#is it a game if he was not haunted??? but damn this game was rough

[ruinix]

Quinn was, once again, haunted by the horrors.

New haunted Quinn react.

You can't blame him. He was checked and fought with then he (rightfully) fought back. Then he got pushed off by Dubois after the scrum while people were already heading back to the bench. THEN he got jailed for roughing. (I have never hated another team before. This feeling is...too heavy. [Edit, on Jan 12: I'm still upset but I don't hate them anymore.])

(Vancouver Canucks @ Washington Capitals, January 8, 2025)

[devilmademewriteit]

Let Me Love You Like A Woman (Let Me Hold You Like A Baby)

part 3 of Dark But Just A Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you’re in his place. you’re in his bed. will joel ever be anything more than your dad’s friend who occasionally fucks his frustrations into you, or will you always be strangers?

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [m receiving] fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mentions of reader having long hair; pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel); dubcon (power imbalance); age gap; dbf!joel; angst; mentions of murder and torture.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites loml forever

word count: 4.1k

no use of y/n in this fic

Click here to read part 1, Dark but Just a Game. 

Click here to read part 2, Pretty When You Cry. 

(neither are totally necessary if u just wanna read some filth, fluff, n angst, all u rly need to know is that they’ve fucked twice before & he’s dad’s best friend lol).

a/n: thank u for all the support on this series. i’m literally so obsessed with all of you it’s not even funny. enjoy this while we collectively grieve the end of the season, & i’ll be here writing fic in the meantime. Don’t forget to join the taglist for any and all upcoming work! -em <333333

—

It had taken all of ten seconds for you to lose your shirt, your jeans, and your most beloved pair of (now ruined) panties after stepping foot in Joel Miller’s apartment.

“‘Fuckin’ soaked already—been thinkin’ about me all day, huh?”

And those tantalizing fingers. They were third on the list of things you thought about when you touched yourself, right after his cock and the insatiable look that haunted his eyes when he was inside you. Joel’s talents were wasted as a smuggler—he’d have made a fantastic pianist or maybe a guitarist with the way that index and that damned thumb conspired to make you sing for him.

“Anyone else touch you here since me?“ “No, Joel—just you—only you.” “Attagirl.”

He’d gotten you fully naked (something he’d never bothered to do before) and writhing in his grip in a matter of seconds, laying rough kisses down your spine with patience and attention. Every single one was a spoken promise: I’m coming back for you.

“Look at you, baby, takin’ a real man all by yourself.”

Hands on your hips, knees pressed to the worn-in mattress—every other word in the English language omitted itself from your vocabulary as Joel drew his name from your lips over and over and over again, the thick length of his cock easing you to oblivion with every gratifying stroke.

“Gonna make this pussy come til’ you’re begging me to stop, sweetheart.”

Feeling his cum drip down your thigh, barely having a second to breathe before being manhandled onto your back, hands searching your body, mapping you out like a foreign land before taking him in again. “It aches, Joel.” Crying softly into his neck, tears of pain and ecstasy leaking down your cheeks. “M’jus’ breakin’ you in, angel.” The smell of his hair anchoring your senses to right here, right now as release washes over you again and again and oh, Joel’s hands on the outsides of your thighs to steady your shaking legs.

“Eyes up baby, wanna see ‘em while I’m comin’ on that pretty face.”

Joel tasted like salt and sin and his stickiness on your cheeks felt warm like a late august sun. Watching you blink your lust-filled and trust-filled eyes, grabbing a fistful of your tangled hair, Joel memorized the way your pouting mouth looked painted with his seed. Thick, dark eyebrows creasing together as a groaned ‘fuckin’ hell’ fell from his open lips—with you, he became an artist, and with him, you were a blank canvas.

Now, the moonlit room was quiet; with every primal need purged from both your systems, your exhausted bodies lay entangled, empty and content. Joel’s heartbeat had settled a few minutes after yours—you’d made note of it with your ear pressed to his chest. But every twitch or fidget from the hand resting on the curve of your waist had your own rhythm picking up double-time, sending hot blood coursing through every now-aching limb.

“You should go,” he grumbles after a while, eyes still closed, body still at rest. Fucking you had basically rendered the man comatose. “Your dad’ll raise hell if he sees an empty bed.”

You scoff. “It’s not like he’s ever cared before—remember when Emma and I snuck out to the old mall and I radio’ed him to get us out?” Joel chuckles, remembering the fond memory. After all, it had been him and not your old man who’d shown up to kick down those crumbling cinema doors, partly rescuing you but mostly reaming you out for being such a careless, stupid teenager.

“And either way, Miller, I’m an adult.”

This time, it’s Joel’s turn to scoff. “Jus’ ‘cause you’re legal, dun’ make you an ‘adult.’ You still whine like a kid.”

You giggle softly as he mocks your indignant tone, feeling the lungs beneath you rumble subtly, too.

Joel was always softest and at his most vulnerable after sex. Well, aren’t all men the same? You figured it was just the nature of the act that left its participants a little more tender and a little less inhibited after its completion. It was strange to remember that Joel was a man like any other.

And the man that you’d allowed to ruin you so skillfully, to burn himself on the archives of your mind, somehow remained a complete mystery to you. He was a tangled web of stifled emotions, unspoken sentences, and chilling stories you’d heard from your inebriated father.

If there was any time to untangle him, it was now.

Joel’s t-shirt is damp with his sweat, and yours, too. What a shame that he hadn’t removed it earlier. He was so very impatient when it came to fucking you, and despite having enough patience this time to get you naked, he didn’t bother to give himself that same treatment. At this point, you felt too self-conscious to ask, pretty well certain that he’d turn down your request, anyways. Peeling your profile from the navy blue fabric, you gaze up at him inquisitively, a steadying hand pressed tentatively against his broad chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your voice sounds small, like that of a scared child. It makes you cringe.

“Hmph,” he grunts, eyes firmly closed.

Better than nothing. A start.

“Well,” you begin, painfully slowly, tracing timid circles under his collarbone, “Sometimes, I think—”

“S’great, sweetheart,” he interjects in mock earnestness. “Good for you.”

“Knock it off, Miller,” you slap his shoulder playfully. A sly, amused expression teases his features.

After a long, heavy pause, with only the trickling and creaking of the old building occupying it, you soldier on.

“Sometimes, I think that when you’re… well, fucking me… you, well, you kind of use me to—vent.” There. You’d said it. “Like, your frustrations.”

A long exhalation escapes Joel’s lips as he mulls over your words, choosing eventually to respond with cautious and dismissive humor.

“This your way of askin’ me if you’re more’n my human Xanax?”

“No, asshole.”

He hums quietly. The distant sound of a gunshot travels through the open window, dragging you both back to the present moment.

A forced sigh. “I wanted to ask you what you’re trying to get off your mind.”

Joel tenses almost imperceptibly underneath you, an air of seriousness collecting around him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grumbles, amusement fading from his tone. “M’not really interested in talkin’ about our feelings together.”

The harshness of his words only entices you to push him again, to understand the man who so clearly understood you. There was something there–likely many things there–that he had fucked into you. Things that you now need to know. Things calling to you like an abandoned childhood home.  

You want to pull him into yourself, crawl under his very skin and exist there for a minute or two. In his bed, in his place, and you’re still worlds apart.

“I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings, Miller. I just want to know that I’m not letting, like, a total, raging maniac climb between my knees.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His eyes flit open, and as soon as they do, you recognize the vacant, apathetic expression that had characterized him for you all these years. He grunts, pushing himself up on his elbows, and you sit up, yanking at the tangled sheets to cover yourself.

“Ever been outside the QZ, sweetheart?” He asks, his poorly restrained temper slicing through his words.

Looking down at your hands, you trace the cream-colored creases stretching along the blanket, shaking your head no, side to side.

“S’right. Not a single man on this planet that’s not a total, raging maniac. Enough fear, thirst, or hunger…” something truly terrifying creeps onto his expression, a vision of darkness, unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Not with soldiers, not with your father, not even with Joel.

“Everyone’s a killer.”

You swallow slowly, trailing your eyes up to meet his charged gaze. The room feels cold.

“Are you?”

His shadowed eyes narrow with irritation. “Am I what, sweetheart?”

“A killer.”

Then it’s regret and violence corrupting his features, and before you know it, Joel Miller is somewhere else. It takes a long time for him to come back to you (if you can even pretend to claim that Joel had ever been with you in the first place).

He hesitates, huffing quickly with frustration and looking away for a brief moment before focussing back on you—conceding to your question with a quick nod.

An acidic taste collects on your tongue, but his answer isn’t surprising. You’d always known in some way that Joel had taken lives. Still, it felt strange to hear him acknowledging it, to see the pain that admitting to it caused him. His actions actually bothered him. That meant he had a soul in some jagged, twisted form and that certain things could affect it. Thinking about that made your temples hurt.

“For what reason?”

You can’t help it—you’d come this far, and it felt like failure to quit prying. It doesn’t matter that Joel’s a grenade with no safety lever. You know it’s only a matter of time before he explodes, but you’d grown up diffusing your father daily. Bombs were your specialty.

“Does it matter?”

Upstairs, the floorboards creak softly. It almost makes you jump.

“I think so.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing with irritation. Otherwise, he stays surprisingly level. Some hopeful part of you tries to whisper that some softer part of him actually wants you to get under his skin.

“Alright.” You stare at him, stunned at his forfeiture, as he breathes a dark, humorless laugh. “But you’re gonna hate me for my answer.”

There’s a loaded pause as you gape expectantly at him. His head falls back, eyes fixed to the chipping, washed-out ceiling.

“In the early days of the outbreak, before FEDRA had the QZs figured out… things weren’t easy. You gotta understand that.” His gravelly voice cuts through the room’s silence, vibrating through your stilled body. “I’ve killed, tortured, n’hurt more people’n I can count. Sometimes to save myself, sometimes someone else, ‘n other times… other times jus’ because. And,” he groans, laying his back against the pillows as his harrowing monologue comes to a close, “It wasn’t always life or death, either.”

You pull the sheets in close to your chest, shuddering partly due to his words, partly due to his delivery. As if he was warning you. As if he wanted you to hear the truth and…

And punish him for it.

With his eyes shutting again, he can’t see you studying him. He’s probably assumed that a look of abject horror has poisoned your complexion. As you angle yourself to view his resting body—the pained expression causing his eyebrows to furrow, lips pressed tightly together—an overwhelming rush of adoration expands in your lungs, swelling inexplicably and uncontrollably in your chest. Your thoughts blare at full blast inside your racing mind.

Joel was capable; he had blood lust and an inner violence that meant he felt, deeply, and he’d die—or even better, kill—for those he loved. He was…

Joel was perfect.

Maybe it was a fucked up thing to feel—maybe it meant that you needed to be studied by a team of psychiatrists. Either way, the thought of his agonized soul, carrying on out of sheer spite and a reluctant desire to protect his own had you melting at his side. Joel wasn’t static, unfeeling, or a ghost, he was real, and he was alive. Growing up in a near-dead world haunted by once vibrant cities had made that trait alone extremely precious.

He remains still while you move his arm, wiggling next to him to sit back on your calves and looming over his unyielding form. Maybe he thinks you’ve pulled a gun on him and is just giving you a chance to pull the trigger.

Dropping the pale sheet from your breasts, you caress Joel’s harsh jaw in one hand, sneaking the other down, down his stomach and under the waistband of his briefs.

His eyes surge open, finding yours and filling with confusion. You burn with affection, a kind of fierceness that wasn’t there before.

Brow creasing, eyelids fluttering as he hardens in your grasp. You wordlessly entice him once again, bowing down and over to press tender kisses to his neck.

“I could never hate you, Joel Miller.”

He whimpers softly as you stroke him—tantalizingly slow in big, long pulls—it makes your heart flutter to hear him whine for you. 

A refreshing reversal of roles.

You ease your way down, trailing your lips down his scarred side and over to his front, exploring the strip of grey hair marking the center of his abdomen.

Joel watches you, longing on his lips, but the uncertainty still lingers. You need him to listen.

“I’d kill and torture if it meant survival—” you arrive at his hard length, pumping it in your hand right next to your softened features.

“And I would kill and torture for you.”

Without breaking eye contact, you part your lips around the tip of his cock, drinking in his fascination as you take him in slowly, wholly. The head of his thick, impressive length kisses the back of your throat. 

Once again, you’re filled with Joel. 

A soft hiss, and then his face becomes a symphony of pleasure, disbelief, and, finally, hunger. His large hand caresses the back of your head, capable fingers tangling softly in your hair as you glide up and down his length, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and your own acidity on his satin-smooth skin.

He only parts from your stare when you draw lazy, adoring circles around his tip, throwing his head back and grinding out a ‘Jesus Christ.’

It’s almost too much for him when you start using your hands, making it your life’s purpose to eagerly please every inch, every square millimeter of him. You drag your tongue from the base of his length all the way up to the top, silver-lined eyes boring intensely into his own.

“Shoulda let you do this sooner,” he breathes, gently pushing your head down until your nose brushes against those dark, curly hairs. “Look so fuckin’ pretty with a mouth full of cock.”

There he is.

You pull off him, strings of saliva trailing down from your lips to the glistening tip of his length. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

In a haze, perfectly slowly, Joel throws his head back with a low growl. You stroke him affectionately, spit and his own salt collecting between your fingers as you wait patiently for his reply.

Then he pushes himself up to a sitting position, wrapping his rough hands around your upper arms and easing you up off his length. “Not this time, baby.” You’re straddling him, taking in the unfamiliar care spoiling his tone and softening his hard features when he leans forward, locking you in place like a missing puzzle piece he’d spent his whole damn life searching for. His cock rests between your bodies, pressing exquisitely against your abdomen.

