#ok…that’s all. enjoy…if you do at least

[stateofspoon]

i was talking to my very smart friend a while back (who loves watching a lot of bad/B movies) and he mentioned that he'd just seen the. worst. movie. he'd ever seen (and he's seen... probably thousands), so i asked what it was!

he said the name of my favorite movie.

(ok well, it's in my top 4 on Letterboxd). i got mental whiplash and went whatttt?? it is literally amazing and i am going to begin describing how.

and then he said someone literally wrote an entire book on why it's so terrible

so now i'm working on a script for a video essay to expound in great detail upon my quite frankly airtight reasoning for enjoying it so much (who knows if it will see the light of day tho...).

still working up the courage to read the book but my guess is they went into watching it from an entirely different way that i do when i experience any form of art. i'm not trying to convince anyone it's like... great art, as in, exemplifies excellence in filmmaking sophistication... but that's... not what the movie is trying to be, so like... why would i judge it according to that?

[sidenote: i'm really glad getting a fancypants art degree didn't ruin my ability to enjoy "low" or "bad" art. i'm convinced it's a skill that everyone would benefit from.] enjoy what you like, even if you know it's "bad." BUT pls don't be afraid to dig into (a) what makes it "bad" art, or (b) the nuances of why you like it, why the form and content checked all the right boxes in your brain to make it light up with enjoyment. if you can figure out how to share that with others, those are literally practical instructions for them to learn how to enjoy aspects of your favorite song even if it's terrible, or at least to appreciate more fully what it means to you 💛

dammit idk how to turn this into a shitpost i didn't intend to share genuine thoughts here hmmmmm... welp ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Showing your favorite song to someone is so embarrassing lol what if I get a bad grade at my own taste and interests....

[mingi-s-dimples]

Strictly Confidential - San

~"Hiii❤️Can you pls write one where you are the mafia San’s lawyer, but since you are kind hearted and innocent ( not naive) he got his eyes on you??Corruption kink, (iffff it’s ok with you reader can be a virgin), dirty talk (including how much he was longing for you and waiting to take you), mild bondage, possessiveness, (reader has a crush on San too but wouldn’t think San would even look at them), pampering reader while ripping them into half <3 thank youuu❤️" ~ sweetie you also added sth about pregnancy but unfortunately I don't write those😞 but I loved the idea so I just didn't add the pregnancy talk ^^ hope you like ittt 🤍

pairing: ceo!san x lawyer fem!reader

genre: filth, 18+

summary: your outfit is *just* a little bit too revealing for San to not react.. and later that evening, he drops on his knees for you, then he ruins you.

wc: 5.5k

warnings: ceo!san, possessive san, slightly controlling san, corruption kink *just slightly*, reader is a virgin, restraining/light bondage (her hands tied up with san's belt), office sex, he doesn't even bother to take her skirt off, san's desperate, he eats her out, multiple orgasms, cursing, dirty talk/degradation (slut), praising (good girl), ass spanking, face pushing (into the desk), pounding *literally*, vaginal sex, teasing, unprotected (booo use protection irl!), completely consensual!, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: why do I feel like this one is written better than my last San request..? either way y'all will see I DAMN enjoyed writing this one 😂 the detailssss sjsjshsuushs controlling san sjshshshs possessive san ajsjshhs and so on I'm biting my knuckles as we speak. I hope you all enjoy it ^^ ly guys 🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

You should’ve known the outfit would push him too far.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, not at first. The silk blouse, a shade too light, clung in ways that weren’t entirely professional, the top button left undone just enough to hint at something softer underneath. The skirt hugged your waist, cutting off at mid-thigh when you sat, revealing just a sliver more skin than usual. It wasn’t indecent. It wasn’t against the rules. But it was enough.

Enough to make Choi San snap.

You’ve been his lawyer for months now—long enough to know that he watches you more than he should. Long enough to catch the way his gaze lingers when you speak, dark eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up as if he didn’t mean to. Long enough to hear the shift in his voice when he says your name, the slow drag of it on his tongue.

You’ve known, and you’ve played along—just a little. Just enough to keep things interesting.

But today, something is different and you feel it the second you step into his office.

San is already standing, a rare thing given that he usually prefers to remain seated behind his desk, lazy and composed, as if the world itself is something he can toy with at his leisure. But now, he’s braced against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, eyes pinned on you the moment the door clicks shut behind you.

His silence is thick, crackling with something dark and unreadable.

Slowly, you set your leather portfolio onto the desk, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Something wrong, Mr. Choi?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but it isn’t a smile. It’s something sharper. “Come here.”

A demand, not a request.

You raise a brow. “I thought we had business to discuss.”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

It’s a warning. A test.

And you should say no. You should keep things professional. You should sit in the chair across from his desk like you always do, open your portfolio, and get straight to business. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a step forward. Then another.

San stays perfectly still, watching, waiting, as if savoring the moment. When you finally stop in front of him, barely an arm’s length away, you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of leather and spice wrapping around you like a slow-burning fire.

He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s about to dismantle. Then, his eyes drop—slow, deliberate.

Your blouse. Your throat. The delicate slope of your collarbone. The soft curve of your chest where the undone button reveals just a little too much.

His jaw tightens.

And just like that, you realize—he’s been holding himself back.

For months, he’s played this game with you, circling, waiting, indulging in stolen glances and veiled innuendos. But today, you’ve tipped the scales. Today, you’ve worn something that makes him forget to be careful.

San exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused, almost like he’s irritated with himself. Then, without warning, he reaches out.

Fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up.

“You did this on purpose.” His voice is low, rougher than before.

You don’t flinch. Don’t waver. Instead, you smile—slow, knowing. “Did what?”

San laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Cute.”

His thumb brushes over your jaw, barely a whisper of a touch, but the intent behind it is unmistakable. He’s testing. Measuring.

And you let him.

Because for all his power, for all his control—he’s the one unraveling.

His gaze dips to your lips, lingers there. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower, dangerously smooth.

“You walk in here looking like this and expect me to behave?”

“I expect you to be professional,” you say, and you make sure to let the words drip with teasing, with something that is not quite innocence but plays at the edges of it.

San hums. “Is that what you want?”

His fingers trail down, brushing the column of your throat.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, just enough for his thumb to press against the hollow of your throat. Just enough to let him feel the pulse beneath your skin.

San stills.

Then—he moves.

One hand splays against your hip, gripping, tugging you closer until you’re barely a breath apart. His other hand trails up, slipping beneath the loose collar of your blouse, fingertips skimming over bare skin. It’s barely a touch, barely anything at all—yet it sets every nerve alight.

“You’re not as innocent as you look.” His voice is dark, laced with something dangerously indulgent.

You smile, lashes lowering just slightly. “I never said I was.”

San’s grip tightens.

And for the first time since you stepped into his office, you think you might have miscalculated.

Because you’ve been teasing him for months. Playing at the edges of this, knowing he wanted you but never letting him have enough to tip the scales.

But now?

Now, you can feel it—the shift, the moment he decides.

He isn’t going to let you play anymore.

You should resist.

You should step back, put distance between you and the man currently pressing you into the edge of his desk like he has every intention of keeping you there.

But you don’t.

Not really.

Instead, you let your hands press against his chest, the silk of his dress shirt warm beneath your fingertips. It’s a flimsy excuse for protest, a barrier that does nothing because you both know—if you really wanted to stop him, you would.

San catches the movement, and for a moment, he stills.

Dark eyes flicker to yours, sharp and assessing, scanning your face for something—hesitation, uncertainty, anything that might make him reconsider.

You arch a brow, lips curling just slightly. “A little desperate, aren’t we?”

San exhales sharply through his nose, and then—he laughs.

Low, rough, almost wrecked.

And then he moves.

Faster than you expect, pinning you between the hard edge of his desk and the even harder press of his body. His hand slides up, fingers catching your wrist, pressing your palm flat against his chest. The other settles low on your waist, fingertips digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters.

Because you’ve had a crush on him for months.

Ever since you first met him, ever since you realized the sharp-edged CEO persona wasn’t just for show. He was powerful, ruthless, magnetic in a way that made people obey without question. And yet, he’d always been just a little different with you. Always watching, always waiting.

But you never let yourself believe he actually wanted you.

Not like this.

Not enough to snap.

San must see something in your expression, because his grip tightens. “You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice is smooth, but there’s something else beneath it—something rough, something frayed. “You think I haven’t seen the way you play with me?”

His lips brush against your cheek, not quite kissing, not quite touching, just a slow, maddening drag of heat.

“You walk into my office every week, looking like you don’t belong in a place like this, looking like you shouldn’t be anywhere near men like me.”

His mouth ghosts over your jaw, just shy of where you want him.

“And yet…” His hand slides lower, fingers teasing over the fabric of your skirt. “You always let me get too close.”

A slow, teasing exhale against your skin.

“You’ve been testing me, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an immediate response.

So instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, forcing him to drag his lips against your skin in the process. “Maybe,” you whisper.

San curses under his breath.

And the next second he’s kissing you.

Hard. Desperate.

It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s months of restraint snapping like a live wire. His hand slides up, tangling in your hair, angling your head back to deepen the kiss, to take more. His tongue parts your lips, claiming your mouth with a hunger that makes your knees weak.

He kisses like he owns you. Like he’s been waiting for this, for you, for far too long.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling, clawing, needing more.

San groans against your lips, and then he’s pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips are red from kissing you, and he looks completely, utterly wrecked.

“I’ve waited for this.” His voice is rough, frayed with something unspoken. “You think I didn’t notice you? That I didn’t feel it every single time you walked through that door, acting so fucking innocent, knowing damn well what you were doing to me?”

His fingers tighten on your waist, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I wanted to ruin you the moment I met you.”

Your breath shudders.

San notices. Smirks.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” His voice dips lower, teasing. “You want me to take what you’ve been tempting me with?”

