#like there's fics about the two as a couple in AO3 why isn't there here?

[preseriesdean]

if you don’t mind me asking, could you share some of your favorite fanfics or authors? thanks ❤️

oh hi hello!! yes of course!! i actually haven't read any spn fic in a while but i have spent a lot of time organizing my bookmarks. i'm going to assume that you meant samdean fic but i'll add a few non-samdean ones at the end.

authors!

@zmediaoutlet (deadlybride on ao3)

candle_beck (ao3)

@goshen-applecrumbledore (ao3)

whereupon (livejournal)

Linden (ao3)

sevenfists (ao3)

there are so many more great authors but these came to mind :)

fics!

i am going to list my forever-favorites first - the ones i would recommend to anyone and everyone, screaming-from-the-rooftops kind of love - and then many many more under the cut.

beloved by urchinesque (2016, 1.9k, NR, warning: death) It might be the gentlest thing that's ever happened to them.

in my opinion everyone should read this once. it's quick. they die. it's-- happy, somehow. beautiful. i think about it all the time.

Last Day on Earth by candle_beck (2009, 10.8k, E) A list of things to do if you only have one day to live, presented in inconvenient non-list form.

last year my best friend and i were pondering which fic felt quintessential to samdean for us and somehow settled on this one. i still agree with the choice.

Odysseus, American by coyotesuspect (2010, 10k, M) Dean finds Peter O'Toole's recording of the Odyssey in a bin marked “Audio" in Casa Grande's only used bookstore. The place smells like cigarette smoke and old books, and it reminds him of Sam. Stanford era.

my favorite stanford era fic. i think it captures dean's loneliness and desperation beautifully.

A man with his insides out and his outsides off by britomart_is (2016, 5.3k, E, time travel, underage) They say there are only two stories in the world: man goes on a journey, and stranger comes to town.

another fic i want everyone to read. it's so short and feels like a novel. sam is messed up and dean is in love and everything is miserable.

Breathing Hard by whereupon (2009, 9k, E) The day Dean figures it out.

this is so simple and yet-- everything to me. i can't think about dinosaurs without thinking about this fic, which doesn't tell you much, but you'll see. sometimes this is really all you need.

The Last Outpost of All That Is by gekizetsu (2008, 59k, E) The world ends while they’re asleep.

this fic has stayed with me my whole life. i thought about it even during my years away from spn and fandom entirely. they're alone and you don't know why and they build their life together and you end up wondering, is this hell or heaven? whenever i come across a screenshot of the last couple of paragraphs i want to cry.

see things so much clearer by deadlybride (2020, 11.7k, E) Sam's been acting oddly. Dean learns how to use the history on an internet browser and finds out why.

this is a fic that hits the spot for me personally so well. another favorite preseries fic. i love the idea of sam using livejournal, and of dean finding out this way.

Stay The Distance by lazy_daze (2011, 24k, E) Sam is dependent on Dean's touch and closeness after the wall falls - Dean's presence reminds him of why he chose to wake up, and keeps the memories at bay, allowing Sam to function.

i love enmeshment, and i love that here it's literal. i love that they're just sort of fine with it.

more fics below!

in absolutely no particular order whatsover. please check the warnings and tags on these before reading!

Recall by De_Nugis (2012, 6.3k, E) Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

Living in god's blind spot by applecrumbledore (2022, 25k, E) Of all the situations Dean didn’t need his dad to see him in, ‘getting off to being pushed around by a guy’ was in the top three. And ‘a guy’ was a massive glossing-over of reality. Any guy—any other guy—would be bad enough, but Sam was fucking cataclysmic.

Almost At Home by balefully (2008, 24.3k, E) Sam graduates from high school in early June in rural Tennessee. He and Dean start the summer with an all-nighter of celebration; the day after, while both fight hangovers, John calls to assign them their first hunt by themselves.

they said it was the fall of man by jukeboxhound (2016, 7.4k, M) Sam gets his soul back on a Monday.

When I Fall Asleep It Is Your Eyes That Close by britomart_is (2009, 1.9k, E) Post-Season Two. Sam is alive. Dean is happy.

Life As We Know It by sevenfists (2007, 13.7k, M, curtain fic) On the morning that Sam woke up, Dean ran five red lights on the way to the hospital, his half-empty coffee cup sloshing in the holder.

tied up like two ships by orphan_account (2014, 3.1k, E) Dean liked to hold hands.

Gospel Truth by Cerberuss (2020, 15.2k, E, case fic) ‘DOES YOUR BROTHER KNOW THAT YOU WANT HIM?’ Individually placed letters, bold and tinged brown with the weather. Sam can’t look away and he prays, dream dream dream.

Buy You A Mockingbird by candle_beck (2011, 10.3k, M, underage, outsider pov) A genuine horror story.

because you want to die for love by hathfrozen (2021, 27.3k, E) Sam and Dean settle into their Heaven—and into each other, too.

the constant vow by deadlybride (2022, 119k, E, fem dean-ish) They've just finished up a pretty standard job and are killing time in snowy Wisconsin when Dean wakes up no longer looking like Dean. That's just the start of their problems.

This Fortress Made of Us by mickeym (2009, 10.8k, E) Sam really didn't do very well without his brother. Coda for Mystery Spot.

State of Love and Trust/As I Busted Down the Pretext by cormallen (2010, 2.9k, M) When you know exactly what your brother's thinking, there are some chances you just don't take.

Quiet with the Rain by Linden (2014, 5.3k, T) Dean can spot an undercover cop at thirty paces, a hooker at twenty, and rims that will match his baby's at ten. But the fact that his little brother is in love with him—that, he can't see worth a damn.

have a cigar by deadlybride (2020, 5.6k, E) What happened with Andy and Ansem unsettles Sam. Dean doesn't seem worried.

Heart Shaped Balloon by winsive (2022, 18.5k, E, underage) Sam and Dad are fighting. No surprise, but it's the weekend before Valentine's Day and Dean isn't missing out on the chance to bang a cheerleader just to console his bratty little brother. He does bring back a heart shaped balloon for him, though. It's not supposed to be cursed.

Bare by gracerene (2022, 2.2k, T) Of all the things Dean hasn't done before, Sam never expected something as innocuous as skinny dipping to be on the list.

Speechless by candle_beck (2008, 11.2k, T, case fic) Dean loses his voice and their rapport is only moderately impaired.

Like It Was Yesterday by nomelon (2014, 4.9k, T, fem dean, amnesia) Sam can't remember a time when Dean wasn't there. Dean is always with him. Sam's whole life, there's never been anyone else.

Like a Ghost with Two Voices by Dyed_Red (2022, 46k, E) To cure Dean from the Mark of Cain, Sam has to let Dean, in all his demonic glory, possess him for 28 days. It goes about as well as expected.

Breathe You In (Choke You Down) by orphan_account (2021, 5.9k, E, pwp) Dean really likes the way Sam smells.

lost in yesterday by margaryes (2023, 1k, NR, john pov) John hasn’t seen his youngest son in 18 months.

Unraveling by Linden (2017, 855 words, E) No, he’d said, the first time Sammy had tried to kiss him, sixteen and half-drunk and stupidly beautiful, even though he’d wanted so badly to say yes.

pack up the moon by deathdreamt (2021, 5.9k, T, pre-slash) Sam storms back out from their room, his backpack on and his duffel hanging off his shoulder and isn’t it kind of tragic that his whole life fits in two bags. He looks suddenly much younger than he is, eyes shining. John is back at his guns, whiskey at his elbow, and Dean can hardly believe how rapidly his life is cracking down the centre.

Yesterday, minnesota by applecrumbledore (2022, 30k, E, case fic) Any initial awkwardness filtered away over a hundred miles of highway as Sam thumbed through the missing witch’s diary again. Some people had secret coke habits or secret second wives, and some people had passionate, pitch black, no-kissing sex with a family member every four to six months and never talked about it. You had to find ways to cope.

All Heartless Spectres, Happiness by orphan_account (2021, 5.6k, E) Lisa Braeden receives an email with the subject line, "You Deserve to Know." It contains a single video file and nothing else. (soulless sam)

The Palm Oasis by fictionallemons (2022, 12.3k, E, underage) John strands Dean and Sam at a middle-of-nowhere motel while he investigates possible demon omens in Arizona. The place is nothing to write home about, but at least it has a pool. Dean resolves to think of this as a vacation for him and his studious little brother, but when their money runs out sooner than expected, he considers turning tricks at a nearby truck stop so he can feed Sam.

Other Brothers by homo_pink (2020, 7k, M, underage, outsider pov) A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.

Leader of the Pack by astolat (2007, 14.9k, E) Teaching old dogs new tricks.

Underground Wires by eggnogged (2012, 15.8k, E, fem sam, underage) It’s hard enough being a teenage girl even without all the extra crap: they move around all the time, her family is as far removed from normal as it’s possible to get, and she’s in love with her older brother. Sam has no control on any of it, she’s just trying to stay afloat.

Multitude of Sins by Linden (2015, 4.4k, T, outsider pov) Every now and again, Jim Murphy would look up from his altar and find the Winchester boys at the back of his church.

Like Arrows in the Hands of a Warrior by ADeedWithoutaName (2018, 10.3k, E, underage, dub con-ish, john pov) John Winchester loves his boys, and would take a bullet for either of them. He knows that he's doing it right, the way he's raising them, the things he's teaching them. Not every problem, however, has an easy answer. Like what to do after an incubus case in which their target got his pollen all over both of John's sons.

You Can't Lose What You Never Had by nigeltde (2016, 5.6k, E) You can't spend what you ain't got, and you can't lose what you ain't never had.

Flagstaff by Linden (2014, 7.3k, T, pre-slash, john pov) John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

I'll take my chance on a beautiful stranger by fleshflutter (2007, 3.8k, M, outsider pov) If Chase were a better friend, he might try to end the game now, before Brendan loses even more money. But if Brendan is a dick at Stanford, it’s nothing compared to how he is on break.

Cupid's Got A Gun by geckoholic (2012, 13.5k, E, non-con) Fuck-or-die, set in early S4. But they've been fucking for years, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong. Ever since hell, Dean's in no hurry to get that show on the road again.

Someone Else's Blood by sevenfists (2006, 6.7k, E) The first time, of course, was an accident. (pretend dating)

How Many Floors to Realize by lazy_daze (2009, 26k, E, swesson) AU from the end of It's A Terrible Life, in which Zachariah decides to keep stringing them along a little while longer, because damn if they aren't somewhat entertaining, right?

Worthless cartography by applecrumbledore (2022, 15.6k, E) Dean didn’t know what finally made him go for it. The djinn’s dream was a catalyst, but the call was coming from inside the house, and he’d been letting it ring for a very, very long time. (They get one night together right before Sam is taken to Cold Oak. Dean has to deal with that.)

The Space Between Sense and Memory by orphan_account (2021, 4.8k, T) There are a hundred unwritten rules on all the acceptable ways brothers should touch each other. There are hardly any ways at all to break them. Or; five times they follow the rules and one time they don’t.

Ions in the Ether by nigeltde (2019, 10.9k, E, case fic) When was the last time you trusted happy.

Crossed Wires by rivkat (2015, 10.9k, E) Dean thinks Sam is dead.

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena (2010, 23.7k, E, underage) Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Wear Him Lika a Habit by sevenfists (2008, 2.2k, M) Their first kiss isn't an accident. It's anticipated well in advance, discussed for weeks, argued over, second-guessed.

Amor Prohibido by phoenixflight (2020, 3k, M, underage) They spent the spring of Sam's sophomore year living in a shitty apartment south of San Antonio. Every Friday night the clearest channel played three hour marathons of a Spanish soap called La Casa del Corazón. There was a mutually understood truce about watching it, because the alternatives were infomercials or creepy kids’ cartoons that futzed into static every fifteen seconds.

Open Road by Mollyamory (2010, 2k, T) Sam's old enough to know what's good for him.

It's the Blueprint of Your Life by queenklu (2011, 38.4k, time travel) Sam jerks awake in the middle of the night and everything goes to hell. Well, not literally, though Dean is staring down the barrel of less than a year before his deal comes due. In the midst of dealing (or not dealing) with his impending death, a killer ghost ship, and Bela showing up out of the blue, Dean also has to figure out what’s going on in Sam’s head to make him so twitchy, why he’s suddenly breezing through this case while writing endless notes in a notebook he won’t let Dean see.

North of Wednesday by Mollyamory (2008, 3.5k, G) Sam's behind the wheel before he realizes he doesn't have the keys. Coda to Mystery Spot.

non-wincest fic.

dean/omc. We Drank a Thousand Times by glorious_spoon (2010, 43k, M, warning: death) They meet in a bar fight in North Carolina when Dean is nineteen, broke, and desperate, then again when a hunt brings the Winchesters into town a few years later. Neither one of them ever puts a name to it but every once in a while, through the years, Dean finds his way back.

dean/cas: terror & desire intertwined by rupertgayes (2022, 39k, M) Faced with Castiel suffering a fate worse than death, Dean makes the decision to let Cas use his body as a temporary vessel. All things considered, Dean thinks, it could have gone worse.

gen, sam&dean: what lasts by deadlybride (2021, 17.2k, M) Not long after they move into the bunker, Dean loses a leg. Most of a leg. After the hospital, Sam brings him home, and they figure out how to live with what remains.

gen, dean-centric: To Repair Broken Men by procrastin8or951 (2015, 3.1k, T) Dad and Sam keep fighting. Dean can't fix his family, so he fixes things around the crappy apartment they are staying in.

dean/michael: our hour came round at last by orphan_account (2015, 1.8k, NR, pwp) "I want to be inside you," says Michael, low and velvet and hungry and that really shouldn't turn Dean on but it does.

dean/lucifer, dean/cas: exploratory by sp8ce (2022, 4.9k, E, non-con) One night, Castiel proposes he and Dean have sex. Except it's a little more complicated than that.

dean/cas: for a healthy heart by Askance (2013, 2.4k, T) A strange black box appears in Castiel's bedroom one afternoon.

gen, sam&dean: charmer & gentle by Askance (2015, 3.7k, G, outsider pov) The afternoon girl calls them Big and Tall, the strangers who come in late every now and then, buying this or that. The night girl doesn't think those names fit quite right.

dean/cas, past sam/dean: whose wings, though tattered, shall carry me home by fleshflutter (2009, 2.2k, T) There is a breeze moving across the field. It stirs the long grass in lapping waves like the sea. Castiel runs his fingertips through it and remembers flying.

[bitethedevil]

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 1

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Tav gets kidnapped and is surprisingly calm about her new predicament. She spends her first night in the devil’s bed. Raphael is a pain in the ass to share a bed with.

(AN: A pretty self-indulgent fic that I am working on. It is a lot more light-hearted than what I have previously written. The plot also gives me an opportunity to explore a more private and less performative Raphael. There will be more chapters.)

Warning: NSFW

It was a couple of weeks after the defeat of the elderbrain. Tav had been out drinking with a few of her companions. She had gotten very drunk and at some point during the evening she had gotten lost from the rest.

A handsome young tiefling man had approached her and bought her drinks. He had red skin, yellow glowing eyes, and a disarming smile.

They talked for a couple of hours. He claimed to be a wizard like her. She should have known something was up when he seemed to be very unknowledgeable about even simple spells, but what could she say? The man was charming, and the alcohol made it hard for her to care about him potentially lying just to get her into bed.

When they got to his place, she was half-way out of her clothes when something hit her head.

Everything went black.  

When she woke up, she heard the faint sound of something...jingling? She felt a sharp poke to her ribs. She grumbled quietly, still not entirely awake. She received another poke to her ribs. She whined and mumbled in response. Then there was a full force kick that squeezed the air out of her and made her turn to her side.

She held onto the boot that had kicked her and opened her eyes. Black boots that went into a tip at the toes. She knew where she had seen those silly jingly boots before. She looked up. Familiar orange eyes looked down on her. He was in his cambion form.

“Oh shit,” she mumbled.

“Indeed,” Raphael said in a dangerously low tone.

Tav had signed his contract back then and used the Orphic Hammer to free Orpheus. She did intend to give the Crown of Karsus to Raphael, but her companions made her change her mind. The Crown of Karsus ended up in Mystra’s hands instead, in order to cure Gale of his orb.

“Thank you for bringing her here, Cassius,” Raphael said to someone else while his eyes were still locked on her. “Now leave us.”

Tav looked behind Raphael to see the young tiefling man that she had gone home with. So, he was a warlock… It suddenly made all the sense in the world why he did not know his ass from his elbow when it came to wizardry. The warlock smiled at her as he left them. Tav’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Ugh…” she groaned and looked up at Raphael. “He’s one of yours? You couldn’t have sent Korrilla or something?”

“You know Korrilla’s face, little mouse,” Raphael sighed. “You may not be the brightest person I have ever crossed, but I don’t expect you to be so dull that you would walk into my trap willingly…Then again, nothing would surprise me with you.”

Trap? Why couldn’t he just whisk her away like he did that first time they met if he wanted her there? Tav’s brow furrowed as she tried to understand. She lifted her head to look down her body. She wasn’t wearing a shirt. That was going to have to be a concern for a later time, because she noticed that she was wearing something around her wrists. They were tight metal cuffs with infernal letters inscribed in them.

Her brain was not her friend between the high levels of alcohol still in her blood and the fact that she had been hit on her head with a blunt object. She held the cuffs up to her face and studied them with all the concentration she could muster. She had seen something like these cuffs before…

“Help me out here…” she said and looked up at Raphael.

“They are constructs like those that held Prince Orpheus,” Raphael explained. “I’m aware that your mental capabilities leave something to be desired at the moment, so I will gladly explain it to you in simple terms: You won’t leave this house with those on, and you won’t get them off without the Orphic Hammer.”

“Is that what all this is about?” she sighed. “You could have just asked for it back. The damned thing has just been collecting dust at my house anyway.”

“No, Tav,” Raphael said in a darker tone. “This is about punishment. We had a deal, and you broke it. You snooped through my house, took things that did not belong to you, killed my incubus…I allowed it because I thought you still had the sense to go through with what we agreed upon.”

She winced. It had been a stupid decision to go to his house and one that did not even pay off. When Gale had been offered Mystra’s help, they went to the House of Hope to gauge their options. Everything seemed so tightly secured and locked down that they decided not to risk it in the end.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Haarlep…” she said.

“Don’t be,” Raphael replied smoothly. “I have half a mind to make you his replacement until your dear little friends bring me my hammer back…Then, I will make you watch as your friends die a cruel and slow death. After, I will take what is now rightfully mine: your soul.”

Well…fuck.

This wasn’t good. Her friends would without a doubt come to her rescue if Raphael told them that she was held captive in his home. She needed to keep them away and bide her time until she could figure out a solution.

“Say that they don’t come,” She said. “What then?”

“They will,” Raphael said. “You will be treated well until then since I need you alive and in one piece to lure them here. You will be granted free roam of the house, three meals a day, and a soft bed to sleep in. Consider yourself prized livestock that gets pampered in its final days before being sent to slaughter. Not that you deserve it…”

She took a deep breath. She had to somehow contact her friends and ask them to stay away. Then, she would have to find a way out of those damned cuffs so she could return home. How in the Hells she would manage to do that without the Orphic Hammer, she did not know, but it was not an option to gamble with her friends’ lives in order to bring it to her.

Tav had always found a way to be calm and relaxed, even in the worst of situations. She already had half a plan in her mind. All she needed was a moment of privacy to use a sending spell to alert her friends.

Raphael extended a hand to her, to help her up and off the floor. She took it and was pulled to her feet. She winced and held a hand to her head once the blood rushed to her injury from the blunt object hitting her.

“Come,” Raphael said and led her through the house.