“Only got one more in me, sweetheart. M’not plannin’ on wastin’ it.”

He lifts his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks between them like some kind of priceless, fascinating object. It all feels so paradoxical: innocent despite the filthiness of his words, gentle despite the forest fires blazing in his gaze. Searching your eyes, he runs the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. 

And he kisses you.

It’s not bruising at first—it’s a soft, curious question, an experiment. The grey-flecked hair of his mustache brushes the crescent of your Cupid’s bow, and the feeling almost brings you to tears. So you lean into it, deepening the kiss with hard pressure, searching for the answer on his tongue. That’s when his hands tangle in your hair, and his lips steal the oxygen right out from your lungs as he reciprocates fiercely.

It’s like watching a prisoner take his first steps out into the sun after being held in isolation for a decade. You wonder if it had been that long for Joel.

Without breaking away, you trail a hand down the fabric of his t-shirt. Then, you’re grabbing it from the bottom and hitching it up his abdomen. He pulls away just a half-inch to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, his own marked with apprehension.

“I want all of you,” you plead breathlessly, sliding off his starved lips.

Joel ducks his head, staring at the meeting place between your fingers and his cotton.

“If…” he tries, words clumsy, voice gruff. A bit of bashful humour underscores his tone, too. “F’I let that happen, you’ll see that I’m really jus’ an old man, angel.” You begin to protest, having come prepared with another I-like-them-old-and-decrepit speech, but he cuts you off, anticipating your reaction. “Jus’ been a long time since I looked fit enough for somethin’ like you.”

It’s almost too ridiculous. Joel Miller, worried about how you’ll receive his appearance after you’d deep-throated him for admitting to Geneva-convention levels of violent crime.

This time, it's your turn to cup his face, cradling him reverently between your hands with passionate devotion.

“You and me might be different on the outside,” you begin, surprising yourself with the conviction dripping from your own tone. “But deep down? I’m just as rotten as you.”

His mouth breaks into a genuine smile, and he chuckles, creases lining the corners of his eyes as if carved there by God’s own hand. Nodding with concession, he shrugs his shirt off; you reach out to help him to pull it off entirely.

Scars, definition, and tan skin stretch with every shaky breath he takes. Fuck. The tips of your fingers explore him, honoured by the feel of likely being the first in ages to claim this spot, and that one, and this one here, too–Joel’s turned you into a conquistador, a crusader.

“You’re so, so handsome, Joel.”

It’s not enough to see him, wholly exposed, flesh-blood-skin-scars-and-muscle. Nothing’s ever made you feel so safe and so warm; Joel is a worn-out, hand-me-down jacket that you can’t seem to part with; he’s candles during a thunderstorm, a thick blanket begging you to wrap yourself in it. You want him on you, against you, inside you.

So you take the man, and you kiss him—ardently.

His breathing hitches when you grasp his length, and it stops completely when you slide it between your slick folds, pulling every inch of him inside yourself appreciatively. You swallow his groan as he inhales your gasp.

Your hips move together in tandem. Rocking against his thighs as his hands anchor into your hair, or on your breasts, your ass, your waist—Joel holds you as close to himself as physically possible, threatening to crush you between his arms, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a starving kind of need.

Old habits die hard. Joel gets swept up in the way you start struggling to kiss him back, the involuntary clenches of your cunt around his impossibly hard cock, and your helpless fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. Sliding his hands under your ass, he holds your hips steady. Then, he’s spreading you open to receive him more readily, dictating the rhythm, the angle, and the brutality of how he fucks you.

Ruining you to completion was quickly becoming an addiction.

He smiles against your mouth when you give him a muffled “mmm,” releasing your lips to watch, a captivated audience, as your eyebrows knit together, relishing the sound of your lungs filling with short, pleading gasps.

“Gonna be bruised inside n’ out, baby.” Joel’s promise barely registers over the clap of his skin against yours and your own wanton moans. A thoroughly cock-drunken expression and the worship of his name on your tongue win you some hard-earned praise.

“Taken me so many times tonight—been such a good lil’ toy.”

Your lips slide down the stubble and the rough skin of his cheek, limp body giving out with every punishing snap of his hips. Still, you attempt speech, stammering out a “Joel, I-I want—” that’s mostly unintelligible.

“I know, baby,” he coos, words muffled by your hair, hot breath fanning out over the valley of your neck. “S’hard to use your words when you’re jus’ so full, huh?”

After finding the strength to straighten up and face him, your mouth moves from its permanent ‘ah’ shape to string together a pleading, desperate sentence. Joel doesn’t make it easy for you, picking up the intensity of his strokes, dragging you to the edge of bliss.

“I wanna—I want you to show me how to ride you—to take you—please—let me make you come.”

He laughs softly into your shoulder: the sight and the sound of a woman begging to do the work was a kind of rarity (albeit an appreciated one, at his age) in his experience. Acquiescing, he lowers you back onto his broad thighs, slowing his rhythm, and giving you a chance to catch your shallow, uneven breath.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

Like a true cocky bastard, Joel leans back against the mess of strewn pillows, casually tucking his hands behind his head and leaving you to steady yourself on top of him, velvet walls still fluttering and squeezing adoringly around him.

You hold yourself up with your palms pressed flat against his chest. Rock slowly and carefully against his hips, observe the sight of your fingernails pressing into his unyielding chest. A whimper tumbles from your sore, parted lips as Joel’s tip nudges your inner-most sensitive spot.

“Eyes on me.”

Hardened hands reach out to circle your waist. “You look at me when you’re riding,” he instructs.

“Show me how grateful you are for this cock.”

His voice is strict and firm but gentle all the same. Joel relaxes underneath you. It feels good—so good—to watch your body undoing his own; it feels even better when he flexes involuntarily inside you, stretching open your sore, aching, and somehow still needy cunt. Locked into his lustful, dominant gaze, you speed up, throwing your hips back to grind enthusiastically against him. He watches first your eyes and then your breasts, palming them, teasing your hardened nipples roughly.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

Low and gravelly and filthy, his question looms over your body, only adding to the soft thud drumming inside the eager bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

He makes you realize that you really, really do.

You nod eagerly at him; Joel gives you a knowing expression of sympathy.

He never could help his condescension at watching you crumble so easily from so little.

“Show me, angel.”

So you do–Joel holds you steady as your hand falls to your clit, drawing clumsy circles over that one aching spot. Your fingers are frustratingly unskilled compared to his, but at this level of arousal, you’ll do anything to ease that mounting pressure. You focus hard, multitasking through your euphoria.

Him watching as you pleasure yourself excites you. Squeezing him harder, riding him with newfound passion—Joel groans as his long-awaited orgasm builds between his thighs, watching you bounce up and down his tense, throbbing length. His darkening eyes beckon you to keep going, to tip him over the edge.

You want to fall into them when he comes inside you.  

He knocks your hand away, replacing your index and middle fingers with a broad, calloused, impatient thumb against your grateful bud. “Ohmygod–Joel–” and the rush worsens, his fingers acting as catalysts for the all-too-familiar sensations spreading across your core.

“With me, baby,” his voice is gruff, restrained by need, want, lust. “Lemme feel you comin’ when I fill you up–s’it, good fuckin’ girl–”

Tears collect on your lashes, and a sob heaves from your throat. You reach your climax for him, the ache from your clit spreading to overtake every inch of your body. Joel comes too. He tucks your head into the soft, damp skin of his neck and fists the hair at the back of your head. Your legs ache with absence the moment he pulls his fingers away from your core. Still, his only instinct as his seed spills between your walls is to pull you into himself as tightly as possible, to intertwine himself wholly and eternally with your young, devoted soul.

He doesn’t let you move after it’s over. One arm circles your waist, the other snakes up your back; it feels like standing at the base of the pearly gates of heaven. When his laborious exhales brush the top of your spine, it’s those damn angels sighing.

And it feels like he’s here. It feels like you’ve landed somewhere together, no longer strangers but something else. Something new. Something stronger. Sweeter. And worlds more dangerous.

Joel Miller running his thumb up and down the plunge of your neck. Joel Miller cursing himself for allowing you to take a hammer and chisel to the walls he’d spent painstaking years putting up, eternities before you were even born.

Joel Miller realizing that he can’t find it in himself to let you leave.

“For the record, sweetheart—I’d torture n’ kill for you, too.”

You have no trouble believing him, smiling softly against his shoulder.

—

TAGLIST: @mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo12346 @bookofbee @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @stardust-chords-enthusiast @fruitcupsworld @sallymilkweed @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @daydreamerblues @spacelatinos4life @totallynotastanacc @honeycovered-bandaids @daddy-din @cedricbitch @tiredbuthappy @sweetpea99 @ghostfanwriter @daixylie @witchy-jadda @ninebluehearts @jbcalway @jasminedragoon @inkedells @ayehomo @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett

—

Tumblr on mobile loves to destroy my fics by screwing with the last few hundred words SO here are the lyrics to Let Me Love You Like a Woman by Lana Del Rey lmao <3

I come from a small town, how about you? I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want you to come Eighty miles North or South will do I don't care where as long as you're with me And I'm with you and you let me

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in poems and songs Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me hold you like a baby

I come from a small town far away I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want (need) you to come I guess I could manage if you stay It's just if you do I can't see myself having any fun, so

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity

We could get lost in the purple rain Talk about the good old days We could get high on some pink champagne Baby, let me count the waves

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman

—

[anika-ann]

made-up fic title: ever so softly

Hello dear 🥰 Thank you so much for participating in the game 😍

Since my brain does refuse to acknolwdge the concept so far, you too get a little drabble-ish thing 🥹 This time only with 600 words, Bucky, and a flavour of angst with hurt/comfort 😇

ever so softly

warnings: mentions of blood and violence, anxiety, sensory issues and hypersensitivity and PTSD A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics

Sometimes, your hands shake.

You’ve got a tender heart, people would say; a codename for those who get overwhelmed with the world, with people, with the noise and smells and strange textures and tastes, with emotions; with anxiety.

Your own body, your own damn brain was often your worst enemy. You were your worst enemy and you hated it with passion, especially on days when you somehow had no energy left but for that and spiralling down the void of terror made of your own synapses.

On days like these, like on every other, Bucky holds you, whispering soft words of solace and encouragement into your hair, tender lips and gentle voice, creating a protective bubble of silence and peace, tucked safe and far away from the world.

On days like these, he embraces you closely – unless you cannot bear his love for the moment, despising yourself for it all the more – and helps you put together the pieces of your tender soul you feel have imploded inside of you and suffocate you with every attempt of breath.

He sooths you and promises – begs, in truth – to keep you. Loving you,

ever so softly,

reminding you that you can choose and do the same and until you do, he will. For both of you.

And on some days, you do too.

Sometimes, Bucky’s hands shake.

It is a funny little glitch, he supposes, once he has the capacity to be sardonic with himself, which is always; his metal hand, science perfected, precious chunk of vibranium crafted to faultless functionality on engineerism, and it trembles as much as his flesh hand.

Bucky Barnes is an old man; a reborn man, haunted by an army of ghosts and undead. Doctors in his old days called it shellshock; the fancy modern name for it is PTSD.

Some days, images of blood, violence and death run on the silver screen of his mind like the most messed-up horror flick, following him through day and seeping into his nights, sleepless; or worst, consumed by nightmares than never end, because they are memories of his own actions.

His soul weighs too much to bear, drenched with blood and guilt that no penance can wash away.

Sometimes, you help with the cleanse despite it.

You take his shaking hands – sometimes his very own, sometimes the glorified invention attached to his body – and lead him to the living room where on the shelves stand his little treasures; one supposedly beautiful thing next to another, small wooden statues he had carved himself, rough around the edges but otherwise delicate, a reflection of his gentle torn soul. You do not speak a word, you do no point, letting him see what you see. To make him see that what he only perceives as a pair of hands soaked in blood and wrongdoings, had made good and beautiful too.

And even in the dead of night, you walk him to the most special room of the house, of your home, his steps hesitant, but his heart too weak to resist. Helpless and already yearning, he can never say no.

In those no longer trembling hands, you gently place the most precious thing he has had a generous hand in creating, with utmost love.

Tears burning in his eyes, he cradles your baby, his baby, to his chest with one arm, his other curling around you, pressing you to his side, lips attached to your temple. You linger in your embrace until his tears of grief and guilt turn into ones of acceptance and happiness.

Because he loves and he is loved,

ever so softly

and every beat of his heart, your heart and his child’s, promise him that despite all the pain, everything will be okay.

I hope you enjoyed the little angst but with a sweet note in the end for a change🥰

Thank you for reading and @murdock-and-the-sea for sending 💕

[coleskingdom]

Want Me To Prove It

Will Ospreay x F Reader

Minors DNI NSFW

@midwestmade29

The tension between Will and I could be cut with a knife, the cat and mouse game had been fun, but I had made one snide remark and now I regretted ever saying it. The two of us had toyed with each other for weeks, the innuendos, then he had held a candy bar out of my reach, and the words that now haunted me when I said “ I don’t beg” his eyes flashed at the words, and a new game had begun.

“What do you mean we are sharing a room?” As he handed me a room key. “Why are you so nervous?” as he took my bag off my shoulder grazing my my arm as he did leading us towards the elevator. “ I’m not nervous just irritated, I don’t like sharing “ he stood behind me as he leaned in “Good neither do I” his low whisper felt on my neck I involuntarily shivered at his words.