You shouldn’t say yes.

You should make him work for it.

But the way he looks at you—the way his body presses against yours, the way his fingers trace slow, maddening circles over your hip—has you completely undone.

So instead, you breathe, “Yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

San makes a sound—something dark, something pleased—before his lips crash back against yours, hungry and unrelenting. His hands are everywhere, gripping, pressing, mapping out every inch of you like he wants to memorize it.

He kisses down your throat, sucks a mark into your skin, groaning when you arch into him. “Mine,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “You don’t get to tease me anymore. Not after this.”

You shudder, nails digging into his shoulders.

And then, finally, you surrender completely.

San doesn’t hesitate.

One moment, you’re standing against his desk, breathless from the force of his kiss, and the next—his hands are gripping your waist, lifting you with ease. A gasp slips past your lips as he sets you down onto the cool wooden surface, the shift in height making you acutely aware of how much he towers over you.

The movement sends half the contents of his desk crashing to the floor. A pen rolls somewhere unseen. Papers scatter in a careless mess. He doesn’t care.

Neither do you.

Not when his hands slide up your thighs, spreading them just enough to make space for himself between them. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours, all heat and teeth, breathy and desperate, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

It’s overwhelming.

The way he kisses you—possessive, unrelenting, like he’s been starved for this, for you. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in as if he’s anchoring himself to you, as if letting go isn’t an option.

And you—

You kiss him back just as fiercely.

Your hands find purchase in his suit jacket, tugging him closer, needing more, gasping softly when he presses flush against you. His warmth, his scent—everything about him consumes you.

Then—

You break away.

Not because you want to, but because there’s something you need to say.

Your chest rises and falls, lips kiss-bruised, head spinning. San doesn’t move away, his forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your lips.

“What?” His voice is wrecked, strained with restraint he’s barely holding onto.

Your fingers tighten against his jacket.

“I—I’m a virgin.”

San stills.

Completely.

You watch as his expression shifts—dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something dangerous. His grip on your waist tightens for a second before he stills again, as if forcing himself to process what you just said.

Then—

He exhales sharply, running his tongue along his bottom lip, and the slow, wicked curl of his mouth makes your stomach flip.

“Fuck.”

The word is low, rough, dragged out like he’s savoring it.

His hands move again, sliding over your thighs with newfound purpose, fingertips teasing against your exposed skin. He leans in, lips grazing over your jaw, down the column of your throat, tracing the shape of you with agonizing precision.

“You’re serious?” he murmurs against your skin.

You swallow hard, nodding.

San lets out another rough exhale, then pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his expression dark with something unreadable, something deeply, deeply pleased.

“You have no idea,” he says slowly, deliberately, “what that does to me.”

Your breath hitches.

His lips find yours once more, but this time, the kiss is different. Slower, more calculated, yet no less intense. He kisses you like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you respond to every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

His fingers trail up, reaching the buttons of your blouse, and he undoes them one by one, exposing more of you with every slow, deliberate flick of his hands. He doesn’t rush.

No—San takes his time.

And you let him.

Your breath stutters when he pushes the fabric aside, revealing bare skin, delicate lace. The cool air makes you shiver—or maybe it’s just him, the way his gaze darkens as he drinks in the sight of you.

He curses under his breath.

His fingers twitch like he wants to touch, to claim, to devour.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with something reverent, something wrecked.

And then—

He starts undoing his own buttons.

The sight alone has you utterly mesmerized.

You watch, transfixed, as he shrugs off his jacket, as he unbuttons his dress shirt, revealing inch after inch of smooth, sculpted skin. He moves slowly, almost teasingly, as if drawing out the moment just to watch your reaction.

And you—

You can’t help but stare.

San is unfairly gorgeous.

Broad shoulders, toned muscles, a physique that looks like it was carved by gods themselves. The way the soft glow of the office light catches against the lines of his body, the dips and curves of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbones—it's intoxicating.

And then, your gaze drops lower.

And you freeze.

Oh.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling the full weight of his cock straining against his pants and pressing on your body.

San catches your reaction, and the smirk that pulls at his lips is nothing short of devastating.

“Mesmerized?” His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement and something else—something darker.

You don’t answer.

Can’t.

Not when the heat of his body is so close, not when his fingers are still trailing over your skin, slow and deliberate.

And then, he leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers—

“You should be.”

San watches you like he’s already won.

Like you’ve been his from the moment you walked into his office, oblivious to the fire you were playing with.

His fingers trace along your exposed collarbone, slow and teasing, barely touching, but enough to make your skin prickle with heat. His eyes drag over you, dark and ravenous, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way your thighs are still parted for him, your skirt hiked up from how recklessly he had pulled you onto his desk.

Then—he smirks.

That slow, knowing smirk that makes something in your stomach coil tight.

“You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” His voice is deep, smooth as silk, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

You swallow, fingers curling against the desk, but you don’t answer.

He tilts his head, almost amused. “Showing up dressed like that—” His hands slide down, fingers skimming the fabric of your skirt, teasing at the hem. “Looking so damn innocent but wearing something like this? You were begging for it.”

Your breath catches, a slow heat creeping up your spine.

San leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Such a little whore, dressing like this just to test me.”

A sharp inhale leaves you.

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down to your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” His tongue flicks against your pulse point, his teeth scraping just enough to make your breath hitch. “Or were you hoping I’d lose control?”

His fingers tighten on your waist.

“Because you got exactly what you wanted.”

Your head spins.

He’s too much—his voice, his hands, the way he’s looking at you like he’s about to ruin you in ways you never even imagined.

San pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, and something dark flickers behind his eyes.

Then—

He gets an idea.

His smirk deepens as he looks over your shoulder at the discarded mess on the floor. Then, before you can question it, he steps back slightly, reaching down.

A soft rustle of fabric, the quiet slide of leather—

And then you see it.

The belt he had discarded with his pants that pooled at his ankles.

Your stomach flips.

San runs his tongue over his bottom lip, holding the belt loosely in one hand, testing the weight of it. Then, he meets your gaze again, and for the first time since this started—you shiver.

Possessive.

That’s the only word for the way he looks at you now.

Like you belong to him.

Like he’s about to make sure you never forget it.

“You’ve had too much freedom tonight,” he murmurs, stepping back into your space, the belt dangling from his fingers. “And I think it’s about time we fix that.”

Your pulse spikes.

San reaches for you, his hands trailing down your arms before he gently—so gently—grabs your wrists.

“Give them to me.”

It’s not a request.

It’s a command.

Your lips part slightly, but when you don’t immediately respond, San hums, tilting his head. “Oh?” He smirks. “Are you hesitating now?”

He presses closer, making you lean back slightly, making you feel the solid weight of his body.

“That’s cute.”

You swallow hard, the heat between you becoming unbearable.

San’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrists. “I’ll tell you right now, sweetheart—” His voice dips, eyes locked onto yours. “If I tie you up, I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

A slow, deliberate pause.

Then, he leans in and whispers against your lips—

“You sure you can handle that?”

Your breath is shallow, chest rising and falling as San watches you, waiting. His fingers tighten around your wrists, the belt still dangling from his hand, ready to bind you, ready to claim every inch of control you’ve willingly given up.

And you—

You should hesitate.

You should resist, tease him a little longer.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze with a slow, deliberate smirk. “Do it, then.”

A flicker of something dark—dangerous—passes through his eyes. Then, his smirk returns, sharp and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The leather is cool against your skin as he pulls your wrists behind your back, looping the belt around them with practiced ease. It’s not too tight—just enough to hold you there, to remind you who’s in control.

He tugs once, testing the restraint, then hums in approval. “Perfect.”

Before you can process the way your body reacts to that single word, San moves.

His hands slide to your thighs, gripping firmly as he pulls you forward.

Hard.

A gasp leaves your lips as your body jerks, dragged right to the edge of the desk. Your legs part instinctively to accommodate the shift, your breath catching as you feel the undeniable heat of him between them.

San watches your reaction with a lazy smirk. “That’s better.”

Then—

He drops to his knees.

San doesn’t even look away from you as he does it, his movements deliberate, dripping with control. The sight alone—his broad shoulders between your legs, his dark, hungry gaze looking up at you like he’s about to devour you whole—leaves you breathless.

And then—his hands move again.

He doesn’t bother with your skirt.

No.

He slides his fingers along the inside of your thighs, parting them further, his grip firm—possessive. Then, with agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls.

A soft, humiliatingly wet sound follows as he drags the fabric down, exposing just how ruined you already are.

San freezes.

And then—

He chuckles.

A low, deep sound that sends heat shooting straight through your spine.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing his thumb against the now-soaked fabric before tossing it somewhere behind him. “Look at you.”

Your face burns, but the way he’s looking at you—with pure, unfiltered hunger—makes shame the last thing on your mind.

Then—he leans in.

And without another word—

He dives in.

San doesn’t hold back.

The moment his mouth touches your folds, a wrecked gasp escapes your lips, your bound hands straining against the belt as your body jerks from the sheer heat of it.

He groans against you, the vibration making you shudder. His grip on your thighs tightens—bruising, possessive—as he presses you further against his mouth, like he’s determined to ruin you.

And he does.

His tongue moves with devastating precision—slow, languid strokes, teasing flicks, then firm pressure against your clit that makes your head spin. He eats you like a man starved, like he’s waited his entire life to have you like this, legs trembling around his shoulders, breathless and undone.

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips glisten with your arousal, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, wrecked with hunger. “So fucking sweet.”

Your face burns, but before you can process it, he’s back on you, his tongue pressing in deeper, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.

A broken whimper leaves you.

San chuckles—dark, teasing. He pulls back again, dragging his lips over the inside of your thigh, pressing slow, wet kisses against your skin. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement and something deeper. “Fucking soaking. And all for me?”