They stepped through the barrier to the boudoir.

“I trust that you have already familiarized yourself with this room during your burglary, so I believe we can skip the tour,” Raphael said with no short amount of bitterness and then gestured to a wardrobe. “You will find clothes and essentials in there.”

Raphael turned around to face her. He looked her up and down. His gaze lingered at her bra and cleavage for just a second too long. Tav crossed her arms to cover herself.

“Bathe, rest, make yourself at home,” Raphael said with a smug smile.

Tav looked around the room and then at Raphael.

“Where will I sleep?” she asked.

Raphael’s smile widened and he gestured to his bed. Tav’s brow furrowed as her eyes went from him to the bed.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Deadly,” Raphael said calmly. “You killed my bed warmer. I believe it’s only fair that you take their place…Of course, I would never force you to do anything. If this little arrangement doesn’t suit you, I can have a cell in the dungeons cleared out for you. Its last visitor has been decomposing in there for a while now…”

“Alright, alright,” Tav said in defeat. “Fine. I get it…I won’t complain.”

“I thought not,” Raphael said smoothly. “I have business to attend to before retiring. Until then, Korrilla will be watching you.”

Tav sighed. She had hoped for a moment of alone time, but Raphael was not stupid. He was probably fully counting on her trying something, so he made sure to keep a close eye on her.

Korrilla entered the boudoir shortly after.

“Evening, boss,” Korrilla said with a smile, greeting Raphael before turning to Tav. “Tav.”

Tav smiled and waved casually at her. She had never minded Korrilla. After all, Tav did not know the circumstances of her pact, and she did not feel like judging her solely because her boss was a pain in the ass.

“Remember,” Raphael said addressing Korrilla. “Do not let her out of your sight.”

Korrilla nodded and Raphael gave Tav one last glance before leaving the boudoir.

Tav and Korrilla stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other. Tav was trying to figure out how she could divert Korrilla’s attention away from her.

“I think I’m going to take a bath,” Tav said casually and moved towards the restoration pool.

“Good idea,” Korrilla said, already following her. “I have to say, you look a mess. Cassius really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Surely, he could have used a spell to knock me out instead. Not too bright, is he?” Tav said and started slowly taking off her clothes, waiting for Korrilla to give her a moment of privacy. “He’s new, I presume?”

Korrilla seated herself on the other side of the pool, so she had a clear view of Tav.

“Correct,” Korrilla answered.

“'Correct' to which statement?” Tav asked with chuckle. “That he is not too bright, or that he is new?”

“He is new,” Korrilla said with a smile that signaled to Tav that she did not disagree with the other statement either.

Tav pulled off her pants, leaving her in her underwear. Korrilla was still watching her.

“Are you seriously going to keep staring at me while I bathe?” Tav asked.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Korrilla said and gestured for her to continue taking off her clothes. “I promise you that no matter what, I have seen far worse within this room.”

Tav sighed quietly. She reluctantly took off the rest of her clothes and slipped into the warm water of the pool. She felt relief as the water instantly healed her head-injury and took the edge off her hangover. Tav leaned her head back on the pool’s edge and closed her eyes for a moment.

After a long bath, Tav dried herself off and wrapped herself in a towel. She walked to the wardrobe with Korrilla at her heels. She opened it and sifted through the clothes.

There was a bit of everything: dresses, shirts, pants…Tav looked at some of the underwear. She pulled out a strappy leather bra with matching panties and showed them to Korrilla.

“Is he serious?” Tav asked with a deadpan expression.

“Leftovers from Haarlep, if I should guess,” Korrilla said.

Made sense. Tav looked after any type of nightclothes. Most of it was very revealing, but she managed to find a long silk night-gown. It was still suggestive, but it was her best option out of the bunch. The neckline was quite revealing, but at least it covered more of her body than the other negligees she found.

“This will have to do,” Tav sighed and put it on.

Tav crawled into bed after. It might have been the most comfortable bed she had ever laid in. The mattress was neither too soft nor too firm, and the sheets were silk. She felt sleepy moments after she had laid down. Korrilla was watching her from a chair.

“You’re not sleepy?” Tav asked and looked at her. Was there even a small chance that Korrilla would fall asleep so that Tav had the chance to send message to her friends, she would fight her sleepiness and stay awake.

“I’m not going to cuddle with you, if that is what you are asking,” Korrilla answered, looking wide awake. “I don’t sleep on the job.”

“Oh, you flirt. Not what I meant. I was just asking,” Tav mumbled with a sigh. Her sleepiness won against her determination. She gave up on her hope to reach her friends that night and decided to try the day after as she drifted to sleep.

She stirred from her sleep when she heard Korrilla leave, and Raphael enter. She yawned quietly. She made sure her night-gown was adjusted so it covered as much as possible before closing her eyes again. She felt a dip in the mattress as Raphael laid down behind her.

She gave a surprised yelp as Raphael grabbed around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Her back was up against his chest, his arm held around her tightly, and he settled his chin on the top of her head. He placed his leg over hers, effectively making sure that she could not move during the night.

This was without a doubt the closest she had ever been to Raphael. His skin was unnaturally warm, like that of a person with a high fever. She knew that protesting would not get her anywhere, because there most likely was a reason as to why he held her like that: to make sure that she would not try anything during the night.

She tried making herself comfortable despite the restrictions to her movements. Raphael’s grip tightened slightly in response.

“Lie still,” he grumbled.

Tav felt the deep rumble of his voice through his chest, and she would have been lying if she said that it did not do things to her.

“You’re a really uncomfortable big spoon, do you know that?” she complained and squirmed again. “I’m just trying to make myself comfortable.”

She felt something through the fabric of her nightgown as she adjusted her position in his arms. It made her freeze for a moment.

“Are you naked?” she asked in disbelief.

“Mm,” he affirmed tiredly. “Sleep, mouse.”

“I can’t persuade you to put on some clothes?”

“You are very demanding for a woman in your position,” Raphael said. “No. I will sleep in my own bed as I please.”

She sighed and adjusted herself one last time before closing her eyes.

Sleeping in the arms of a devil was pure hell for a multitude of reasons. Tav had never sweated so much in her life.

With difficulty, Tav rolled over to her other side since her back was literally soaked with sweat. Raphael’s grip was so tight around her that she was almost forced to lean her head against his chest as she faced him. She refused to do so and leaned her head back and away from him. The awkward position made her snore softly in her sleep. She was rudely woken during the night by his tail hitting her thigh, as a hint for her to stop snoring.

She was rudely woken yet again, when he suddenly snaked his arm under her to grab her and move her with him like a ragdoll as he rolled over to his other side.

In the early morning, Tav opened her eyes as she felt something press up against her behind. She could hear on his breathing that he was still at least somewhat asleep.

He was rock-hard and his, what felt like, impressive size was resting against her ass.

He rolled his hips against her and groaned softly.

The arm that had been holding her tightly, moved down to her hip to push her back against him. Another soft groan.

Tav’s eyes widened, and she was suddenly very awake.

She was careful not to move, but she did feel a tinge of growing arousal despite herself.

He pushed her back against him once again and groaned slightly louder. It was followed by a sharp inhale and a stir, as he woke up entirely.

A few moments later he got up and off the bed.

Tav squeezed her eyes shut. They had both knew what just happened. Should she say something? Should she pretend that she was asleep the entire time? Pretend she was dead? The last option was honestly tempting but she decided to try her luck with option two.

She listened to his movements. After a short while, it got quiet. She waited a few moments to be sure that he had left, before opening her eyes.

This could be her opportunity to reach her friends.

She sat up quickly and looked around the boudoir. Her eyes fell on the young tiefling warlock who must have entered without her hearing a thing. He was sitting in the chair that Korrilla had sat in the day before.

“Morning,” Cassius said with a smile.

Tav groaned in frustration and slid back into bed.

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Because I will never get tired of them, here are some more fic recs. These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is an extract from the summaries on ao3.

Never Quite Awake by @sunshinemarauder 

“Endings are nothing unfamiliar to Lily Evans; she’s seen the ends of sisterhood, friendship, and innocence, all from miles away. But this is an end unlike any other. An end that was never supposed to happen.”

If to love someone once is to break their heart, to love them twice is to break yours.

Lily falls for James in her seventh year. But the couple are sent onto two diverging paths when a life-shattering altercation halts their burgeoning relationship. Five years later, she's a curse breaker and he is a soldier.

When they meet again, it feels like coming home.

All the angst that comes with a jily second chance romance that takes place during wartime. A fake dating subplot, cursebreaker!Lily, pining!James. What more could you want. France (country) - a relevant tag

Through The Rain by @bookeatingbean

James and Lily's first kiss, and the story behind it. There's some fluff, some character study, and some good old-fashioned angst.

If you're looking for a character study that shows how they grew up through their school years. This fic shows you that Lily was not a perfect person and James was a bully for the sake of it but he grew to understand that the world does not revolve around him and strives to do better. Or Lily is stubborn and James is the definition of a ride-or-die

It's been a long time by writtenbyfreckles (on ao3)

It's been ten years since Lily left Hogwarts. She's returned to England to work as a Healer on the "ward of the wacky", only to find home isn't as safe as she thought it was. An attack leaves her locked in a ward with her patients, a bunch of Death Eaters and an Auror she hasn't seen for a long time.

I need more cannon divergence Auror!James and Healer!Lily

The Guide To Becoming A Better Man For Lily Evans by @padfootswhiskers

prompt: I decided to walk outside shirtless (accidentally) but I forgot it's winter and why're you screaming at me like that? And oh gosh, you're very pretty.

lingering days, short-lived nights by letthebookbegin (on ao3)

The summer before seventh year, James is desperately trying to think of anything but Lily, who's burrowed her way into his mind and looks quite comfortable there.

The summer before seventh year, Lily is craving a distraction. Avoiding her sister, she picks an ice cream shop for shelter.

At the end of a long summer day, their paths cross - and the rest, as they say, is history.

Ties That Bind by @charmsandtealeaves

Lily Evans grew up with old wives tales about soul mates, but she'd never put much stock in the idea. Not until after she learned about the world of magic and the fact that soul bonds were a thing that actually existed. Which makes these strange new feelings and experiences that much more difficult to manage.

So I read this a while ago but stupidly forgot to bookmark it and then I spent nearly an hour trying to find it again. Needless to say, I ADORE this fic and you should all go read it. Like, right now. Then come back here to talk to me about it.

Lily Evans Doesn't Believe In I Love You's also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

“Did you hear Lily Evans doesn’t believe in I love you's?”

It wasn’t exactly a secret. But no one knew why, until she decided to share a bottle of fire whiskey in the astronomy tower with James Potter.

Same Lily, same

Meet Me At The River also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

A chance encounter with a misplaced owl leads to a correspondence between pen pals. Lily confides in her mysterious Flea and finds herself falling along the way.

I can't remember if I've recommended this one already, but even if I have I'll rec it again because I love it so much!!

Your Friend, James by @thelighthousestale

It is the summer before their 7th year, and Lily and James spend the entire holiday writing letters to each other as their relationship slowly changes from friends to something more.

Just the ending of this one is everything. James and Sirius are never beating the codependent allegations

Castling by @missgryffin

When they were still very young, Remus Lupin’s dad married Lily Evans’ mum. It changes everything.

Lily and Remus are like the little brother who got bullied and then found friends except he invited them over for the first time and they all act weird because they're mildly terrified of his older sister. Friends to lovers jily is only rivaled by academic rivals jily.

Just the Two of Us by @arianatwycross

Head Students James and Lily face a perilous twist when a malicious potion surfaces in hate mail directed at Lily. Dumbledore orders a week-long quarantine in the Head Students' suite. With unspoken crushes lingering, the duo navigates close quarters, leading to unexpected revelations, lingering looks and forehead kisses.

silence and patience, pining in anticipation by @kay-elle-cee

Lily’s been hung up on James for years; a tipsy conversation might be the push she needs to do something about it.

DRESS IS A JILY SONG FOREVER AND ALWAYS

The Devil in the Cloak Room by @chiechie97

Getting your heart broken when you’re 17 seems to alter your brain chemistry more than you would think. Which is the precise reason why Lily has no intention of reconnecting with the friends she lost at the end of school.

And besides, she has no chance of knowing anyone at the masked Halloween party her friend drags her to. Especially not the guy in the devil mask. Right?

Usually I rec complete works but this one is so good I had to include it

Deception and other ways to find love by @annasghosts

“I’ll be your fake girlfriend, Potter.” And this is how Lily Evans embarks on the adventure of (fake) dating her former Hogwarts nemesis (and crush, but ssssh, it’s a secret). Will she be able to keep her cool? Will he?

Class of '78 by @emeralddoeadeer

Class of 1978 Five Year Reunion - July 29th, 1983

Now is the time to look upon our shared experience, our similarities must unite us rather than letting our differences divide us. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry invites the Graduating Class of 1978 to return to the castle for a weekend of reconnecting, reminiscing and recreation. We hope the passage of time has been kind to you all and look forward to welcoming you soon.

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorc, DWiz, X.J sorc, S of Mag Q

It's been five years since graduation, and while many things have changed, some things never will.

James Potter Won't Go Quietly by la_plus_heureuse (on ao3)

Lily Evans remembers plenty about James Potter from Hogwarts. But an assignment from Mojo Magazine to profile the Quidditch star turned activist makes her realize what she remembered was all wrong.

canon divergence staring quidditch player James and journalist Lily

On A Scale of One to Ten (requires an ao3 account) by @petalsinwoodvale

Lily starts falling for an insecure, yet charming auror named James who is recovering from injury in her ward. No one else on staff will sit and talk to him, mostly due to septic skin covering most of his upper torso. Lily, however, finds him charming and funny. Naturally, when James' injuries start healing, he grows more and more handsome. The other healers suddenly take interest in James, romantically ...

foxy by lizpaige (on ao3)

Lily joins the boys at the shrieking shack on a particularly difficult moon in her new animagus form.

Lily & Remus friendship is so special to me

[captainjamster]

Observation Duty

Pairing(s): Price x fem!Reader Warnings: Manipulation, stalking, monitoring and surveillance, obsessive behaviour, non-consensual voyeurism, non-consensual mutual masturbation, non-consensual recording and photos Wordcount: 3.2k Summary: John isn't quite the captain everyone thinks he is, but he knows just how to act like it. No one would ever believe the things he does behind closed doors. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: PLEASE LOOK AT THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ MORE! This is the first part of what should be two chapters, because I can't stop starting things without finishing them <3

If I miss any tags you think should be there, please let me know!

Full fic under the cut <3

John’s line of work has taught him that people are so, so easy to play with. Know the right person, the right place. Know what to say, who to say it to.

Keeping you safe, under his ever-observant eye, is easy in the barracks and on the field. You don’t make a single move he doesn’t see or hasn’t approved. But when you go home, away from him and his control, he just can’t help but worry. Are you safe, alone in that big, empty house? What do you get up to? Are you eating and drinking? Taking care of yourself? Who do you see? Do you invite anyone around? The idea of another man in your home makes him shudder, and in your bedroom isn’t something he even entertains. John needs to do something about it.

He’s been thinking for a while. Some way to watch you, every waking moment. A permanent eye on the wall. He knows your address; it’s right there in your files. There isn’t a single legal document or piece of information about you that he can’t obtain if he wants to. Every place you’ve lived, your parents, extended family, even your friendship circles. Your school results, community hobbies, bank purchases, every doctors trip – especially your birth control and fertility, he paid very close attention to those details. He knows how to play you; he listens to your grumbling, observes what makes you happy. Notices the moments where you’re less resistant, records what makes you flare up in defensiveness or fury. John is a well-educated man, one who could’ve been a scholar in another life, and he’s decided his favourite topic to study is you.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

“Remember to fill out your forms, lads. New policies coverin’ house insurance and maintenance, let me know if y’need any fixin’ at home.” He hands out the papers, carefully keeping yours separate without being too obvious. Soap’s head bobs up, glancing at you and taking the bait John has set out perfectly. “Oi bonnie, weren’t ye chattin’ ‘bout fixin’ a light o’ somethin’?”

Your face lights up at the mention, a bashful smile gracing your lips, and John would be mad that it’s not in his direction if he wasn’t so satisfied with himself. “I can’t believe you remembered that, yeah! I was going to wait until I got home.”

Gaz hums, hunched over his own form as he signs it. “Maybe Ghost can buy a piece of furniture this year.” His sentence is rewarded with a pen smacking into the side of his head, bouncing off him and onto the table as Ghost snorts in amusement, answering gruffly. “Fuck off, Garrick.”

It never goes wrong, but he still feels smug at how effortless it is to orchestrate an entire conversation before it starts. Getting your signature is as easy as an extra sheet, you can’t even tell the difference. No one reads terms and conditions, and he’s made extra sure you don’t - a couple of edited test forms a few months ago - to rule out the chance.

With the paperwork completed, he contacts the company and gives them a boring, digestible cover story. “Yeah, her husband. Installing cameras, yeah. Keepin’ it safe while we’re both on deployment. Just a light out the back to fix, cameras to install in and outside.”

They’re so quick to listen to the man playing the big, strong head of the house, not a single question about why everything but the payment would be in his ‘wife’s’ name instead. Lying, John finds, is easiest when others do the work for you; give vague details that seem right, and let them come to their own little conclusions. Let them assume you’re some kind of military wife who doddles along behind him, just an obedient little civilian pet while he organises the household. If only they knew what you were and what you did, he thinks. Though still, an obedient little pet is how he would like you. It just takes time to get there.

They come over and install the cameras in less than a week. John’s antsy the day he gets the call that they finished, waiting for it to be over so he can experiment with his new toy. He ignores the questioning looks from his inferiors as he dismisses his last evening meeting early, pushing out the door into the stream of soldiers heading for dinner, only departing from the pack when he reaches his office door.

John prepared a room for this in advance – the moment he set the plan in motion. A room at home, his central control that he could run unmanned and long-distance, circumnavigating his occupancy at the base. It’s almost undetectable; no pesky windows to peek in from the outside, entry hidden behind a locked door in his office. The numerous screens flicker to life, illuminating the room in a blue glow. The cameras are perfect; detailed quality, blur-less zoom. Every angle. It quickly becomes his favourite room to be in, despite only being in it once when he headed home to initially set everything up.

At the base, all he needs is an electronic device and an app to access the command. His favourite to use is his phone, flicking through each screen to take in the rooms, committing each detail and decoration to heart. Though to keep up all professional appearances, he often settles for his laptop, flicking between reports and gazing at the screens with every spare second. John takes the weeks leading up to break to memorise your house, seeing each room flickering on the back of his eyelids as lies in bed, tracing each path you’d take morning and night until he falls asleep.

He protects it. Types your address into his maps app, virtually scouting the neighbourhood to make sense of all your outside cameras, memorising every surrounding street. Plans escape routes, recording positions of defence and any weak spots he could reinforce, windows or vents that are just too easy to wrench open by perverse men like him. Within a month, he knows your house plan like his own; enough to contemplate how he would reorganise it if you wanted him to move in, how many little ones it could hold, tiny feet pattering up and down its hallways.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

When the last week before leave finally comes around, he’s beyond ecstatic. John is a carefully controlled slate around anyone else, but his boys know each twitch of his eyebrow and quirk of his lip. They clue you in to his unusually excited behaviour with teasing jokes and remarks that have him rolling his eyes, gruffly ordering them back to work. Soap is betting on a secret missus, making a point to sneak up behind Price when Soap catches him texting away on his phone.

When he finally arrives home, he’s delighted to see your house is still empty. It gives him time to unpack, running loads of laundry and showering. He keeps an eye on his phone, monitoring the screens until he finishes, bringing a cup of coffee and dinner to his little surveillance room.