I walked towards the room using the key to let us in. “ One bed seriously Will it’s one thing for us to be in a room together, but the same bed.” my eyes on his, “You’ve been in my bed before love, are you afraid I’m going to be a bit of naughty boy.” his grin made me weak in the knees. “ You’re not wrong but we’d watch a movie and then I’d go back to my room.” putting my phone down. “ Yeah and what would you do when you’d get back to your room?” his eyes on me, “Sleep Will, I’d go to sleep.” frustration and irritation in my voice, if he’d only knew the things I did and thoughts I had about him. Looking at him now though he looked as if he was reading my mind. “Y/N it’s one night, I’m just giving you a hard time, I’ll be a proper gentleman. I’m just giving you shit. I’m sorry if I took it too far.” his voice softer. “You’re fine, it’s me, I’m stressed and it’s been a rough day. It’s not your fault, I’m going to shower and get ready for bed.” reaching for my bag. “You haven’t eaten all day, I’ll order food, go shower, by the time you’re done. Food will be here and we can watch whatever you want.” he was always looking after me, but to be fair I was always looking after him as well.

I took a long shower psyching myself up that I was perfectly capable of sleeping next to that perfect man without it being an issue. He’s my friend, if I’m honest he’s my person. I put on my shorts and my favorite T-shirt, my hair in a messy bun my stomach in knots.

I opened the door, and there he was shirtless, and in those damn gray sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination. He brought in the food, and set it on the table, turning he sees me staring at him. “See something you want?” leaving the food and walking towards me my back against the wall.

“ I bet I can make you beg” Will’s eyes scanning me, my focus on his lips, where he’s peeking his tongue out a little bit.

“I don’t beg” my voice portraying confidence my body doesn’t feel as he leans in his elbows enclosing me against the wall

“ Want me to prove it then” his words were my undoing as he leans into kiss me, his lips softer than I had imagined. He pulls back slightly to see if he’s misread the situation. I close the last inch parting our lips, teasing his tongue for a second before he seizes control, dominating the moment the way he always does.Tasting, sucking, nipping, devouring me. "You think I'll get right into it, don't you?" he humorously hums in my mouth. "Love.. I haven't even started yet. You've no idea what you're getting into with me. I'll make you beg for more even while you're coming undone.”He nudges my chin with his nose, hot lips latching onto the delicate skin of my throat, sucking, pecking, biting between words. My mind focuses on him, every sense starved for his words and touch..

“Will, please" my eyes find his, “Please what? Tell me and I’ll give you what you need.”his mouth on my neck still, “ I want you, I need you, I b….” His hands move so fast that I’m naked and on the bed with him over me my hands on the waist band of the sweatpants tugging them down , he manages to kick them the rest of the way off.

"What do you taste like?" he muses.The question isn't aimed at me. More like he's voicing his own thoughts, twirling his tongue over my pebbled nipple. He toys the other between his fingers, pinching, rolling, and driving me wild.

Satisfied with my hips arching off the mattress, pleading for more, he grips my thighs, pushes my legs back, then rests my ankles over his shoulders. The first tiny kiss to my mound forces the air from my lungs.

"You're trouble," I sigh. "Stop teasing." “Teasing is the best part, sweet girl”

Spreading me with his thumbs, he licks me slowly, bottom to top, dragging the flat of his tongue up and over my clit. And then he sucks. Hard. The move lights up my body and my thighs quiver in time with a surprised gasp.”You taste like mine." I grasp his hair, forcing him back down, and feel him smile against me.

"Greedy... needy... pretty little thing." He punctuates every word with a thorough lick, and then... the show begins.

"Oh my," I mewl, fisting his hair.

"Will.” He doesn't respond with words.Instead, he slides one finger inside, timing the thrusts with the flicks of his tongue. He doesn't let me come when the orgasm looms close by. He eases off, kissing and biting my inner thigh as his hands knead my hips. He does it again but this time “ Sweet girl look at me, tell me how much you want to come.” eyes. “ Will please let me come.”His head drops down, torturing my clit with his tongue. I'm so ready for the orgasm it's mere seconds before it hits. I'm vaguely aware I've clamped my thighs around his head, holding him hostage as he licks me through the release.

"I've got you, love."He's suddenly closer, higher, his arms flush to my sides. He kisses me as in one long, slow thrust almost has me coming again. He drives himself home, letting out a low growl that forces my body into high alert.

"Fuck," he breathes, pressing his lips to my forehead. "So wet. So tight... so fucking mine.”His movements are slow, caring,tender. So slow so thorough that I feel every inch of him. His grip on my waist is nothing short of possessive. His thrusts calculated to drive me crazy. His light eyes filled with emotion, the pace is not frantic or mindless. Like with everything he does it builds to the moment every nibbling, biting kiss, every time he sinks into me, every push meticulous...as I come hard, tears fall from my eyes as I understand everything so clearly. Not changing the pace one bit as he drives himself home over again. The weight of his big body pinning me to the mattress magnifies how erotic this feels. How close we are. I feel him come inside me, the groan the restraint, the little moan as he buries his head in the crook of my neck.

My arms wraparound him keeping him there, for this moment it all makes perfect sense. I’m afraid of what I’ll see when the moment is over. “Darling“as he turns his head into the side of my neck. “Yeah” my words not knowing what’s coming next. He rolls off of me , laying on his side, “ hey look at me, you don’t get to hide from me. If we need to talk let’s talk.” His hand brushing my cheek “ what if? “ I began “ What if what?” his tone gentle “ What if all of this just made perfect fucking sense, and I don’t know if I can go back to how we were before?” I hear him let out his breath as I close my eyes realizing the absolute truth and vulnerability in my words. “Darling please open your eyes. Look at me, I don’t want to go back.”

[callofdudes]

Gamer Simon Riley who never had any friends growing up and was very, very isolated. Is finally allowed to start playing videogames when he's fifteen. Getting a game called Call Of Duty.

Simon who likes all the characters and the missions but connects to one character in particular: Soap.

The stern, guiding light and smoking hot bombshell he was in the first games, being Simon's first awakening moment.

Being heartbroken as the games play through and he grows attached to the character. The next game comes out years later with his favorite character reimagined and he likes him.

He's shorter, happier, overall just chipper but also carries that same leadership prowess that was in the original. And Simon practically clings his entire soul being onto him.

Simon is going through shit right now and his favorite videogame character is there too help carry the weight for him.

The third game comes out... And Simon is ruined. Losing Soap to the campaign is heartbreaking all over again. Wishing he could have saved him, looking up tutorials for how he can save Soap.

But to no avail. And the games continue to come out, their free for all game type has Soap there sure, but it just isn't the same. It's sad knowing he probably, or most likely, won't come back.

And Simon... Attempts to come to terms with this. Having to put down the videogame for a bit and try to get on with his life that feels like it never really started.

He's not the best at socializing, hell, he doesn't try. But a late night at the sports bar after a hard day dealing with shitty customers and meat processing deals leads him here.

Glaring into the see through cup before his eyes dart up to the most beautiful man he's damn near ever seen in his life.

Eyes widening as he thinks it's his teenage angst come back to haunt him with hallucinations of Soap. Spitting image almost. Minus the scar, the mohawk and such.

The beautiful man smiles, sitting next to him. "I know you might want to be alone, but hell, sometimes all you need is some company right?" He smiles.

Simon looks at him, star struck. Soap... It's soap... Maybe it's just his drunken mind.

"I'm John, and you my friend are?"

Simon huffs softly, looking down shyly. "Simon."

John smiles. "Nice to meet you Simon... You look like you're having a rough evening, care to talk about it?"

[pookalicious-hq]

a( )way... miya atsumu x reader

masterlist <3 synopsis: childhood friends to lovers, unfortunately for both, she got away. how will meeting again after years turn out? tags: timeskip!haikyuu , swearing , kagehina mentioned , chappell roan coded word count: 1400~

now playing: subway by chappell roan

Miya Atsumu had never been one to turn down a night out; it had been that way since high school, since her. Drinking, laughing, keeping it light—that’s how he buried her. Little pieces of her, like shards of glass, were scattered throughout his life, hidden in plain sight. The matching keychain still hanging from his lanyard, the specific shade of pink he’d vowed to avoid, that damn perfume that would stop him in his tracks every time. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once, haunting him whenever he let his guard down.

Not tonight.

Tonight was supposed to be different—a team excursion, a break for everyone (minus Sakusa Kiyoomi). Saturday night promised the usual: a whirlwind of faces, fleeting conversations, all destined to blur into the comfortable haze of intoxicated laughter.

Walking down the bustling street, Bokuto’s boisterous laughter rang out like a bell, drawing smiles from passersby, while Hinata animatedly told some ridiculous story, his hands flailing wildly in the air. The infectious energy of the group wrapped around Atsumu like a blanket, momentarily drawing a smile to his face despite the shadows lurking in the back of his mind. The crisp night air carried the mingling scents of fried food and sweet drinks, along with the distant strains of live music drifting from nearby bars.

Atsumu glanced at Sakusa, standing slightly apart, arms crossed, his face set in its usual frown, though a tiny smirk tugged at his lips as Bokuto’s antics caught his eye. The neon lights spilled onto the sidewalk, casting their playful glow over the group, a bubble of carefree camaraderie that momentarily pushed away everything else.

Breathe. Just breathe it in.

He exhaled slowly, letting the warmth of the moment settle over him. For tonight, at least, he could forget.

They passed a group of girls laughing as they stumbled out of a bar, their giggles cutting through the clamor of the street, and then—there it was. That perfume. Sweet and familiar, it hit him with the force of a punch, yanking him backward into memories that were both warm and stinging. His heart stuttered, the flash of pink, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears. Damn it, not tonight.

“Tsumu!” Hinata’s excited voice broke through the haze, pulling him back to the present. The ginger practically vibrated with excitement, his words barely keeping up with his energy. “Holy shit—you’re not gonna believe this! One of my favorite artists is playing at this bar tonight—Foxglove! You guys have to hear her. She’s amazing!”

Atsumu’s mind lingered on that scent, still clinging to his thoughts like smoke. He barely registered Hinata’s words, his muscles coiling with a tension that only alcohol could loosen. He needed a shot—no, two—before he could handle the whirlwind of Hinata’s enthusiasm.

“Will do,” Atsumu sighed, his voice thick with the need to get drunk fast. “As long as she’s hot.”

The others leaned into Hinata’s excitement, their eyes lighting up as he fumbled with his phone to pull up details about the bar. Bokuto, wide-eyed and always game for adventure, clapped Atsumu on the back with enough force to make him stumble forward, drawing a rough cough from his lungs.

“Come on, Tsum-Tsum! Live music and drinks? This is gonna be a night to remember!”

Atsumu barely responded, forcing a grin as he soothed his throat. He was here for the distraction, nothing more.

The bar came into view, small and cozy, its exterior draped in twinkling fairy lights. Inside, the golden glow of warm lights washed over the faces of the crowd gathered around the stage, casting everything in a soft, intimate hue. The worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs gave the place a charm that felt comforting, like it was meant for moments to linger.

Hinata led the way, bubbling with enthusiasm as they slid into a booth near the back. Atsumu’s mind drifted, his thoughts slipping back into dangerous territory—her. The scent, the color, the memories that had refused to die.

“So,” Atsumu muttered, his drink already half gone, “who’s this Foxglove chick?”

Hinata grinned wide, clearly thrilled. “She’s great! Tobio—” of course, he couldn’t go five minutes without bringing up Kageyama—“introduced me to her music. Says some of the songs remind him of us.”

“Sounds like he’s projecting,” Atsumu teased, rolling his eyes. Still, a flicker of curiosity sparked within him. Maybe this singer would be the hookup of the night—there was always a chance.

As the others debated some other artist, Atsumu’s attention drifted again. He slipped into autopilot, flicking his card to send a cosmopolitan over to the girl beside him, her drink shimmering under the dim lights. It was all muscle memory now—the routine perfected over years of distraction.

Then the music started.

He hadn’t been paying attention at first, but the moment she began to sing, something inside him stilled.

“Tonight’s first song is a new one,” the performer announced, her voice clear and unwavering. “It’s about him, about her, and the loved ones we couldn’t grasp in time.”

The crowd cheered, jolting Atsumu from his daze. He blinked, the drink in his hand suddenly feeling heavy. He wasn’t sure why, but the weight in his chest began to grow, tightening with every passing second.

And then, he saw her.

She stood under the soft lights, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders in waves. Gone was the short, frizzy mess he remembered; now, she looked ethereal, almost otherworldly in the soft rose-pink of her shirt. But her eyes—those eyes—hadn’t changed. They still held the same depth, the same pull that had always drawn him in. The sight of her hit him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs.

“I saw your blond hair, beauty mark next to your mouth— There on the subway, I nearly had a breakdown.”

His breath caught. It was her. There was no mistaking it.

(Y/n) was right here.

Her eyes, once bright with youthful mischief, now held a depth of emotion that seemed to reach into his chest and twist his heart. It was her, yet it wasn’t. She had changed, grown into something even more captivating than he could have imagined.

The familiar worn-down scar near her eyebrow still drew him in, a reminder of the countless moments they had shared, the touch of familiarity in this unfamiliar version of her.

As the song unfolded, time seemed to slow. Every note felt like a lifetime, stretching out endlessly. It was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them, the crowded bar and his teammates fading into insignificance. He watched her lips move, the lyrics pouring out in perfect sync with the emotions she laid bare.

Each line hit him harder than the last. This wasn’t just a performance. It was raw, a confession wrapped in melody. An echo of things left unsaid between them, of memories they hadn’t been able to grasp.

“She’s got a way”

She wasn’t just another face from his past. She was a memory, the love he had never truly let go of. Every word she sang brought back moments he thought he had buried—moments of laughter, arguments, silences that had stretched on for too long.

