#on Sundays we write self indulgent smut fics

[winterrose527]

They should not sing songs of this...

[sagesolsticewrites]

religion's in your lips, the altar is my hips

in which Steve takes care of you after a bad day

- including but not limited to: praise kink, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), Steve lowkey being a service dom 👀

(this is. very self-indulgent. very veryyyyyy self-indulgent. you have been warned <3)

a/n: huuuge shoutout to @upsidedownwithsteve's (aka Emmy, Queen of Smutty Sunday <3) most recent smutty Sunday event for giving me inspiration to write my very first smutty fic! Obligatory disclaimer that yes, this is my very first smut fic ever, I am an ✨asexual virgin✨ please manage expectations accordingly, yada yada yada. Also so many hugs to my bestie Kenz @fangirl-imagines for looking this over before I posted it ☺️ Kenzie has some incredible fics, go support her y'all!

Word count: 2870

Warnings: THIS IS SMUT. MINORS BEGONE. 🔞

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

You let yourself into your apartment with a sigh, shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit as you step over the threshold into your home and finally toe off your heels.

Bypassing the darkened kitchen and empty living room, you open the door to your bedroom, where you knew you’d find a shirtless Steve in the middle of his post-work ritual of playing some game on his computer.

He looks up as you enter, face brightening with a smile as he greets you.

“Hey baby, how was—”

In lieu of an answer, you flop face first onto the bed with a groan.

You can hear the smile fade from his voice as he hisses sympathetically, “That bad, huh?”

You lift your chin so it’s propped up on the pillow as you explain your terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

“You know that project that Marie was working on? She asked me for help on it, and I gave her some pointers, but she said she still wasn’t really understanding it so I ended up having to do all of it for her. And she’ll probably take all the credit for it, too.” You grumble, rolling your eyes, “And we had that meeting with our new clients, and my boss basically volun-told me to take notes for it, even though that’s really the liason’s job, and then she criticized me for not taking as detailed notes as Lauren even though that’s literally Lauren’s job! And she was there, she could’ve taken the notes, I don’t even—”

You shake your head in exasperation, shifting topics, “And then I didn’t even have time for lunch because Sara wanted me to help train the interns, and…” You end your rant with a groan, letting your face drop back into the pillow. “‘M just. So tired.”

“Sweetheart…” Steve’s voice turns soft as the pillow underneath your head, and he gets up from his spot at the desk to climb onto the bed, pulling you into his arms.

You curl into him instinctively, your head finding that space in the crook of his neck that feels like it was made for you personally, one hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, tracing patterns along the freckles and moles dotted along his skin.

“What can I do to help, honey?” Your boyfriend asks, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Jus’ wanna… I dunno, just. Stop.” You mumble against his shoulder, shrugging and curling further into him.

He hums in understanding, grabbing the hand that’s currently drawing invisible hearts around the moles near his collarbone and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“You’ve been doing so much for everyone today,” he murmurs, voice layered with understanding and adoration as he leans in and peppers tiny kisses over your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, and you relax even more as his voice washes over you, “Worked so hard.”

He pulls you closer, scattering kisses all over as you finally release all the tension you’ve been holding, letting out a sigh and shifting in his arms to face him. You don’t realize you’re straddling him until you’re pressed nearly flush against him, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

His lips brush over every part of your face, down to your neck and then back up as you become putty in his hands, murmuring soft words of praise to you the whole time.

“You just need to stop working now, huh? Need to stop thinking,” His lips draw a path to your ear, where he whispers, “need to let someone else do all the work, huh, baby?”

A shiver runs down your spine, constantly in awe of the power just his voice has over you. His hand settles on your hip, a comforting, grounding weight while his other hand brushes a strand of hair back from your forehead. His lips work their way back down over your cheek, stopping to hover just over yours, mouths brushing together as he murmurs in a voice like silk, “Is that what you want, honey? Want me to take care of you?”

Warm chocolate eyes meet yours, soft, caring, always ensuring he has your consent before he does anything.

At your near-imperceptible nod, he drags his hand up to cup your chin, thumb dragging along your bottom lip.

“Need your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes,” you breathe, and that’s all the confirmation he needs to surge up and capture your lips with his.