The screens fill the wall, a 3x3 set-up that basks the room in a pale glow, yet still isn’t enough to display every camera hidden around your house. Everything is silent, the occasional rumble of a car getting his hopes up, but nothing happens until a few sips of his coffee and an article later. Movement from one of the screen catches his attention, his head straightening to watch your front door swing open.

A bag is the first thing that comes through the door, flung down the hallway with a dull thud. Your figure follows it in, heaving another heavy bag behind you. John frowns at the sight, mindlessly tutting as he crosses his arms. He could be there to do that for you. None of this silly straining yourself.

Leaning back and settling in, he watches how you unravel from your long absence. It pleases him that you’re practical in your return, taking the time to wash your laundry, circulate and dispel all the stagnant air (although Price dislikes seeing your windows open, so unattended), and give the place a general tidy up. There’s a ping from your phone a few times that puts John on edge. Who’s texting you already, when you’ve been back for less than a day? His prominent guess is family and close friends, excited to have their beloved child home and safe, but he can’t help from worrying that he’s wrong. Maybe you’re so pent up that you just can’t help it, using those silly dating apps you talk about with Gaz, eager for someone to unravel all that need within you. Maybe it’s an old friends-with-benefits situation you already have that’s eager to climb back in your bed. Maybe – maybe he should bug your devices.

His deliberations are disrupted as you reward your productivity with what Price thinks to be a party in your bathroom. The small haven of what should be privacy isn’t free from his omniscient gaze, either. He doesn’t care if it’s disgusting; there are no boundaries to him. There isn’t a single side of you he doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to know.

The music comes through his speakers, some songs he recognises from the long travels spent in transport together. Melodies echo through your room as steam slowly gathers, whisps streaming in and out of his lens view as water slowly fills the bath. You trail from the room, meandering down the hall and grabbing some snacks from the kitchen, filling a glass with a carbonated drink you grab from the fridge. Snug in the corner above the entryway, paired neatly with the fire alarm, his camera catches the way you bend yourself over the counter, distracted by scrolling through some app.

He feels himself throb at the sight, fumbling to take a screenshot of the image. You tease him, staying bent like that as you wait for the bath, your ass swaying occasionally when a trendy song hums from your phone. Disappointment washes through him when you stand up, though he basks in the sight of your stomach peaking from under your shirt as you stretch, but his excitement is quickly renewed when you gather your snacks and head back to the bathroom.

The room has filled with a thick fog that blooms out into the hallway as you open the door. It clouds his vision, leaving him cursing for not considering the possibility. Your darkened figure is hardly visible as you move throughout the room, but from the soft, metallic clicks and flickering of light, he assumes you’re lighting something. Two lights blossom in front of you, remaining behind you as you crouch at the bath and start flicking the lighter again. The cloud has dispersed enough to let John see the fuzzy details of your face, watching as you bring a third candle to your face, inhaling with a hum of delight before you light the flame and return it to the bath’s edge. You strew the candles about the room, leaving a large one to glow on your vanity and putting the other one on your closed toilet lid.

You fiddle with the taps – running cold water, he guesses – and sit on the floor, sorting your snacks onto a long tray as the last of the mist spills from the room. He’s been lucky this time; had you not been treating yourself, taking the time to create a small sanctuary, the fog would’ve concealed any chance of John seeing you at such a vulnerable time. A flaw within his system that requires refinement. Perhaps a flaw he can turn into an excuse to visit you.

His thoughts fall flat when you stand up, slotting the tray into its position over the bath and silencing the taps with a few sharp turns. Finally. The point he’s been anticipating.

The captain waits with bated breath, eager to salivate over his uninvited striptease. It’s far from the first time he’s seen you undress, though it’s the first time you’ve been so beautifully unaware. Close proximity (and the resulting lack of privacy) is just another test of comradery – he’s showered next to you in just underwear and ripped your shirt or pants off to treat a stab wound more times than he can count.

But this time you undress, you don’t stop at your underwear.

There’s no to palaver or parade to your performance – there’s no real performance, just a one-sided show, and that alone has John’s cock aching. Capturing you without filter, pretences or social expectations, no song and dance of captain and soldier. You’re clumsy pulling off your underwear, catching the elastic on your toes and throwing it haphazardly onto the floor with the rest of your clothes through curses and grumbles. Inspecting yourself in the mirror, catching up on each new scar and burn, bending over and peering around to see the state of your backside and between your thighs. This is a side of you he can never glimpse on base, despite all his attempts.

The buzz of your phone distracts you, straightening up with a right, okay! and grabbing the small device, unlocking it to peer at the content as you gingerly slide a foot into the hot, soapy water. Bit by bit, you emerge yourself within the sudsy liquid, minding the tray as you let out an audible groan. John watches you melt into the bubbles, arms resting along the tub as your head falls back.

For a while, the two of you remain like that; John sat comfortably in his chair, ignoring the heat flickering in his lower stomach as he works through some papers, keeping an eye on your relaxed form as you decompress within the hot, sudsy water, picking at the tray of food and drink. His attention slips as the minutes go by, becoming more focused on his work – pushing the aching need between his legs further to the side - as he checks the screen every ten minutes.

The swishing of water becomes a tranquil ambience as you scrub at yourself, low voices from your phone that John doesn’t currently care to make out keeping you entertained through the process. You luxuriate in the tub for much longer than the barrack would ever allow, taking your time to scrub the build-up of product and dead skin that you give little concern during deployment.

A paper absorbs his attention, keeping his eyes occupied as he grumbles through writing. His concentration is only torn away as he finishes scribbling his signature, a sharp, unexpected moan filling his ears that has him looking up so fast his neck cricks. Scanning the screen, he quickly determines that it’s not coming from you – rather, your phone, and is now accompanied by a deep, masculine groan.

Your expression is clear on his screen, a flush to your cheeks as you gaze at your device, hand running along your chest teasingly to tug at a nipple. Whether it’s from the pornographic material playing on your phone or the heat of the water, John can’t tell.

The tent of his pants is already insufferably tight, and he swears there’ll be a zipper print against the red of his aching cock when he pulls it out. He wants to relish this, commit each moment of this first time to memory without the taint of his lust, but he can’t help the growing need between his legs. Ignoring it to finish paperwork, merely bask in the company of your unwinding routine, has been a challenge even for his steeled resolve.

As he watches your hand trail down the soft pudge of your torso, dipping into the bubbly water to follow the rise and dip of your stomach, he breaks. His cock springs out of his briefs like it’s gasping for air, bouncing angrily against his stomach with each haphazard tug at the elastic around his hips. He can only imagine how your fingers work between your legs at that sensitive skin, how you orchestrate your undoing.

The tray holds your phone conveniently, allowing both hands to roam your body, and John thanks his luck for at least the opportunity to watch you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers. You tug at the sensitive buds with whimpered moans, water sloshing as your hips buck against your hand, teasing John with actions that he can’t see.

He’s damp to the touch as he grips his shaft, fingers immediately sticky with precum that’s been smeared throughout his briefs. Pearlescent beads drool from his tip in a lazy stream, lubricating his motions as he tugs lightly at his foreskin, already teetering the edge of climax. The slightest stimulation has his stomach tightening, listening to your gasps and whines grow in urgency.

You chase your orgasm eagerly, working with a pent up need that comes from the absence of full privacy within the miliary. Convulsions rack through you in synchronisation, moans combining in a harmony he wishes wasn’t separated by the screen. He wants to time it perfectly; fuck up into his fist and release as you reach your own peak, as if a flawless synchronisation is key to unlocking some phantom sensation of being buried between your thighs, clenched down around him.

It doesn’t take much more teasing before you catch up, your tiles wet as water breaches the rim with each careless thrust. The video in front of you has ended, long forgotten as your head lulls back, lost in the sensations that envelope your consciousness that prove to be too much. They push you over the edge with a ragged cry, your knees peaking from the water as your thighs clench around your hand, and John loses himself too.

All it takes it a few weak thrusts into his hand before his balls are tightening, seed spilling in enthusiastic spurts, striping his shirt and pants before it dies down to a dribble that John coaxes out with a groan. He sits there, watching your breathing even out as you wipe away at your mess, spent and catching his breath as the cum dries on his clothes. You’re quick in cleaning up the mess, pulling yourself up on unsteady limbs as you pull the plug, bending down to rinse your hands one last time for John to relish.

He's almost heartbroken when you step out the tub, droplets cascading down to drip from your form, only to reach for a towel to wrap around yourself. The fabric is a slim cover, leaving glimpses of your behind and chest as you dry yourself, humming a tune with a note of content John wishes he brought instead. John tucks himself back into the soiled briefs, shucking off his shirt and pants to wash momentarily, but not before he glimpses you one last time getting changed.

Before you can reach for the underwear placed in advance on the sink and discard your towel, the camera barely picks up the vibration of your phone, catching both his and your attention. Leaning over to the tray, your process is halted by a text on your screen that makes you smile, and whether it’s the drunken, post-orgasmic haze that clouds his mind, or the way it makes him more vulnerable to the surge of jealousy that flares up at your giggle, John finds himself fumbling through the lockscreen and pulling up your contact before he can stop himself.

If you’re not going to think about him during your masturbation, he’s sure as hell going to make sure you think of him after.

Dividers by cafekitsune

[moghraidhs]

because i cannot stop thinking about it, have a bikeriders fic :)

crossposted on ao3.

Johnny's awake when he hears the knock.

He's always been a light sleeper; since the war, light sleeping has turned into the occasional night of no sleep whatsoever. Betty had called it "insomnia", whatever the fuck that is. To him it just means staring at the ceiling until sunrise.

He gets out of bed. Betty's still fast asleep. The knock isn't heavy enough or loud enough to be a Vandal, so it must be something else.

Briefly, he thinks about that punk kid from Brucie's funeral. Mean look in his eyes. He could be standing on the porch right now, waiting with a knife in hand.

Johnny's vaguely surprised by how little the thought bothers him.

He goes downstairs and opens the door.

Benny stands on the porch, one foot already on the steps as if he was in the middle of leaving. Lit up in the yellow glow of the streetlights, he looks for all the world like a hallucination. A memory of the worst night of Johnny's life.

But it's cold outside, and Johnny had heard the knock, so this must be real. Right?

"Hey, kid," he says quietly, not wanting to scare away this maybe-hallucination. And doesn't that just make him the most pitiful man in the world, clinging on to the imaginary vision after he'd driven the real thing away?

"Hey," Benny says, and that's when Johnny realises two things.

1) This is real.

2) Benny's hurt.

His face is angled away towards the street, and one arm is pressed against his middle, almost protectively.

The sight makes something inside Johnny howl. He doesn't want to think about why that is. Refuses to even consider it.

All he says is, "Come on in."

The injuries look even worse under the ugly yellow-white light in the kitchen, but maybe that's just Johnny's thinking. Two cuts, one across Benny's cheek and the other at his hairline, both needing stitches. His knuckles are wrapped up, which doesn't bode well, but he can move his fingers okay so nothing's broken.

"Who was it?" Johnny asks as he awkwardly threads the needle he'd stolen out of Betty's sewing kit. She'd always teased him about his hands. Big enough to cover the whole state.

Benny's hands are big too, but there's something almost fine about them. Those long, slim fingers of his look like they were made for playing a guitar or working with animals or something. Not bikeriding and getting into bare-knuckle fights.

Shut the fuck up, Johnny tells himself harshly just as Benny answers.

"Couple of guys in a bar." He doesn't even flinch as Johnny starts cleaning up the first cut. "It's fine."

Of course it's fine. Johnny's seen Benny in a fight half a dozen times, knows he can handle himself and then some.

None of that does a thing for the side of Johnny that wants to know exactly who and where and then call the others so he can go take care of it. So this never happens again.

He's getting fucking sentimental in his old age, that's the problem. Twenty years ago, someone like Benny wouldn't have made a dent in him. Wouldn't have been allowed to. Real men don't do that shit.

Real men. Johnny's lived through a war, a dozen motorcycle club rumbles, and now another war, and he still doesn't know what the fuck that means. Honestly, he's tired of trying to figure it out.

All he's wanted for the past six months is for Benny to come back. And now he's here, all Johnny can think of is how not to fuck up and make him leave again.

So he swallows the questions and stitches Benny up, carefully as possible. Benny doesn't make a sound the whole time, doesn't even wince as the needle slides in and out of his skin.

A real man. Or maybe someone who's so used to being hurt he doesn't feel it any more.

Johnny doesn't like thinking that last bit, doesn't like the way it makes him want to tear the room apart. He finishes stitching and starts to tidy up. "Your ribs okay?"

Benny nods, even though his arm is still pressed across his middle, the set of his shoulders the only other sign that he's in any kind of pain at all.

The temptation to push the issue threatens, and Johnny gets up. "Want some coffee?"

They sit at the table and drink in silence. After, Benny takes out his cigarettes and offers Johnny one. Johnny lights both of theirs and selfishly uses the opportunity to get a better look at Benny up close. Beating aside, he looks okay. A little tired, maybe. Definitely thinner. Not that Johnny cares. Why the fuck does he care?

"You got somewhere to stay?" he asks halfway through the first cigarette.

Benny nods. "Motel."

"Good. That's good."

Where were you? Are you staying? Are we okay now? The questions tumble over themselves in Johnny's mind, demanding to be spoken.

He doesn't, of course. Being sentimental hasn't made him fucking stupid. He'd already fucked this up once.

A little bit of Benny is better than none at all.

They finish a couple of cigarettes each before Benny gets up to leave. Johnny walks him to the porch. He's surprised to see the sky turning pink-grey, dawn on the horizon.

"Thanks, Johnny," Benny says. He'd looked beautiful enough at night. Dawn makes him look like a fucking angel, wounds and all. Fallen angel, maybe.

He's just a man, though. And so is Johnny, which is why he can't stop himself from asking, self control and fucking sentimentality be damned. "So, you gonna be around now?"

Benny looks up at him, and just for a second Johnny catches what looks like surprise in his eyes. "You want me?"

He sounds almost vulnerable, and it's for that reason and that reason alone that Johnny ignores the thoughts those three words put in his head. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. You n' me, kid."

That gets him a lightning-swift, half-shy smile, which disappears almost as quickly as it came but leaves him speechless nonetheless. He watches as Benny walks back down the porch steps and climbs back on his bike. The growl of the machine cuts through the morning quiet, and then just like that he's gone, the street empty as if he had never been there at all.

The sun is coming up. Johnny smiles and heads inside.

[necrotic-nephilim]

what are your favourite batcest ships and why?

AAA i love this question so much. i'm going to limit myself to a top five, because otherwise, i'd just end up listing all of them. the true joy of batcest is they're all so good for such different reasons and there are so many unique dynamics you can explore.

JayTim - it's funny bc, before i started this blog, i don't know if i would've put these two losers as my number one. but because i've done so much deep diving into their dynamic and i write them the most, i think it'd be a disservice for them to be anything *but* number one. their canon dynamic is just. so fun to play with. i truly love all of their interactions, particularly pre-Flashpoint. the concepts of Tim holding such contempt for Jason while Jason is weirdly obsessed with Tim. i'm a fan of Hannibal and Killing Eve and well. if this isn't a Hannigram-coded ship idk *what* is. i like ships where love and hate co-exist and there's no real "happily ever after", just fucked up co-existing, where they crawl back to each other like a bad habit and really, this ship is that so perfectly. the themes of jealousy in the Robin mantle. Tim wearing Jason's Red Robin suit to punish himself. i will likely never shut up about them. even in the New-52, there's such a substance to them, though the dynamic is wildly different. they will always be so weirdly dependent on each other's existence. i love them.

BruDick - you can't outdo the doer, i fear. i think i like BruDick mostly for the history of it, yk. there's genuinely *so much* queer history seeped into the homoeroticism of Batman and Robin, these two have been a symbol for queer people for decades. but the ship itself has so many dynamics i love. problematic age gap, "are we family or lovers", "i can't be in a room alone with you without getting into a screaming match but if you called i drop everything for you". all of it. i especially favor 80s/90s BruDick when they were in their divorce era just because it's so messy. Dick has canonically said he would die for Bruce, even during their arguments. no matter what, these two will always be single-mindedly devoted to each other. there will be other Robins, but none of them will compare to Dick Grayson, for Bruce. it's a unique and complicated bond that has endless layers to peel back. they always crawl back to each other bc no one else will match their level of intensity.

DamiTim - years and years ago, when i was a teen trying to people-please with how i existed in fandom, i used to insist i didn't like batcest and found it icky and gross. but there was one DamiTim fic that was my exception. that fic was my fucking roman empire. i reread it like once a year even though it's not completed and likely never will be i do not care. so now that i've killed the morality police in my head and i let myself ship what i actually want to ship, this ship holds a top place in my heart just bc of that fic alone. but in general i do fucking love their dynamic. similar to JayTim there's just so much mutual hatred in these two that has endless potential. Damian's insistence to not see Tim as a Wayne and as a legitimate brother/heir to Bruce is something you can play a lot if you give Damian an angry, fucked up crush on Tim he doesn't want to admit to. they have so many reasons to dislike each other, so to try to get them to slowly fall in love is a fun challenge. they either have a long complicated forgiveness arc and end up a happy married couple or they are the couple that tries to kill each other once a week. no in-between.

JeanTim - there's like. one person here on tumblr who goes as hard for this ship as i do and truly god bless them bc they feed me. Jean-Paul is too underrated in the batcest scene. once i reread Knightfall, i will have to help popular this tag on ao3. i enjoy both a very fucked up version of this ship during the peak of the Knightfall arc, where Jean-Paul is deep in his murder Batman era and Tim is trying to stop him to no real avail, but i *also* think there's so much you can do with the ship afterwards, where Jean-Paul is trying to make up for what he's done and be a better person and better hero. they're the peak Batman/Robin ship, to me. they truly care about each other, but have a very complicated/bloody history and i just. man i love it so dearly. i've been meaning to write a fic where Jean-Paul goes to Tim post the Sword of Azrael (2022) arc to properly discuss and apologize for all his actions in Knightfall for his personal healing and they end up fucking. it could be sweet and cute or kinky fun bc what is the joy of a character with that much Catholic guilt if you don't give them a weird religious kink.

BruCarrie - The Dark Knight Returns got me into comics and i will defend it till the day i die. Carrie Kelley can be pried from my cold dead hands. i just really love these two? Carrie took one look at that cranky old bastard and decided she was his problem. and Bruce is at a stage where he should be very averse to the idea of having a Robin, he knows it's a bad idea. but he just. accepts her anyway. idk how to explain their dynamic other than she plunks herself in his lap and stitches up his wounds while telling him he's an idiot and he lets her even if he's grumbling about it. they have the biggest age gap of any Batman/Robin ship and for that, they should get like. a dead dove gold star no matter how rare the pair is.

also honorable mention goes to BruTim, because *god* do i love the concept of Tim offering himself up to Bruce as Robin in every way, knowing that there are likely sexual/romantic implications to being Robin. it's one of my favorite flavors of batcest to exist. i don't view them as a "happily ever after" ship, because Bruce will always go back home to Dick, but it's a fun lil dead dove moment.

[preciouslandmermaid]

of songbirds, swords, and spice

pairing: Opla!Zoro x Opla!Sanji x Fem! Reader (no use of Y/N or L/N)

tags: slow burn, friends-to-lovers, trauma, eventual smut, angst, humor, canon-typical violence, found family, polyamory, falling in love, POV multiple, reader-insert, action/adventure, past abuse, eventual romance, touch starved, PTSD, mentions of slavery/forced labor, battle couple, devil fruit user reader, hurt/comfort, mulit-chapter fic (other tags to be added)

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️ Masterpost

summary: You've performed at Le Cupidon Doré, your "grandmother" Estella's business, for the past four years. Every full moon, you step onto stage and enchant the patrons and collect their hard earned berry. Tonight is no different. It isn't.