You whine, shifting against his hold, but he doesn’t let up.

His teeth graze your thigh, just enough to make you gasp. “You pretend to be so innocent,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, “but look at how filthy you are. Spreading your legs so easily, letting me taste you like this.”

Your breath stutters, shame and arousal tangling into something unbearable.

San hums, satisfied. “I bet you’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” He flicks his tongue against your clit again, making you jolt. “Bet you’ve thought about me bending you over this desk. Tearing you apart.”

His words wreck you.

A high, needy moan spills from your lips, your bound hands clenching behind you.

San groans against you. “That’s it,” he breathes, his tongue moving faster now, pushing you closer, higher. His fingers dig into your thighs as he holds you down, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he’s drowning you in.

Your body tightens, the pressure coiling in your stomach unbearably, winding, winding—

Until it snaps.

A sobbed moan rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of blinding pleasure. Your thighs tremble around his shoulders, your back arching as you cry out, utterly wrecked.

San doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re whimpering, twitching, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation.

Only then does he slow, his tongue giving you one last, languid stroke before pulling back.

He looks ruined.

His lips are swollen, his hair slightly disheveled, his breath ragged as he stares at you, utterly transfixed. Then, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your thigh before standing.

Your dazed gaze drops—

And your breath catches.

His briefs are painfully tight around his cock, the sheer size of him making your stomach flip.

San curses under his breath, yanking them down in one swift motion.

And then—he’s on you.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you further as he aligns himself, the heat of him pressing against your still-sensitive core.

Your breath stutters. “San—”

He doesn’t wait.

With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside—

And you break.

A cry rips from your lips, your body arching at the sheer stretch, the way he fills you so completely, so overwhelmingly. Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of it, from the way he buries himself to the hilt, not moving, just feeling you.

San groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his hands tightening on your waist. “Fuck, baby.” His voice is wrecked, trembling with restraint. “You feel so—” He exhales sharply, dropping a kiss against your lips, almost tender.

He soothes you.

One hand trails up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “Breathe,” he murmurs, voice soft, but his body trembles against yours, barely holding himself back.

And then—he moves.

Destroying you.

Every thrust is deep, dragging against your sensitive walls with devastating precision, pushing you to the brink of insanity. Your bound hands twist behind you, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto, but there’s nothing.

Nothing but him.

And he knows it.

His grip tightens on your waist as he pulls back, making you feel every inch of him, before sinking in again—so deep, so full that you can’t stop the moan that spills from your lips.

San groans, the sound low and wrecked. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, kissing—nipping. “You hear yourself? You're a fucking whiny mess just for me.”

Your face burns, but the humiliation only makes the pleasure worse—makes your body clench around him, desperate for more.

San feels it. And he looses it.

A sharp growl rumbles from his chest as his pace stays agonizingly slow, but his words turn filthy, raw. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, rolling his hips deep, making you cry out. “Like you were made for me.”

You are.

The thought is dangerous, but it lingers.

San notices.

His fingers trail up your stomach, his touch warm, teasing, possessive. His other hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, ravenous.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips. “Wearing that little outfit—acting all innocent when you’re dripping for me.”

His hips snap forward, a little harder, and you gasp.

San smirks. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

The teasing should make you flinch, should make you want to shy away—but you don’t.

Because you love it.

Because you love him like this—feral, corrupted, completely obsessed with you.

Your moans break into whimpers as his thrusts turn deeper, sharper, but still so slow, so cruelly controlled that your body starts trembling. “San—”

He shushes you.

His lips brush over your temple, soft in contrast to the way he’s utterly wrecking you. “I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know.”

And yet—

It’s not enough.

For him.

For you.

San curses under his breath, frustration clear in the way his fingers tighten on your waist. “I can’t—” His breath is ragged. “I can’t fucking hold back.”

Before you can process—

San moves.

His grip locks around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the desk, but before you can fully catch your breath, he flips you over.

Your palms slam against the your back, the belt still binding them, your cheek pressing into the cool surface as San forces you down, arching you for him.

A sharp sound echoes in the room.

You gasp.

San’s palm stays on your ass where he just spanked you, rubbing over the heated skin, his breath heavy behind you. “Mhm,” he hums, dark, pleased.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s more like it.”

Your body is trembling—wrecked, pinned under San’s weight as he presses you against the desk, his grip firm on your waist. His breath is heavy, hot against your skin, his patience fraying with every second.

And then—

You say it.

A teasing little whisper, breathless, barely a murmur—

“San.. you can go- harder.”

A guttural growl rips from his throat, and then—he ruins you.

His grip tightens bruisingly on your hips as he slams into you, deep and relentless, each thrust sharp, overwhelming, making you choke on your own moans.

He pounds into you, his cock pushing impossibly deep, so deep that— He hits your cervix.

A sharp cry tears from your throat, your bound hands clenching behind you as the intense stimulation sends a wave of pleasurable pain crashing over you.

San hears it. Feels it. Loses it.

“Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked, his pace punishing. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He thrusts harder, making you wail. “Wanted me to break you?”

The way he’s holding you—gripping your waist tight, pressing you down deep into the desk, his chest flush against your back as he fucks into you like he’s starving—

It’s too much.

He feels the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body clings to him, drawing him in, taking everything he gives.

His breath is ragged, his groans turning into curses.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, his thrusts becoming desperate. “So fucking tight, so fucking wet—”

He grips your wrists, still bound behind your back, and pulls, arching you further, making your back bow into him, making you yake him deeper.

A wrecked sob escapes you.

San curses. “That’s it,” he groans, his voice breaking. “Fucking take it.”

He pounds into you, hips snapping, rhythm frenzied, his cock hitting that spot over and over until you’re a mess beneath him—whimpering, crying, begging.

And you could swear he fucking loves it.

“Listen to you,” he pants, his lips brushing over your ear, his breath ragged. “Crying for me—so desperate.”

You are. But he’s no better.

His grip tightens, his thrusts turning frantic, his moans growing shaky, and you can inly feel how damn close he is. And he knows it.

His pace falters for half a second—just long enough for him to lean over you, his lips grazing your ear as he breathes, voice dark, rough, possession dripping from every word—.

“I’ll fill you up just like you’ve probably been fantasizing over for a while, you little slut.”

And then—

He breaks.

A deep, wrecked moan tears from his chest as he thrusts deep, his body shuddering violently as he spills into you, warmth flooding your insides as his grip on your wrists turns almost bruising.

But he doesn’t stop.

Even as he comes, he keeps moving, keeps pounding into you, pushing you over the edge right after him.

Your body shatters.

A high, sobbed moan rips from your throat as pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening, pulsing around him, drawing out his own orgasm, making him groan, curse, whisper filth and praise against your skin.

You gasp his name—

And San loses himself all over again.

His hips slow, his body shuddering as he rides both of you through your highs, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your spine, soothing you while still wrecking you.

You could barely move.

Your arms are still bound, your body limp against the desk, your breath coming in ragged, exhausted gasps.

San finally stills.

His chest rises and falls against your back, his grip on your wrists loosening, his breath hot against your skin.

And then—

A satisfied, dark chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“That’s my girl.”

San exhales, his grip softening as he slowly lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His hands are gentle now, his touch the exact opposite of how he just wrecked you. With careful precision, he sets you down on the desk, his fingers immediately moving to untie your wrists.

The moment they’re free, he brings them to his lips, kissing the delicate skin as if to soothe away any marks left behind. His gaze meets yours, still dark, still possessive, but now filled with something softer.

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Can’t have you walking out of here looking like this, baby.”

Before you can respond, he grabs your blouse from where it was discarded, slipping it over your shoulders, his touch slow, careful, reverent. His fingers linger as he buttons it up, his eyes roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

Then, he leans in, kissing you.

Deep, slow, lingering. Like he’s still not ready to let go.

When he pulls back, his thumb brushes your lips, his voice a low murmur. “Come on,” he says. “We’re taking a shower.”

Your brows raise slightly. “Here?”

San chuckles, shaking his head. “Not in the office, baby.” He eyes you, his woman, his masterpiece, before smirking. “And I’m sure as hell not letting anyone see you like this on our way there.”

You laugh, amused by his protectiveness, and his smirk widens.

“Laugh all you want,” he muses, scooping you up again. “But you’re mine. And I don’t share.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[arcanefox207]

These are some PPCU fics I have read and enjoyed this past month and would like to recommend. Some new. Some Old. All have smut. I apologize the list is so short this month… it’s been a rough one and I’m trying to get out from under this dark cloud. I am going to be doing a monthly rec list in an attempt to read more and help reblog and support some amazing authors out there. Please show them some love. Read all warnings! Not everything is for everyone and that is ok. Please always comment AND reblog fics you enjoy to show love to the authors 🖤

Joel Miller

Solstice // @covetyou Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A Step Into Hell // @aurorawritestoescape After you move into his house, Joel finds himself possessed by the idea of having you. Trying to quench his lustful thirst he decides to get his hands on your nudes. To his surprise he finds something even better. Stepdad!Joel

Honey, Stomach, Mine // @netherfeildren Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. A/B/O

Purr // @joelstummy Joel is a simple landlord. He is really very generous, offering up great deals on his spare apartment units for desperate parents housing their new college students. But he does have one stipulation: No Pets. When an innocent little Freshman breaks that rule, Joel has another deal on deck to make it right again. DarkLandlord!Joel

Lost in the Dark (series) // @iamasaddie One time you decide to cheat on your boyfriend is, of course, the time his dad catches you. Once normal relationship turns into something new, and you are forced to face the fucked up reality of your life. BoyfriendsDad!Joel

Change // @pedgito Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.