“He’s got a way”

Her voice wove through the air, full of heartbreak and longing, pulling him deeper into the undertow of shared history. The way she sang with such vulnerability, as if she was baring her soul to the room, made him realize how much he had missed her. How much he still wanted her.

“She got away”

It wasn’t just about her being here, on this stage. It was about everything she represented—regret, longing, the love that slipped through his fingers. In this moment, it all came rushing back with such force that he felt like he was drowning in it.

“He got away”

Time stood still. The song stretched on, but it could’ve been seconds or hours—he couldn’t tell. His mind was trapped somewhere between past and present, everything blurring into the sound of her voice.

Then, as the final notes lingered in the air, it hit him: she had gotten away.

But now, maybe not.

[misteria247]

1981 Journal Entry #2:

I've lost track of how long I've been plagued by the nightmare. All I know is that I get very little sleep, and it's starting to take its toll. I've been trying to research what I can about that Mystery Caller who had started this whole thing. There's very little I've been able to find. I'd gone through countless documents and books and everything that Gravity Falls has to offer. Yet it alludes me, the answer to this nightmarish game. I'm starting to turn to the more docile anomalies to try and find answers. And what I've been getting has been.......unsettling.

For example, the other day when me, Lee and F were on a field expedition. The Leprecorns (which I personally do not like) were talking to F and Lee. Seemingly enjoying their presence and conversation, while I took notes and drew rough sketches in my journal. When one of them approached me. He was an older Leprecorn, with a slightly weathered face and eyes that held the sheen of an older man. He was staring at me, not saying a word, to the point where it made me squirm from it. It felt like he was staring straight through me like the eyes that lurked in the shadows in my nightmare.

After what felt like eons he finally spoke.

"......You've been marked laddie."

I don't think I'd ever felt my stomach drop so fast at a simple sentence, that by all accounts had nothing to do with me. I glanced up to make sure that Lee and F were still distracted before I responded to him in a low tone.

"What do you mean by that? I don't-"

The Leprecorn interrupted me at that moment, his tone firm and damning.

"Ey, I recognize the look son. You haven't been sleeping have ya? It's because yer marked. By something foul, something dark. I've seen it before. Others who've been marked by the beast."

I couldn't breathe, because I knew somehow deep in my very bones that he was talking about that anomaly who had called into the station. The anomaly who had been haunting my dreams.

"The beast....? Who is this creature? What does it want with me?"

I'd inquired, perhaps a bit desperately, wanting to know what I was up against. Instead I was met with a grim, somber expression. Like.....like he was staring at a dead man.

"I don't know much myself lad. No one really knows about the beast. But......we do know that those who are marked do not meet a good end. Just.......be careful boy. He watches."

And then he'd left, seemingly done with the conversation. Leaving me shaken beyond belief. It took everything I had to not show it when F and Lee were finally done with their conversation and we'd packed up to head home. I don't think I was successful though, because my brother stuck to my side for the rest of the evening. As if he sensed that I wasn't okay at all. I don't know what being marked means, nor do I want to. I just want this to end, before someone else is dragged into this eldritch horror.

I'm going to try and get some sleep tonight. I can't let whatever this thing is win. I'd rather die than let him stand victorious over me. I'm going to do research on how to stop the calls as well. One encounter was enough.

Signing off

Stanford Pines

1981 Journal Entry #2 continued time 3AM:

I can't stop shaking.

I can't stop, my hands they're trembling from the nightmare. It was different, after so long with the same thing it changed.

The voices from the shadows they spoke to me. They said my name, surrounded by the static of that anomaly. His tone sounded cheerful but somehow I know that it was a rouse. He wasn't cheerful at all.

He was angry.

Like a lion in a cage, he had his fangs bared towards me. He....he'd said that if I keep digging, if I don't play his game........I was going to regret it.

I don't know what he means by that. But I can take whatever he throws at me, I'm not weak. I can handle any blows he's got for me. And yet.....

Why can I not shake the feeling that something awful is on the horizon?

Signing off

Stanford Pines

[hulloitsdani]

Related to the subject of Alfonse/Kiran's brave alt, what was the inspo for Kiran's fallen alt, out of curiosity? And by any chance, was Slay the Princess a part of it at all? 👀 I'm sorry too about potential Slay the Princess spoilers (it's a very "you can mention the tiniest detail and spoil a chunk of a route on the spot" subject), just I'm super intrigued of how Kiran's fallen alt reflects on Kiran's duo-brave with Brave Alfonse, if, say, fallen Kiran had aspects of The Stranger, or more, The Shifting Mound.

The two bonding in intense, almost horrifying degrees, would make them entwined in a way that blurs the line of where one of them ends, and the other begins.

But then the fallen Kiran is a soul of what used to be, and Lif is a husk of a person that no longer is.

"I made sure that the tear was rough. You carry a part of what should be them [Kiran], and they carry a part of what should be you [Lif/Alfonse]. Things won't be as they are now, but they won't be nothing, either."

I just find the parallel between both extremes of 'fundamentally changed to the point they could no longer go back to what they used to be', and then the far-opposite 'so close together they become something that's both, but not quite'.

OKAY SO BEFORE WE CONTINUE THERES SOME IN STARS AND TIME SPOILERS IN HERE. THERE WILL BE SOME RED TEXT BEFORE HAND BUT BE WARNED.

Anyway.

I am so sorry to report that I wasn’t actively thinking about Slay the Princess while making either the fallen Kiran alt or what I’m going to call the Chosen Consort alt. However, DAMN BRO YOU SO RIGHT. LIKE OH THAT GOES CRAZY.

Slay the Princess and I have a funny relationship, because it’s such a me-coded piece of media. To give you an idea, I have posted mainly fanworks on this blog, right? But if we take a tiny peek into what some of my more personal sketches can look like:

…I think you can see what I mean. Slay the Princess haunts me in the most wonderful little ways. Love that game. The comparisons you have drawn are so god damn right. It was not intentional, but a lot of my work tends to be in a similar vein. That’s DEFINITELY the vibe and I am delighted by the comparison.

I’m also loving the comparison of the two alts! And what you’ve brought up is getting very close at what I was aiming for. See, how I think about it, the Chosen Consort alt is the result of a moral failing. Kiran’s core principles about how they chose to wield power has been compromised and they’re suffering the consequences. Their loneliness got the better of them. They caved. To satisfy their own selfish need to never be alone again, they used their immense power to control the people around them in body and mind. Kiran has become no better than a lot of the gods they’ve killed, and now their body reflects this. However, this failing is mutual. Alfonse also failed to overcome his own loneliness. We don’t know how these two got here, but… Alfonse’s willingness is extremely telling. We know, deep down, that he didn’t fight this for a god damn second. No, instead he fights to keep Kiran on his back just as hard as Kiran fights to keep him. They won’t leave each other. They can’t. Everything may be worse now, but they’ll both be damned if they let the other go alone. Through heaven and hell, for better or for worst, they’ll go together.

The fallen alt is a bit different. It is a failure of a different kind. See, upon working with Kiran (especially for books 3 and 4) I’ve come to the realization that this is not a character who is… well? Like, despite their sunny disposition, they’re doing bad mentally. Life has thrown a lot at them at once and they can only withstand so much.

Now, this doesn’t become obvious until book 3, because it’s there where Kiran comes under threat of losing EVERYTHING. TWICE. For a second time, everyone they know and love is at risk of slipping through their fingers thanks to forces outside of their control. They’re not taking it well. Kiran agrees to walk straight into a potential suicide mission into the realm of the dead, because they know deep down that they don’t have it in them to start from square one again. They can’t do it. It would break them. Kiran doesn’t technically have to die in Askr at any point during book 3. If they had the self preservation, they could run into another world and let their friends shut the door behind them. But they can’t. That’s still a death sentence. For them, it’s Askr or nothing at all. You must understand, Kiran has already experienced Líf’s level of loss. But unlike him, they didn’t have to face it by themself. The Order was there and CAUGHT them before the worst could happen. But this runs the risk of exactly that, and they know they wouldn’t survive it without the Order.

So, pretell, what happens to that mentality once it becomes clear that the only way to defeat Hel is to activate the blood rite?

See, Kiran dying to Hel would be a worst case scenario. Giving Hel the ability to potentially summon and artificially add more the dead, similar to how she had done with Eir, would be inconceivably bad. Might genuinely become unstoppable. So they’re not allowed to die in a way that would add them to the ranks of Hel’s forces. No easy out. But as they sit there, alone in this blood temple with hoards of the dead clambering at the doors, they contemplate this. There’s only one choice, isn’t there?

There is only one way out.

This how we get the fallen alt, who is not simply a Kiran who activated the blood rite, but who failed to find the will to keep going and destroyed themself. Then, to add salt to the wound, they have to watch another version of themself get the happy ending built off their sacrifices. It’s INFURIATING in ways they don’t have the words for. God, can they imagine how this feels? To know some copy of them won, and yet they’re left with nothing?

BEFORE WE CONTINUE: If you have not played In Stars and Time, maybe don’t read this next bit? It’s kinda major spoilers. Play it yourself. It’s a wonderful little game. You won’t regret it.

Got it?

Cool.

THATS THE MOST LOOP CODED SHIT IVE EVER SEEN. Had JelloApocalypse’s play through and performance of Loop on screen to give me vibes. Had an animatic of said performance by the lovely artist Str8 Rät also on screen for even more vibes. How Can You Help Me, Stardust? Was on repeat and made it to 14 on my end of year wrapped playlist. Loop my beloved! Hits Kiran with the Loop beam!!! Slay the Princess might not have been the direct inspo but In Stars and Time 100% was!

SPOILERS OVER: Anyway, this compliments how you phrased all these dualities in fun ways. Kiran fallen alt and Líf, even in this state, are still two halves of a whole. Soul of what once was and the husk of what no longer is still have a shared braincell and agree that throwing hands with an alternate self will definitely solve something (it won’t.) It’s fascinating how their separation is what partially lead them down this road, while the refusal to be separated is what creates the Chosen Consort. They won’t let each other go and that’s what has damned them both. Two halves have become a whole and are loosing the individuals along the way.

In looping back a little to the Slay The Princess comparison, these two remain reflective of each other. No matter what. The fingerprints of the other cannot be washed away. How can they be? With loneliness haunting the narrative in the way that it does? Loneliness is the question, through each other they find an answer, but it turns out that’s not always a simple good thing. Apparently you and your friend having very complimentary issues can either make you a lot better or infinitely worse. Sometimes both. And hot damn that’s fun to dig into.

Needless to say, I think these two are neat. There’s multiple ways for their story to go catastrophically wrong and I love that for them. They deserve to be a little doomed. For fun and enrichment. And someone should definitely make a Slay the Princess AU that would be cool.

[fortune-fool02]

Bad Guy

Las Plagas Luis Sera x female reader

Summary: One of Luis' favourite games was Hide 'N' Seek, but he enjoyed this version even more so.

Warning: Violence. Yandere themes. Blood. Dark Luis Serra.

I'm happy to see you guys enjoy Las Plagas Luis! Thank you for reading! Please enjoy!

Thick darkness sprawled along every wall, filling every little corner of the facility. Broken only by the occasional flickering of a dim-glowing light from above a doorway or low-swinging ceiling light. It didn't matter though, she had to work with what little light she had. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, mixed with a chilling fear that refused to let her stop, not even to catch her breath properly.

Her throat burned, clawing all the way down her throat to her lungs that stung with each gasping breath, begging for her to stop. Her eyes darted quickly, searching around her surroundings. Had she already been here before? Was she running in circles or was the concoction of anxiety and fear making everything appear the same?

A rough cough scrapped her chest, her hand shooting up to muffle the sounds the best she could. These haunting hallways carried sound down like the sharp vibrations of a spider's thread in its web, leading the hunter towards his prey. To think that a mere two hours or so ago, this situation never crossed her mind as even a possibility. She held onto some distant speck of hope that they would make it. That all of them would escape this trial of Hell unscathed.

Such a naïve belief.

Shaking her head, she focused on the task at hand. She needed to find the damn key card terminals to overwrite the one she had to allow her access to escape. In another time, she may have understood the reasoning behind needing the overwriting key cards or security as well as authorisations, but at this moment, she cursed whoever designed this idea.

A soft sound could be heard echoing down the corridor, a haunting melody, humming through the air, filling her body with a sense of panic. The distortion of the halls made it difficult to determine its source's location, sounding both right beside her and elsewhere beyond her field of vision. Unease pricked along her skin as she took off running again. At one point, that humming would have filled her with a comforting warmth, embracing her like a lover's gentle hold. Now, it only brought a tense coldness that froze over her body.

"Pequeño ratón, where are you?" His voice struck through her like an ice spike, piercing her heart. That sickly sweet tone laced with venom. He wasn't happy that she was trying to run away. But he knew the layout of this facility like the back of his hand, every little corner, every nail and bolt while [Name] didn't. He was closer than she expected, pushing her to turn around the corner and froze in her tracks.

At the end of the hallway, his silhouette stood, encased in darkness to the point he looked nothing more than a standing shadow. Two piercing red dots the only spark of colour on this shadow. Something long and thin held in one hand, held loosely as it lightly scraped along the floor, scrapping metal against metal as it did.

"There you are, amar." A cry of fear blocked her throat, barely creating a whispering gasp before she turned on her heel and bolted, hearing his chuckles follow behind her. Her eyes fell onto a door and she forced her way in, closing it behind her and dragging one of the desks over to it in an attempt to block it. The awful scraping of the metal legs against the floor made her grit her teeth, trying to get it over and done with before trying to find a spot to hide.