As you brace yourself on his shoulders, his hands move to the thin strip of exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up. Your kisses become hungrier, ignoring your need for oxygen in favor of Steve’s plush, kiss-swollen lips, and he slowly drags up the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss briefly to get your permission.

At your eager nod, your shirt is off and tossed to some corner of the room, his mouth eagerly on yours once more.

You can feel exactly how much he’s enjoying this through his sweats, and you instinctively begin to rock in his lap, dragging your increasingly damp core over his.

His hands grip your hips, the familiar feeling sending a thrill through you… but rather than guiding your movements like he normally would, he holds them still.

You pull away, brow furrowed, but before you can voice your confusion, he flips you onto your back, moving to hover over you in one smooth movement.

“I told you,” he murmurs against your lips in a tone that sends a pulse of scorching heat to your core, “I’m doing all the work, sweetheart.”

The whimper you let out is muffled by his lips on yours once more, his wandering hands and hungry kisses making short work of turning you into a moaning, gasping mess.

“Steve,” you whine out his name as his lips travel down to your neck, and you can feel his smile against the hollow of your throat before he returns to licking and sucking dark patches into your skin, the occasional use of his teeth making delicious shivers shoot up your spine.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He mumbles against your skin, trailing his lips along your collarbone. His eyes meet yours, a mischievous twinkle mixed with the searing heat in them turning you molten as he asks, “What do you need?”

Unable to find the words, your hand finds his hair instead — God, that hair — and begins pushing him down towards where you really want him.

“‘M gettin’ there, honey, I promise,” he grins, pausing your efforts to press a kiss to the valley between your breasts, “Lemme take my time and I promise it’ll be worth it, ok?”

He reaches up to toy with the strap of your bra— a simple nude thing you could get away with wearing under a white shirt at work— a questioning look in his eyes answered by a furious nod from you.

He makes short work of the clasp, and that really should not be as hot as it is, but— oh who are you kidding, even his breathing is insanely hot right now.

You throw your head back as he presses kisses all over your chest, mumbling against your skin the whole time about how pretty you are, just gorgeous sweetheart, God, I can’t believe I get to do this for you…

Your head goes deliciously fuzzy with the praise, and you can’t quite form words so all you can do when he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it for good measure, is let out a keening “Ohhh” and instinctively tighten your grip on his hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Steve groans, the noise sending heat racing through your body, and you grin knowing you were the one to elicit it, “You sound fucking incredible.” He murmurs more praise as he turns his attention to your other nipple, giving it just as much attention and eliciting more gasps and moans and whines from you before he continues his journey south.

You lift your head and watch as Steve Harrington fucking beams when he reaches your stomach, your pouch poking out slightly more than you’d like over the waistband of your jeans.

He meets your eyes, his own swimming with sincerity as he begins to scatter kisses over your midsection.

“You”

Kiss

“Are”

Kiss

“Fucking”

Kiss

“Stunning”

Kiss

When it seems like he’s covered every single inch of your exposed skin in kisses, remaining stubbornly focused on your torso when what you really want is for him to be significantly lower, he meets your eyes as he plays with the waistband of your jeans, once again wordlessly asking your permission.

And once again, your furious nodding is all the consent he needs to peel your jeans off and toss them away.

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, wide eyes on where your jeans once were, “Honey. Baby. Are you trying to kill me?” He says in a strangled voice at the sight of your simple lacy panties in a deep, wine-purple color— a color Steve once drunkenly confessed was his favorite, though he told anyone who asked he preferred red.

You bite your lip in an attempt to contain your grin, “I thought you might like those.”

“Like them?” He murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh, looking up through lidded eyes to meet your gaze as his own darkens, “I never wanna see you in anything else again.”

Your toes curl, and your breaths become shallow in anticipation as he scatters slow kisses all along your inner thighs, carefully spreading them apart, stopping when he gets to the edge of the purple lace.

He holds your gaze, gauging your reaction as instead of pulling them down over your hips to toss to yet another corner of the room, he simply…

Pulls.

The lace.

To the side.

You barely have time to let out a quiet, shaky, “Oh my God,” at the ravenous look on Steve’s face before his mouth is on you and you forget how to think, you forget how to breathe, you forget everything except Steve.

Let it be known: Steve Harrington knew how to eat a girl out.