Throat Coat // @strang3lov3 Joel doesn’t make your sore throat feel better, but he does make it worse. DarkDaddy!Joel

A Firm Partner // @whocaresstillthelouvre Mr. Miller needs you to stay late... even if tomorrow is your birthday. Lawyer!Joel

General Marcus Acacius

Love is Heartbreak // @myownwholewildworld Kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for.

Frankie Morales

Eyes on the Mirror // @itwasntimethatdidit40 You're at a turning point in your relationship with Frankie, he tells you that his mother insists on meeting you.

Agent Jack Daniel’s

Rope & Ride // @magpiepills Jack gets more than he bargained for when he gets too comfortable doing surveillance

ICYMI (Previous Fic Recs): December Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika 🖤

[quintessenceofdust88]

Bucktommy FluffFebruary - Day 1

Today is the first day of @bucktommyfluffebruary and I'm so excited to join! I'm not sure how many prompts I'll be able to do, but I definitely want to do at least one per week! Anyway I hope you enjoy this one!

Day 1: Non-Sexual Intimacy

bucktommy | rating G | words: 714 | minor tw: migraine

DAY 1: NON-SEXUAL INTIMACY

The bathroom is dimly lit and silent, the only sound is the soft sloshing of the water on the bathtub. Buck enters as quietly as possible, closing the door softly behind himself and looking at Tommy with a small smile on his lips.

His fiancé has his head on the bath pillow Buck's gotten him a few weeks before, his eyes closed in delight. 

Tommy doesn't get migraines very often, but when he does, they're bad. When they started dating, he'd find excuses to keep Buck at bay when they hit and ride them out alone.

But after the one Buck came to surprise him and found Tommy lying on the bathroom floor, in too much pain to even get himself in bed, he'd decided enough was enough. 

“I wanna help you when you're not feeling well, Tommy” He had told him, and Tommy, for once, had believed him.

Now, if Tommy feels a crisis approaching, he'll text Buck, and Buck will be over as soon as he can to help him.

This time, he's doing something Bobby told him that helps with Athena's headache. He prepared Tommy a warm bath in a candlelit bathroom with no sounds, trying to lower his sensory input as much as possible.

After fifteen minutes, he comes back. The flickering flame of the candle brings an eerie glow to Tommy's sculpted face, and Buck's heart skips a beat. God, his boyfriend is so handsome.

“Feeling better, babe?” Buck whispers, and Tommy opens his eyes just a slit, smiling softly at him.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Thank you” He whispers back, and his voice doesn't sound as strained anymore, which makes Buck sigh in relief.

“That’s good. But don't thank me yet, the best part is coming now” He says, and Tommy smirks at him, his eyes closed.

“Hmm, I'm afraid you're gonna have to do all the work, I'm not all that better yet”

Buck huffs at him, nudging his bare shoulder, and Tommy chuckles softly. 

“No, it's not that” Buck clarifies. He positions himself behind Tommy, sitting on a stool. “I’m gonna try something that’s supposed to help, let me know if it does, ok?”

Tommy just hums in agreement, and Buck takes it as his cue to go on. As gently as possible, he places his fingertips over Tommy’s hair, feeling his soft curls between his fingers. Then, he presses just slightly, and his boyfriend lets out a groan. Buck withdraws in an instant. 

“Did it hurt?” He asked, and Tommy opens his eyes, looking at him. 

“No!” Tommy clarifies, and taking Buck’s hand in his wet one, gives it a small kiss and places it back on top of his head. “It… It felt really good.”

“Well, I’m glad then.” He tells him, pressing a gentle kiss to Tommy’s forehead. 

“Can you… can you continue doing it?” He asks, almost shyly, and Buck is ridiculously endeared.

It does something to his heart, knowing how strong and closed off Tommy is, to see him being so shy and vulnerable around Buck. It makes him feel like Tommy trusts him, and it’s such a good feeling. Buck likes to be the one Tommy relies on. 

“‘Course I can, babe.” Buck says, and gently starts stroking Tommy’s hair. 

He keeps the massage light and slow, making sure to press on the areas Bobby said he should: the back of Tommy’s neck, the base of his skull, and his temples. Tommy keeps his eyes closed, occasionally humming or groaning pleasantly when Buck hits a particularly sensitive spot. Other than that, though, they remain silent. It amazes Buck, because he’s never been good at comfortable silence, but with Tommy he’s able to enjoy it.  

They stay like that for a little longer, and the water must start to lose its warmth, because Buck can see a few goosebumps on Tommy’s arm. His boyfriend is so relaxed that he doesn’t seem to notice, so Buck presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you dressed and in bed.” Buck suggests, and Tommy nods at him.

Before leaving the water, though, he takes Buck’s hand in his once again, and gives him that scrunchy smile Buck loves so much. 

“Thank you, Evan. For taking care of me.”

[little-miss-alone-n-in-love]

Stiles has been pegged at least once I dont know if he liked it but hes too curious not to try it out you know

Absolutely. Without a doubt. Stiles may or may not be as kinky as we hope think, but he's definitely curious and willing to experiment.

Maybe he let out a long, nervous rant about wanting to try it to his girlfriend one evening because he was unsure of how she'd react. He was probably shocked (and delighted) when she agreed. But then he had to face reality: it was actually going to happen.

He was very sure that he wanted to, but he couldn't help but to feel a little queasy in the moment as he watched the lube squirt onto her hand. She decided that he should start with a finger of hers, maybe two, to get his body ready and to properly test the waters.

Stiles' body flinched as the cold substance was spread across his tight little hole. He held his breath, gripped the sheets, and squeezed his eyes closed, all without realizing it as her fingertip teased the entrance.

"Relax, Stiles... It's ok. We can go slow, just tell me what you want."

He practically whimpered back. "Just do it, it's fine, I'm fine, I can take it."

"Yes, yes you can, Stiles. You're doing such a good job; you're such a good boy," she said softly, her finger beginning to slide in.

He moaned and buried his face into his pillow as his breathing became heavier.

After the second finger, he was ready to burst, but his sweet, loving girlfriend made him wait, wanting him to experience what he initially asked for. So, she filled him up with the strap-on, and boy, he almost passed out from pleasure. It was almost too much.

In my opinion, I think Stiles would have enjoyed it, but maybe would have been scared to admit it. I also think he would be a little weirded out by not having any control whatsoever. In the show, he seems to like getting his hands dirty, putting in the work, doing things his way, etc., so I think the fact that some rubber had that big of an effect on him in such a short amount of time would result in him not wanting to do it again, though he was happy he tried it.

Thank you so much for this submission! I really enjoyed writing this, although I'm practically half-asleep and I don't feel like reviewing this before I post it so... Oh well. Anyway. If anyone has any thoughts or opposing opinions, I'd love to hear them! 💜

[mortionsickness]

morston, a post (and a hidden narrative)

im not here to start any fights or provoke or be inflammatory, so please, if you’re here to beef with me, just move on. if you’re willing to hear me out for one humble post, though, I love you <3 let’s start;

ok, so first of all can we all be real for a second?

facts: arthur morgan and john marston are not blood related.

arthur and john met at 22 and 12 years old respectively.

arthur and john as of the end of rdr2 are 26 and 36 years old.

ok? ok! let’s continue, please;

in fanon, arthur and john are always depicted as being raised as close brothers, annoyed by eachother but overall best buds. this is cute! but not necessarily canon.

what we can learn from arthur and john’s interactions, is that they had some real animosity— mainly arthur towards john. as said in arthur’s own journal he only started to like john by close to the end of the game. I could dismiss this as friendly ribbing, if it were not actually written in arthur’s Journal, where his most personal thoughts are stored. this being said, i could still dismiss it, but humor me for my humble post (I’ll elaborate more on this later).

by the start of the game, arthur resents john, for three main reasons;

number one, john left the gang for a year, disregarding the loyalty to dutch that arthur treasured so deeply

number two, john abandoned his family, the family that arthur never got to have in eliza and issac

number three, and the most important reason to this post, arthur was jealous of john. feeding into the last point, jealous of the family that john has, and jealous of dutch’s favoritism towards john.

from what we know, there is no evidence that the two were close growing up at all. in fact, i’d even say there’s evidence to the contrary;

“I did it for Abigail, of course, in her own way, the finest woman I know, but also for Jack and I guess Marston himself. I kind of like him.

We’ve argued over the years, but I’ve grown to care a little for him. He’s less of a fool than he was,”

what we can learn from this passage is that arthur didn’t think much of john over the years, and that he’s grown to care “a little” for him. key word is grown. if the two were close growing up, like brothers, he would probably have more to say about him than that he’s grown to kind of like him a little bit.

once again, I could dismiss this as ribbing, but what reason does he have to do so in his own personal journal besides some kind of bizarre denial? he says he loves other characters straight up.

now that we’ve established that the brotherly childhood bond is, for the most part, cute fanon, I’d like to talk about the hidden narrative between these two characters, particularly through their relation to dutch.

what we learn over the course of the game, and through john and arthur’s conversations is that the two have, to some degree, competed for dutch’s attention.

john says this during chapter 6, for example.

from my perspective, it looks like dutch, their abuser (because yes, he is their abuser and not their father, i could make a whole other post about this), has pitted arthur and john against each other, or at least perpetuated the rivalry between the two of them.

by the end of the game, john and arthur have broken out of this rivalry, and learned to care for one another. this is the narrative that I enjoy morston by.

not of two close brothers who were in love at age 12 and 22.