Until you realize another devil-fruit eater is in the crowd. Fate, as you've learned, has a bad habit of mucking things up just when you were starting to get comfortable.

You closed your eyes as Kinari brushed makeup across your face in delicate, teasing strokes that threatened to illicit an ill-timed sneeze. Backstage was a mess of feathers, and perfumes, and cluttered vanity tables, shining bulbs of light to illuminate every stroke, every line, every dust of color. The other performers moved like fish swimming through the iridescent streams of fabric. The chaotic, yet organized energy was familiar. Almost comforting. Everyone gets like this before a show, your lips twisted wryly, it’s as if we don’t do this night after night! There were a few amateurs backstage, but Estella wouldn’t let them perform because the full moon show was reserved for the best of the best.

“Still….” Kinari drawled the word out and her pink box-braids fell across her smiling face. “I think you’re brave.”

Brave. Right. You stopped using words like ‘bravery’ and ‘chivalry’ years ago. You and Estella’s long-running arrangement wasn’t brave, but it was clever and you’d rather be smart than brave. Madam Estella said brave people were fools half the time and the rest were martyrs. Instead of saying this to the young artist, you replied--

“You’re too kind, Kinari.” You reached for the earplugs on your vanity and pass them to her. “Don’t forget to wear these tonight.”

“I won’t,” she replied, sing-song and light. She selected two outfits from the rack and held them aloft for you.

“Whoo-hoo! Look at this place!” Luffy threw his arms into the air, “it’s got a buffet!”

There’s nothing Zoro could say to stop his captain from barreling toward the buffet and heaping food onto his plate. He glanced around the finely decorated establishment. Nightingale Island wasn’t much to look at, but the locals talked highly of ‘Le Cupidon Doré’. When Luffy heard ‘all you can eat’, well – there wasn’t much argument to be had about where the crew was going next since they were officially resupplied.

“Tacky,” Nami said, pointing her fork at the smiling cherubs decorating the pillars, “and probably not real gold.”

Zoro rested his elbow on the back of booth and ordered a drink. The booze was cheap here and that’s decent enough for him.

“It’s no Baratie, but it has its charms…” Sanji said.

His blue eyes scanned the guests and staff. The waiters and waitresses were dressed in gold and white and wore elaborate headpieces that ranged from spokes covering half their heads to intricate swooping designs that appeared like twisted halos. Their cheeks shone with glitter. They bobbed and weaved, a practiced ease and gracefulness to their movements that reminded Zoro of sword fighting.

The tables created a half-moon around the circular stage. But two rows of chairs clustered next to the stage were without tables and labeled ‘VIP’. They were completely packed and he doubted even Luffy could fit between the bodies.

“Your drink, sir.” The waiter dropped his head low and Zoro noticed something inside the waiter’s ear. Why are they wearing earplugs? He frowned, brought his glass to his lips, and abruptly stood.

Luffy dropped his stacked plate onto the table and its’ weight upset their drinks. “Where are you going?”

“Gotta check something.”

He circuited the dining room, dodging Usopp carrying his full-plate, and confirmed his suspicions. All the waiters are wearing earplugs. Weird. Why would a place that caters to nightly performances have staff wearing earplugs? The establishment wasn’t large so it’s easy to find their table again.

Luffy tore into a drumstick and looked up at Zoro. “Find anything cool?” He asked, chewing.

“Something’s weird,” he said, “all the waiters are wearing earplugs.”

Luffy shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe this place gets really crazy!” His dark eyes brightened.

But Zoro wasn’t mollified by Luffy’s response. Their luck fluctuated from bad, to shitty, to worse with a few good days peppered in. They were on a winning streak with the grand line map in their possession and a functioning ship, but how long would that last?

“Maybe all the singers suck and we wasted berry by paying the door fee,” said Nami and Zoro tilted his chin in consideration.

“Aw, come on!” Usopp wiped grease from his mouth. “Look at this place. It’s packed. There’s no way the show is bad. It’ll be fun.”

The lights flashed, signaling the start of the show, and Zoro leaned into the cushions. He hoped Nami was right. He hoped this was a terrible show and that was why the waiters wore earplugs. Maybe he could rip pieces of the tablecloth and stuff his ears too.

An elderly woman rolled her wheelchair onto the stage.

“Tonight is the full moon,” she said, her voice as clear and bright as icicles, “and as our regulars know, we have a special performer on nights such as these.” The crowd muttered in agreement and clapped. Luffy joined them, hollering alongside the eager guests, although Zoro couldn’t understand why he bothered. This show wasn’t going to be anymore special because it was performed on the full moon.

Sanji sat up straighter. “Should we try to get closer? I’d hate to miss anything.”

“We’re not getting closer.” Zoro scowled.

He replied, “I wasn’t talking to you.” Sanji looked longingly at Nami. “Did you want to get closer?”

Nami gave him a thin smile. “I’m good.”

“Listen closely and open your hearts,” the elderly woman said, “and enjoy!”

Her wheelchair edged backward into the darkness and a shower of white petals fell onto the stage. A chrous of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ rose above the din of clinking plates and silverware. A woman stepped onto the stage and Zoro refilled his sake. He didn’t get why this was such a big deal. It’s stupid, he thought, scowling, all this excitement for one woman? He glanced at the stage. The performer was wearing a long, flowing dark blue robe and skirt. The details on the flowing sleeves, robe, and skirt depicted a semi-translucent white stag alongside large pale lilies, petals, and clouds of mist.

“She’s beautiful,” Sanji mutters.

The sleeves billowed and moved like the rolling ocean waves as the performer gripped the microphone. Zoro looked away, uninterested.

You closed your eyes, preparing yourself, before the first lines of the song spilled like honey from your lips. No music accompanied your voice. There was no need for it. You opened your eyes to the dazed and captivated crowd. The VIP section was practically falling out of their seats and onto their knees before you.

You sang a beautiful and entrancing melody, a song of soft and gorgeous serenity. The lyrics weren’t as important as the rhythm and intention. A fast-paced, intense song often inspired anger or excitement. A slower, dreamier song like this one lulled the crowd into complicity and adoration. You spent nine years perfecting your craft and the last four running this business alongside Estella. You knew what worked and what didn’t.

“Sanji!” someone yelled from a table, “you’re gonna drool on my plate.”

Another devil-fruit eater. You squinted toward the table, though it was hard to see due to the spotlight blanketing everywhere, except for the VIP section, in shadow. For whatever reason your voice didn’t affect other devil-fruit eaters like yourself. Luckily, it didn’t matter for tonight. The boy in the straw hat was safe. Only the VIP section was targeted by Estella’s staff to have their pockets checked and liberate them of extra berry.

“Hey, wait a minute--” straw hat leapt to his feet. “What’re you guys doing?” The waiter holding a man’s wallet froze. Shit. He’s noticed. You stepped from the stage and your flowing robes dragged behind you like silk water. The spotlight followed you as you approached the dining table.

Your gaze slid over their astonished faces. A tangerine haired woman dropped her fork onto her plate. A well-dressed blonde man had one hand pressed to his chest – as if you struck him in the heart.

“Wow…” a lean man with a chestnut bandanna rested his chin in his hands. “You’re incredible.”

“Usopp?” Straw hat waved his hand in front of the man’s face. “Blink, Usopp! Blink!”

A moss-haired swordsman held the rim of his sake cup against his lips, but wasn’t drinking, like he’s frozen in time.

The front doors burst, “show’s over!” A pirate wearing an outfit of scarlet and dark crimson stood in the doorway with his pistols drawn. “The bloody bandits are here for their due.”

masterpost // > > next chapter

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Personal Time [2]

Steven Grant X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Personal Time Series Masterlist (You don't have to read it to read this)

Summary: Steven orders a strap-on.

A/N: @lonelyisamyw-0love this is especially for you 💚

This is unbetaed (like all of my fics) I have read it over a few times, but my head just isn't in the game at the moment and I feel like I'm just not chatching errors. I appologise that there are probably more here than normal. Also Downward dog is a yoga position.

Warnings: oral (both m and f receiving), fingering, pegging, anal sex, sucking on a strap, praise kink (I’m sorry), the term ‘good boy’ used, begging, ermmmm kind of an exhibition kink?, typos, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning.

Word Count: 4967

________________________________

Steven had spent the better part of 24 hours researching. Not all at once mind you. 

He hadn’t meant to fixate on this, it had just sort of… happened. 

One thing had led to another and another, and another. But he’d finally found a strap-on that he thought would tick all the boxes for both of you. 

He had ordered it online, after checking fifteen times that the delivery would be with discreet packaging. There was no need to give Mrs Thompson on the second floor anything to get all gossipy about. Especially when she managed to churn up enough ‘scandal’ about the block’s private lives anyway. (Quite early on in your and Steven’s relationship Mrs Thompson had engaged you in conversation in the lift. And when she had noticed what floor you were headed to, had promptly filled you in on all the ‘juicy titbits’ about the ‘odd gentleman’ that lived in flat 502 and his two ‘unusual brothers’. You had struggled to keep a straight face and had blurted the whole story out to Steven the second you saw him.)

The discreet (ordinary) packaging was the main reason why Steven had just dumped the parcel on the coffee table with a couple others when he got home from work. He’d had a shower and gone as far as slicing open the brown parcel tape when you’d knocked at the door. 

“Hi Steven.” You smiled as he held the door. “How was work?”

“Hi love,” he grinned and kissed your cheek before standing back to allow you to come in. “Good, good, shit actually, but good.” 

You snorted as you took off your shoes and hung up your jacket. 

“Do you want a drink?” 

“Aw, thank you, just water.” 

He grinned again and waited until your hands were unencumbered before he gave you a proper hug and a kiss. “Hello.” 

“Hello.” You echoed as he held you tightly. 

“Jake has been driving me fucking insane.” 

You laughed as he broke the hug. “Why?” 

“Why?” He pulled a face, mock exasperation that you knew was a put on just to amuse you. “His current obsession with Mrs Thomspon.” 

You giggled and Steven gestured for you to take a seat on the sofa as he went into the kitchen to get you a glass of water, and himself a cup of tea. 

“What’s the latest update in the saga?” You said as you sat down, noticing the three large parcels on the coffee table, one partially open. 

“He baked her cookies.” 

“Cookies?” 

Steven leaned back so that he could stare at you dramatically. “Cookies.” 

You laughed again. “How did she react?” 

Steven rolled his eyes and went back to making the drinks. “She loves him! You know that already from her most recent lift update to you about, ‘that strange Mr Grant, his odd brother, and that lovely Jake.’”

You couldn’t stop your giggles at his impression of Mrs Thompson. 

“I know Jake said he was going to kill her with kindness, but really.” He tutted. “He’s just doing it to annoy me. And to get all the gossip about everyone in the building.” 

You smiled. While you were sure that Jake did enjoy hearing about the little mini-dramas that were going on in the block of flats, you knew that he had originally spoken to Mrs Thompson after the first lift incident as a precaution. A safety check. Just to see what the woman had been saying about them to other people. 

He had ended up in the 77 year old's flat being fed tea and biscuits and had fixed her bathroom window, which hadn’t been closing right.

The kettle clicked off as it boiled.

“So what’s with all the boxes?” You called. 

“Oh!” Steven answered excitedly, “I think they are the books I was telling you about!”

You chuckle. “Did you buy a library?” 

“Pretty much!” 

Your smile widens. 

“I just had to get the full colour edition of the history of Iraq, because the photos looked amazing! Have a look!” 

You paused for a second, a little ball of impoliteness prodded at your mind even though Steven had just given you express permission to look in the box. But you shook the feeling aside and opened it. It was silly to be worried, it was just…

Ah. 

Steven came back into the room and paused at the look on your face. “Love?” 

You looked up at him quickly, trying to hide the smile that wanted to take over your entire being.

“You okay?” 

“It’s not your book in that parcel.” 

He frowned. “It’s not,” then he sighed. “Have they sent the wrong bloody thing?” 

You took the strap-on out of the packaging, all neatly sealed in its own very posh looking box, and held it up to him. 

“Oh, yeah.” Steven blushed but he was grinning. “That’s not a book.”

“I didn’t realise you could also order these from Waterstones.” 

He snorted. “No, that was definitely from a different place.” He gave you a sheepish smile as he put the drinks on the table and brushed his curls out of his eyes. 

“I didn’t realise you’d ordered one.” 

“Well,” he shrugged and sat down next to you, fiddling with his fingers ever so slightly. “I just, I wanted to make sure it was alright first.”

“You were gonna use it without me?” You teased.

“No,” his eyes shot up straight to yours, relaxing only when he saw your playful expression. “I just wanted to make sure it looked comfy for you.”

“For me?” The sentiment touches deep within your heart. “Steven, surely, I mean, it’s going in you. Your comfort is much more important.” 

He pulled a face like you’d just told him that the sky was orange. “Don’t be silly, love.” He shifts a little closer to you, his knee resting against your leg. “So,” he points to the box in your hands. “I did some research to find one that was good for beginners and each party.”

“You did some research?” You tease gently and he nods.

You can’t help yourself as you rub your legs together. Unable to stop the thought of Steven hunched over his laptop on his desk, his glasses on the tip of his nose as he read in depth reviews. Had he worked himself up? Gotten all hot and bothered thinking about you fucking him again? Had he desperately relieved himself at his desk? 

“Do you want to try it out today?” You ask tentatively. 

“Now?” He asks eagerly.

“Now’s good.”

.

He had happily let you lead him to bed, your lips fastened to his as if he was your only source of oxygen. His tea long forgotten and growing cold. 

You had drunk down his little moans, softly pushing him back onto the mattress and stripping him of his clothes. You bit his lip gently every time he tried to take off your own and he giggled. 

When he was naked, at last, you took a moment just to admire him. The flushed golden hue of his skin, his beautiful dark eyes, the way his mouth parted with every breath. 

Languidly you trailed your hands up his legs, placing gentle kisses on his inner thighs and smiling against his skin when he jumped and squirmed. His cock was already hard, twitching against his stomach and leaking. Desperate and waiting for you. For the smallest touch or caress, for anything you’d grace him with. 

It was dizzying sometimes, the thought alone making your head spin, how much faith and trust Steven gave you, putting every single part of himself in your hands as if it was as natural as breathing. 

You kissed his balls, nuzzling into them before licking them all over. 

Steven swore, his back arching ever so slightly as he pushed himself closer and spread his legs wider. 

You happily obliged him by licking a board, flat stripe up from the base to the very tip of his cock. Moaning slightly when the beaded precum at his head touched your tongue. 

He groaned, trying to bury the sound behind his hand, “Love… please.” 

You took your mouth away from him and he whimpered, a look of betrayal flashing across his features. 

His pout made you smile. 

You kissed the base of his length, running the tip of your nose against the thick vein that ran up the underside of his cock. Your smile widened when he shivered. 

“Can you grab the lube out of the drawer?” You asked quietly and broke into a laugh at how quickly Steven moved. As if he had been struck by lightning.

He partially rolled over, carefully not to whack you with his thighs, and fished around for a second before pulling out the bottle and placing it into your waiting hand. 

“Thank you.” You said in a singsong voice. 

Since finding his dildo and your recent escapades with it, you had made it your personal mission to learn how to work Steven open yourself. Savouring every moan and clench of muscle. He’d seemingly become quite addicted to it. 

You poured a generous helping of lube onto both of your hands. Then positioned your left hand around his cock, pumping him in lazy strokes, while you slide the fore and middle fingers of your right down his balls and pressed them lightly at his hole. 

Steven’s breathing hitched, his hips bucking ever so slightly into your touch as he fought with himself to stay still. 

You gently eased both of your fingers into him. Yours weren’t as thick as Steven’s own, and you knew from previous experience that he enjoyed that slow, tortuous stretch at the start. Happy to take two or three in the first breach, as long as they were well lubed. 

He moaned, shuddered, and swore, fisting his hands into the sheets beside him and pressing his head back, exposing the tendons in his neck. 

“Nice?” You asked as you moved your fingers, stroking them perfectly against his prostate. 

Steven gasped loudly, nodding, his eyes screwed up tight at the sensation. “Yeah, yeah, yes, good, nice, really good!” He rushed all his words together, the syllables becoming a blur. 

“Good.” You muttered. Heat swam in your lower belly, pooled at your core just from watching him. His pretty little sounds hypnotic. 

You scissored your fingers lightly, just enough to stretch his tight ring of muscle before going back to your tortuously slow, deep strokes.  

His thighs shook slightly, his muscles twitching as he fought with them to keep them still. 

You lean up, moving slightly so that you can swirl your tongue over the tip of his cock. 

Steven whines and you sink down, taking him deeper into your throat, and the action breaks him. 

“Fuck!” He hisses between his teeth, grabbing hold of your shoulder and bucking up into your warm, wet mouth and then grinding down onto your fingers. He can’t stop himself now, the last of his resolve breaking so easily under your touch. 

You let him writhe under you for a minute, let him buck and moan and sob as nonsense falls from his mouth. 

Incoherent pleas of, ‘love’ and ‘good’, and ‘more’. 

You keep one arm pressed against his hips, stopping him from thrashing too much. Slowly you start to avoid his prostate, just skim along the edges of it, until he whines. Almost delirious under your touch. “Looove!” 

You chuckle, pulling off his cock and chuckle before going back to stroking and stretching him wide. 

“Shit, ah, thank you, I-” He swallows, gasping for air and then quickly his hands are on your shoulders, pushing you back. “Wait, love, wait, too much, sorry.”

You removed your fingers instantly, sitting up as panic chills your veins. “You okay?” 

“Good,” he breathes in deeply, “really good. Too good.” He gives you a lopsided smile. “Didn’t want to cum.” 

You smile back as his words soothe you. “I thought I’d hurt you.” 

His eyebrows pinch together in concern. “Oh love, no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” You give him a kiss and he chases after your mouth as you pull away. 

You giggle. “I’ll be right back.” You quickly move away to the bathroom to wash your hands. 

When you come back Steven has moved a little, now sitting more fully on the bed. He grins at you. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” 

“Oh?” You mock surprise as you approach him. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” he grabs hold of you playfully and pulls you into an embrace as he kisses all over your face and neck. “Far too many.” 

His hands are so warm, and you giggle as he slips them under your clothes, removing them like he was unwrapping a gift. He kisses your chest, lavishing attention on each breast before pulling you back down on top of him. 

You let out a little squeak of surprise as he gently manhandles you into the position he wants - your thighs on either side of his head. 

“Steven-”

“Hmm?” He asks innocently, pushing down on your hips so that your knees slide wider and your pussy inches closer to his waiting mouth. 

“This is meant to be about you.” Your voice comes out weak and breathless. 

“Oh, it is.” He whispers, leaning up and running a board, flat lick across your centre, and moaning loudly. The vibrations run up and along your clit. 

You bite your lips together, trying to gain some kind of control over yourself as your toes curl and eyes roll back at the slow swipes of his tongue. 

“Good job this is what I want then, isn’t it?” Steven mutters, his eyes dark and hungry before diving back to your folds and pressing you down to his waiting mouth.

“Steven,” you bite your lips together to hold back a moan, your right hand flying to the headboard, your left hand to his soft curls. 

He wraps his arm around your waist, pushing down on your hips and rocking you back and forth against him, urging you to buck and grind on his tongue. 

You can't help yourself, your muscles moving on instinct as you obey his commands without thinking.