He licks a thick, fat stripe up your center, gathering the moisture collected there before darting up to flick at your clit, an action that has you gripping the sheets like a lifeline, a stuttering moan that sounds vaguely like your boyfriend’s name escaping from your lips. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you close in an attempt to keep your hips grounded, and he continues a few more passes of the same lick, flick pattern until you’re a writhing mess underneath him, his current strategy both too much and not enough.

He pauses just long enough to meet your eyes, pressing a single kiss to your clit that sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine, before diving in.

His tongue finds your entrance with ease, the way his nose pushes through the thatch of wiry hair to nudge at your clit providing extra stimulation as he makes short work of making you fall apart. His tongue swirls through your folds as he lets out a languid moan at your taste.

“So fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your core, “So perfect, lettin’ me take care of you. This is all you needed, huh?” His eyes flick up to meet yours as you shudder and moan underneath him, struggling to keep your eyes on him.

He licks another languid path through your folds, savoring your taste, before continuing, his voice muffled as he licks and sucks at your entrance “Jus’ needed me to give you a break, needed me to tell you it’s okay to turn off your brain and jus’—” Steve punctuates his last words by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently “—be a good girl for me.”

The combination of stimulation to your clit and Steve’s words has your hips arching off the bed, despite your boyfriend’s best efforts to keep you still. You can feel him grin against you and let out a dark chuckle at the moan you let out at his last words in particular, the way your hand tightens and pulls at his hair all the evidence he needs.

Still, he asks you, though he doesn’t quite expect a coherent response.

“Aw, sweetheart. You like it when I call you a good girl? You like bein’ a good girl for me?” He purrs in a voice like syrup, lips still brushing your folds.

“Fuck, I— yes, Stevie,” you whine brokenly, gently gripping his hair in an attempt to bring him closer to where you want him, whimpering softly, “Stevie please.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, scattering kisses frustratingly just outside your core, “Jus’ trust me, I gotcha.”

You resist the urge to move, to just grab him and put him where you want him, even as you let out a frustrated whine.

Just as your patience is about to run out, you feel him smirk against you before diving back in, holding your legs apart as he sloppily licks and sucks at your entrance, his tongue diving deep inside you.

You let out a gasping moan as he attacks your core, practically clawing at his hair in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer, your brain going fuzzy and then melting entirely when you hear the endless praise falling from his lips as he eats you out.

“So good for me sweetheart, just perfect— shit, do you have any idea how good you taste?” He groans against you, his thumb coming up to gently circle your clit as his other hand moves to splay flat over your hips, holding you as still as he can, “Could do this all fuckin’ day, god you’re amazing sweetheart—”

Then he clamps his lips around your clit and moans, and you’re fairly certain you’re going to die of pleasure, both your hands flying to grip his hair and yank as your back arches off the bed, your head falling back against the pillows, mouth open to let out a high, keening moan.

When you come back to your body, Steve is back to gently licking through your folds, and your hands claw at him, needing him to be closer.

“Steve,” you whine, “Stevie please, ‘m so close, I jus’— I need— please, baby.”

As your words turn into incoherent moans and pleas, Steve is quick to assure you, thumb returning to playing with your clit as he mumbles against you, “I know, honey, I know what you need and ‘m gonna give it to you, I promise. Been so good for me today, taken such good care of everyone, now it’s your turn, ‘m gonna make you feel so, so fuckin’ good, baby—”

He dives into you once more, thumb rhythmically circling your clit as his tongue hits every spot inside you in a pattern that has you turning to liquid underneath him, your legs hooking together behind his back to keep him right there, and your vision goes white as Steve brings you towards your release.

You let out a cry as you hit your climax, and Steve dutifully guides you through your orgasm, murmuring soft praises the whole time.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs as he pulls away, mouth glistening and pupils dilated wide. Your hand cards through his soft brown waves, chest heaving as you catch your breath. Steve brushes gentle kisses to your inner thigh, your hipbone, your stomach, following a path up to capture your lips with his own, swallowing the contented sigh you let out.

He pulls away, meeting your gaze with a smile as he pecks your nose.

“Feelin’ better?”

You hum contentedly, “Much.” Your thumb comes up to stroke his cheek as you pointedly glance down, “What about you?”

Steve lets out a mock-annoyed groan, forehead coming down to rest on your shoulder.

“Baby, we just went over the whole thing about you not needing to take care of everyone.”