I view it as a story of two victims of the same abuser who happened to grow up alongside eachother, resenting eachother all the while. of the two of them learning what was done to them was wrong, and breaking the cycle together, trying to move forward together, and finally growing to care for eachother through the process. this is why morston is not “problematic” or “taboo” to me.

as for the two of them meeting at the ages they did, what I have to say is this; let’s examine why we fear these situations so much.

in real life, we are uncomfortable (rightly so!) with situations like these due to the extreme power imbalance at said ages, and maturity differences. we’re scared because the adult may take advantage of these said things, in order to groom them into being a romantic partner later in life, even if they don’t outright date them as a kid.

as someone who has been groomed, let me explain; the reason why we are dubious of these situations is because we don’t know the older party’s intentions, and we assume they will take advantage of the power dynamic. in fiction, however, I believe this is different.

arthur morgan would never groom a child. we know this to be true. we know his intentions, his motivations, his soul. why do we assume in the case of morston that he had to have groomed him?

textually, john and arthur are 26 and 36 by the time they even begin to get along, with 0 evidence that they were remotely close at a young age. the two could’ve barely talked. were scared of something in this scenario that we’re rightly scared of irl, but we know the situation, we know the stakes, and we know that this is not a situation where john would be taken advantage of, because he is a grown 26 year old man with a wife and child by the time him and arthur even interact kindly with eachother. he had been an adult for 8 entire years.

fiction can effect reality, yes, but if people just widely understood that this is not a situation where the two of them would have any chance of getting together before they’re both well into adulthood, then it wouldn’t be a problem. because this is not a dangerous situation, for john or for anyone.

john was not groomed by anyone other than dutch van der linde, and that’s a fact. both arthur and john were groomed and this is a story about getting out, together. moving on, together. loving each other in the face of opposing forces, and purposeful wedges between them. and I think that’s a story that is a net good.

[hooksbooks]

Renegade Exchange '24: Her Kingdom As Great

I participated in @renegadeguild's typesetting and bound fic exchange, in which we trade typsetting/bound fic wishlists with other participants and then typseset/bind at least one fic from their list and send it to them.

This post is about the first fic I bound for @celestial-sphere-press: Her Kingdom As Great by MarbleGlove.

I was excited to see this fic on my requester's wishlist, because I've read this series in the past and really enjoyed it. I liked the imagery of the golden wheat berries from the Nearly Endless Plains being used in embroidery on clothing, so I wanted the cover to feature embroidered wheat sheaves.

My first step was to work on the book cloth. I knew I wanted something tan that looked kind of hand-woven, so I went to the fabric store and got some linen-look fabric that I liked. I also experimented with three different ways of making it into bookcloth: backed with tissue paper filled with Heat'n'Bond (right), filled with a 50/50 mix of starch paste and matte acrylic medium (bottom), and filled with the paste/medium mix with a piece of tissue paper on the back (top).

I ended up liking the last option the best, though it meant the fabric lost the slubby linen-like texture I had selected it for. I wanted to go all-in on the tan wheat-tone theme, so I also printed the text on cream paper instead of white (the right typeset in the picture above).

I also added a tan bookmark, embroidered on gold headbands, and added an oxford hollow (although this book is a bit too thin to really need it).

When I went to cover the book, I had every intention of using gold HTV foil. However, I didn't take into account how the beads would inhibit me moving the iron around like I usually do with HTV (to avoid issues with the steam holes). It didn't end well. In fact, it ended very horribly.

The foil only partially stuck, and when trying to use the tip of the iron to apply heat only on the bits that hadn't stuck, the iron left a big black stain on my bookcloth. Luckily, it came out pretty well with a bit of baking soda on a nearly-dry toothbrush. I ended up asking a neighbor for some gold paint and using some regular vinyl as a stencil, which worked out OK. I found out later that it works better if you put down a layer of acrylic medium or the like first to avoid bleeding around the edges, but you live and learn.

Technical details:

Quarto size (quarter-letter, about A6)

Sewn on tapes

Sewn-on made endpapers

Chisel-trimmed

Rounded but not backed

Sewn-on endbands

Sewn-on bookmark

Oxford hollow

The tapes are frayed and glued to the exterior of the boards

The mull is also glued to the exterior of the boards

Full bookcloth cover

Things I especially liked about this bind:

The embroidery. It turned out pretty much exactly how I had envisioned it

The filled bookcloth. I don't think I'll do it by default, but I liked how it turned out and I like having it as an option in my back pocket

Things I'd like to improve for next time:

The title. I don't mind the paint rather than HTV foil, but I didn't love that it bled under the edges of the stencil. Next time I'll try using acrylic medium to seal the edges first, and see how that turns out.

The endpapers. I've been applying my endpapers with the covers open because I was concerned that they'd pull weird and possibly rip at the hinge. Unfortunately, this causes a big wrinkle in the endpapers that does not look nice. I figured out while doing the back endpaper that it actually is just fine to apply the endpapers as I close the covers on them because of the way I taper my boards and glue the mull on the outside of the cover.

Overall I'm moderately pleased. It's the highest-effort book I've made so far, and it turned out nearly how I had envisioned it with only minor issues.

[kupidachillea]

is it okay to ask for your hcs on Apollo? Specifically yandere headcannons? I loved the way you wrote him in the last yandere Olympians so I just wanted to see more of him :3 (totally ok if you don't want to do it!! Love your works!! 💞💞💞)

(Yandere) Apollo x You Hcs

Author note: Ah- I see the Apollon fans have been using requests to their advantage and I love it, lol. Sorry that this took so long, I prefer quality over quantity. So I don’t want to rush myself and give you also something you won’t enjoy! So I hope you like this💕

TW (trigger warning):This will have a Yandere themes in it. And while the Olympians themselves aren’t really yanderes- they do share similar tendencies considering their myths. Please note that this isn’t completely accurate to their mythology- but it’s just a bit of fun so please take no offence and be nice in the comments.

CW (content warning)⚠️: Readers please be either 17-18+ to read this I mean. This includes light mentions of nudity, toxic behaviour. General Yandere behaviour. Reader’s discretion is advised.

☀️- Apollon was your boyfriend. Not the most normal partner you’ve had but definitely the most attentive and loving.

🎵- His caresses feel like the sun itself is holding you in a warm, tight embrace. And his kisses are even better..they remind you of the sun’s rays peeking through the curtains in your bedroom and landing gracefully on you.

☀️- You were literally sun kissed. To put it lightly, he was everything you wanted and you were everything he wanted… and more. He loved you so much.

🎵- At first, Apollon was nervous to even consider a relationship with you. Not because he didn’t like you but because he knew how most of his other relationships have played out in the past.

☀️- Being happy one minute with his lover before death ripped them away from in one cruel swoop. So he had procrastinated quite a bit before finally asking the question that’s been eating him inside.

🎵- When you said ‘yes’, he was beyond ecstatic to say the least. And he will admit, the more time he spent with you the more he seemed to show a mixture of love and obsession.

☀️- For a moment he thought that it was the work of Eros once more just trying to harass him like in the days of old with his late love, Daphne. But no..this was all him. He wasn’t sure if he were to be scared, or embrace this side of himself…but over time, the decision was made for him.

🎵- As the days wore on, his love for you grew. You were just so perfect to him…so pretty…yet so fragile. He couldn’t let anything happen to you- hell- he can’t let anyone touch you. No one deserved to touch your precious body. No one but him..

☀️- “Mmm…you’re so beautiful..” He would slur as you both laid in bed cuddling each other bare. His body was so warm against yours…he felt like a living breathing heater.

🎵- “So beautiful..and so mine…” Apollon would grumble..firstly kissing your neck and gently weaving his finger through your hair. “All mine…isn’t that right, love?” He asked, though you weren’t entirely sure if you could respond, your body trembled slightly when he bit down on your neck..causing a love bite to eventually form as he sucked on the area.

☀️- His hands getting greedy, gently tugging your hair back so your neck would crane slightly. This allowed him more access to your delectable neck. “Of course you’re mine…only the best for someone like you…only a god can satisfy you and give you what you need.” He almost growled his words as he licked a long strip up to your jaw, causing you to gasp and shudder. His tongue flat against your neck, tasting your skin and his free arm curling around your waste only for his hand to grip the meat of your arse tightly.

🎵- “No mortal man or woman is allowed to have you…not even the gods…only me.” He would utter. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone other than himself having you. It didn’t seem right to him. How could did he go so long without knowing you before?

☀️- You knew Apollon was a possessive man, and it couldn’t be helped..You actually excused most of his behaviour. Passing it off as just deity behaviour. Besides..he meant you no harm. He just wanted you safe and sound in his arms. Right?

🎵- Of course he did..that’s why he thought he was perfectly within his right to…eliminate and threats or competition.

☀️- It’s not like you’d notice a few of your pathetic so call ‘friends’ going missing anyway. You were too busy focusing all your time and energy on him.

🎵- All your love was his. He’d often watch you sleep…smiling dreamily to himself as he watched your chest rise and fall. That sweet little mortal heart of yours beating steadily. Oh how he’d do anything to keep you with him…permanently..

☀️- “Let us get married, my Love…~” He said one day. Your eyes widening and your brows raising. Marriage..? With Apollon? You definitely didn’t take him for the ‘setting down’ type.

🎵- You smiled softly and told him as much as you loved him and how you adored him, you thought it would be best to wait a few more months. That led the god of sunlight to pout like a child.

☀️- He didn’t understand. If you loved him, why wouldn’t you marry him? Sure he isn’t really known to have anything beyond lovers but he was serious about this. But for now he dropped it and nodded. You would smile at him and place a sweet kiss on his lips that made him melt.

🎵- But if you honestly thought Apollon would quit there then you’re wrong. It wasn’t fair. He deserved to have you for eternity. You were his and he was yours. He couldn’t allow another partner to slip through his fingers like this..no..he couldn’t..he wouldn’t.

☀️- He wanted you..he needed you. Just how the flowers needed the sun…so he did something..slightly drastic on his part…

🎵- He carried you to Olympus while you were asleep. Was it smart? He thought so…and he hoped you would think so too. This way you both could be together forever and you’d be safe from harm and any mortal disease.

☀️- When you awoke, you found yourself in a room that wasn’t your own ..the bed was way more comfortable than your own and the designs and art were..ancient to say the least.