Pleasure sparks low in your belly as he swirls his tongue over your clit, lightly scraping at you with his teeth before he curls his tongue through your folds and slips inside. You gasp, following his hypnotising rhythm as the familiar heat begins to build. 

There’s a dull scratch of his stubble against your thighs as you ride him.

The bridge of his nose presses against your clit as he fucks his tongue deeper into you, groaning at every pull of his hair and every sound that falls from your lips. 

His fingers dig in and bruise your skin, trying to bring you closer, urge you nearer despite the fact that you are as physically close as possible. It’s never enough for Steven, always hungry and desperate for more. More of your sounds, your taste, your warm, soft skin against his.

If you let him, he’d never stop. Would be content to spend the rest of his days with his head between your thighs. 

Your toes start to curl, muscles clenching as the heady build of your orgasm begins to crest. So close, so close, so close. But you don’t want it yet. 

You push on his forehead with the palm of your hand, moving your hips back and away from him. “Steven,” you breathe as his mouth chases after you, your words sounding indistinct from sighs of pleasure. You push against his head harder. 

“Steven.” You try to inject some firmness into your voice, managing it barely. 

He stops, his grip on your waist and thighs still tight, but he flops his head back against the pillows as he stares up at you. His eyes dark and hooded with lust, your slick covering the bottom half of his face. He’s breathing deep, his eyes dark, and his dick throbbing against his stomach. Hot and needy. 

“You okay love?” He swallows as he asks, his chest heaving and you can feel the strain in his arms, the twitch of muscle as he fights with himself not to pull you back down onto his face. 

You give him a sickeningly sweet smile, “Good, really good. Too good.” You repeat his previous words back at him. “Didn’t want to cum.” 

“Love-”

“Wanna cum with you.” 

He groans, biting his lip as his eyes roll back. He swallows and nods rapidly, almost as if he is afraid to speak and voice his deep-down urges. 

You grin as you wiggle free of his grip, placing a quick kiss on his lips as you get off him and stand by the bed. 

Steven sits up to watch you put the strap on, his eyes fixated on every movement. “Is it comfortable?” He breathes when you’ve adjusted it. 

You nod.

He smiles, a little pinch of anxiety loosening. 

You go to reach for the lube, but Steven clears his throat. 

“Erm, love?” He waits until you look at him to continue. “Could I, erm, I mean, you can say no, if you don’t want to, I mean, could I maybe…?”

You stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt him. But you gently place your hand on his cheek, softly stroking his skin. 

He swallows. “Could I suck it?” 

A little smile pulls at your lips. “You wanna suck it?” 

Steven nods, fiddling with his fingers. 

“Get on your knees then.” You whisper, your voice low. 

He moves fast, quickly scrambling off the bed and to his knees on the floorboards. You chuckle, stepping back slightly to give him some room. But Steven’s hands go to your hips, reaching around to knead and squeeze your ass and pull you closer. 

He licks his lips, staring at the strap, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Slowly he places a kiss to the very tip before ducking down to the very base and licking back up to the head, something you realise he has learnt from how you please him. 

He takes the tip into his mouth, easing down slowly and bobbing back up. A low groan building in his chest. 

“Fuck.” You whisper under your breath, almost too quiet for Steven to hear. Something about him there, on his knees, just does it for you. 

With a little more force than you intend, you take hold of a handful of hair at the back of his head and push him deeper. 

Steven moans louder. His eyes immediately snap open so he can stare up at you, lustful and cock dumb as salvia drips down his chin to mingle with your wetness that is still covering his skin. 

He pushes against the strap ever so slightly, purposefully grinding the base of it against your clit and you gasp. 

His dick twitches at the sound. 

He swallows around the strap, easing further down, the silicon disappearing into his throat. 

You pull him off with a harsh tug on his hair, a string of salvia connecting his mouth to the tip as he gasps for breath. His eyebrows pinched together. 

“I get to fuck you now.” You growl and Steven nods his head swiftly. 

He leans back and grabs the lube off the bed and hands it to you as he stands. 

“How do you want to do it?” You ask as you pour a generous helping all over the length. 

“Well,” a slight blush graces his cheeks, touches the tips of his ears. “I was reading,” another flash of Steven furiously jerking off at his desk in front of the laptop as he was ‘researching’ plays behind your eyes, “and there’s, erm, this position that’s meant to be really good.” He shifts his weight back and forth for a second before moving. 

He places both hands on the edge of the bed, spreads his legs on the floor, and leans forward like he’s doing a slightly adapted version of a downward dog. “And, I was thinking-” His sharp intake of breath cuts off his words as you pour more lube against his entrance. 

“You want me to fuck you like this?” 

He nods, his lip back between his teeth. “Uh huh.” 

You lean forward a little and his shoulder blade. “I think we can do that.” 

He groans at your words, the sounds growing in pitch as you press the tip of the strap against his hole. 

“You okay? You need me to warm you up some more?” 

“No, please, I’m good, keep going, keep,” he pushes back against you, trying to work the dildo into himself on his own. 

You chuckle a little at his eagerness, sliding your hand down to his right hip to steady him as you painstakingly slowly thrust forward. It sinks into him. Steven lets out a satisfied moan as the bulbous head inches past his tight ring of muscle. His hands fist at the bedsheet. 

You can take your eyes off how it just disappears into him. The way he stretches around it, completely split open. You swear quietly under your breath and pull his cheeks apart ever so slightly so you can experience the full view as he greedily swallows the strap. 

“Fuck, Steven, you look so good like this.” 

He moans in response, his eyes screwing up in bliss, feeling so full. The thickness of the strap in him, your hands on him, the heat of your skin as the front of your thighs kiss against the backs of his. It’s almost too much. 

His cock throbs painfully hard, heavy, and pleading for relief. So persistent it’s almost maddening. 

Finally, you bottom out, your hips flush against him. You ease out again slowly, savouring the torturous pace as you pull back until the tip is barely inside before sinking in. 

“You look so good like this Steven,” you praise and delight in his little whimper. “So good taking all of this for me.” 

He nods rapidly, eyes screwed shut. He shifts a little as you slide back into him, dropping to his elbows against the bed. 

“Next time, shit,” you start to move a little faster. The press of the strap against your clit burning deliciously. “Next time, I’m gonna take photos of you split open like this.”

He moans wantonly. 

“Gonna take a video of how well you take me. Of what a good boy you are.” You slide deeper, brushing against his prostate and Steven keens, his back arching. “Gonna watch it every day, gonna touch myself and cum looking at you,” warmth spread along your veins, tightening in your core. 

“Oh fuck, please, please, please,” he grinds back into your every thrust, needing you deeper, harder, craving anything you would give. Words pile up in his mind, so many that it’s practically impossible for them all to fall out of his mouth. He wants you, needs you, everywhere. Everything you could possibly do to him. He’ll suffocate without it. 

Pleasure sparks up from the base of his spine, tightening his muscles and he’s so, so close to just falling into it. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” he slurs, “take videos of me,” he whines, too cockdumb to have any verbal filter. “Split me open, fuck, post them online, I want everyone to seee- Ah!” He sobs as you thrust particularly deep, and you focus all your energy on hitting the same spot over and over. 

“You want everyone to see Steven?” You lean forward, hissing in his ear. “You want everyone to see how well you can take it?” Want them all to cum looking at you.” 

“Ohshit!” He can’t help it, the thought of it, it’s too much. He tenses, moaning loudly. Every muscle clenches as he cums, spilling thick ropes all over the side of the bed and floorboard. Splashes hitting his stomach. He had intended to warn you when he was close, but now he just can’t stop as he convulses through his orgasm, the pleasure twisting and building impossibly in his stomach. 

You kiss his shoulder blade and start to slow your hips. 

“No, no, no, no,” he reaches around to grab hold of your hips, moving back against you. “Please, please, keep going, I think I can, ah!” He rocks on the balls on his feet as you start thrusting again. “I think I can cum again, please.” 

You groan at how he leans back into you, his breathy, needy, desperate whines, all of it combines to make you lightheaded. 

Steven grabs at your right hand, his eyes half closed, mouth hanging open. For a moment you think he just wants to link fingers but he quickly moves it to his head. 

“Pull, pull my hair, please, pull me back, just- fuck!”

You do as he asks, taking a large fistful of hair and yanking him towards your chest. He moans loudly as you pull, his spine arching, his throat bobbing as it bends under your grip. He barely manages to keep hold of the bed with both hands, his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright. 

It’s like there’s a snap in his abdomen releasing bliss and pleasure overwhelms every thought.

He sobs out your name as he cums again. Every nerve shaking. And while not much more than a dribble shoots out of his aching cock, he cums harder than he thought possible. It’s like liquid gold explodes along every cell, coating and purifying every single part of him. 

He doesn’t remember blacking out for a second, but he must have because the next thing he knows is that he’s in your arms. Your muscles hold him steady and stop him from falling back and smacking his head against the corner of the bedside table. 

“Steven?” There’s a tiny pinch of panic in your voice that makes his chest hurt. The idea that you’re worried about him, that he caused your worry is almost too much in that moment. 

“I’m fine love, sorry,” he moves to stand fully, taking his weight off of you. “That was so amazing, I just…” He breathes deeply. 

You keep your arms around him, keep up that steadying hold. “Are you sure you're-” You yelp, the rest of your sentence lost as Steven turns quickly, pulling the strap on out of himself with a wet pop. 

He kisses you deeply, his hands on your cheeks as he slides his tongue into your mouth and groans. 

It’s so sudden that you barely register his movements before he’s turning you around and pressing you back against the bed. (Purposefully avoiding the wet patch he left, with mumbles of how he’d change the bedding later.) 

He unbuckles the strap hastily, his short nails leaving shallow scratches before he throws it to the side. 

“Steve-”

He kneels, dragging your hips to the mattress's edge and spreading your thighs wide. 

Without any pause he quickly slides two thick fingers into your aching heat, groaning low in his chest at your wetness. You gasp as he curls them, finding that perfect spot instantly as he strokes your walls. 

“Steven, you don’t have to-” Your moan cuts off the rest of your words as he leans forward and presses a board, flat lick across your clit. Timing the movement with the caress of his fingers. 

You squirm against his touch, already so worked up, and fight the urge to clamp your legs around his face. 

Steven looked up at you, large puppy dog eyes dark and hungry. 

Heat builds rapidly in your core, the sound of your wetness echoing around the flat. 

He dips his tongue down, slipping in through your folds and into your core just above his fingers. He moans as your muscles tense, never taking his eyes off you. 

His name falls from your lips like a prayer as your rock against him, trying to chase that tantalising pressure. Needing more. 

The movement of his tongue and fingers overtakes and outshines any other possible thought as all you can do is mindlessly buck against his face as you near your high. 

Steven presses deeper, slipping in a third finger and nudging the bridge of his nose against your clit. And fuuccccck.

You cum against him with a wail you’d be embarrassed about if you could formulate thoughts. Every possible thought is overtaken by the sudden wave of pleasure he pulls out of you, drowns you in. Stars dance behind your eyes as your muscles shake. 

Steven laps at you steadily, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible until you are gasping, tears in your eyes from the overstimulation. 

You place a hand on his shoulder and he slowly withdrawals his fingers, groaning at the white, creamy mess you left on his digits. 

He presses a kiss against your knee as you breathe hard. 

“I think the strap was a success.” He says, quite matter of factly, as if you had just managed to find a slightly quicker route to work. 

You giggle as he glances up at you and pulls a silly face. “Definitely.” 

He pauses for one moment, nuzzling against your thigh. “I, erm, maybe we don’t upload videos of me online though.” He blushes a little and you lean down, kissing him deeply. 

“I know that was just sex talk, those are all for me anyway.” 

He chuckles and kisses you again. “Didn’t… weird you out or anything?” 

You shake your head. “I loved it.” 

“Good.” He leans into your embrace as you wrap your arms around him. 

“Though, if we did upload videos of you,” you tease, “I’m sure we’d make so much money, you could buy all the books you wan-”

You yelp and giggle as Steven tackles you back onto the bed and kisses you roughly. 

____________________________________

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[monayen]

uhhh I dunno really but — maybe a fic of reader just walking in the forest because they r lost then getting caught in a bear trap nyen set up and uh he does something fucked up to reader, like fucks them then kills them or something? Or something heavy gore related while he fucks them.. sorryyy ahhh (I’m a damn masochist.)

The Lost Camper | Nyen

➷ Paring - Nyen x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - noncon, unsafe sex, fear play, knife play, blood kink, stabbing, sadism, fingering, violence, degradation, dacryphilla, READER DEATH

a/n - this came out to 4k words :') i know anon described a bear trap/hunting-esque situation but i felt making the reader a more cryptic-like being of the woods made a bit more sense (and easier to fit in) either way, reminder that this is DARK. there isn't a happy ending and the reader does freakin' die. (though rebirth is implied. see it how ya' do) i apologize for any mistakes as this is my longest work to date (whoop whoop) thank you for your comments and requests on both ao3 and tumblr. keeps me motivated ^^ currently working on a Randal fic and some Luther headcannons :3 inbox open as always. ANYWAYS ENOUGH

You aren't sure why you decided to hop over the Ivory household's security measures and rummage through their things while they slept. You’ve seen campers before in these woods plenty of times. Hundreds, if you kept count… but you don't.

You also don't ever interact with campers these days either. They didn’t tend to be special and they didn’t ever really get in the way. Maybe you’ll spook them by hovering around behind the greenery, sticks cracking underneath rugged boots. They don't interest you anymore beyond listening to them talk about their boring, human lives. 

It doesn't make them completely irrelevant to you though, as you’ve gained a habit of sneaking onto their campsites. You steal – quite often. Well, as often as people come this deep into the woods. It's how you justify it, how else are you supposed to get canned food and new clothes? And so what if you also take a couple of books you can't read and stuffed animals whose furs mat under dirty hands. The mossy den you reside in could always use new things, even if you have no use for them.

For as long as you remember, it has been like this. A being of the woods, you’ve become a cryptic-like legend. “The Lost Camper”, you’re called. Whatever that means. You aren't sure what life is like past bark and muddy soil, clothes messy and hands rough. You were never lost, this is all you know.

Is it all so bad? So bad that humans go out of their way to tell campfire stories about your existence? The grass gives you more comfort than any sleeping bag can. 

So there really wasn't any need for you to be past that fence they set up. The truth was that they were… interesting. More interesting than any other family who ventured out here. You saw as they gathered around and talked, well, two were doing most of the talking. Brothers, apparently. (despite not looking much alike) 

They tagged along a couple more… characters. Notably, these two catmen that hovered around the older one of the brothers. They looked more alike, cat ears dawning their similar haircuts. You could tell them apart by their clothes – easier, their demeanors. 

The blue haired one stood hunched, staring at his… ”master” talk. Immediately, you could tell he was the more timid of the two. You observed the other pinkish haired one smoke a cigarette a few steps away from the group. His eyes – eye, actually – looked low and dark. The patch on one of them leaves you to wonder what might've happened for it to be left in such a state. Catching his name from his master, “Nyen”, which made sense considering his appearance.

You must have been staring too long, because suddenly Nyen lifts his head and his sunless eye meets yours for a second. Ducking quickly behind the trees, it should have been your sign to leave, to go on your merry way of collecting berries and getting high off of mushrooms for entertainment. 

But of course – you didn't. Instead, you retreated to the comfort of the conifer and stood idly. The sun set faster than you expected, any thoughts of simply leaving long gone hours ago. An eager smile spread across your face, these unique campers were asleep and you were going to rein free on their grounds. This was going to be the most fun you’ve had in ages!

As you tiptoe to their spot, you point out the odd set up. They had a truck and two tents, but only one tent actually seemed to be occupied. They also left a plethora of things outside unattended. Great for you. 

Nimbly, you start pocketing random things into your large well-loved leather crossbody bag. You’ve rummaged through many people’s unattended things before, but they definitely take it to a different level. This place was filled with bizarre stuff, stuff you’ve never seen before. 

Why the fuck were they carrying several wooden carvings of beavers and… birthday cake flavored “lube”... unsure what the latter was. Either way, you found it all the more entertaining to stuff these random things into your bag, giggling slightly when you pulled out a photorealistic framed drawing of a blue pony with a rainbow mane. 

You were so intrigued by all these things that you didn't realize masked, narrow eyes staring at your figure past the of the darkness camp. 

-

Nyen had been waiting for this. How stupid can you be? He saw you past the trees when the sun was still up, staring with a stable gaze – observing. Your face was shaded by the leaves, but he could see the grip you had on the tree trunk you stood behind. You looked rugged, you weren't just another camper or hitchhiker. He huffs his cigarette, more freaks. Nyen moves his eyes towards his master, clearly already stressed with the hitchhiker they had picked up hours before. Another huff.

His eyes meet yours when he decides to look up again and just as quickly – you're gone. 

Once Luther hears about this, his brows furrow slightly at the idea of another thing to deal with. “Oh dear, I just can't catch a break.” Nyen waits for his master to continue.

Randal (who totally wasn't eavesdropping) perks up once he recognizes who they were talking about, “Oh! Oh! You mean the…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “The Lost Camper…” Luther twists his head to stare at his brother, “Is that the name?” 

Randal nods excitedly, “I’ve read all about her! Apparently, she’s a ghost. Or like a cavewoman. Or an animal-hybrid. I actually didn't read that much.” He shrugs, “She doesn't hurt people, I think. Just swipes a few things and wonders around. Which is a little boring, would love it if something tried to kill us! AGAIN!”

Luther shakes his head and looks back at Nyen, “Hm, it’s too late now to move everything back inside…” He places a finger on his chin, “If that's true, then deal with her if she becomes a problem, alright?” 

Nyen nods, “Yes sir.”

From what Randal said, he knew you would most likely lurk in the incognito of the night. So he took his stance outside the tent everyone else slept in. 

He almost giddily twirls the handle of the knife, waiting and waiting. Hours pass, he doesn't have a watch but his internal clock tells him it’s around 3 am when he finally spots you. Look at you, being a problem.

Your back is faced away from him. Through the darkness, (and thanks to his skill of seeing well in the dark) he witnesses the silhouette of your thievery. Nyen can't point out exactly what you are taking but all he can imagine is his master’s upset face if he sees things are missing. The grip on his knife tightens.

He needs to wait again, wait for the perfect moment, wait to pounce . Nyen hears giggles escape your mouth – small, but he hears it. His jaw clenches. How dare you tee-hee while taking his family's very important stuff? He almost wants to lunge at you straight away, but he decides against it. Nyen wants to stab you in the throat and watch the blood splurt once you turn around. He just needs to get a bit closer…

SNAP

How irritating. Nyen just had to step on a twig. 

Your reaction time is just as fast as his, darting into the dark woods with him quickly trailing behind you.

Nyen huffs to himself. He wanted to make this quick, but he certainly doesn’t mind a chase.

-

Holy shit, shit, shit. Thoughts race a thousand miles per hour, with your legs following right behind. You admittedly got too into it that you weren’t focusing, now you have to make a great escape. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve had to run away from a camper, there was a time where a woman got spooked by you on her way to take a piss. Her scream was so loud that you immediately dashed past her, dropping the clothes you had stolen. Her husband (presumably an experienced outdoorsman) actually trekked through the woods with a shotgun for a while as you held your breath in the branches above. Ultimately, her family was gone before the sun was down. 

But you aren't sure you can just avoid this one. You allow yourself to turn peek behind you and see him . The smoking catman, Nyen. The shade of the night is heavy, but you’ve adapted to see well in the dark. You’re sure he has that skill too with the way his gaze is steady, hard, and right on yo u through terrifying masked eyes. Where did his eyepatch go?

Shaky hands clutch the filled crossbody bag that jumps with your every movement. If you had to go through this, you at least want to keep the stuff. 

