him dead. She wanted to deliver the shot straight into his abdomen, so she could see the life drain from his eyes as he was hunched up against an ancient wall, his blood adding a new piece of history. And then, maybe, she would finally know why she couldn’t remember who she was.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

She did not know her name, why she had a tan line on her ring finger, or who the “A.W” initials tattooed on to her upper arm were for. She did know this- she was great with a gun. And boy, could she run for long. That’s all it seemed to be, this new life of hers, running as fast as she could. But she never got tired, no, one other thing she did remember about herself was her tendency to keep going, even if no one asked her to. This time, she had been asked, and a mighty ask it was, to kill someone. But she knew, when she held the gun between her fingers, that these fingers had shot this gun before. They were no stranger to death, and they were not about to become strangers to it either. In fact, she would argue that they were about to become really close friends.

Rounding the corner, she saw the man she had been chasing start to slow down, and this was her chance- she grabbed the back of his coat and promptly slammed him into the wall, his face pushing into the brick. She grabbed his face, cupping her hand under his chin, and studied his features. Pulling his face forward, he was now facing her. Angling her head, she could see what appeared to be a cut above his left eye, but as quickly as she had noticed it, it had seemingly disappeared. 

She held the gun up to the man’s chin, the man she had been shown a week before. Catch this man, and you will get your life back, they had told her. And she was no assassin, but they would make her one. They had been staring at each other in dead silence for the better part of a minute, neither willing to make the first move.

“Anything to say for yourself, Captain?” She spat, pushing her elbow into his chest. He had an insufferable look in his eyes, like he always knew he would get away.

“Just that you should watch your feet, Gwen.” he responded, swiftly kicking outwards so her legs were swept under themselves, and she promptly fell to the floor. “Always was your biggest problem, you pay too much attention to the face!” he had called back, winking over his shoulder as he ran away. 

Her face flat on the cold concrete, she felt her head pounding as she tried to fight off sleep. She had been awake for too long. She squared her eyes on her gun, which had clattered to the floor in her fall. She now knew one more thing about herself. Gwen. Her name was Gwen.

It had been a week and a half later, when she had found him next. He was among a group of tourists, but she could pick him out. He stood out, no matter how plain his clothes were, and Gwen was starting to lose her patience. She had questioned those who had put her onto this man, and they had told her they would kill her the next time they questioned her, and it wouldn’t just be her who died. If she hadn’t been so tired and confused, she would have laughed at the absurdity of the statement, but she had started to realise that she was not the only one in their captivity, being threatened. She had to have someone she loved, right? Otherwise what had been on her finger other than a wedding ring.

Pulling further back into the crowd, she had an advantage, he hadn’t seen her yet. Slinking through the people, she struggled to pick up the pace amongst the aimless wanderers, and she eventually started to barge past them all. This time, she would make him talk. Realising that she had lost sight of him, her hand moved to the knife in her pocket, she would not be caught off guard again.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” a voice behind her spoke, causing her to shift herself towards him.

“You.” she grimaced, her hand forming a tight grip over the handle of the knife in her pocket.

“Me.” he responded, his hands in his pockets. She hated the way he was so aloof, like she wasn’t a threat to him.

“Why do you know my name?” 

He stepped back, like he looked hurt. As far as Gwen knew, this man was a danger to those around him, and to the world. That’s why she was after him, so why did she feel bad when his eyebrows knitted together like that? She took a step forward, closing the gap he had made. 

“Why are you trying to kill me, is the real question here,” he deflected, his face morphing back into that of indifference.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” 

The sounds of the city surrounded them, clouded in the exhaust fumes from cars and buses trawling along the roads. They were locked into a stalemate on the pavement, and no one else seemed to care, walking right past as if they were just part of the architecture. 

He reached his hands out to her. “Gwen, please. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but we’re friends- me, you, we came here together, we lost you-”

“You lost me? Some friend you are. Now I don’t even know who I am.” she swatted his hands away. “If we weren’t on the street right now I would stab you within an inch of your life.”

“Gwen, please, this isn’t you,” he pleaded.

“No, this is the only part of me I can remember- the violence, the feeling of a gun between my fingers, but you should know that right? After all, I’m beginning to think that you were my captain.” 

“I’m sorry Gwen. We’ll get you back. I promise.” and as soon as the words came out his mouth, he delivered a punch to her stomach. Doubling over, Gwen gripped the afflicted area and tried to not throw up. Looking back up, he was gone.

Dropping to her knees, she let out a shout from the pit of her stomach, as tears started to fall from her eyes onto the pavement.

It had been a month since she had set her sights on Captain Jack Harkness, and her desire to snap his neck was growing by the day. Frankly, Gwen was sure that the next time she saw him would be the end of this.