🎵- Before you could fully process what was going on, Apollo appeared and brought you into his arms. Oh..now you have an idea of what was happening.

☀️- “Ah, my Love..don’t be mad but I did you the courtesy of moving you in with me..” He started..his voice soft yet a hint of excitement laced his voice along with something darker as he stroked your hair..

🎵- “After all- you did technically day you wanted to spend more time together before we got married. So what better way to do that than living together?” He asked. It was obviously rhetorical, he was grinning from ear to ear as he spoke. Meanwhile you were just in shock..you wanted to argue and protest- saying that this is not what you meant but he promptly shut you up with a firm kiss to the lips.

☀️- You felt your breath hitch in your throat..this kiss felt different from the ones you usually shared with him. This one felt more forceful and possessive. As if he was trying to claim you.. after what felt like an eternity he finally pulled away..his gaze now softer as he stroked your cheek.

🎵- “You need not worry, Dearest…I am all that you need. No one else deserves to have you..only me. We deserve to be together.” The golden haired god spoke. His voice having a slight purr to it as he nuzzled your neck, a shiver went down your spine at the feeling. “And I won’t let anything or anyone stop us from being together….unlike the others…I will have you for eternity…~”

Author note: Oof- sorry this took so long. Trying to pace myself here so I’m not rushing and there’s more quality than quantity. But I appreciate all the love and the requests. I promise to get to them all!💕

[moirindeclermont]

Bridgerton folks, how are you? Ready to enjoy the weekend?

Welcome to another episode of "what if?". Prompts from you are welcomed and encouraged.

Today's episode is "what if Pen asked more than a kiss at the end of episode 2?" (Part 1)

---

She asked for a kiss. After after Colin gave her one and then two and now three, she knows she wants more. If she has to be a spinster, so be it. At least she will always have this.

"Colin... Can we go to your room undiscovered?"

She knows he knows what she is asking. He looks at her to see if she will change her mind. She does not. He nods and they start to walk the short distance. No one speak a word.

Pen's heart is beating so loud - louder still when they managed to cross the road, enter the house and the go into his room. With the night in front of them and no one that can interrupt them, the thing she asked seems much bigger.

Colin, somehow, catches her shyness.

"We don't have to do anything, Pen. We can stop and talk."

She shakes her head. "I want it. I'm just... Nervous" she concludes.

Colin gets closer again.

"Are you sure? You will be ruined."

"If I'll find love I don't think the man would care much about my purity status. If he does, it means he is not the right one," she says and Colin thinks about it for a moment, then seems to accept it.

"We'll go slow. And still, you can stop me at anytime," he says, as his mouth finds her again.

Colin doesn't know how he manages to be so calm, when inside his head all the alarms are ringing.

Not because they might be discovered and he would be forced to marry her. He already decided he will marry her if she'll have him.

But because during those kisses he realized he is in love with Pen.

He loves her. And now she is asking this of him and he can not say no.

He is tempted to ask if she doesn't want to wait to someone she loves, but hearing she doesn't love him would hurt too much. So he is a coward and start to kiss her again. Maybe, if he kisses and makes love to her she will have the same awakening.

They somehow end up at the border of the bed, and as his hands start moving and palming her through the dress she is wearing, he starts to realize that this is really happening.

"Can I undress you?" He asks in a soft voice and he markers at her trust in him as she nods, turning around. He moves her long hair away from her back and starts to untie her stay and dress, until only her hands are what is standing in the way of her nakedness.

He puts his hand on top of hers and kisses her neck, making her gasp.

"Let me see you, Pen"

She turns around as the clothes gather on the floor and he finds himself without words beside one. Ok, maybe two.

"Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous, Pen."

She blushed a bit, but then she seems determined when her hands go to his shirt.

" I want to see you too" she says and he helps her by removing his belt and his trousers. She gulps out loud when she sees him naked.

"We'll go slow, and we can stop," he reminds her before kissing her again.

He can't imagine living without kissing her every moment he can. She seems more relaxed now and they sit together on the bed, looking at each other with more than their bodies naked.

He lies on her side, tracing her skin and going down until he meets a nipple, which is already standing. He flicks it a couple of times, earning her gasp.

"I want to make you feel good, Pen," he whispers before closing his mouth on the same nipplɜ, his other hand going to stimulate it's companion in a similar way.

He is hąrd as a rock bit it doesn't matter.

She is the only thing that matters.

And he has yet to taste her.

Suddenly, it's the only thing he can think about.

Tbc

[straycalamities]

old aromantic man yells at cloud under cut AUGH

maybe its the aro, but i also genuinely think its not only aros that yearn to have a significant relationship with a "best friend" that goes into the "gray area of romance"

i quote that because it literally doesnt all have to be seen as romantic is the thing and i think people deep down understand this on some level and yearn for it

i think the only thing i truly dislike overall from romo-shipping culture (other than omegaverse existing. rage. hatred.) is that it kinda devours people just being besties or just being so signifcant to each other in a non-romantic way. but then everyone's turning to hyping up "familial" relationships made it even worse. cuz now it's like oh they're non-romantic? oohhh they must be siblings...or parent/child...

like no what if people were just friends and that was also seen as significant. or enemies. or foils. or even coworkers. and all of that be seen as significant for what it is

i feel like this is especially true in fandoms into real life ppl/celebrities/influencers/etc. i feel like that's where it actually starts to become a big frustrating problem

fiction is something else because you can simply change the rules if you want, in your head, with headcanons, but you cant (or at least you really shouldnt and im judging you if you do) headcanon real people. if they say otherwise about this, or shipping, or whatever then ok thats their prerogative, BUT then ppl take one guy (gnc) saying this to mean they have permission for every guy (gnc) and it's like ok idc if people have been doing this with real living persons for centuries, we've been doing all kindsa other jacked up shit to each other for millennia am i supposed to suddenly be okay with that too because it's always been done? 😭 idk i dont mean for this to be all about how i dont support RPF and how parasocializing and celebrity worship has fucked over everyone's brains and warped them into dehumanizing people as normal even more than all of us being so online in general has and finding every buzzword that sounds like justification they can to okay it

but it is kinda linked to my point. i dont mean this in the whole "men are scared to be best friends for fear of being seen as Gay" i mean it as "a whole shitload of people are redirecting deep non-romantic relationships into just feeding the alloromantic normativity machine and my little aro ass is getting kinda tired of it"

i mean it in "everyone keeps trying to put relationships into neat little labeled boxes that have these hard and rigid rules to them and my loves-to-appreciate-the-depth-and-variety-of-human-emotions-and-relationships" ass is even more tired of this than the other thing

even in MY shipping. yes i say "shipping" yes i draw charas kissing, hugging, dating, intimacy. but i dont always mean romantically. because i remember the era when shipping could be whatever. it just meant you liked that those characters were significant to each other. and now it's become only one kinda thing (maybe two if youre differentiating between sexual and romantic shipping or a mix of the two)

and now i wish there was a word just for what i mean 😓 (and other ppl like me) that was just...yes i like these two (or more) charas together and idc what flavor of what it is theyre doing i enjoy it. and i wish that it could also not be seen as meaning less or just being lesser than romantic shipping

IM SO TIRED OF ROMANCE OUTWEIGHING AND EVEN OVERSHADOWING EVERY OTHER RELATIONSHIP PLEASE AND IM TIRED OF THE ONLY OTHER OPTION BEING NUCLEAR FAMILY DYNAMICS

i remember when "found family" didnt mean literal Mom Dad Son Daughter shit sighs

i also just think that if we saw friendships and best-friendships as more significant it'd also help with how so many people feel so damn lonely all the time just because they're "single" or whatever. it'd also mean less ppl jump into harmful romantic relationships, ignoring all red flags, just because it means they have a relationship

if they're getting social, inter-personal fulfillment outside a romantic relationship and it's treated as significant as that is. because it IS. think about your best friend, and the relationship yall have. or past best friends. its amazing! its deep! its meaningful!

think about even just your friends even if yall arent super close and how you still smile if you meet up or see them come online or get a text from them. or that coworker at your job that you probably wouldnt hang out with outside of work but they still make your shift less torture. IDK

look at the beauty and variety of your connections with other humans and how a lot of them you dont even have a term or name for. it's just. significant.

the stranger that smiled genuinely at you when you held the door open for them while you were having the worst day of your life and, for a moment, the world wasnt so bad

you'll never see that person again, but you'll probably never forget it. and even if you forget their eyes or the color of their hair, you'll never forget how it made you feel.

that's what i'm talking about. and i feel like you shouldn't have to be an aromantic person to appreciate that kinda stuff and the world would be sooo much better for it. what if we just fuckin appreciated our fellow man yknow????? especially when all the evil powers that be in the world are trying to make us turn on each other and eat each other alive so they dont have to do as much work

[cruesuffix]

this was something that came to my head just a little before I went to bed so it might not be the most coherent thing. still…i post what i want so here’s that sweet cringe for whoever wants it. (side note: i kind of based this off of what happened to my pal ****** you know that one kpop idol? yeah…i guess this is sort of a crossover?? oh well, i’ll stop yapping now!)

At first it was just a slight discomfort. A twisting of his stomach that started in the middle of a gig. The band was nearing the end of a year spent recording an album and beginning the tour cycle. Christmas was in a couple of days and they would be getting a nice break for the holidays. The show went on, with Mick becoming more and more aware of the pain in his stomach. He wondered if he had eaten something bad the day before and he just happened to feel the effects of it while on stage. What terrible timing.

He forced himself to focus on his playing, reminding himself he could always rush to the bathroom after their set. He kept his head down, not wanting to look at Nikki or Vince and have them see how much pain he was in. As soon as the last note is played and bows have been taken, he rushed off stage in search of the first bathroom he can find. The pain is dull, and it throbbed throughout his abdomen. No matter how hard he pushed, nothing came out. He exited the bathroom feeling slightly uncomfortable and confused, but ultimately decided he was just a bit crampy.