Someplace Luis wouldn't think to check. Noticing the vent grate on the floor, an idea came to mind. It was large enough for her to fit through and her only way out at this moment. Moving over quickly, she laced her fingers through the metal gaps and pulled, it shifted lightly under her grip and so she pulled harder until it finally gave away with a clink. Relief flooded her as she set it aside quietly and looked around the inside. Her legs were slot in first when the tapping at the door was heard.

Panic flared as the thudding grew louder, more angered.

"[Name], time to stop playing games now. I'm getting a little annoyed now." Luis' voice was soft but the tone was low, dark. She could only picture the look in his red eyes, the swallowing anger that threatened to build up more and more. The metal of the door began to bend, dints appearing on the opposite side, shaped like fists. Was he punching it?

"[Name]! Open the door!" The door whined out, the hinges beginning to bend as the door began to falter. Turning back to the vent, [Name] pushed herself down, the vent allowed just enough room for her to crawl but it was a tight squeeze. A loud crash boomed, sounding more like a gunshot than a door being forced open.

Using her hands, she had to slowly crawl her way through the tight space, though the tight, vice grip on her ankle ripped a fearful cry from her. Lashing out her other leg, she tries to kick Luis' hand off, trying to squirm out of his grip but it was pointless. His strength was always more than hers but that was before thay damn parasite blessed him with more strength.

A forceful pull was all it took before she was lifted up and out of the vents, lifting up above the floor.

"Maldita sea, will you quit squirming?!" Luis' voice was as sharp as the slap across her cheek before he shoved her onto the floor, his bodyweight being used to pin her down. His eyes burning through her, his knee pushing against her arm.

"Ah! Luis, please! Let me go!" She cried out, something that only made him smile, like a cat watching a mouse squirm under its claws.

"Why? You seemed to enjoy playing our little game, darling." Looking up at him, [Name] couldn't see anything in those eyes of the Luis she loved. It was like something else was wearing his face, using his voice, trying to deceive her into believing it truly was him. The times they had laid together in bed, nuzzling and holding one another, the loving embrace between them was something she knew.

This, this moment between them, there was no warmth. No love. Only an icy coldness that hollowed her out. Her hand shifted to the side slowly, her fingers brushing against his metal pole and slowly curled around it.

"I'm not your darling, you're not my Luis." She spat out, her gaze hardening. "You're just some fucked up bad-guy!" With all the strength she had, she swung the metal pole up into the side of his head. The sound of metal smashing bone made her stomach churn but she had to do it. Even if it hurt to hear the loud, agonised cry that he let out as his body fell off her, his hands clutching the side of his head. Hot blood poured from between his fingers, spilling down the side of his face and neck.

Taking her chance, she scrambled to her feet to run only for him to grab hold of her leg, crashing his weight into her to knock them both down. His blood dripped onto her face as his hands latched onto her throat, his eyes burning ever brighter with rage. The blood spilling down his face making them seem all the more brighter.

The torn flesh and shattered bone knitted themselves together, the little tendrils of the plaga peeking from under the skin before vanishing under the healed flesh.

Luis' voice, despite the rage in his face, was eerily calm.

"You want me to be the bad guy? Fine. Now I'm the bad guy."

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 7

chapter 12:

1. LILY EVANS MENTION!!!!!

2. god i’m so worried about what’s gonna happen to wolfstar when the games are over. they deserve a lifetime together

3. the snake, jesus christ. i’d flip off the game makers too

4. crimson rivers and just lovers peter >>>>>>>

5. god, peter is so sensible and reasonable and i love him so much

6. 😧 the avery spider. what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

7. james, darling, love, stop telling all the people you like the location of the cave. you cannot save everyone. their death will be inevitable. you’re going to hurt your soul like this

8. “Frankly, Regulus looks like he's been through Hell. He's absolutely gorgeous.” jesus christ. and with a knife pressed to his throat. he is NOT toning down his horny rn

9. “"You're hesitating, love."” FUCK YEAH THE FAMOUS LINE

10. 😧😳😳 not the bondage joke james makes at reg. holy shit- no chill

11. james had a knife to his throat twice in this chapter. he is living the high life

chapter 13:

1. “James has always been that infuriating mixture of wonderful and stupid, for as long as Regulus can remember.” yes, that is how i’d describe him

2. 😐 my dear james, what the fuck. why are you nervously beatboxing

3. oh god, they’re gonna have to kill the deer to eat. james is NOT gonna like this

4. regulus does NOT give a fuck about the deer. he only doesn’t kill them cause he’s softhearted for james

5. “He tilts his head up to the sky, like he's looking directly at Sirius with an expression that clearly states: are you seeing this shit?” LMAO

6. (james describing his feelings for sirius) “Well, for one thing, what we have is special and goes beyond the bounds of romance, reaching unfathomable lengths that no one can understand but us, so jot that down,"” LMAO but also yes. absolutely right

7. 😧😧 jaw open. shocked. sobbing. reg agrees that in a different lifetime, him and james would probably be dating

8. 😭😭😭 james getting excited about if in a different life he married reg because that would make him sirius’ brother in law

9. “"Your ability to find things to be happy about, even in the middle of literal life or death fucking astounds me."” so true. but also. like. i understand james. me and james have got this connection. i understand him.

10. 😏 they’re gonna share a blankie

11. HANDCUFFS?????

12. "”Mum, Dad, look away, I'm having impure thoughts," James announces, gasping theatrically as he presses the back of his hand to his forehead. "Oh, the shame."” LMAO HES SO FUNNY

13. god, i miss james’ glasses too, reg

14. i’ve always wondered if the capital/hallow would show if tributes had sex in the arena. like, would they show it? like morally, they let people kill one another, so would they have anything morally against showing two people having sex in the arena??

15. god, they’re gonna be so mentally fucked up when they leave this arena

16. “Dorcas vividly remembers being very sure that the 'McKinnon girl' was about to die, only to be stunned when that 'McKinnon girl' shoved someone twice her size right into the fire and warmed herself up while they burned.” 😧 no wonder the past haunts marlene so bad. jesus fucking christ

17. god i love dorcas. she has no excuses for the other hallows. she’s like, i grew up and realized it was wrong. that’s all it took. the rest of them should have grown up as well

18. 😳😳 dorcas says she likes it rough

19. 😳 oh shit wait i think they’re actually gonna fuck

20. DORLENE <333333333333333

21. oh damn. the secret codes and sharing of messages to relay info. like gid and fab’s death

22. god, not dorcas lying about gid and fab’s death. i understand 100% but jesus. it sucks

[hancocksbestgirl]

The Raider, The Bear, The Elder, The Alpha

This is the newest final part of a few of y'all's favorite accidental series, "The Raider and the Bear", the totality of which can be found here.

Summary: A month after the events of The Raider and The Bear, (and its companion fic, The Bear and the Raider) Porter Gage and the Overboss are settling into their slightly skewed version of domestic bliss. But even as Gage falls into the easy routine of service and sex; the violent act that his Overboss has asked him to support (and the upheaval of Nuka World that will result from it), hangs over him. As he struggles to totally understand his feelings for the mascot-wearing woman that turned his life upside down, her past traumas and fears find a new avenue with which to haunt them both.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death (described in some detail), Rape/Non-Con (mostly implied and referenced, no details)

Category: F/M

Fandom: Fallout 4

Word Count: 17k

Relationships: Porter Gage/Female Sole Survivor, Porter Gage/Female Nuka-World Overboss, Porter Gage/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Maxson/Female Sole Survivor, Arthur Maxson/Original Female Character(s), Porter Gage & Mason (Fallout 4), Mason & Female Nuka-World Overboss, Mason & Female Sole Survivor, Mason & Original Female Character

Characters: Porter Gage, Mason (Fallout 4), Arthur Maxson, Original Fallout 4 Character(s), Female Sole Survivor (Fallout), Female Nuka-World Overboss (Fallout), Raider Characters (Fallout), Nuka-World Raider Characters (Fallout), Nuka-World Overboss (Fallout), Sole Survivor (Fallout)

Additional Tags and Warnings Under the Cut

Additional Tags/Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Apocalypse, Alternate History, Romance, Smut, Angst, Heavy Angst, Raiders (Fallout), Nuka-World Amusement Park (Fallout), Game: Fallout 4: Nuka-World DLC, Morally Ambiguous Character, Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Love Confessions, Service Submission, Service Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Implied/Referenced Sex, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Murder, Brutal Murder, Murder Kink, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Roughness, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie

_________________

Porter Gage was torn between two impulses, one old and one new.

The old impulse was the same thing that had driven him ever since coming to Nuka World. He wanted more: more power, more influence, more caps, more unity among the Raiders, more collared traders, more of everything he liked about the place. 

Under Colter, that particular impulse for more had stalled out, mostly because Colter was such a useless asshole. Under the new Overboss, well, his Overboss (the most beautiful woman who’d ever even considered opening her legs to Porter Gage), it had stalled out again because of the second impulse.

The second impulse was more of a human thing, if he were being honest. The most human thing.

He just couldn’t keep his hands off the Boss. Gage had been bedding her for almost a month now, and he felt like aside from fucking her, he couldn’t get a single other damn thing done.

He’d fucked her in their bathroom, in every imaginable position in her bed. He’d fucked her on the counter where they normally spread out their loot after a raid, he’d fucked her on the floor (and paid for it with his knees). He’d fucked her up against the wall, and bent over every piece of furniture in the Grille. He’d even fucked her on the way to threaten a settlement, pulling her into the back of a pre-War truck to do it.

That last one, actually, had crossed line for him - they’d been traveling, which meant she’d ridden him while wearing the bearhead, gripping the crossbars of his armor as he thrust up into her from below. But since it had turned out that he couldn’t get enough of her no matter what she wore, the bearhead didn’t matter. And really, it hadn’t been quite as awful as he’d imagined it would be. In fact, he thought he’d probably do it again. 

Hopefully soon.

Okay, so maybe both impulses were for more. 

Maybe Porter Gage was a damn sight more simple of a man than he had been willing to admit.

In truth, he was drunk with his lust for more. They still went out on jobs, but he had gotten shambling, sloppy. He was liable to put his foot on a trap or get caught unawares by a Yao Guai. He thought only of the alabaster skin under her clothes, of the smell of her hair, of the temple between her legs. He would emerge from a daydream about her to find himself in a completely different location - having walked from Fizztop to the Market, or all the way out to one of the other parks, without even having noticed.

He felt guilty, but he also felt more relaxed than he ever had under Colter’s haphazard reign. After all, Nuka World was doing okay in his estimation, so it had been fine when he’d let a few things slip. 

Probably.

In any event, the sloppiness was going to end.

Continue Reading on AO3

[anylady-fics]

Friends | Bang Chan x F Reader

Summary:

[...]

People always say never to slide through someone else's photos, but I was just trying to find the best one among the many we took. Then I saw something I shouldn't have. It wasn't intentional—I wasn’t looking for anything—but there it was.

[...]

Or... she found her best friend's nude pic and freaked out about it.

*** this work is for adult audiences. Minors DNI ***

Warnings: couch sex, creampie, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, fingering

6,792K words - cross posted on ao3

Ⴡ Masterlist

Christopher and I have been friends since high school, and we're always together in college too, even though we study different things. We've had so many experiences together, a lot of hangovers, and a ton of stories to tell. But despite what people might think, nothing romantic ever happened between us.

I get why people might think otherwise, since we're always together, hugging or just having some kind of physical contact. Chris is the kind of friend who really takes care of his close friends. He carried me on his back when I was sick and needed to go to the hospital, when my shoes destroyed my feet, or anytime I needed help, no matter the reason. That's just who he is. Explaining this to my ex-boyfriends was always tricky, and Chris had to deal with some jealousy issues in his relationships too.

We're so alike in everything, even in our mischief, and we know secrets about each other that will probably go to the grave with us. We're that close, just best friends, partners in crime.

Our Friday routine after class was to hit the same bar, sit at the same table, and play games with others until they kicked us out because they couldn't stand losing anymore. Sometimes we had a few drinks, but since we started working out together, it was pretty rare. Chris turned me into a gym rat, acting like my personal trainer, which sucked but was pretty effective, I must admit.

Sometimes our weekend parties led to dates, but separately. He'd hook up with a girl, and I'd find a guy, and we'd talk about it the next morning. Occasionally, only one of us would get lucky, and the other would go home alone, but that was rare.

Life was good, no problems between us for years, until one damn day at the bar. We decided to take a picture together since it had been a while since we posted anything, and all our friends were there, which was uncommon. We used his phone, and I was editing the photo like I had done a thousand times.

People always say never to slide through someone else's photos, but I was just trying to find the best one among the many we took. Then I saw something I shouldn't have. It wasn't intentional—I wasn’t looking for anything—but there it was.

First, an explicit nude showed up, taken from below. I'd recognize that hand and those painted nails anywhere. And despite his abs... oh my god! I panicked and slid again, finding even more explicit dick pics. I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. There were even pics of him in just his black boxers.

I tried to slide back to the original photos, but I was shaking, and my face must have shown how freaked out I was. He was coming closer, so I quickly blocked the screen. I was sure he saw his own photo on the screen before I turned the phone face down on the table, pretending nothing happened with my best poker face.

“What happened?” He grabbed the phone, sitting right next to me.

“Nothing! Send me the pics later, okay? I’ll edit them.”

“Hm…” He unlocked the phone, and the pic was still there. Being shameless as he was, he really didn't care. “I think you saw them… well, that’s what happens when you slide through someone else's photos!”

He just played dumb and laughed really loud while my cheeks burned. I was haunted by how shameless he was. I always thought I was as bold as him, but I would've totally freaked out if the same thing happened to me—if he had seen me naked through some photos that weren't meant for him.