Just tire him out, you think. It's reassuring that you know these woods like the back of your hand. You’ve tread several miles, exploring and wondering, though never finding a road. (Odd.)

Agilely weaving him past trees and fallen logs, your boots try to find leaf covered ground in an attempt to not leave visible tracks, but that would cause you to move slower – and you can't afford that. You assume with enough loops and turns, he will lose your trail.

A loud, gravelly yell can be heard behind you, “You can't run forever!” It makes your heart hammer because it's true. You aren't sure how long you’ve been running now but it feels like hours .

Periodically, you pause to catch your breath, but it isn't long before you hear his heavy steps get closer and closer, forcing the chase to start again.

It’s terrifying. You have amazing stamina. It's part of being in these woods, moving a lot. Nyen is different though, you don't think he’s stopped once. He’s a hunter, a bit slower than his prey but always behind. 

Huffing, you duck under branches and jump over uneven ground with aching legs, barely catching yourself a few times. It’s strenuous to carry on like this, so close to giving out. It’s impossible to focus with this adrenaline pumping through your veins, are you going in circles? Herbage you’re so used to begin to feel like a labyrinth of ever consuming moss and vines. 

Managing to keep your distance, you start to believe that maybe you’ve lost him when the echo of rushed footsteps begin to fade. There’s a wave of relief when all that can be heard is the sound of heavy panting and earth stirring underneath sore feet. 

You close your eyes as you continue to move forward, wind flowing through your hair with momentum. It’s just for a second, for a moment of clarity. It's a terrible second. Your right ankle rolls horribly on a rock, making you tumble down with shriek. It reverberates past trees and you’re sure he's heard it. 

He’s already closing the gap, leaves shuffling behind you. Regaining composure with gritted teeth, you come to the conclusion that he can have his damn things. It’s not worth running forever. Peeking at your quickly growing swollen ankle, you aren't sure you even could.

Finding an area where the trees thin out with patches of soft grass, you use the last of your excretion to exclaim, “Wait, wait!” Facing him finally, he stops feet away from you. 

You finally get a closer look at him. His stance is still aggressive, as if you are about to take off at any moment. You see his glare filled with pure disdain, thin lips curling in a snarl. His eyes go beyond his bizarre mask, it feels like he's piercing you with them.

“Say it.” It's a husky voice that makes the anxiety in your stomach swirl. You realize you haven't been face to face with someone in… a while.

Croaking out with a strained voice, “Look, here. Have it back, I don't want it anymore.” With shaking hands, you tug the worn leather over your body and drop it onto the ground in between you two. Gulping, you scan his figure for any type of reaction.

That's when you notice a glint in his hand – a knife. Maybe it was foolish to assume he wouldn't have a weapon on him, he was chasing you after all. But it dawns on you that you don't have one. 

Nyen seems to pick up on your sudden stiffening, taking a step forward. It takes everything in you to not take off, but you know it would be fruitless with a sore ankle. 

“I know who you are.” You shake, “You do?” He nods slowly, “Randal told me about you. ‘The Lost Camper’, a habitual thief and urban legend. A fucking pussy too.” 

A low laugh escapes his lips, he’s getting closer. “So, you think you can just get away with this?” Sweat builds even heavier on your brow and you shake your head, “No, no. I’m – I’m sorry. I didn't mean to–” He cuts you off, “You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing. You need to be dealt with. ”

Your flight instinct kicks in and despite the light injury you sustained, your feet begin to move on their own. It's not fast enough though, he lunges at you and the sudden weight causes you to fall down with a pained hiss.

There's a tackle, he's grabbing at you while you try to force yourself up under him. It’s incredibly rough, there isn't enough room to struggle around with how his weight presses you down.

You watch terribly as Nyen brings his knife up in the air. The pale moon shines on the blade, and for a second, you see the reflection of your terrified face before it stains red. 

A guttural scream forces out of your mouth, making you throw your head back before it crooks back down to see crimson blood seep through your jeans down the side of your thigh. 

Nyen doesn't waste time in pulling the blade back, watching how you writhe in pain. Through teary eyes, you see pure excitement spread across his shaded face. He’s enjoying this. 

You can barely resist when he's forcing your thick jacket off your body – not satisfied with how the material lessens the cuts he’s adorning your body. “Don't do this…” It’s meek and pathetic, you know but you can't help it. He stands above, blood staining his hands. 

“It's already happening.” It's deep and low, and you feel every drip of venom that laces his words. 

You witness Nyen begin to rub the growing bulge in his tan jeans, causing your stomach to twist in a way that you're scared you may vomit out of the fear and pain. The catman groans, “Fuck… I’m going to make a mess out of you.”

Soon enough, he strips you of your worn shirt and jeans clothes. It's scary how Nyen handles you like a ragdoll, no concern for the twists and gashes your injured body has to endure. 

“So this is what you were hiding under all that? Lucky me.” It’s so condescending that you grit your teeth. For any chance of keeping your dignity, an attempt of covering yourself and moving is made – but it’s met with a swift kick to your ribs that results in burning heaving.

A cold hand slips under your bra, lifting it over and groping at your chest. Whimpering, you attempt to shy away from his touch but he draws you back with an even colder tip of a blade that swipes across your skin. 

Red drapes over your body like a warm blanket in contrast to the cool chill of the forest air. You can almost stare off into the starry night you are so used to while you try to regain bated breath, just for an escape.

Nyen doesn't allow this though. He flips you over roughly onto your stomach, ripping away the comforting sky from your vision. Again, you want to at least protest when he greedily spreads your legs open, hand prodding at your sensitive heat.

Shit. You don't remember the last time you ventured into anything sexual. Maybe you’d rub one out when the idea popped up, but it never really did. You’ve seen a… er– dildo (if you remember correctly what it was called) once or twice when snooping around camps. It gave you a good laugh then, but you would ultimately leave it. 

Now you can feel how his hard length presses up against you. It’s an uncommon sensation, and fuck – why does it have to be big? 

Cutting your underwear off, his long fingers soon dip into the heat of your pussy, pushing in and out. You gasp and tremble underneath his touch. He doesn't wait for you, curling his digits up as growing wetness coats his knuckles. It's disgustingly good, making your traitorous body clench around his fingers. 

Nyen looms over you, wiping the soaked knife onto dark long sleeves, helping him keep his grip on the handle. Then, he pulls his fingers out of you, tauntingly slow to hear how you whimper pathetically. “Look at you, bitch. You're fucking dripping.” He mixes the juices with your blood, “Heh, in more ways than one.”

With unbuckled jeans, he moves fully on top of you, knees pining the sides of you down as he grunts against your soft ass. Nyen then grips your hair and pulls your head back, curving your spine into an uncomfortable position. His knife finds its way to your exposed neck. 

Shaking, it nips at your skin as shallow breaths escape you. He brings himself closer . “Should I just kill you now? What do you think, slut?” Adrenaline rushes through your body, a shameful cry escapes you, “No, no! Don't– don't!” 

He grinds against you, “Then beg.” Shaking your head, you respond – “Please. Please let me go, I’m sorry.” A deep sinister chuckle responds, “No, bitch.” He yanks your head back even farther. Feeling his hot breath against your face, he spits, “Beg for me to fuck you.” 

Tears pool in your eyes, shutting tightly when his blade grazes hurt skin once more. His hard length prods at your entrance – waiting. With a deep breath, you whisper oh-so pathetically. “Please fuck me.” You pray it's enough.

“Better than that. C'mon, or I’ll slit your pretty little fucking throat.” He yanks your hair, pushing into your skin. You panic, fat tears streaming down your face. “No! Don't kill me! Please, please just fuck me. Please.”  

Your screams turn into loud cries, echoing onto the tall trees that surround the scene. Nyen relishes in your wails, nails digging into the back of your scalp before his cock sinks into you roughly. You squirm with a loud pained gasp, you weren't close to ready for him. 

His knife (thankfully) removes itself from your neck, grip on the handle still iron strong. It doesn't give you anything to distract from as he stretches you out incredibly painfully. Inch by inch, your muscles contract and try to adjust to his size – but it's not nearly enough when he begins to start to move. 

“You're so fucking tight.” He lets out a sharp grunt, skin slapping against yours. “You've never fucked, haven’t you?” All you can do is cry. “Perfect.”

Forgetting the threat of his knife, he reminds you with a deep slash across your back. Pain vibrates through you, hands grip at soil and blades of grass in an attempt to stiffen the burning sensation that consumes you. Nausea festers and chokes at the back of your throat, certain that if you had eaten this morning it’d be spilling out your mouth by now.

It's an entrancing sight for Nyen, the large gash displays the crimson beautiful blood dripping down your arched back and onto your asscheeks as he slams into you. It’s a lot of blood. So much so that he feels how you physically weaken under him, fully incapacitated.

He decides to flip you back onto your back once again like the ragdoll you are. There, he can see how the light in your eyes start to dim. Red, and swollen, and tear rimmed – they stare back at him, wordlessly pleading for any type of mercy.

Nyen ignores it, choosing to grab your injured thighs and hike them over his broad shoulders, angling even deeper inside of you. Tight muscles draw him closer, grunting at the feeling of your warmth enveloping him. “Shit, you're a greedy fucking thing, aren't you?” He spits at you, grabbing your face to make sure your eyes stay on him, inches separating your faces. 

You don't respond, hoarse cries and moans are all the sounds you can make. Nyen’s mask taunts you, wide eyes never leaving yours as his nails scratch at your chest and waist, marking and trailing. Nyen’s nails even have the nerve to dig into your open wounds, forcing the blood to escape even faster. 

Any pleas you can muster out fall on deaf ears, and you almost wish he killed you before all this. But then it clicks that this is all just a game to him – you're simply a toy. The evil grin on his face is evident of this, he's truly enjoying watching this horrible scene come undone by his hands. The chase, the torture, your cries . It only makes his heavy cock harder and his thrusts sloppier. 

Your head is woozy and your vision is getting blurry. Numbness circuits through your body, the only thing you can feel is the sensation of his cock ramming into you over and over again. 

Nyen lets go of your face and chooses to grab at your bouncing tits, squeezing hard enough to create bruises. His twitching cock then rubs inside of you perfectly . A loud whine follows that causes Nyen’s jaw clench at the sudden extra pressure around his length, “Ah, hgh,– take my cum like the pathetic bitch you are,”

Stars in your vision soon mix with the stars in the night sky, you can't feel your legs anymore, neither your arms. Blood loss is getting to you – and quickly.

His body drives into yours, the sensation of gore under you squelches around against skin and dirt. Then, the knot building inside your numbing abdomen finally snaps, your breath hitches and you keen loudly – writhing around him.

Nyen soon follows, basically growling at how your pulsating pussy feverishly sucks him in and empties his balls. He rides the orgasm, fucking his cum deep inside you, and basking in the gripping release.

When he pulls out and off of you, your body limps on the ground. Overlooking, he can see how your lungs shallowly take in much needed air. Blood glistens off your cut adorned skin, and god is it a fucking beautiful sight.

He tucks his cock back into his blood soaked jeans, and he can already hear about how it's extra laundry to do now. But frankly, he doesn't care. Nyen gives you a once over, just to make sure the image of you really seeps into his brain. After well enough, he pockets his knife and walks over to the criminal leather bag that started this all. 

Suddenly, a weak grip holds onto his ankle. You.

You look at him with big, lidded eyes and croak out, “Wait… wait– am I… am I going to die?” He stares back at your frightened face with his reactionless one. It's quick before he gives you a sinister smile, then he yanks his ankle out from your grasp and grabs the bag that lays beside you. 

“Yeah, probably.” He then pulls a cigarette out of his back pocket and lights it, flicking hot ash onto your chest. 

“You were a good fuck though, I’ll give you that.” It’s patronizing. A final tear streams down your cheek as you watch him walk into the fog of the trees without another word.

You stare at the sky once again, leaves sway above and let moonlight peek through. Your inhales seem to be getting shorter and shorter, but you don't realize. You just pay attention to the movement of the leaves and the formation of stars. 

Grass picks at the back of your head, it’s soft – one of the only things you can feel besides excruciating pain. You let it be your pillow, the comfort that is ever fleeting from your grasp. 

This wasn't a fate you ever expected to have, it wasn't even proper death. It all makes you want to get up and fight for yourself. To live. He wasn't going to win. 

But reality sinks in when your vision fills with black spots, and you remember you're actively bleeding out, abused and hurt. Dying. It hurts to move, and the lone thought of welcoming it reverberates in your mind. It’s okay… It’s okay… 

With a final breath and ringing ears, darkness finally mercifully consumes you. 

To the dirt you were born, to the dirt you return to. 

And to the dirt you will rise up from again. 

[dominimoonbeam]

The Truth in Your Skin - 14

ANGST! Okay, so we're adding some body image moments to the tags here and a sexual harassment tag. I feeeeel like you're all well and truly buckled up for the threat of danger and angst in this fic because of the Quinn past (and possible future, who knows, I'm dramatic like that) but this isn't Quinn or Darlin, so we're adding a new tag!! <3 <3

Thanks for getting this far. Hope you enjoy the fic! <3 From the start over on ao3.

Darlin/David, Milo/Sweetheart, Asher/Huxley

chapter tags: sexual harassment, body image issues, violence, communication issues, avoidance, doubt, hurt/comfort

The Truth in Your Skin - 14

“So… You’re apartment hunting?” Asher asked.

Milo nodded, sprawled out in Asher’s chair and scrolling on his phone. “It makes sense.”

Asher raised a pierced eyebrow and leaned against the wall. “Right… Because you’re a couple.”

Milo raspberried but didn’t take his eyes off his phone. “No, because we’re great friends and even better roommates. You should see these listings they were looking at. No fucking way they’re moving in with some stranger. Do you know how many creeps there are out there?”

Asher laughed. “So, the logical step, is to get a bigger apartment so that the two of you can be… roommates?”

Milo nodded at his phone.

The back door thumped shut and David walked in. “What’s going on?” he asked automatically as he started setting up the shop.

Asher waved a hand at Milo. “Looks like the idiots are officially moving in together… as roommates.”

David glanced over at Milo and then huffed a laugh. “Sounds about right. When are you two going to get a pet?”

Milo sat up, seeming to just then realize David was there. “We were looking at cats the other day.”

Asher laughed and David tried not to.

Milo frowned. “What?”

They laughed harder.

Milo rolled his eyes. “Fuck you guys. Are we still going to that out of town game this weekend?”

Asher nodded. “Yeah. Road trip!” His smile got sly. “You and Sweets sharing a hotel room?”

Milo wrinkled his nose. “Of course. Why would we pay for two? That’s stupid.”

“Yeah… you two are all about frugality,” David agreed in a mumble.

The front door chimed.

“That’s probably my one o’clock.” Asher shooed Milo out of his chair on his way to the front. He was still smiling when he stepped out to the front desk and saw the vaguely familiar face waiting for him. One of Huxley’s teammates had called about getting a piece done and set up the appointment.

After handshakes and niceties, he led him back.

Milo was gone, probably off to pick out curtains with Sweetheart. God, they were hilarious. He wasn’t sure he’d ever known any couple more fucking coupley than those two.

“Nice place,” the client, Colt, said.

David turned the music on on his way to the front with a stack of paperwork in hand.

“Thanks,” Asher said, gesturing him to have a seat and pulling out the sketch they’d talked about. It wasn’t a big piece.

Colt clapped his hands. “I’m getting the VIP treatment right? The Huxley special?”

Asher laughed and shrugged. “Sure.” He put his gloves on and told the guy to drop his jeans. He wanted to tattoo on his thigh, after all. He was already shaved, so it was just a matter of disinfecting the area before putting the stencil down. “You’ve got other tattoos right?”

“Oh yeah.” Colt nodded, pushing a sleeve up to show ink from wrist to elbow.

“Good, then this shouldn’t be any surprise.” Asher smiled and prepped the needle. He had a couple more clients today and then he was meeting up with Hux for dinner.

He settled into a good position and then gave the guy one last look. “You’re good?”

A thumbs up and a big grin.

Asher started the needle. “So how long have you and Hux played together?” he asked, starting the linework. Not everyone liked to talk while they got work done but Asher was great at rolling out questions if they liked the distraction.

“Years,” Colt said. “I gotta say, I was real fucking surprised when he started bringing you to events.”

Asher didn’t look up from his work. “Yeah? Why?”

Colt snorted. “I mean, you don’t exactly look like most of the puck bunnies, you know? And Hux has never brought a date. We were all starting to think he was like, not into anything, you know? Turns out he’s just into weird.”

Asher stopped, suddenly feeling heat rush his face. Weird?

Colt laughed. “But who’s not into weird sometimes, right?”

Before Asher could even start to unpack what this guy was saying, a big hand slid over the back of his head.

Asher shot to his feet, knocking the hand off of him.

Colt stared up at him, looking so honestly confused and smiley that Asher thought he might have hallucinated this conversation. And then he noticed the very obvious erection bulging the front of Colt’s boxer briefs.

Asher frowned. “Do you need a minute?”

“Oh, I’ll last more than a minute…”

“Dude, you see that I’m holding a needle, right?” Asher held it up.

Colt grinned. “Yeah. I figure, you mark me and then I’ll mark you. Like with Huxley.”

Asher felt like his brain was rebooting too slowly. What the actual fuck was happening right now?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t had clients flirt with him before. But this was…

His heart pounded in his throat but he just stood there, caught between work and whatever the hell this guy was saying to him. Did Huxley think that? Had he said that? No. No fucking way.

And then, before he could finish that brain reboot, David came out of fucking nowhere.

Colt’s surprise was worse than Asher’s, because David grabbed him by the front of the shirt and hauled him up out of the chair, his jeans still around his ankles and two lines of a tattoo on his thigh.

Asher flicked the needle off, still stunned, but listened to the guy shouting and laughing and trying to calm David on that awkward drag to the front door.

The bell chimed and David threw the other big guy right out onto the street. His voice was so low that Asher couldn’t catch the words, but there was definitely a threat there. And then the door closed with another snap of the bell and the locks slid into place.

Asher felt like his face was on fire. He hurried to move before David came back, starting the process of cleaning up his station just like he had a thousand times before.

“Who was that?” David asked.

Asher shook his head and shrugged.

David caught his arm to make him stand upright and stop trying to clean up. He put one big hand against the side of Asher’s neck and made him look back at him. There were so many questions and concerns in David’s gaze. “Who the fuck was that?” he asked again.

Asher sighed. “Just some guy from Hux’s team. He said he wanted a tattoo. I didn’t know he… would…” He waved a hand, floundering for words.

David nodded, that angry crease in his brow. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Asher took a step back and gestured at himself like it was proof.

“Ash,” David said, voice weighted in seriousness.

Asher looked at him.

“You can punch clients that pull shit like that.”

“What?”

“You hesitated. I know this is our business and you’re used to being the nice one, but you can turn that off and just kick them the fuck out.”

Asher nodded. That made sense. Yeah. And he knew where that line was out in clubs. Asher could definitely handle himself.

“Just imagine it’s someone else.”

“What?”

“Imagine it’s one of Milo’s clients and what you’d do then.”

Asher laughed, surprising himself and relieved to feel that gross feeling in his chest loosen. “Milo would have punched him.”

David snorted. “Bad example.”

Asher sighed and nodded, shaking it off. It wasn’t his first time dealing with a creep. But this guy had known Huxley, had talked like… “What an asshole,” Asher said with a shrug.

David nodded but his mouth pinched, eyes still on Asher.

Asher realized he was still worried and laughed, clapping his shoulder. “Look at you playing hero, though! Damn you were quick to haul him out.”

“Haul who out?” Darlin asked, walking in the back door with a big yawn like they’d just woken up.