That’s just how he was sometimes. Certain muscles got sore, felt achy, then went away. He caught up to the rest of the band who were heading towards the tour bus. They were supposed to head back to the hotel, pack their things and sleep so they could head to the airport early the next morning. He laid on one of the little couches in the tour bus, still feeling like absolute sht. Whenever someone tried to come up to him, sensing something was up, he bared his teeth at them and glared. He didn’t want to talk to anyone at that moment.

All he could think about was going back to his hotel room and going to sleep. He never unpacked any of his suitcases so he didn’t even have to worry about running around and cleaning up. He didn’t notice the rest of the guys have been looking at him. They weren’t surprised by his typical anti social behaviour, but they were surprised he never kicked up his feet and downed a beer like he usually did after a show. In fact, he looked incredibly uncomfortable, lying there on the couch almost in the fetal position. They didn’t know he even was able to fold himself into such position. They’d never seen him in such a way before.

When they finally arrived to their destination, they all piled out of the bus. Mick was the last one off and he couldn’t help but nearly drag himself out the bus. He was both tired and in pain so he took his time getting off and walking back to his room. Like always, his room was next to Nikki’s. He hoped Nikki didn’t go crazy and make too much noise like he usually did. He’d was actually dying to sleep that night and rid himself of whatever sickness he’d caught this time. All he could do when he got inside his room was flop on the bed and promptly close his eyes. He’s out like a light, still in leather pants and a t-shirt, leather jacket having been discarded as soon as he walked in.

The next morning, Mick felt himself being shaken awake. He cracked an eye open. If it was even possible, he felt worse than he did yesterday. The light in the room seemed so bright, he could barely open his eyes. A voice rang out, he could barely make out the words.

“…an’t you’re burning up, man!” The voice exclaimed. He squinted his eyes a bit just to figure out who the voice belonged to. He could barely focus, the only thing on his mind was how much pain he was in. His body felt like it was on fire, his insides feeling like they were being cooked. He wheezed out a breath and immediately felt nauseous. He could faintly hear footsteps rushing into the room, and someone replaced the person who was in front of him.

“…an you hear me? Hey, Mick are you ok?” Someone asked. He tried to nod his head, but just the sheer movement made him groan. His head was swimming and it was hard to focus on something. Someone dipped their head right into his face and he was forced to look at the person. As he focused on the features, he suddenly had a name for the person in front of him. Doc, their manager. He sighed in relief. Doc repeated his question and this time Mick shook his head.

“I-ugh, think I’m coming down with something.” He managed to tell him. Someone in the background shook their head.

“He’s burning up dude, he looks out of it. I don’t know what it could be, maybe an overdose?” The voice, Tommy’s, replied. Mick frowned. As if he’d do something stupid like that. No, he hadn’t taken any drugs the day before…at least not that he could remember. Besides, drugs were a Tommy and Nikki sort of deal, they usually weren’t Mick’s go to boredom buster.

“No, it’s my stomach. It- It was hurting real bad yesterday. I think I’ve got food poisoning or something.” He countered. He tried to bite down another groan as another harsh cramp hit his stomach.

Doc looked at him, just concerned at the image of the usually tough guitarist bent down and grasping onto his abdomen. He looked back to see Nikki peering into the room. Great, now they had an audience.

“Maybe we should get a doctor to check him out.” Nikki commented. Doc nodded, going to phone a medic. Nikki walked into the room and sat down next to Mick. The movement jostled the sick man, who finally allowed a small groan to escape. Nikki instinctively wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He pulled him closer, and was amazed at the fact that he hadn’t had an eye clawed out.

“What could you even eat to give you food poisoning? We’re in Florida not Japan!” Nikki lightly joked.

Mick didn’t answer him though. His eyes fluttered open and closed. He was sure he was either going to pass out or vomit all over Nikki. He was hoping for the former, he wasn’t sure he’d be forgiven if he puked all over his bassist. If he had been in better condition, he wouldn’t have slumped onto his bassist, head falling onto his shoulder. Nikki moved his arm from his shoulder to his waist, practically propping him up as they waited. When Doc came back, he brought a medic with him. The medic checked Mick out, while Nikki kept a firm hold on him. There wasn’t much the medic could do. He was sure Mick had come down with some kind of pneumonia, or even an infection. All he could do was turn to Doc and say something about a hospital. Nikki’s stomach sank. He had been hoping it was nothing too serious. Maybe a stomach bug that would go away on its own, or even an unserious case of food poisoning. Hearing the words pneumonia and infection put together in a sentence had him infinitely worried.

Doc motioned for the both of them to get up, but when Mick tried to, he could only groan and fold inwards. He clutched his stomach, whimpering at how fast the pain had gotten worse. Nikki took charge and tried picking the older man up, who could only clench his jaw to stop from screaming. Nikki immediately stopped and decided to turn around and let him climb onto his back. This seemed to work and, with Tommy in tow, he carried Mick with him. They followed Doc and the medic as they rushed to his car. Tommy shared a nervous look with Nikki the whole way round. They were both really hoping they wouldn’t have to lost their guitarist right when they hit their stride.

The whole car ride was tense. Nikki couldn’t stop shaking his leg and Tommy nervously conversed with Doc, who couldn’t deny him a simple distraction. Nikki found he couldn’t take his hands off the older man. Mick kept his eyes closed the whole ride, barely acknowledging Nikki’s nudges and questions. He simply melted into the touch, something he never once allowed himself to. Nikki’s surprised by this. It’s like finally taming a cat that’s hated you the whole time. He doesn’t even know if he should be afforded such luxury. Still, he does his best to soothe him, petting his soft black hair and telling him he’ll be ok. He wasn’t even sure he believed that, but he wasn’t going to say anything.

Mick didn’t remember anything of that car ride. He didn’t remember being pet or held by Nikki. He did remember a sort of warmth spreading all over him. He did remember a sort of safe feeling. He remembered not feeling worried about his situation for some reason, just as much as he remembered the pain he felt during that day. He just didn’t remember Nikki holding him. And he sure didn’t remember much about the next minutes; being carried into the hospital, a lot of yelling and screaming, puking right on Nikki, who could only try his hardest to calm him down. The most jarring of it all, which he definitely blocked out of his memory: he was crying the entire time. He’s never cried in his adult life, not once. Not when his kids were taken away from him, not when he went to jail for unpaid child support, not even when Vince got into his car accident and no one knew if he was alive or not. No, nothing got past the impenetrable Mick Mars. Yet, as Nikki stood, holding him in his arms, he was sobbing. The pain must have been pretty bad for him to do that. Of course, he wouldn’t remember any of that.

Nikki and Tommy, however, knew everything. They knew that their guitarist had appendicitis and needed surgery on his appendix immediately. Tommy paled as soon as he heard that and Nikki had to sit down. It was a necessary procedure and they were lucky they had caught it on time. Nikki could only blow out a nervous breath and Tommy needed air fast. Doc made sure they got the room immediately and Nikki rushed after him, still carrying the semi conscious man in his arms. Tommy stayed back, still pacing back and forth.

After depositing Mick onto the bed, Nikki was ushered out of the room and had no choice but to hang back out in the waiting room. Tommy was still there pacing. Nikki smiled softly and walked up to him.

“Why don’t you go out and have a smoke or something…take the edge off your nerves.” He suggested. Tommy paused. He looked hesitant. Nikki knew he didn’t want to leave, in case anything went down. He reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his place.

“Seriously, it’s ok. You can’t stay here and just pace, you’re making everyone else nervous.” He lightly joked. Tommy sighed and gave him a sad smile.

With a nod, he walked out of the room, reaching into his pocket as he did so. Nikki chuckled slightly and sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs. They really needed to get comfier chairs. He squirmed around, half trying to get comfortable, half trying to calm himself down. He was fine, they’d take care of him. He got why Tommy had to pace around. The suspense would kill anyone else. His foot tapped a million times per second.

He was never a smoker, thinking it a worse habit than the drugs he did, but it was moments like these where he wished he had picked it up. Anyone else would have just left. Vince was probably already back in California by now. Nikki himself was surprised he stayed. He probably would have been back in sunny California with a needle in his arm by now, as harsh as it was to think that way. Fear overtook him. Maybe that was why he was still here. For all his trash talk and evil ways, he cared so much about that man. He never thought he could do that, care.

Mick was so nice, so caring towards them all, even when he wanted nothing more than for them to all go away and leave him alone. He put up with so much, and they constantly took advantage of that kindness. It paid Nikki nothing to simply be there for him. The fact that if they had left Mick to his own devices, he wouldn’t have survived it, was a shock alone. That was the last thing the band needed right now. Nikki looked around the room. There weren’t much people here. Seemed like mornings were pretty chill until afternoons hit. That’s when the real drama started. A glance at the hall signals the return of Tommy, this time bringing Doc along. The two of them carried coffees in their hands and Tommy hands one out to Nikki. He takes a grateful sip from his cup. He’s looking expectantly at Doc, who simply shrugged.

“I just got back from the cafeteria…Tommy decided that would be a great place to smoke in the building full of sick people.” He griped. Tommy blushed slightly.

“I wasn’t thinking, alright, I got that! I just…I didn’t want to leave and miss anything.” He admitted, looking down.

Tommy could be real pathetic at times. Nikki could only smile at his downtrodden face. He looked like a kicked puppy, but Nikki knew he was only trying to get sympathy points from Doc. It worked too, their manager could only sigh and pat him on the shoulder.

“Next time…just go outside. We don’t need the hassle of trying to bail you out from the nurses. They’re pretty strict here too, it’s a really good hospital.” Doc replied, looking at Nikki while saying the last part. That was his way of consoling him. Reminding him that Mick was in good hands. Nikki can only nod and sigh. He sits back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

“You know, if we had taken him seriously yesterday it probably wouldn’t have been as serious as it is now.” He commented. Tommy coughs. Doc looked away. Nikki stares at them, willing them to say something.