He lifts his head, meeting your gaze, “Seriously, though,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, rolling to lay next to you and pulling you into his chest, “I’m fine. This was about you, and I’m so glad I could help take care of you for once.”

You cup his cheek, turning his face to yours. You hope he can see every sincere, tender thought in your expression as you simply say, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. You know that.” He murmurs in response, lips quirking up into a small smile as he turns to press a quick kiss to your palm.

“So,” he says, fingers stroking through your hair, nudging your eyes closed, “nap time and then appetizer dinner? We’ve got mozzarella sticks and some chicken tenders I can throw in the oven.”

You grin, despite already being half-asleep, “That sounds perfect.”

You can feel his smile as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity plus one”

“I love you—”

“Alright, let’s call it a tie, babe.”

Tagging a couple friends! Hi besties @austin-butlers-gf @sassy-ahsoka-tano @dontbesussis

[veryinactiveartist]

Moodboard & Fic pitch(?)

Mira Phillips & Jonathan Levy × F!Reader

Scenes from a marriage

Moodboard made by me

Series Synopsis (no current fic title)

No longer Married, Jonathan and Mira's tedious yet loving affair is still going strong years after their divorce, but Mira can't help but suggest something more for their relationship thanks to a dream then later a chance encounter with a young woman, whom she finds out is in a housing and financial crisis.

While Jonathan finds the idea exciting, he becomes reluctant when Mira's desired women turns out to be one of his students. It doesn't help when Mira has taken the initiative to house his student and employ her as a full time nanny for their daughter.

Now thanks to the force proximity, mira insists Jonathan gets to know Ava's new nanny. Lucky for her, it doesn't take long for Jonathan to grow smitten but unfortunately for the young sweetheart, she isn't aware of Mira's plans and only assumes the best out of people she shouldn't.

Warnings & Tags: NSFW, Smut, mentions of cheating (from Jonathan), mutual masturbation, threesome, M × F × F, M × F, F × F. Mild dubcon (?), alcohol consumption (mainly wine), power imbalance, abuse of power, teacher student relationship, boss employee relationship, Bisexual reader, homeless reader, Mira and Jonathan share reader, sexuality inexperienced reader, age gap relationship, reader in her early 20's, hidden nanny camera, voyeurism, reader being watched (without consent), false sense of comfort, no happy endings for reader(mostly).

Author rambles & Notes

Hey guys! Hope y'all don't mind my brain dumps, I think going forward I might post fic ideas to keep track of them when they're not priority. As of now I'm working a warehouse job and most of my shifts will be 12 hours so that doesn't give me much time till the end of November, so for now I'll be posting miscellaneous one shots for media I mainly consume. Primary Teenager Mutant Ninja Turtles. Any long winded series I plan for TLOU and SFAM wont come around till mid to late 2025. As of now I plan on posting a Javi x reader fic Sunday evening/Monday afternoon and I'll see what happens from there.

While the show was quite an experience and frankly it's something I would only watch once and never again do to the emotions cause as I'm a child of divorce. While I was happy when my parents separated, Jonathan and Mira's relationship felt close to home and reminded me of my folks and was quite overwhelming. To clarify the characters don't remind me of my parents simply their relationship during the divorce and how quickly they'd turn on each other. It's something you never get to see shown in media and I do appreciate that but watching the show once was enough for me.

Though thanks to this fic idea I'm down to rewatch for research purposes when I start writing at some point. I can't say when I got the idea, it was a gradual process of ideas and what else would these people be capable of as they get to the point of character De-Evolution. So what if we got to see what happens in those years we don't see and leads to that ending point in the show? Where they don't care about being good people anymore.

Also why not try out some smutty fun before the disaster? Jessica Chastain and Oscar Isaac are hot in character so there's some mild self indulgence in here.🤭Anyway I think I might post fic pitches for any series ideas going forward as they won't be on the forefront of my mind. I know I don't have followers other than 2 (I love you guys) but If more people come around in the future than I hope this will raise any interest. That's it for now. ❤️

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update 03/10/2024

Made it another week Nerdie.

That I did. I believe today is Sunday. Too much time in this chair. I think I slept in it before. Too many times.

Nerdie, don't you have a bed?

I do, I don't always make it there. I've usually zoned out and nodded off, the wake up when my neck hurts. 👀 I'm not always writing either, just thinking sometimes.