“I had a creepy client and David straight up bounced him!”

Darlin stopped, blinking at them. “Seriously?”

Asher nodded, back to cleaning up. He wanted to get rid of every bit of evidence this guy had been there… but he didn’t rush, because he could still feel David sneaking glances at him. “Turns out Davey missed his true calling—bouncer.”

Darlin smiled, shrugging out of their jacket. “I thought you said his true calling was line cook?”

Asher shook his head. “New true calling.” Weird. He was weird. Did Huxley think he was weird? No way Hux said that sort of stuff… right?

-

Huxley stood in the locker room, frowning at his phone after practice. Asher had cancelled on dinner last night and wasn’t sure he could meet up tonight either. That was okay, of course, but… But there was something off about it that Hux couldn’t quite explain.

-are you ok? He typed the words but hesitated to send them, just staring at them. Was it somehow too needy to ask? They were still new, and Asher wasn’t saying anything was wrong. He was just… off?

The sound of some of the other players coming down the hall spilled through the doors ahead of them.

Hux sent the question, leaning against his locker and watching the screen.

The group of his teammates burst into the locker room on the other side, unaware of him for now. Which was great, because as soon as they spotted him, there was no way they’d let him mop around with his phone.

“You’re an asshole, Colt,” Riley said, putting a laugh on it but sounding like he was actually mad. He didn’t usually get mad, so it almost took Huxley’s focus from his phone.

His message was read. Asher was typing…

“You saw him! Why wouldn’t I try to get some strange too?” Colt snapped back on the other side of the lockers, gear thumping into the floor and benches.

“Huxley’s going to lay you out if you don’t watch it,” Riley warned.

Huxley looked up at his name. What the fuck were they talking about?

Colt sputtered. “Hux loves me. And it was just a joke. That fucking freak didn’t even finish the damn tattoo!”

Huxley heart pounded. His text conversation bumped up.

-yeah

-100

-see you tomorrow maybe?

Hux still had his phone in his hand when he came around the lockers.

Riley saw him first, standing straighter and looking more resigned than caught. Probably because he wasn’t the one caught, right?

“What?” Colt barked and then turned to see Huxley right there behind him. Hux wasn’t sure what the hell he was talking about, but the flash of panic and guilt on his friend’s face before he covered it up with that ugly twist of attitude told him too much. Colt had definitely done something. “When—”

“What did you do?”

Colt shook his head. “Nothing. What are you talking about?” He wouldn’t tell him. He had never admitted to shit when he fucked up.

Hux held up a hand, having to pull it back to keep from pushing the guy in front of him. His moms always said no pushing off the ice. Problems should be handled with words. He looked at Riley. They’d all played together for years. Riley looked angry. Which was why Hux was pretty damn sure he should be angry. “What did he do?”

Colt rolled his eyes and threw his helmet at his locker. “Come on! I didn’t do shit!”

Hux didn’t look at him. He just looked at Riley and waited.

Some of the other guys were looking shamefaced and anywhere but at the scene.

Riley nodded.

“Shut the fuck up!” Colt warned before Riley even started. But it didn’t stop him.

“Dipshit here went to your boyfriend’s shop to get a tattoo yesterday. He ran his mouth and made a move. Like he thought he was getting a happy ending or something. Got kicked out.”

Huxley stared, trying to process that. Ran his mouth? At Asher? A happy ending? He swung toward Colt, who jumped back for the first time in their friendship. “What the fuck?”

Colt laughed, hands up at his sides. “Dude! I was just messing around! It’s not my fault if goth puck bunny took it serious!”

“What did you say to him?”

“What?”

“What did you do?” Huxley ground out each word, the whole fucking locker room gone silent around them.

Colt’s face twisted from surprised to scorned. He shoved forward, pushing into Huxley’s space. “You can’t blame me for wanting to know what’s got you drooling over that metal-faced freak! Is it the tongue ring?” He grinned. “Is it—”

Huxley snapped his head forward, the same way he had a hundred times on the ice, knocking his head right into Colt’s. It should have hurt, but it didn’t. Colt fell back and as soon as he had the space, Huxley threw a punch that turned him face-first into the locker and sent him sliding to the floor.

Riley nodded like this had been the obvious and only outcome, back to working his gear off. “He told your guy he wanted the Huxley special. Only got a couple lines into the tattoo before he got kicked out.”

Colt groaned on the floor, coming to.

Huxley looked at his phone in his hand again and those last messages from Asher telling him they were 100 when they definitely weren’t. He stepped over Colt and grabbed his shit from his locker before storming out.

He called Asher on his way to his truck. What was he even going to say? What the fuck had happened?

Colt had said so many mean things. Had he said that shit to Asher? Had he hurt him?

Asher didn’t answer and Huxley shoved his phone back in his pocket and unlocked his truck.

-

Asher rubbed the steam off the mirror in the bathroom and then stepped back, music blaring through the apartment. He pushed his wet hair out of his face and looked at his reflection.

Weird.

Why did it keep coming up in his thoughts? Why did he care?

Weird.

It had never bothered him before.

David thumped his fist on the door and shouted over the music, “We’re heading out. Be back tonight!”

Asher nodded even though no one could see, still looking at himself. “Yeah. Have fun!”

He waited, wondering if he’d heard the door shut. It was impossible to hear.

Why hadn’t he just gone out with Hux tonight? He missed him. But his stomach hurt when he thought about actually seeing him. He’d have to tell him what happened… Would he even believe him? What if it was something he’d said to his teammates? What if he was embarrassed? What if Asher really was like a weird fling?

“Fuck.” He dropped his head forward, scrubbing a hand over his face. He had never been insecure like this before. But he liked Huxley. Like, really really fucking liked him. What if this was a real issue?

He looked at himself again, leaning closer, eyeing those piercings in his face.

No one was home.

He took the piercings out, trying not to think too much about what he was doing and why. It wasn’t a big deal. He was just looking at something. He put the last one down, his chin low, and forced his eyes up to his reflection again. Reaching up, he covered the ink on his temple sneaking out from his hairline, tilting his face so as not to see the one on his neck. His heart hurt.

No.

Nope.

He shook his head, even with tears in his eyes. He couldn’t change who he was and he didn’t want to. Even just thinking about it was hollowing him out in a way he could tell would wreck him. He liked Huxley a lot, but what was the point if Huxley didn’t really like him? What was the point if he tried to be someone else?

He picked up one of his eyebrow bars but a bang on the bathroom door made him jump and drop the damn thing. “Damn it!”

“Ash?” Huxley called over the music, Asher barely registering the familiar voice before the door was open and they were staring at each other.

Asher blinked and then huffed a laugh. This had to be the worst week. He was totally naked, piercings out, in his bathroom with the music still blasting through the apartment and looking at the last person he wanted to see him right now in the doorway. “Hi.”

-

Huxley had caught David and Darlin in the hall on their way out on a date. He could hear the music through the apartment door.

It was sheer luck that David let him in. There was no way Asher would have heard him over the music.

He realized pretty quickly that he was in the bathroom and almost barged in before thinking better of it and knocking first. But then he heard Asher swear inside and opened the door anyway.

They stared at each other.

Asher was naked and gorgeous but… but all his face piercings were out.

“Hi,” Asher said.

“Hi,” Huxley said and then winced because he had just busted in on the other guy. “Sorry. I tried to call. We…We need to talk.”

Asher’s tight smile fell, along with his chin. He nodded and grabbed his briefs, pulling them on. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the living room?”

Huxley nodded and backed away, turning down the hall for the living room and trying to figure out how exactly to have this conversation. How was he supposed to ask about what happened when Asher hadn’t told him? He wanted to apologize but he wasn’t even sure for what.

Asher took longer than he’d expected but when he came down the hall, Huxley realized why. His piercings were back in. Well, all but one of the eyebrow studs.

He went to the speaker and turned off the music, and then he stayed there across the room from him, leaning against the wall, waiting.

“I heard… I heard Colt came to your studio yesterday,” he said, watching Asher. He looked so far away, his arms folded and his shoulder against the wall.

Asher winced, gaze finally meeting his but it was a mix of anger and nerves. “He came onto me.” The words burst out of him, like he thought Huxley might have thought otherwise? “He… He’s kind of an asshole.”

Huxley nodded, stepping closer. “He’s a huge asshole,” he agreed. “I’m so sorry that happened. Whatever he said… I’m sorry, Ash.”

Asher blinked at him and then slowly pushed off the wall, arms unfolding. “Is this… Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

Huxley felt as confused as his boyfriend looked. “Yeah? I mean… this is why you cancelled on me, right? Why you’re avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding… I was just…” He sighed. “I just needed to think and I knew when I saw you, I’d have to tell you about it and I wasn’t ready.”

Huxley nodded. That made sense. “I wish you felt like you could have told me what happened yesterday, but I get it.” He took another step closer, wanting so much to close that gap between them but scared that it wasn’t just physical. “Wait. What did you think we were going to talk about?” What else could there be but this?

Asher exhaled hard, almost a laugh but too tight to make it. He shrugged. “I mean, I thought you were breaking up with me.”

Huxley almost lost his footing. “What? Why?”

Asher waved a hand. “The whole Colt thing and what he said about…” the words cut off and he looked sick. “I just—”

“What did he say?”

Asher shook his head, one hand going to his brow, touching the stud that was there and then the spot where one was missing. He wouldn’t quite look at Huxley. “I don’t know, man. He just threw me and I guess I thought… And he seems like the kind of douchebag who’s going to tell everyone he got what he wanted even if David threw him on his ass, right?”

Huxley took a step closer, catching those fragments of information. “You thought I’d believed him?”

Asher winced and that hand moved from his face to his scalp, clawing fingers through his hair. “I mean, maybe? You’ve known him longer than me.”

“I don’t know him,” Huxley said. “I’ve played with him for years, but I don’t know him. I don’t want to know him. But I want to know you, and you wouldn’t do that. I’m sorry this happened. Can you… Can you tell me exactly what happened?” And why it had clearly freaked him out so bad? This was more than worrying that he’d believe some lies.

Asher exhaled some of that tension in his lean body, finally taking a step closer to Huxley, meeting him in the middle of the little living room. “I’m sorry. I guess I just spun out.” He touched Huxley’s wrist, the gesture somewhere between casual and exploratory, like he wasn’t really sure what would happen.

Huxley turned his arm, collecting Asher’s hand in his, relieved beyond belief for that contact and that invitation to nearness. His other hand touched the side of Asher’s face. “No, dude, don’t downplay it. You’re upset.”

Asher smiled but it was a ghost of the real thing. “I’m okay! So much better now.”

Huxley nodded slowly. This was all still new and he was just as tempted to lean into the idea of getting back to how they usually were, but Asher had looked so hurt… “Listen. I know you can handle yourself and you can probably handle whatever this is, but I’m right here. You could tell me. Sometimes it helps to say it.”

Asher stared up at him, so close now. His thin smile fell and after another stretch of thinking, he dropped his head, looking at a point on Huxley’s chest. “He said some shit about how he was surprised to find out you were into weird. …who’s not into weird sometimes? he said. He wanted the Huxley special. I was starting a thigh tat and he grabbed the back of my head. Said I’d mark him and then he’d mark me…just like you.”

Huxley had to hold his breath to keep from reacting. Fury fluttered in his chest, but he focused on Asher’s cheek so soft under the sweep of his thumb. This wasn’t about his anger.

Asher sighed, cringing. “I wasn’t scared or anything. I could have tossed him out myself. I just… I thought he was a friend of yours and then I had to wonder if…”

“If I’d said that?”

Asher closed his eyes and shook his head. “I know you wouldn’t but… I mean. We’ve been going to these team get-togethers with the other partners and families and I get it. I stick out. What if I am just some strange you’re getting out of your system?” As soon as he said it, he winced and shook his head again. “I’m sorry.”

Huxley gently lifted his face to get him to look at him. “Hey. No. We’ve been together for a few months, man. You get to have doubts and I am so fucking sorry I didn’t notice you were worried about this. You are the kindest, funniest, sexiest person I have ever met. You’re not strange or weird. You’re you. You’re perfect, Asher.”

Asher stared back at him, eyes big, hand squeezing his. “Damn…”

“What?”

Asher smiled slowly. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Huxley exhaled a laugh. “Well, I’ll say it whenever you want to hear it. I’ll say it until you’re sick of it.”

Asher shook his head, leaning in until their hips and stomachs were pressed together. “Not possible.” He kissed him.

Huxley kissed him back, fireworks of relief going off behind his eyelids. The kiss was slow and easy, not demanding or pushing for more, just reaffirming and reveling in that connection. When they broke for air, he leaned his forehead to Asher’s. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he whispered again.

Asher sighed but it was light now. “Not your fault. I really should have punched him though…”

“I knocked him out in the locker room before coming over here…” he admitted, expecting to feel bad about it eventually but not yet.

Asher pulled his head back to look at him. “Did you really?”

Huxley nodded.

Asher grinned. “Thanks.”

[zukkaoru]

could you tell me more about why you dislike femskk?

okay disclaimer before i begin: this is not meant to be a dig on every person who enjoys femskk. the biggest reason i don't like it is honestly because it's just not my cup of tea and honestly it really makes no difference to me if other people like it. but beyond that my biggest issues with it are

1. the phenomenon of fans "yuri-ifying" the most popular m/m ship and then using that to prove they like female characters and f/f ships. this is not a bsd-exclusive thing; it happens with stsg too and i don't like femstsg for the same reason. but there's a big difference between actually liking female characters and just genderbending (or even making transfem) the big m/m ship. i literally went to the f/f category in bsd on ao3 the other day looking for fics and about half of them are skk fics instead of fics about like. the actual female characters in bsd. who i was looking for fics of. similarly, there have been some redraw trends going around twitter - specifically the i prefer girls cover redraw - and i have seen. i don't even know how many femskk redraws of that (along with a couple femfyolais and a femrimlaine) but only one redraw with actual female characters from bsd. same with the scene 14 redraw that was going around, and while that one wasn't originally two female characters, i have still seen significantly more femskk (and femsigzai, femsigchuu, femfyolai, etc) than i have ships with even one character who is female in the source material.

and imo this phenomenon is made even worse in the bsd fandom bc so many fans just see bsd as the skk show. so of course they're writing off the actual female characters; they literally don't care about anything besides skk. and obviously i can't do anything to force anyone to care about other characters but like.... bsd has so many other wonderful characters and dynamics (both romantic and platonic) that a good half of the fanbase won't even glance at because they're not skk. i do like skk, but bsd is about so much more than just them. they are, objectively, only one small part of it. like if you only care about skk, then just be outright about it and don't pretend you're "proving" you like female characters and sapphic ships bc you like femskk too

2. of the fans who only like skk and nothing else about bsd, most of them. don't even characterize dazai and chuuya correctly? i think the some of the best skk characterizations i've seen have been from people who actually like other characters and ships too, and some of the worst skk characterization i've seen has come from people who literally don't care about any other ships or characters. this isn't a hard and fast rule obviously but even with 30k skk fics on ao3, i have struggled to find ones that actually feel true to their characters. and the characterization seems to only get worse when it's femskk. if you're just going to turn femdazai and femchuuya into two completely different people, what's the point in it even being skk? why not write k.ousano or h.igugin or even a ship with one canonically female character? if you have to change the core characteristics of both dazai and chuuya... do you even really like them?

3. about femdazai: i actually don't mind the transfem dazai headcanon in general but most fans get her wrong. i made a post about it here but basically so many times i see femdazais that are just. completely unrecognizable as dazai. you can't strip away core aspects of dazai like idk the fact that dazai doesn't show any skin from neck to toe just because you made her a girl. i have seen some femdazai that's good! but i have seen so much that is just fundamentally wrong for dazai's character as a whole. mostly on twitter.

4. about femchuuya: i really truly just don't get femchuuya. i THINK the hype here is probably bc lesbians seem to get attached to chuuya (which. valid. i am also a lesbian chuuya fan.) and so they want to draw a chuuya they can be attracted to (i.e. femchuuya) which like. cool whatever i'm not here to judge. but looking at it from a "would this character actually identify as female" perspective, i don't actually think i can picture that for chuuya. maybe it's just because i so strongly hc them as nonbinary? idk. this one is honestly just a neutral "i don't see that but you do you"

tl;dr: from what i've seen, femskk is often mischaracterized, and genderbending the big m/m ships in a fandom is often a way fans "prove" they like the female characters and f/f ships while not actually caring about anything other than their main m/m ship

[patchworkgargoyle]

🩸 A Steddie Big Bang Fic 🌙

story by: @patchworkgargoyle || art to come by: @mcdadarts || playlist to come by: @steves-strapcollection Rating: E || Words: ~45k || CW: graphic depictions of violence, blood drinking || Full tag list on ao3! || Posting: weekly Fic title from Wolf Like Me - TV On The Radio Holy shit, it's finally here. I'm not panicking, are you panicking!? I should've announced this sooner but hey, it is what it is!

Summary

Steve and Robin are called away from a party by The Party, after finding a beheaded werewolf in the woods. Not only is Steve a werewolf himself, but he's a Hunter too--part of a lineage of monster hunters trying to keep the natural safe from the supernatural, and in the midst of investigating this murder he finds evidence that points him towards Eddie Munson, recent high school drop out and resident drug dealer. But evidence isn't everything.

Chapters 1 & 2 will be posted around noon PT tomorrow, January 6th!! But in the meantime, here's a snippet...

By the shed, though, two figures caught Steve's eye. A girl with a high, bouncy, blonde ponytail and Carver's letterman – Chrissy Cunningham. He often wondered why such a sweet girl was with Jason, she was always friendly with the basketball team and managed Jason's mood swings with ease, not that she should've had to. But beside her, half hidden in shadow, stood her total opposite.

Eddie Munson flicked the ash from his joint and laughed at something Chrissy said while he leaned against the metal shed with her. The distant fire caught, just barely, on the shine of his dark eyes and the curls of his hair. Steve wondered how he wasn't cold. Chrissy clutched her jacket close while Eddie's leather jacket and denim vest fell open to the cold autumn air, revealing some tee for a band Steve didn't know. He hadn't seen Eddie around since midway through his own senior year, Eddie's second attempt. But he hadn't come back to school after winter break.

The rumour mill churned out every kind of story about it – that he'd dropped out or gotten sick, or he'd died, or he stole a car and ran to the coast (whichever one seemed more dramatic). Seeing him here at Penny's party was surprising, either way. Must be back to dealing.

Steve's gaze lingered. He looked pale, but… good, smiling fondly at Chrissy as she kept speaking, something about the newest cheerleader. He had a dimple in his left cheek when he grinned, just above some intense scarring on his jaw Steve didn’t remember from school, but there was something with his teeth– 

Eddie's eyes flicked up, and met Steve's instantly. Something swooped low in his gut, he couldn't name it but it made his heart kick up a couple beats faster. Adrenaline? No. All the warmth in Eddie's face faded as soon as he saw Steve staring, chased away by a hard, emotionless expression. Catching on quickly, Chrissy glanced back at Steve, then to Eddie again, leaning in to whisper. Eddie kept staring back at Steve, who couldn't look away. He felt pinned, his cigarette turning to ash, and Steve thought that maybe he shouldn't look away, like this was some kind of battle of wills. Robin would mock him for trying to be macho, but he couldn't help it. Didn't want to.

[talknerdytome18]

I've been thinking about AGGGTM ships again. This series isn't meant to be ship heavy (as it should be, because I barely survived the shipping madness from HSMTMTS) but I love writing about both the canon + non-canon couples. So I've decided to talk about ships I've seen for AGGGTM in this post because I have uni assigments due and I wanna procrastinate.