“Why the hell do you keep that on your phone? What if someone steals it?” I tried to sound normal, but my voice was shaky. Something clicked in my head the moment I saw those pictures.

I wasn’t blind. Christopher had always been really hot, but I just didn’t look at him like that. Even knowing he had a pretty active sex life, I never asked about it and didn’t want to know any details. Well, now I have seen plenty of details in those photos…

Fuck, I was so nervous.

“Aren’t you overreacting? You can’t even tell it’s my d—”

“I could tell.”

“How?”

“I think we should forget about it. Will you give me a ride home? I have to go, there's that thing tomorrow.”

“Wow, you're really like this just because of the photos? Good thing you didn’t see the video, then…” He laughed again, and I was just paralyzed, feeling really slow to process everything since I saw those photos on my best friend's phone.

“What do you mean? Oh, forget it, I don’t want to know. Please, can we go?”

“You know what kind of video…”

“Just shut up, Chris.”

We stood up and said goodbye to all our friends. For a few moments, I could forget what happened, but that didn’t last. Chris’s place was on the way to mine, so I used to get a ride with him every day coming back from college. On our way, I was totally quiet, just hoping I could wake up the next day and not care at all about what I saw. If I didn't, it could be a big problem. I was already really disturbed thinking about the video he mentioned—it could be him jerking off. Just thinking about it made my body feel really weird, which felt wrong.

“We’re here. Are you sleeping?”

I didn’t notice we were in front of my house for a few seconds. I was looking outside, avoiding him the whole way and not even commenting on the awful music he played to annoy me.

“Oh, my bad. Yeah, I’m so sleepy…” I tried to fake a laugh but failed.

Chris was looking at me, already suspecting something, but he didn’t say anything, thank God for that. I said goodbye, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek like always, and jumped out of the car as fast as I could. Once I was in my room, alone with my thoughts, I finally stopped pretending everything was okay and started really thinking about what happened.

I saw photos of my best friend’s dick—a lot of them. It was… nice? So thick, with all those veins… Fuck. I could congratulate him for it. That’s why he was so cool about someone seeing his genitals unintentionally. He knew exactly what he could cause with that kind of picture and wasn’t worried if somebody saw it. His high self-esteem was kinda explained in a few seconds. But, problem: I liked what I saw. Oh, I liked it a lot… I liked it so much that I wished I could taste it. But how could I do that? God, it was Chris! I shouldn’t even be thinking of him this way, but I got home with soaked panties from seeing the photos and just imagining there was a video, too. It might not even exist; he could have said it just to mess with my head.

Oh, what a regret for even touching that phone.

When I lay down to sleep, I just hoped the impure thoughts about my best friend would leave me alone. But I can’t even describe how disappointed I was when I woke up, and the first thing I thought of was his dick pic, one in particular that gave me so many details…

Urgh, I was hating myself. How could I be like this? I’ve received so many dick pics before, even bigger ones, but none affected me like that.

As a result, I spent the whole day keeping myself busy and barely talking to him. In fact, we didn’t text at all. We usually talked all day, even if it was just sending memes to each other, but the last message was from him saying he got home, and I didn’t even reply.

I felt really bad and thought about sending him something just to pretend everything was okay, so he wouldn’t know something was wrong, but his message popped up on my phone first.

Chris Bang: Sup! We have that party today, wanna go?

Me: Idk, kinda tired…

Chris Bang: k, let me know in 1h. If u want, we can just watch a movie or something.

Usually, I would just say yes to the movie, and we’d be great. But just thinking about being in the same place with him, in the dark… oh. I really needed professional help. I felt even worse because I was pushing him away because of my craziness, so I decided to do anything that could help clear my head.

I exercised a lot. It was okay. After being totally exhausted, I felt better. I took a deep breath and replied to him, saying yes to the movie night. He texted that we could meet at his place and asked me to bring something to eat that wouldn’t mess up our diet.

I took a long shower, and when I opened my closet to pick my clothes, I saw two of his shirts there. I used them to sleep sometimes. My mind went to the wrong place pretty fast, but I managed to get it back on track equally fast. Thank God, I was coming back to my normal self.

I picked an oversized look with huge pants, a shirt, and my favorite sneakers. I just checked my hair before I left.

The way to his house was short and familiar; it barely took 5 minutes to get there. I brought just popcorn and sparkling water, feeling sad for us.

As soon as Chris opened the door, I looked at his face and felt all weird, avoiding eye contact and remembering those fucking pictures all over again. I took a deep breath after he hugged me to say hello, and for my bad luck, it felt totally different than it did two days before.

“Wow, you’re really taking it seriously…” he pointed to our snack. “You have more results than me already!”

“Oh, please! You have abs! I’m still flabby…”

“No, no… don’t say that. I’m there with you and didn’t see anything flabby.”

He used his natural flirting tone, but it hit me so differently that it was hurtful. I was used to it; he always did that. So why the hell was my face burning just from thinking that he was looking at me, at my body? Yeah, watching a movie was going to be hard.

I was really embarrassed about myself, my thoughts, and my behavior. It wasn’t right that Chris just messed with my head like that out of the blue; it could really mess up our friendship.

The problem was… I was too easy to read, like an open book. He knew pretty fast when something was wrong, and he always waited for me to say it before he had to ask. I was already getting nervous because I sucked at lying to him, and I knew that as soon as the movie ended, he would be asking questions.

During the movie, we were really close on the couch, which was pretty normal for us. We always did that, but I was freaking out inside, wondering how weird it would be if I just… decided to sit a little farther from him. Yeah, that would be a bad idea. I just took a deep breath and tried to forget about the photos and all the crap I was thinking, focusing on the movie and staying quiet.

As the movie played, I kept my eyes glued to the screen, trying to ignore the way his arm brushed against mine or how his laugh made my heart skip a beat. I needed to get a grip, fast. 

It was a horror movie, and I really wanted to watch it, but... well. Chris was really into it. He had this habit of putting a cushion on his lap during movies, and this time he had chosen a fluffy one. The way his hands slid over it, repeatedly... it really got into my head. Oh my god. For fuck’s sake, he didn't stop caressing it, and I always had a thing for hands, and his were particularly sexy... especially with his black-painted nails and rings.

Oh my god, it was so embarrassing. I felt like a desperate whore, but just for him.

“You’re snorting…” He came even closer to me. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m not snorting!”

“Yes, you are. You’ve taken so many deep breaths that you’re scaring me more than this movie. Wanna stop watching?”

I was curled up on the couch, holding my knees and hiding most of my face.

“It’s nothing, let’s keep watching!”

“You know you can’t lie to me, right? Let's finish the movie, but then you’ll tell me what happened.”

Oh, sure! How could I say it? 'Hi, Chris! So… I saw those dick pics of yours, and now I’m interested'? 

My head was spinning, and nothing useful was coming to mind. I thought about so many ways to make him forget about this, but it wasn’t going to work. Buuut… a small part of me, I mean, really small… tiny, wanted him to know what I was thinking. Maybe if I just spit it out, we’d laugh ourselves to death and then it would all be over. He’d probably mock me about it, telling me how sensitive I am for being all weird over a nude.

Maybe… just maybe, that was the solution, and I was really inclined to do it. Just tell him I was feeling weird about seeing those photos.

The movie ended, and I started to panic when he turned off the TV and faced me.

“Now tell me, what is it?”

“It’s nothing, Chan. Relax, it will pass soon.”

“You’re making me worry. Did something happen at home? With your family?” He touched my arm, and I felt so guilty seeing his worried expression. He could be really sweet sometimes.

“It 's not that. Actually, it’s something stupid, just let it go.”

“Did some guy act like a jerk to you? That one from the bar? I knew it… do you want me to help with that?”

“Oh, God… Chris, just let this go. Please? It 's not that.”

“You know you’re not going home without telling me what happened, right? Besides, the fact that you still haven’t told me is making me really concerned.”

“It 's nothing. And it’s too dark here…”

“Hmmm, are you scared after that movie?” He pointed the remote at his lights and set them to keep changing colors. “Now talk.”

“Actually… no, I can’t tell you that. You’re gonna mock me.”

“It depends, maybe I will. For fuck’s sake, woman, just say it.”

“Okay, ahm… oh god. Okay. I got a bit weird because… ahn, I can't, Chris. I’m going home now.”

I stretched my legs, put my feet on the ground, and almost got up from the couch, but he held me and made me sit down again. This time, he was even closer, and I could smell his wonderful scent, making my situation much worse.

“Really, what happened?”

“The photos that I saw yesterday…” I didn’t even finish the sentence, but it wasn’t necessary.

He tilted his head like a dog trying to understand its owner and then burst out laughing, but he didn’t let me go, just held me firmly, probably already knowing I’d run off at the first chance.

“You’re like this just because you saw the photos? I can’t believe it!”

“Oh, wow! How funny.” I was serious, and tried to hide my face again, but he pulled me closer and stared at me, waiting for me to say more. It wasn’t fair that I was so affected while he just kept laughing. “It wasn’t just the pictures, but what they did to me after.”

“Hm, tell me more.”

“I couldn't stop thinking about it since yesterday, I thought it was obvious.”

“So… you've been thinking about my dick since yesterday?”

I started to laugh, but it was a nervous laugh, totally shocked by how shameless he could be. I knew he’d mock me like that, but I didn’t expect to be even more turned on by it. Hearing him say that... fuck.

“Yeah, exactly. And you mentioned a video. What video, Chris? Why the hell did you have to leave that on your phone? Everything was fine before that.”

“Let me see if I got this right…” His voice lowered, and I shrunk even more on the couch, holding my knees again. “You’re all weird because you’re�� horny?”

“Basically, yeah. But I can’t. I can’t see you like that.”

“For fuck’s sake, do you know how many times I’ve felt attracted to you like that? Imagine if I got all weird about it.”

“Excuse me? What do you mean?”

I was in complete disbelief. He was naturally a flirt, always hitting on me and every girl around him, but I never thought it was serious. Never.

“Yeah, it’s normal for me. Of course, it’d be harder if I’d seen you naked - and I’m not saying I don’t want that - but, I don’t know… you don’t have to feel like this.”

“Oh my god, you’re really a naughty one, aren’t you? Why did you never say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want you getting all weird about it. I know I’m fine with it.”

“Well, it’s different. You’re used to it.”

We sat in awkward silence for a few moments, and then I noticed how his expression had changed. The way he was looking at me, biting his lower lip and trying to read me… and that damn smile.

“So… you wanna see it? The video, I mean.” He took his phone and unlocked it in front of me. I was speechless, just staring at that damn phone in his pretty hands.

I blinked a few times, thinking about it. It wasn’t unpredictable… I kinda knew he’d want to show me the video if he thought I wanted to see it. And I had made it really clear how much I was thinking about it. Of course he’d offer.

“I’m just kidding! Unless you really want to…”

Oh god, the way he smiled and bit his tongue was killing me. I wanted to throw a shoe at his face, but at the same time, I was tempted to take the phone and watch the damn video. I had the brilliant idea of being as shameless as him, just pushing to see how far he’d take it.

“You’re really okay with it? No shame? Then show me.”

“I have no reason to be ashamed. You did see the photos… and liked them.” He opened his gallery, and the pictures were still there. He made his point by sliding through each one and commenting on which he liked most. Coincidentally, it was my favorite too.

“Here, it’s the next one. Make yourself comfortable.”

He handed me the phone, and I realized I was shaking when I took it. I thought I could keep a cool expression and pretend that everything was normal, like seeing my best friend touching himself was no big deal, but well… I failed. I knew I was screwed the moment the video started to play, and it had audio.

Hearing Chris moaning while pleasuring himself was so hot it made me clench, and my brain just shut down. I hadn’t even considered this until yesterday; it was so unfair. I kept watching the video, enjoying it more than I wanted to, and apparently, it was made when he was close to cumming because it was short… just a few seconds. I watched him cum on his abs before the video stopped. My body was really tense when I handed back his phone, struggling to think of anything to say that wouldn’t embarrass me even more.

“That was it. No big deal.”

“Do you have premature ejaculation? This video is 15 seconds long.”

Maybe provoking him like that wasn’t a clever thing to do because I was really affected by the video. But I tried, even with a dry mouth, weak legs, and being totally soaked through my panties.

“I’m not! I recorded it when I was close.”

“Sounds like something a premature guy would say…” I liked seeing his tone get serious, his ego clearly hurt by my question.

“If you keep saying that, I’ll understand that you want me to prove you wrong…”

That escalated quickly. From the moment he decided to show me that video, I knew there was no way back. Our little fun could continue, but it was leading us somewhere kinda dangerous yet inevitable since I spoke the truth. For a moment, I really thought he’d just make some jokes and forget about it, but the tension between us would get unbearable. That would happen anyway, so…

“You can try.”

“You’re testing me? Because you know I’m fine with that.”

“No, I was just thinking… I got all shaken up for nothing. It’s not that much, right? I mean, you did take the pic from below to make it look bigger…”

I tried to keep provoking him since it was really affecting his huge ego, but I didn’t imagine it would go that far. His reaction...

Chris took one of my hands and made me touch his hard cock through his shorts to feel him, all of him. My reaction wasn't planned—I just squeezed and grabbed really hard the moment I felt him, hard as a rock below my fingers. Then I pulled my hand back, feeling a bit weird about it.

“Christopher!”

“You teased me, now you gotta handle it.”

God, I just realized how hot I was feeling. My whole body was responding to him. I felt the heat, my neck and cheeks were burning.

“We shouldn’t…” I was just looking for an extra dose of convincing because I already knew we were going to do it.

“You think so?” He stood up, the thin fabric of his gym shorts hiding nothing, and the way he grabbed his own dick, feeling himself, made me shiver. “I’ll stop when you ask me to.”