“Well it’s true! Hell, if we didn’t do something today he would have been…” he trailed off, not wanting to say the last part out loud. Tommy puts his head in his hands and Doc breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Listen, we got to him when we did and now they’re solving the problem. There’s no what ifs in this situation, we did exactly what we should have. We don’t have time to play the ‘we should have done this we should have done that’ game. All we can do is pray he gets better fast.” He shut down any other attempt at blaming themselves, before grabbing a newspaper from one of the tables and pretending to read it.

Tommy sits down beside Nikki and wraps a spindly arm around his shoulder.

“There’s no reason to blame yourself Sixx. We still got to him in time, which is better than not at all. He’s going to get better and we’ll all laugh about this in the near future.” Tommy tried to comfort him. Nikki could just shrug and nod.

“Better than not at all…yeah, I guess.”

It took another two hours for anything to be said to them. A nurse finally walks up to them, making Nikki jump to his feet and the resulting action forcing Doc to jolt awake. The nurse reassured them that everything was fine, and that the surgery went well. Mick was obviously going to be asleep for a while, so they would have to come back the next day to see him. As the nurse leaves, Nikki finds his anxiety dwindling to just small background noise. He looked towards Doc, who stares at him blankly.

“So…are you going back to California now?” He asked Nikki, who stares at him like he had three eyes on his face.

“Uhhh, no? I’m staying here.”

“And where are you going to stay? We checked out of the hotel like…three hours ago?”

Nikki paused. He hadn’t thought that far…and he had two whole hours to do so. Tommy stood beside them awkwardly. Tommy wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay either. But if he wanted to go, who was going to bring him back to California?

“I’ll stay in a motel close by if I have to, I just don’t want to leave him here by himself. He won’t know what’s going on and I want to be there so he has a familiar face.” Nikki begged.

He didn’t feel comfortable just letting his friend stay somewhere he was unfamiliar with by himself. If it had been him, Nikki would have wanted someone there with him. He’s sure it would have been Tommy, he never went anywhere without his terror twin. Doc could only sigh as he turned to Tommy.

“So what are we going to do with you?” He asked. Tommy shrugged.

“I could try to navigate the airport by myself?” He answered, his answer sounding more like a question with how unsure he was. Doc shook his head.

“I absolutely do not trust any of you to get on a plane by yourselves. Let me get Nikki situated in his stupid motel and then I’ll drive you to the airport and see you off on the plane. Then I’ll come back and take care of Nikki and Mick until they’re ready to come back to California. Does that sound good to everyone?”

Both Nikki and Tommy nodded at this and Doc stood up.

“Good, now let’s go look for some motels around us.”

It didn’t take them long to find the cheapest (but not the dingiest) motel close to the hospital. With Nikki in his room, unpacking for the week ahead, Tommy and Doc shuttled back off to the airport (not without Doc reminding them of how much he did for them and how they shouldn’t take him for granted…Nikki can’t remember everything seeing as though he tuned him out halfway through his speech). Alone, Nikki felt calmer. The atmosphere of the hospital was overwhelming, even though there was practically no one there. He wondered if Mick was comfortable. Was the bed nice enough for his back? Was he laying down flat, or nicely propped up like he always slept.

Then he wondered why he was thinking about the old man so much. He almost never thought about him like this on a daily basis. Was it normal to think about your bandmates? Then again, Nikki wasn’t really thinking about anyone but himself these days. And that only made him feel worse. Maybe he was just selfish for not thinking about them. All his friends, his family…his mom. No, he didn’t have to think about her. But, he never thought about his friends. Not even the guys he helped form the band that had made him a damn near millionaire. He could call them every once in a while…even if it was just to catch up. He never did that though, but then again…neither did they. They used to be close though. They used to call. They used to hang out. Hell, they used to live together.

He paused, throwing the shirt he’d just taken out of his suitcase back onto the bed. He was spiralling, he knew that. He was once again stuck in that old thinking pattern he had tried to drown out with alcohol and drugs. He had no dope on him and he wasn’t even sure where the nearest liquor store was. He couldn’t afford to spiral. He tried calming down his breathing. He took long measured breaths and tried to tune out the brain radio going on in his head.

No, he wasn’t evil for not catching up with his friends. No, he wasn’t evil for not noticing any signs of trouble with Mick. No, he wasn’t evil for not wanting anything to do with his toxic family. He was fine. Mick was fine. Everyone was fine. There was no reason to want to run back to the hospital and hold onto Mick like he could possibly break into a million pieces, because he wasn’t going to. He was fine. There’s no reason to even want to hear his voice, because Mick was asleep and Nikki wasn’t going to try to wake him up when he just got out of an invasive surgery.

Ok. There was something there. Something Nikki was trying to hide from himself. There was no reason he should’ve been feeling fond of that garbage gremlin. Mick was nasty, said weird things and did even weirder stuff. He was stubborn, almost always trying to influence Nikki to go his way instead of just sticking to the script. Sure, he wrote a lot a great riffs, and maybe it was a good thing that he didn’t always listen to Nikki. It was still infuriating at times. They didn’t always get along, and there was a reason they stopped sharing a hotel room since the year before. But…there was something, a weird pervasive feeling there.

All he could do was sleep about it. Maybe there was something there, Nikki was willing to pretend it didn’t exist. Even if he did acknowledge it, nothing was going to come from this. Mick wasn’t like that. He had a girlfriend who he really cared for. One that was probably wondering why he hadn’t come home yet.

The next morning, Nikki woke up extra early. Doc was waiting for him at his door, looking more tired than usual. Nikki gave him a sheepish smile and tried to apologize for the day before. Doc just waved him off.

“I would have had to stay behind either way. I’m not leaving any of you alone for more than ten minutes…that goes for means mr. regular too.”

It doesn’t take long for both Nikki and Doc to get through to Mick’s room. He’s already up and looking rather tired. Nikki’s the first to burst into the room, nearly scaring the hell out of his guitarist.

“Mars, man! How are ya?” Nikki exclaimed, rushing over to uncharacteristically give Mick a hug. Mick was so tired he let Nikki hug him, not even letting out his usual grumble about the overt affection. He just let himself be hugged, wrapping a weak arm around Nikki’s back.

“I’ve seen better days.” Was Mick’s usual sarcastic reply. He nodded at Doc who patted his shoulder lightly. Nikki sat at the edge of the bed, for some reason.

“Dude, we thought you were going to OW-“

Nikki’s interrupted by Doc’s elbow hitting him in the stomach.

“It’s good to see you’re alright Mick, you gave us quite the scare yesterday.” Doc in turn remarked, a much more polite version of Nikki’s crass statement.

“Yeah…I’m sorry about that. I kinda just thought I had food poisoning or something. I don’t even remember the ride here, think I just passed out.”

“Yeah, it was gnarly! You can’t imagine how relieved we are that you made it.” Nikki finally put his two cents in. Mick nodded.

“Tommy and Vince went back to California though, didn’t they?” He asked. Doc grimaced, but nodded.

“But Tommy was there with us when we brought you to the hospital! In fact, he was the one that found you.” Nikki countered. He didn’t want it to seem like they were all heartless. Even still, Vince probably didn’t even know what happened…and most likely wouldn’t care. Nikki tried not to think about that. They couldn’t possibly care that little about each other.

“Yeah…I think I remember that. How’d he get a key to my room either way?”

“We were running late so I gave Tommy a spare key to wake you up…thinking back, I should have known something was wrong. You’re never late.”

Mick shrugged and the room falls silent. They didn’t need to unpack all of that right at that moment. Mick found himself nuzzling up closer to Nikki. He didn’t know why, but he needed the comfort. Of course, when this was over and he went back home, he’ll pretend he never did this. He’ll pretend this never happened, him getting so close to Nikki. He’ll pretend he was strong and didn’t need the comfort. That things like this just happen and he took it in stride. No one needed to know how weak he was being. Nikki didn’t care, of course. He just stroked his hair and let him get as close as possible. He wasn’t even scared to get that close to him, no longer feeling intimidated by the older man. It wasn’t like how it was back in ‘83 anymore. They’re both content to pretend they aren’t doing what they are. Mick wasn’t struggling to stay awake because he was being lulled back to sleep by Nikki’s soft, calming touch. And Nikki sure wasn’t the happiest he’d ever been having full access to Mick without the biting and scratching and screaming. None of them acknowledged it, so it wasn’t happening. Simple as that.

i have more in the can but that’s like a fully fledged fic that I still haven’t worked out yet. but either way, this is what i have take it or leave it. sure, it might seem disjointed and a bit incomprehensible but…oh well.

i was serious though, it happened to my friend ******

[elizakai]

i love the MTTRIO because they are all judgy hypocritical little shits living off of spite and appy juice

[himbohimhoe]

Holding out hope that the writing in veilguard will get more bearable but rook saying to lucanis that it's "not nice that Spite hurt him" and he "shouldn't accept that it’s fine bc it wouldn't be ok if a person did that" like. That is a demon. Built off a single emotion called SPITE. Rook I am finding it really hard to believe that u have lived in thedas for more than 30 seconds.

[hikaruchen]

Commissions!

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The Process ✨

[corellianhounds]

no im sorry but now that i know one of the redacted wips is one of the bad batch as a dad I MUST know at least which one it is 😭

Hahaha no I get it, I know it’s kind of a tease to put it on the list if I’m going to be cagey about it. Mostly it’s because idk how it’ll be received and I don’t want people being snide in my inbox about the choice of character/topic

Anyway it’s Tech lol

[archiesweirdparody]

Books I am Definitely Going To Read All The Way Through In 2025 I Promise