Disclaimer: These are just ships I've seen on Instagram or Twitter. My opinion is my opinion and if you don't like it, then just move on. This is only gonna be non-canon pairings so don't expect PipRavi or JamieNat here (because I ship those and this is only about non-canon pairings).

Pippa Fitz-Amobi/Connor Reynolds: eh... I can kind of see it. I see it in the sense of them being childhood crushes that fade in a week. Connor did canonically have a crush on Pip in book 1 that faded after book 1 (it wasn't mentioned again). They wouldn't have anything long-term as they're better off friends.

Jamie Reynolds/Stanley Forbes: This ship has four fics on AO3 and I've actually enjoyed them. I'm personally more of a JamieNat shipper but this one is pretty cute. I see it as Stanley being Jamie's bi awakening (I hc Jamie as being bi). They'd be cute if you know... Stanley didn't die.

Ant Lowe/Connor Reynolds: UH NO FUCKING WAY. Even if we're going based off book 1, they'd still be awful because of how Ant acted in the series. He was so disrespectful towards Connor when he pulled that prank in Kill Joy, knowing that they were running on limited time. He's also so nasty towards Connor in Good Girl, Bad Blood when Jamie went missing. I can't even imagine these two working out in an alternate timeline because I fucking despise Ant Lowe. Fuck Ant Lowe I hope Jamie beat his ass when he found out about how he treated Pip and Connor during his disappearance.

Cara Ward/Lauren Gibson: I really like this ship! I'm still not Lauren's biggest fan (she reminds me of a former friend), but I think the show might change that since Ant's not there. Asha and Yali have lovely chemistry from what we've seen in their posts. I also feel like Lauren having a sapphic arc would be better than that Ant/Lauren nonsense. Seriously, wtf was that???

Zach Chen/Connor Reynolds: YES YES YES YES. If you follow me, then you know how much I love this ship (I created their AO3 tag btw). They would be so cute together! I kinda feel like Connor had a little crush on Zach in the book (he was acting pretty secretive about where he was after the memorial in ggbb. Like dude, nobody cares if you were playing Fortnite with Zach. Is there something else you're not telling us???). I would love for them to make them canon in the show (especially since Zach is there... and why would you add him but cut Ant?), but it's unlikely.

Pippa Fitz-Amobi/Max Hastings: EWWW DISGUSTING. IF YOU FUCKING SHIP THIS GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME YOU WEIRDO 🤮 (Yes, this is a real ship I've seen when looking through the ship tags on ao3 😭).

That's all I can think of. Some of these were fine... except Ant/Connor and Pip/Max. Anyways bye! - Em <333

[ali-anne-undertale-stoof]

Hey, everyone! I've started a new Undertale fic called "Snowdin Adventures with the Skeletwins". It's a series of slice of life stories featuring the skeleton brothers. It will have an overarching plot eventually, but it's mostly gonna be lighthearted one shots that involve the Skelebros getting up to shenanigans and settling into the Underground, namely Snowdin.

I will also post the chapters here on Tumblr, so if you don't want to go on AO3, you can read it here too. Make sure to comment and leave suggestions for scenarios I can write about and some tips on how to improve in the future. I'd love to hear your input.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59131027/chapters/150767887

Chapter 1: A Cold Reception

A long time ago, two races ruled the Earth. Humans and monsters...

"yup, i know how the story goes."

The young, short skeleton, by the name of Sans, closes the history book he's been reading, only to be greeted by the enthusiasm and exuberance of his brother, Papyrus, who's really making fine work of that trail of fresh snow. If he didn't know any better, Sans would've guessed a couple of baby elephants trampled all over it.

"SANS!!!!!" Papyrus exclaimed, trekking back towards Sans for the millionth time. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE, YOU LAZYBONES?! DON'T YOU WANT TO SEE OUR NEW HOME???"

"hey, relax, bro. we still got time, don't we? i was just touching up on my history knowledge."

"RIGHT NOW???" The taller skeleton scoffs. "I TOLD YOU ALREADY, SANS!! YOU CAN READ WHEN WE GO INSIDE OUR NEW HOUSE!! OH, IT WILL BE SO GRAND!! HERE'S WHAT I'M THINKING. FAIRY LIGHTS ALL AROUND THE OUTSIDE, A LUXURIOUS, COLOURFUL CARPET, GLOW-IN-THE-DARK STICKERS ALL OVER THE CEILING..."

"and a bone painting."

Papyrus grabs Sans by the shoulders and proceeds to shake him for emphasis. "YES!!! AND A GOSH DARN BONE PAINTING!!!"

Sans, unfazed by the rough treatment, only gives him a thumbs up. "great ideas, bro. but, uh, how are we gonna find a bone painting worthy of the great papyrus?"

"NYEH HEH HEH!!!" Papyrus stands up straight and poses proudly. "NOT TO WORRY, DEAR BROTHER! WE SHALL FIND ONE SOON ENOUGH! THEN, AND ONLY THEN, CAN WE CALL OUR NEW HOUSE A HOME!! SPEAKING OF HOUSES..."

The duo continues to trek through the ice and snow, not looking back. They had just exited Waterfall, and Snowdin Town can just barely be seen in the distance. However, the fact that the snow appears to be getting higher and higher with every step they take makes this journey a lot more treacherous than they expected it to be. Especially for Sans, since his short height makes it so that the snow goes up to his ribcage, making it harder for him to concentrate through the mass amounts of snow soaking through his clothes. Sans is aware that this particular area is prone to spontaneous snowstorms (though HOW it happens is another question entirely), and judging by the fresh layers of snow that continuously piled up, it seems that there has just been one recently.

Sans takes a moment to stop and breathe. Gosh darn it, Papyrus, do you really have to go so fast? He's just barely able to navigate through this strange magical miracle snow sensation as it is! (Seriously, HOW is there snow in the underground? Sans would have to look into that another time.) It doesn't help that his taller brother has to power walk through it like it's some kind of snowy marathon! Usually, Sans isn't really bothered by his height. It came with advantages, but boy, does it come with disadvantages too! Luckily, the smol has a smol-ution.

"hey, pap."

Unfortunately, Papyrus is too far ahead to hear Sans. Either that, or he's too excited to see their new house. Better try again.

"hey, pap."

Still nothing. Jeez, Sans thought HE had sensory processing issues.

"yo, papysaurus rex!"

Papyrus groans at that nickname. Why, oh WHY does Sans have to call him that? Without missing a beat, he turns around, ready to lecture his mischievous brother.

"WHAT IS IT, SA-" He stops in his tracks, only just now understanding the issue. Oh. Of course. He forgot Sans would have a harder time in this snow. How could The Great Papyrus be so blind?! But on the other hand, it's kind of hard not to laugh at the sight. After years of torment from his shortie of a brother, Papyrus figures it's about time for a little payback.

"NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!! HAHAHA, OH MY GOD!!! SANS, YOU- PFFFFFTTTTNYEH HEH HEH!!! NYEHEHEHEHEH!!! NYEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!!"

Et tu, Papyrus? Sans rolls his eyes, but can't help a small chuckle himself. After all, how can he be mad at his delightful brother? "yeah, okay, laugh it up."

"NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!! I'M SORRY, BROTHER, BUT YOU'RE SO SHORT!!!! YOU'RE PRACTICALLY A SNOWPOFF!!! NYEH HEH HEH HEH!!! NYAHAHAHA!!!"

"could you at least carry me outta here?"

"NYEH HEH HEH!!! HAHA HAAA!!! HAHA OH..." Papyrus takes a moment to catch his breath. "OF COURSE... BABY BONES. WHEW HOO..."

"haha, very funny."

After his laughing fit had died down, Papyrus saunters back to help Sans out of his snowy predicament. Sans readily put his arms up, ready for Papyrus to pick him up and carry him the rest of the way. The taller skeleton obliges. Soon enough, Papyrus was carrying Sans through the freshly made layers of snow, leaving a smooth trail behind them.

"thanks, buddy."

"ANYTIME, SANS."

The brothers fall silent for a moment, enjoying each other's company. Despite everything, Sans and Papyrus are looking forward to this new chapter in their lives, one where they can live together peacefully and bid the old days farewell... Until that peace is inevitably ruined by either one of them.

"guess you could say i was almost SNOWDIN there!"

Welp. Mood ruined. "SANS!!!"

The little punster grins cheekily at the expression on Papyrus' face. "come on, bro. i see a smile~"

Gosh darn it, Sans, why do you have to be so good at reading people, Papyrus thought. He's right, Papyrus IS smiling at that joke. Gosh darn it! "IF YOU MAKE ANOTHER JOKE LIKE THAT, I WILL DUNK YOUR HEAD FIRST IN THE SNOW!"

"aw, c'mon, bro. don't act so COLD towards me."

"I WILL MAKE YOU SLEEP IN THE SHED!!!"

"do we even have a shed?"

"I THINK SO!!"

"wow. COOL. hehehe."

"UGH!!! I SWEAR, SANS, YOU CAN BE SNOW ANNOYING SOMETIMES."

And with that, deep, hearty laughter echoes through the caverns as this duo of boneheads draw closer and closer to the cold place full of warm hearts, Snowdin Town. What will they do? Who will they meet? Neither brother knows for sure. But what they do know is that a brand new HUMERUS adventure had just begun. It's time for a new tale.

[fountainpenguin]

"I wanna hold you, baby, 'cuz I'm gonna miss you like crazy even if I'm halfway around the world~!" (x)

One and a Half Birds

💙 Read on AO3

🧡 Complete! - 15/15 chapters - 113k words

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

A server hub story about Mumbo proposing the soul-eating dynamic to Grian before they roleplay it... and Grian fretting over what might happen when he reveals his soul is purple, not blue like everyone else's in this world.

Newbie pictures, creeper biology, hungry phantom hybrids, Watcher Grian drama, and Minecraft surgery await in this hurt/comfort story of friendship and communication.

ft. platonic Buttercups (Grian, Mumbo, Scar) with flirty Ahasbands (Martyn/Mumbo) working out their post-Last Life relationship on the side. Super pleased with how it came out. Enjoy!

(First 1,000 words below the cut)

One and a Half Birds

Baby Pictures

💙  🧡  💚

The thing about Grian is that he has a tendency to buck his head, throwing it back any time he explodes in laughter. It's better than the feel of his jagged fingernails curling tight against your arm and only slightly easier to duck than his flapping wings. Mumbo leans sideways, clutching his drink near his chest, as Grian does exactly what he always does: which is, of course, all three. "Pfffft! Oh, Scaaar! Wow… I never- I never knew you were such a little nerd back in your newbie days! What is up with your hair? Is that white dye?"

Careful, Grian… I really, really don't want to spill this all over your lovely couch. Grian's actually got a nice flat for someone who rarely lingers here while in Between. Mumbo cups one hand around his wooden cup, catching a droplet before it can splatter on a throw pillow.

"Hey, hey," Scar protests, leaning forward. Grian and Mumbo are on the couch, but Scar is standing with one hand inside his jacket pocket. Grian's still got a finger jabbing at the screenshot in the scrapbook. It probably looks upside-down to Scar. That fits.

The sheepish boy in the picture (who's dangling upside-down himself from an oak branch) is grinning at his own reflection in the pond below. He's a whole lot younger than the Scar standing in front of them now. If you squint, you can see the places he hadn't quite grown into his own skin. The blue wings flapping at his shoulders are smaller, but much brighter in color. Definitely an allay hybrid in a way the vex standing before them isn't.

"You look like Victor Frankenstein."

"That was 700 years ago! Don't be picking on a man's looks. Little Scar can't even defend himself!"

"Little Scar can't do nuttin' to me. I'll talk about his silly hair all I like."

Scar surges forward, scooping Grian behind the back and under the legs. Grian's wings snap out. He hardly has time to yelp before Scar flips him backwards off the couch. Mumbo's brows shoot into his hair. Grian scrabbles with his fingertips, howling and gasping, and Scar springs knee-first on the cushions to grab his wrists. Their pixels slam together, spurting sparks, and Grian (knees already on the ground) tilts back his head. Scar draws in close, breathing slow, until his mouth is practically brushing Grian's ear.

"Long… live… the king."

With that, he shoves Grian to the floor with a thud. Grian doesn't get up, but lies there like a fish, crumpled in his own jumper. Mumbo chuckles.

"Never a dull moment with you two, huh? … You wanna see my newbie pictures?"

That does get Grian off the floor. Scar drops down on the cushion beside him and Grian pops up from behind the couch, arms folded on the back of it. Mumbo flips through the pages in his own book, looking for one in particular he's not even sure he still has. He's only a couple in when Grian slams down his hand, crowing laughter.

"You're younger than me, Mumbo! Why do you look like an old man?"

It's true. He sort of does, doesn't he? Wrinkled forehead, dark and squinty eyes… He's even wearing a bowtie in most of these, though back then he hadn't picked out the three-piece suit he often wears in public now. Mostly white button-ups. Occasionally his full wandering trader robes. Mumbo got his start much younger than Scar did, though he's not sure he can say the same for Grian.

He squints, running his thumb down the corner of one screenshot in particular. Unlike Scar's pictures from his first singleplayer, most of his were taken in the Between dimension. Huh. His home village of Little Sun has changed quite a lot, actually, from what it used to be… but the spawn temple with its little teal and turquoise banners is still the same.

And yet… I still have Double-U and Buzz. His llamas have stayed beside him all his off-server life. Their white wool still flourishes, accented with familiar pale brown spots like chunks of cookie dough in vanilla ice cream. The spots shift around between their respawns, but the long lashes and affectionate headbutts are always the same. Speaking of the girls, he should send False a whisper to confirm she actually did check on them tonight. He doesn't doubt her… His comm just hasn't pinged with an incoming message yet.

"You look like Etho," Scar observes, indicating the red scarf wrapped around his mouth in one screenshot on the next page.

"Sorry- I just can't get over how old and tired you look, Mumbo… I doubt you'd even made it to the Far Lands back then, but this fella already looks like he's seen too much."

"Oh, go on, then!" Mumbo claps the book shut. "Let's see your newbie screenshots."

All the energy whirls out of Grian chest in that moment. "My what?"

"Yeah! Let's do that!" Scar throws an arm around him, double punching Grian in the shoulder so hard, he flashes red. "C'mon, G! Get the book! You know, I half believe you spawned into existence without ever being a newbie account. I've literally never heard you talk about your spawn temple."

"Um-"

Mumbo concurs with a lift of his drink, like making a toast. "Look, you can't talk smack and then leave us hanging, bud. That just ain't bro!" (Is he saying that right? The whole 'dragon bro' bit was always a mite difficult to wrap his head around).

"… Right. Uh, let me just…" Grian pushes away from the couch, sliding his hands into his pockets. Mumbo watches his tongue press against the inside of his cheek. "Right, okay… Let me just ask Two where he last put it…"

Mumbo and Scar let him go, both craning their heads to follow Grian along the corridor with their eyes anyway. Two, BadTime, and Drone are all in Two's room frosting cookies and making party plans. Mumbo watches Grian twist the doorknob, then returns his attention to the book of screenshots in his lap. You know, there are some really nice ones in here. His only regret may be not taking more while he had the chance.

I like to think I grew up nice, actually… And then, Why aren't WE having a party in pajamas? Don't get him wrong, because he loves his suspenders and Scar likes his jacket (and Grian is, well, Grian), but…

"Scar? We're missing out, bud."

"S'cuse me?"

"No pajamas."

"Oh… Next time!"

[Full story on AO3 - Link at top]

[mephiles97]

Murder Drones AU/Fanfic: "Through The Looking Glass"

AO3 summary: What happens... When you look through a mirror and find out the world is reversed? Is it like looking at the same world but completely different at the same time? Is it like you're looking into a window to a different world? What happens if the world as you knew it was completely flipped upside down? What happens if you look in that mirror and the same person staring back at you... Isn't you anymore? But is someone completely different living life in your shoes on the other side of that mirror?

Beau Doorman is what he'd call an average worker drone... Except maybe not so average by the time you factor in the weird dreams and the crazy over the top inventions. Okaaaaay maybe not as average or as normal as he thinks he is. Any semblance he had to normal flew right out the window with the reappearance of the colony's local drifter, a fateful scavenging trip, and three new friends haunted by their ghosts of the past. With the reemergence of a terrifying program from the past, everyone finds themselves being thrown into a story about found family, loss, grief, and recovering from that grief.

Information about this AU and a link to its fic's first chapter below the cut!

"Through The Looking Glass" (abbreviated to LG from here on) is my personal take on a swap AU! In this AU, MD canon as you know it has been taken and flipped upside down or perhaps more aptly, run through a cracked mirror. This is a character swap AU but the characters and roles have been shuffled around in deliberately wacky and wild combos and not every character/role has a clean 1:1 swap or direct mirror to their canon role

Since LG is a swap AU, this is set to retell all eight (yes, I am aware only seven are out at the time of writing) episodes of Murder Drones but with the swapped characters. Do note this is not just a 1:1 retelling of canon and some scenes are entirely new or have been twisted upside down and all around compared to how they went down in the actual episodes to the point they're almost unrecognizable unless you notice the roots of the scene

As you can see from the AO3 summary I copypasted... This AU stars Beau Doorman as our main character, taking the place of Uzi's role. He was born and raised in Outpost-3 by his parents Alice and Khan Doorman. Unlike canon Nori... Alice did not meet the business end of nanite acid in this AU and has lived to the present day/the fic's start. She is well known around the colony for being a bit of a menace with her hobby of making all kinds of scrap inventions and weaponry

Beau is joined by his childhood best friends Vivian (V) and Thad who happen to be the two most popular kids and the power couple of the school. He has also managed to befriend the mysterious borderline feral drifter named Uzi that's been randomly turning up at his colony for months now before disappearing without a trace again. Nobody knows why that mysterious purple haired girl seems to crawl around on all fours or make warbles and chirping sounds... Or why her systems are seemingly constantly running at feverishly high temperatures

There's also those three disassembly drones that haunt the vertical corpse graveyard outside Outpost-3. Let's take a look at them now, shall we?

Serial Designation B (Braiden) is the appointed leader of the disassembly drone squad and the pilot of their crashed landing pod but he's... sort of known for not feeling much like a leader. He struggles with a lot of fears over failing the squad and letting the people around him down. In fact, he worries so much about letting people down he felt bad when he tried to scare off a certain worker drone he had befriended for their safety...

Serial Designation C (Cyn) is the fastest but physically weakest of the squad due to her body and core being prone to malfunctions. She has good days where she can move about normally but on her worst days she is prone to motor malfunctions as well as voice box malfunctions leading to her voice skipping words or getting stuck. She seems to harbor a lot of guilt over some ghost of the past...

Serial Designation D (Doll) is the strongest of the squad and in a way the secondary leader because B asks for her input or suggestions often when it comes to planning or hunting tactics. She carries the weight of the squad on her back most days and tries to keep B and C from falling apart on her, but she seems to know a lot more about things than she lets on...

None of the three seem willing to mention or talk about the missing fourth drone of their group... None of the three seem willing to discuss the mysterious three-pronged symbol that's popping up on the visor of their new worker friend either. Gee, I wonder why they look so scared...?

Visit the link below to read the first chapter of the AU! Do note this AU is still ongoing so it's not finished yet but I am working on it and post chapters as they're done. Also! My ask box is open if you want to throw a question or two my way about the AU (or my other AUs!)

(And one more quick note: LG here was the first fic I started writing if we don't count two quick shorts I did so the earlier chapters read a bit roughly. If you can bear it, I swear the formatting and wording gets better in the later/newer chapters now that I've had some practice. I will one day go back and edit the earlier chapters of LG to make it easier to swallow but I haven't done that yet at the time of writing this so you have been warned)