First, he stripped off his shirt and threw it on the couch right beside me. I think my jaw just dropped when he lowered his shorts, revealing his waistband. In just a second, he was wearing nothing but his boxers, touching himself, squeezing his clothed dick right in front of me, staring at my face and testing me.

I didn’t notice how hard I was pressing my thighs together, feeling my pussy throb because of the tension and the touches I was denying myself, making a huge effort to stay still while watching him.

“Wanna tell me what you thought about those photos?” He hooked one of his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, lowering it just enough for me to see the trimmed hair on his pelvis.

“Are you really gonna touch yourself in front of me?” I shifted a little on the couch and felt the wetness between my legs, so intense that I could leave a stain where I was sitting. I couldn't believe the situation and how turned on I was because of it.

“I told you that I’ll stop if you ask…” He lowered his underwear a bit more, revealing a part of his length. I wet my lips, feeling my mouth water at the thought of sucking him, imagining his taste, his veins, everything…

When Chris finally stripped off his last piece of clothing, I was speechless. It was even better than the pictures or the video, as I expected. Watching the way his hands worked on his dick, grabbing and stroking slowly while he watched me… it was too much. I was losing my mind.

“So… wanna tell me? What you were thinking, huh?”

“About this… you touching yourself for me to watch.” I couldn't look at his face, even if I wanted to.

“Hm… what else?” He sped up a bit, stroking and pressing his head slightly, making me feel an insane urge to taste him, watching the precum already leaking from his cock. 

“I thought about how it would be to suck your dick… trying to fit everything in my mouth.”

“Oh, I think you can do it. You were just telling me that it’s that big, right? Feel free to try, I’d love to watch you.”

This time I looked up and saw him smiling at me, knowing exactly what he was doing to me. Chris took advantage of my eye contact to bite his lip and stroke his dick a little harder. I lost all control when he looked down and moaned, making my pussy clench around nothing, wishing he was inside me already.

“You can stop, I don’t want you to cum… not like that.” I sat on the edge of the couch and touched his thighs, feeling his muscles under my fingers, noticing every detail that I’d never seen this close.

“And you called me naughty… look at you, wanting my dick and not knowing how to ask for it.”

“Oh, I don’t need to ask… you’re slutty enough to give it to me without asking.”

“Is that a problem?” He kept touching himself, and I watched closely, already shaking with anticipation of touching him, tasting him.

“Of course not.”

I wrapped my hand around his hardness, moving his own out of the way. Gripping his dick at the base, I stroked slowly, running my fingers along his entire length, relishing the feel of his skin and the torment it brought me. When I noticed more precum leaking, I couldn't resist. I took him into my mouth and sucked eagerly, not wanting to miss a drop, sucking hard and stretching my cheeks with him.

"So hungry for my cock, baby…" He ran his fingers through my hair, pushing it behind my ear before holding my head to pull me back a little. I watched the saliva connecting his cock to my lips and smiled, looking up at his face, making it clear that I wanted much more. His taste was already on my tongue, and I became addicted the moment I tasted it.

He held his cock, rubbing it against my lips, and I stuck my tongue out, wanting to make him even wetter for me to suck as soon as he slid back inside.

"You have no idea how many times I've fantasized about you sucking me like that." This time, he pressed more firmly against my tongue, and I closed my lips around his head, savoring his taste once more.

"You're something else…" I managed to say before he pulled my hair, tilting my head to the side while still rubbing his dick against my lips and cheeks.

"So are you…" I felt the weight of his hardness against my face, tapping against my skin occasionally, teasing me as he stroked his cock. The urge to strip off all my clothes overwhelmed me, my legs trembling with anticipation. "That's why we fit so well."

I bet it must have been a real treat for him to watch me smiling at him like I did while he teased me, rubbing his cock against my face. I was really pleased with the outcome because he finally let me suck him again, pushing himself into my mouth and using both hands to guide my movements.

I grabbed onto his thighs, digging my nails into his skin every time he held my head to make me take him all in. I have to admit, I was loving every moment of it. I kept sucking without stopping, making it wet and sloppy, varying the pressure with my lips and mouth, paying attention to his reactions and doing everything to make him moan louder for me.

After a few minutes, my jaw was starting to ache, and as much as I wanted him to come, I was already soaking wet with arousal. I couldn't keep going like that, so I pulled away and used my hands to jerk him off while I caught my breath, my face all wet.

"You still think that I'm premature?" He laughed, passing his thumb over my swollen lips. "Lie down and strip. Let me take care of you now."

"I never really thought that, you know? I just wanted to see you nervous. It worked perfectly..." I leaned back on the sofa and unbuttoned my pants. Chris quickly took care of removing them, pulling them down my legs.

"Look what you've done..." My panties were completely soaked, as if I'd jumped into a pool with them on. They were light blue, so the dark stain was visible even in the dim light of his lamp.

"Did you get this wet by sucking on my dick?" He ran his fingers over my mound and down, feeling the wetness, fascinated by what he found. "Or did you come here already wet, thinking about me?"

"A bit of both..." I spread my legs wider to give him better access, watching as he moved closer to the damp fabric. "But sucking you off did most of the damage. I was really needy for it..."

He pressed his nose against my clit through the fabric, and I felt his tongue slide over everything, making me shiver despite the barrier of my panties.

"You should've told me you were this wet. I could've had my face drenched in that pussy sooner."

"I was too busy watching your show." I pulled off my shirt, left in just the sports bra I'd chosen without planning to get naked in front of anyone.

I thought he’d finally take my panties off and give me some relief, but Chris just stood there watching me undress. Then he came over to the couch, letting his body weight press down on mine, leaning in to kiss me.

Honestly, I never thought something like this would happen. Somehow, kissing him felt even more intimate than sucking his cock. It wasn’t a complaint, far from it. I’d been waiting for the moment to do it, his mouth was really something.

The kiss was amazing, igniting my whole body with a burning desire for him. The way his tongue moved against mine, circling and sucking... I could only imagine how it would feel if he was licking my pussy. My hands were on his back, feeling his muscles, scratching him each time he pushed his hips against mine, making me feel his hardness rubbing against my clit, leaving me breathless.

He laid beside me, and we kept kissing while one of his hands explored me. First, he pushed up my top to grab my tits, my sensitive nipples hardening at his touch. He had big hands, filling them with my chest, squeezing while his thumb circled my nipples. Every touch felt like it was reaching my core.

His hands slid down, caressing my belly and finally slipping into my panties. He teased me at first, rubbing my clit through the fabric and sinking his fingers into my labia, whispering in my mouth how wet I was for him. I spread my legs, and he pushed the panties aside, his fingers now touching my folds, playing with my pussy and then rubbing my clit.

“Gonna tease me forever? Put those fingers inside.”

“So impatient…”

Chris pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, biting his lower lip as his fingers slipped inside. I closed my eyes and moaned, feeling myself tighten around him and hearing the wet sounds as he started moving. He was really good with his hands, just as I hoped he would be. He was so precise… His thumb massaged my clit the way I needed - I could cum really easily -, while he worked three fingers inside me, moving them nonstop. I was almost coming for him, and I started to grind against his hand. He was just watching me, moaning along with me as my orgasm hit, whispering in my ear how hot and tight I was for him.

I felt his fingers slide out of my wetness, and he brought them to his mouth, tasting me before kissing me again. I could taste myself on his lips as I removed my panties, sucking on his tongue.

Chris knelt down, moving my body like I weighed nothing, positioning me on my back with my legs spread. He supported himself on his elbows and began licking my pussy, his whole face pressed against me. His chin, tongue, lips, nose… every part of him rubbing against my arousal, licking and drinking me like I was the last drink in the world.

I couldn't hold back when he stuck his tongue inside me. I grabbed his hair and ground my hips against his face, searching for the perfect angle to cum again, even though I was still sensitive from my last orgasm.

He moaned with me, the vibrations of his voice against my skin intensifying my pleasure. When I came again, I tried to close my legs, trapping him between them because he refused to stop licking me, even as I squirmed on the couch, whining for him to stop.

I was panting heavily, still thinking I might regret what we were doing. That crazy thought vanished when he sat on the couch next to me, started touching himself again, and looked at me.

"Already tired, baby? I thought you could handle more."

I kneeled on the couch and took off my top, tossing it at him. My legs were still trembling a bit - a lot - , but I crawled over and straddled him, placing a leg on each side of his body, settling on his thighs, and holding onto his shoulders.

“It’s much better when your mouth is busy…” I ground against his cock as he kept stroking himself. I grabbed his dick and positioned it at my entrance, rolling my hips to tease him a bit before sliding him inside me. I moved slowly, feeling how he filled me up with his hardness, burying himself deep inside me while he grabbed my buttcheeks and spread them, making me take him all in.

I felt the way he stretched me, rolling my hips a few times to get used to his size, and I pulled his head to my breasts, wanting him to touch me everywhere he could. He sucked and bit my nipples, squeezing my ass as I kept rolling my hips. He pushed and helped me move faster, so I started to really ride him.

At first, I was moving slowly, just coming up and down to enjoy the feeling of being so full with his cock, feeling how wet I was as he slid in easily. His hands were abusing my tits, squeezing hard as he used his tongue on my nipples.

I kept going until I was almost passing out from exhaustion. It was really late, and we weren’t holding back our sounds, so maybe the neighbors could hear us. My whole body was sweating, and so was he, but his smell was so good... Even being that tired, I was turned on by it. I kept putting my face in the curve of his neck so I could taste him as well.

His hands were all over me, grabbing and squeezing everything he touched. I brushed his hair out of his face so I could kiss him again, while rolling my hips against him, trying to breathe so I could start the fast rhythm again.

“Let me be on top now.”

Chris helped me get up and waited until I was laid on the couch. I gotta say, that was a huge relief for me - I needed some ‘rest’.

He knelt between my legs and adjusted himself so he could rub his cock on my clit, teasing me and smiling at me in a way that drove me insane. I was soaked and sensitive, so I just used my hand to put him inside me again. I couldn't stand to wait any longer. Yeah, he really got me impatient.

He was thrusting slowly, I folded my legs and spread them wide so I could touch my clit, and he watched closely the way my fingers were working on my own pleasure while he fucked me. It was pretty fast for me to start to feel my core getting hotter and hotter as my orgasm approached.

Chris grabbed my thighs and spread me open wider, keeping the rhythm slow but thrusting really hard. He whispered all kinds of dirty things that made my whole body tremble when I came on his cock. My eyes rolled back in pleasure as he kept doing exactly what he was doing until I stopped touching myself. My legs felt heavy and practically powerless, he made me all weak.

“You get even tighter when you come, baby… so fuckin good.”

It took me a few minutes to start breathing normally again, and he was still going slow inside me. I thought maybe he was being sweet about my sensitivity, but I still thought it would be funny to tease him a bit more.

“Feeling sorry for me? Just fuck me hard, Chris.”

His first reaction was to burst out laughing, then he pulled my legs up, put my calves on his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. Just that move made me feel him so much deeper, giving me a preview of what was about to come. When he leaned forward a bit, I had the pleasure of seeing him suck in air through his teeth and close his eyes, twisting his face in pleasure. I could feel how tight I was with the new angle, and I knew I was going to be sore after that.

Chris fucked me so hard that my entire body moved on the couch in each thrust. My breasts bounced in the rhythm of his thrusts, too... and our moans were cut off each time his body slammed into mine. The sound of his thighs slapping against my ass was really loud, and he was so deep that it left me breathless, and felt so fuckin good that I could come again if I wasn’t already dying because of the sensitivity.

He kept up that insane rhythm for several minutes, it was so good... I was just trying to hold onto the couch so I wouldn’t slide around too much, his cock hitting all the right spots deep inside me, places I could never reach on my own.

“Gonna cum…” His voice revealed his exhaustion, and I thought that so hot that I couldn’t even explain. “Where do you want it, huh?”

“Fill me up, Chris...”

“Fuuuuck…”

He grabbed my legs even tighter, and I leaned up a bit, raising my body to watch everything he was doing to me. The look on his face when he came would stay in my mind longer than any photos or anything we did today. His abs contracting, the sweat, everything was so erotic, so hot, so perfect. I was lost and couldn’t take my eyes off him.

He slowed down until stopped thrusting, and I felt his warm liquid inside me, not wanting him to pull out. Chris folded my legs a bit more, bringing my knees close to my chest and making me lie back down as his cock slipped out.

“I never thought I’d see this.” His eyes were fixed between my legs, just like mine had been on his face seconds ago.

“See what?”

“You, all fucked up and dripping my cum like that. I can't believe we did this.”

“Me neither...” I used one hand to touch myself, feeling my sensitive spots and using his fluids to slide my fingers around, really enjoying the sensation. “But I’m glad we did.”

The way he smiled made me want to do it all over again, and if it were possible, I really would.

“I guess I can be promoted to ‘fuck buddy.’”

“Maybe, but we need to talk about it later.”

“Wanna take a shower and sleep here?”

“Do you think that's a good idea? I mean...”

I was genuinely worried about the intimacy. We didn’t have feelings for each other, and that was clear. I was terrified of making things confusing.

“I think it’s a great idea because I can do even better tomorrow morning, in my bed.”

“If you put it that way... then I’ll stay.”

[nonwal]

writing updates

figured I should update my pinned post, so here's a list of my active* WIPs—please ask questions about any of these (or any of my completed fics!)

* not necessarily fics that will get published, just works that I am still actively writing/planning/thinking about

Critical Role

the sea, the stars, the dreamers

blumenshadow

space opera/arranged marriage/murder mystery. four wizards have a terrible time on a spaceship. AKA the Among Us AU

partially published, extremely rough draft complete(ish) but in need of serious editing/revisions. still slowly chipping away at that, and publishing will resume after the second draft is complete

a body in absentia

shadowgast

exploration of Essek's (and Bren's) relationship with sex/intimacy through the lens of a scourger AU, plus magical gender transition with the complications of a scourger AU

main fic complete. many one-shots in various stages of completion; most likely to get finished are the one with a riding crop and the voyeurism fic

a wolf is a ghost with teeth

Eadwulf/Fjord/Jester

man who worships goddess of death has existential crisis after his body gets fished out of the ocean and resurrected. also, the ocean really, really wants him back (and Eadwulf wants to be used useful)

unlikely to be finished due to sheer size, but it's a damn fun idea. Fjord is living in an adventure movie, Jester is in a romance novel, Eadwulf is stuck in a ghost story where he is both the house and the haunting

what collects in the hollow

Astrid/Beau/Yasha

a mirror to a wolf is a ghost with teeth, set during the same time but following Astrid. having achieved her life goals and besieged by emails paperwork, local woman has midlife crisis and turns to a frenemy?nemesis? coworker? monk for help. also, Beau mentors a teenage wizard with sociopathic tendencies and Yasha shows Astrid the benefits of eating bugs

equally unlikely to get finished as awiagwt, but I have a lot of ideas

untitled BQ/RQ fic

Bright Queen/Raven Queen

Leylas Kryn is the last mortal who remembers meeting the Raven Queen before she ascended. 7+1 conversations, each time that Leylas dies (+ an interlude with Quana)

unlikely to be finished but it's such a cool concept that I'm loathe to abandon it

Baldur's Gate 3

light in unlit places

Wyll/Astarion

post-canon (possibly pre-epilogue? haven't finished the game yet.) Astarion gets saved by Wyll and runs into complications trying to return the favor. parties, politics, peril. heroic idealist/guy who does the dirty work. (also, the unexpected consequences of releasing that many vampires into the underdark)

in the slapping ideas around phase so we'll see if a coherent story emerges from what is currently Concept Soup

[dr-lizortecho]

🐞🐜

Recommend a favorite fic or several from one of your friends, or a fic author you really look up to!

Oh damn- one friend??? One author I admire?? Imma cheat- it’s has to be three or whatever

@ajna-eye-cogitations is one of my favs ofc

Heartlines : a beautiful echo fic thatshows a sweet and emotionally intimate moment between the couple, really putting Max’s romantic -and kinky- side on the table, and being written really poetically as always

Blanco Navidad : a Christmas time fic that is sooooo sugar sweet it gives me a toothache and also is super sexy but in an understated way- weaving together imagery through memories and experiences and emotion instead of physicality

Thicker Than Pod Vapor : a look at the stress and destress Max would feel welcoming his kids into an unwelcome world- lines of this still haunt me, like knowing he will never fully be at peace and believe himself safe nevertheless his children

@rewritingroswell’s fics are also amazing <3

Impulsive Decisions Made Under The Moonlight : for those Max/Charlie cravings :P

The Consequences of Being a Tease : Delvecho- what’s not to love. Also, super sexy as always. And like… my brain short circuits everytime Max calls Maria ma’am. Also, just the decision to make a fun little competition to make Liz orgasm? Instead of an angsty who’s better in bed? Glorious.

I’m Burnin’ Up On You : t4t echo! They’re soooooooo. And then they’re- ugghhh- this fic captrued them so well, their earnest communication, their burning desire. It’s all there and more. Go read it. Please.

Cheating a second time with @ladynox and @beautifulcheat with two joint works and then one individual (cause I can’t not- they’re too good to pick just a few)

The Truth is Right Here : xfiles. Meets rnm. Malexa and Kaliz and mystery. And just- it’s so god. Truly one of the most intricate and well handled stories (emphasis on story not fic!) I’ve ever had the pleasure to read. From Michael and Max pretending to be ghosts, to Liz fiercely gathering mushroom samples, to Kyle bumping shoulders with Max, to Michael buying Maria a tacky bracelet, to Alex accidentally implying a threesome vacation, to Maria wearing Michael’s hat, to all the fucked up alien stuff (and lemurs) and Jesse Manes it’s a wild ride more than worth taking. Go read it. Like truly- even if you haven’t seen the show, you’ll fall in love with these characters.

Dealing With Dragons : Maria is a witch. Michael a dragon. Fate brings them together in a magic forest? What more could one ask for? The answer is a beautifully written fantasy setting that will have you purchasing the inspiration book to sit on your nightstand.

Nox’s Rough Stock : ummmmmm sexy. like so sexy. brain dead type sexy. Maria pegs Michael- need no say more? Well I will- it’s slow and sensual and just so well done. Sorry- your work is so amazing and I’m like ah the smut.

Beautifulcheat’s Surreal Estate : *hides cause I’m behind* Just the best. Like these three girls are perfect in this setting. Not only that but the romance and the ghosts as metaphors is so well done. I’m on the edge of my seat every chapter head spinning to figure out all these mysteries. Also there’s a cute little demon dog. Precious.

Recommend a fic that makes you laugh! A crack fic, or something that's just really funny!

Ohhhhh- I just rec’ed this in like two servers, but Guerenti Gay Chicken in which they have a kid before someone loses????? Perfection.

That’s How You Lose The Game by @andrea-lyn

Ask Me For A Fic Rec <3

[demo-dragon]

Turnabout Horizon- Case 4 WIP

“FURTHERMORE, PROVE THAT YOU WERE AT THE SCENE OF THE CRIME THAT DAY… WITHOUT A DOUBT!” Miles and Phoenix spoke in unison as they glared at the prosecutor in anger.

Prosecutor von Karma grimaced as he clutched his left shoulder, knowing that it was the end of the line for him. The young rookie defense attorney pointed his finger at von Karma and spoke those few words, “So, it’s over! Murderer!”

“UUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!” Manfred von Karma, the legendary prosecutor, let out an agonizing scream as the old wound came back to haunt him once again after all those years.

Gregory’s eyes widened as he recognized that scream. “That scream. It was the same scream that I heard that day.” He narrowed his eyes. “So... it was you.”

“Damn, you,” Manfred banged his head against the wall. “Damn you, Gregory Edgeworth! You and your sons are my curse!” He bellowed. “I should have killed you! Because of you, Gregory, my perfect record was tarnished by a mere penalty! And… and you left a scar on my shoulder that will never fade!” The prosecutor continued banging his head. “I… I’ll bury you! I’ll bury you with my bare hands! Death! Death!”

After von Karma’s dramatic outburst that caught the entire court off guard, the prosecutor, who had now fallen from grace, finally confessed to his crime.

15 years earlier, the Chief prosecutor’s office

“You disappointed me, von Karma,” The Chief Prosecutor declared as he was staring at the window of his office. “It’s unlike you to make such an error.”

Prosecutor von Karma stood there as his boss, deemed dissatisfied about the ‘incident’ that happened in the courtroom. He then winced as he frantically apologized. “Mr. Chief Prosecutor I… I’m sorry!”

“Sorry, you say?” Chief looked at his colleague with a hint of a smug grin. “Y’know, If you were sorry, then that Defense Attorney Edgeworth fellow wouldn’t be the one to catch you.” he then pulled his beard as he sniffled. “How could you do this to me?”

“I… was careless.”

Chief pulls out his goggles to dump out his so-called tears and places them back on his face to compose himself. “Y’see, I covered for you in the past, but not this time. As it appears, I can no longer trust your credibility.” He pulled out his small lighter. “It pains me that I will have to penalize you. Since you always boast about your perfect records, but I guess your record is now a tad ‘imperfection,’ y’know.”

“Did he say penalized? Over one simple mistake?” Manfred was in shock beyond words as he couldn’t believe that the Chief Prosecutor would add insult by claiming that his records were now “imperfect.” He couldn’t help but think of the one person who caused all this frustration and yelled out in anger, “Edgeworth!!!”

“Oh, come now, don’t be overly dramatic,” Chief remarked as he looked back at the window. “If we’re done here, you should leave. I have other businesses to take care of, y’know. Oh, before you go, please tell your daughter that Uncky Boo Boo won’t be coming to visit her today. Well, see ya!”

Okay, I hope I didn't butcher Manfred's characterization in the final phase of his breakdown. I added some details from the anime where Miles and Phoenix went into sync as they exposed von Karma as the true culprit and the classic von Karma's head banging on the wall breakdown from the first Ace Attorney game.

I'm going to try my very best to explain how the crime took place in the Defendant's Lobby, room No. 1. I'm not very good at the whole murder case, so I have to find some ways to make it work by doing some references.

With that out of the way, I do hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know if there's anything that should be fixed later on in the future. After all, it's just a rough draft for case 4.

[keyh0use]

Kinktober Day 17: Marking

Mentions of burning, cutting, scratching, biting, hitting

"So, what's your love language?" Sarah asks from across the table.

Barry and Rafe bore many signs of claiming, some more subtle than others.

It all started at some random dive bar on a neighboring island they were invited to for a birthday get together for one of the older man's coworkers. They ate greasy food and chatted idly, Barry's arm around Rafe's shoulders and when he shivered a little, the dealer was shrugging off his sweater and handing it over.

Something in the way Barry looked at Rafe changed but neither of them knew it would be a thing in their growing relationship.

Not until they were getting into the shower the next morning after and the aftermath of rough sex is all over Rafe's lean body. Whatever mental damn Barry had when it came to intimacy—always trying to be relatively gentle but never vulnerable—came crumbling down when they tumbled into the unmade bed.

Rafe had caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror while undressing, even turned to observe the marks better. The kooks ass was mottled with bruises, both from the impact of Barry's heavy hand and from his talented mouth. Fingerprints littered sharp hip bones and the faint imprint of teeth were visible on his shoulder.

By the time Rafe collected himself enough to join his man in the shower arousal was already swimming in him, but when he seen what he did to Barry, that set him over the edge.

Long, angry red scratches covered Barry's broad back, tan skin raised and stinging as water drains pink.

What happens next isn't soft or cautious, but it does leave both of them with new blemishes.

That transcended into Barry putting his joints out on Rafe's skin, tiny red spots blistering. Then Rafe digs his claws into the older man's ribcage while an orgasm rips through him and the tiny crescents bleed, and when he sees the beads of red it gives a high no drugs can compete with.

Sometimes when the boy wants attention while Barry is busy talking with people about whatever dumb basketball game is playing on the bars TV, Rafe will wander off and wait for someone to inevitably flirt with him. All Rafe will do is stand there and let whoever talk to themselves, completely uninterested and not engaging but also not telling them to fuck off like he usually would.

And it always works. Once five minutes have gone by without sight of pastel shorts and bright blue eyes, Barry is off his bar stool and hunting the kook down, weaving through hordes of people cheering on their team.

Barry will drag Rafe out by the arm before security can toss the older man for starting a fist fight, scold him for running off before opening the passenger side door for him. At home the boy will take Barry's fingers into his mouth and suck the sticky blood off, still dripping from split knuckles.

Then one day Ward clapped Barry on the shoulder and called him son and panic set in.

The love Rafe and Barry shared was all consuming and overpowered every other feeling, including doubt—which is how the drug dealer ended up running head-on into his first relationship. But it's like that one word snapped the older man out of it and suddenly he wasn't sure, solidified when his perfect boy waltzed in with a grin, tall and well dressed and way too damn good for someone like Barry.

Barry wasn't sure what the fuck he needed to hear; reassurance they wouldn't end or that they would, and he shouldn't get his hopes up but the thoughts haunted him for the rest of the evening, following from Tanneyhill all the way home on the cut.

After Barry jogs around the truck to open the door for Rafe, the boy flashes a shark -like grin and flips open a switch blade previously hidden in the glove compartment.

"Found this when I went up to my old room," the boy explained. "Maybe tonight you can carve your—"

"Maybe we shouldn't," Barry had rushed out. Rafe's eyes grew wide and he drowned in them, swallowing nervously as he tried to find the right words to stop the mess he's started.

After a minute, Rafe asked, "What do you mean maybe we shouldn't? Shouldn't what?"

"Maybe we should slow down just in case we don't, y'know...in case we don't work out." The words taste like acid in his mouth, vomited out quietly.

"Excuse me?" Rafe replied, voice hard.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Barry went on to say, "I don't want you to regret bearing so many physical reminders of me if I'm, like, your ex. Alright?" And while that's true, a big part of it was that Barry didn't want to look in the mirror and be reminded of he once had and lost.

Rafe had shut that shit down so fast it made the dealer's head spin.

One minute Barry was on the verge of sobbing for the first time in a long time and the next he was sitting in the backseat of the beat-up truck getting his cock ridden so hard he was seeing stars, blade of the sharp knife pressed to his throat.

"You can't leave me," Rafe started with a threatening tone, bouncing in his man's lap. "I won't let you."

The statement got Rafe's back slammed down on the worn seats to receive the fucking of a lifetime in the cramped cab, his own knife now wielded by the man of his dreams as the threat was recited back, just as genuine.

"Uh, hello, Earth to Rafe," calls Sarah, reaching across the table to snap in her brother's face. "I asked you a question."

Rafe slowly blinks a couple times and remembers where he is, ducking his head with a fake cough to hide his flushed face.

The conversation the two had been having comes back to him: Sarah wanting to connect better with John B. by taking a magazines advice to learn eachothers love language, going over the list while the siblings sipped iced coffee.

So, what's your love language?

Nimble fingers slip over his inner thigh, where Barry's initial is carved, able to feel the deep scar through the thin material of his swim shorts.

Rafe answers easily, "Physical touch."