Couldn't you think in bed Nerdie?

I could, but I don't. That sounds like a good idea. My ideas aren't always great. But I did have a few this week.

My March Spring Prompts continue. I was able to do ten of them without repeating a character! 🤗 This upcoming week we'll see some Pedro peeps come back. Key words: gas station sushi, angst, oil and bath. Remember this is Nerdie 😎, it could be any and everything, but my prompts are mature and not explicit. I do write about some heavy subjects, fluff, a few giggles, and have some innuendos, but my main masterlist is 78% smut so just go there.

The WIP I’d been mentioning for the last few weeks or months (could be either) is finished and posted : Diddle your Dieter to Disco. My first Dieter smut actually which is hilarious at least to me. 🤣 The rest of his Masterlist is fairly fluffy. I would check the warnings on it, I put a lot in it. 👀

Part Two of my series The Lake Between Us is up. Make sure to read the warnings. Ezra introduction has a lot going on. It's an AU so he has both arms but that doesn't mean I didn't torture him other ways. 👀 I do love that ya'll love the taglist name "Taste-testers of Ezra's gumbo." 😆

I finally wrote the follow up to He told me his name called She made me feel. I think I enjoy mentally torturing Pedro characters at this point. Poor Din is so anxious and touch-starved. As always with Din = HANDS. A Nerdie staple. This is The Way.

Now for everyone's favorite (and mine): Fic recommendations!!! (Yes I did type and do a little yell, fanfics are serious. Pfft.) 😄

Confetti by @secretelephanttattoo (Marcus Pike x f reader) The Quiet Moments Collection

Adrift with you by @morallyinept (Frankie Morales x Jude OFC) The Prologue “I’m behind”’😭

A Real Man by @pedroshotwifey (Frankie Morales x female plus size reader) my request - stay self indulgent everyone! 🥰

Tick by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Frankie Morales x wife reader) The Mistress of Angst!

A Bronx Tale: Part Deux - A Chicago Tale by @justabovewater20 (SydCarmy)

Love’s a weed:  just ripe by @tinytinymenace (Frankie Morales x ofc - Ruby) Fruits are essential.

Second Chances part 2 by @pedroscurls (Marcus Pike x fem reader) Such a cute series 💕

Cigarettes After Sex by @immarocketman (Awesome artist I follow. 💜)

Promise by @criticallyacclaimedstranger (Ezra - dragon x fem reader) The only Pedro character that can pull off being a dragon. 🐉

Please Mister Please by @grogusmum (Joel Miller x fem reader) The fluff 🥹💕

Unconventional Location by @winniethewife (Abel Morales x fem reader)

Personal Shopper by @huntingingoodwill (Dieter Bravo x reader)

Enjoy the Silence by @strang3lov3 (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Spicy Ask #68 by @kewwrites (Din Djarin x reader) Say it with me: HANDS 🙌🏼!!!!

Reminder by @criticallyacclaimedstranger (Tim Rockford x fem reader) Sometimes good things happen in Tim’s office.

Forever Starts With You Masterlist (Frankie Morales x chubby fem reader) @criticallyacclaimedstranger I loved all three parts I read 🥰🥰 (A Good Start, A Strong Finish and A New Beginning). It looks like there more to their story so much more reading for me. ❤️

some good friend by @covetyou (Tim Rockford x fem reader) TIM DESERVED THIS ❤️ That is all.

Sanctuary by @thefrogdalorian (Din Djarin x GN reader) Din fluff forever. 🤗

We got your back chapter 1 by @softpascalito (Javier Peña x fem reader)

The Sweetest Melody by @noisynaia (Din Djarin x afab reader)

Rise by @sp00kymulderr (Joel Miller x afab reader) ALL THE FEELS 😭

Falling for you by @fhatbhabie (Joel Miller x plus size reader) Part One - The drama!

Just look at You by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Poe Dameron x fem reader) The Poe Dameron smut we deserve. 🍆

Chapter 3 - Here’s a health to the company… and one to my Boss… by @inept-the-magnificent (Tim Rockford x ofc Jane Nebbie) I just think about this series and I start giggling. Sunshine Nebbie and grump Tim - he is a super grump. But he is also me. 🤣

To the Flame chapter 6.5 by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x fem reader) So sweet out of context.

To the Flame chapter 9 by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x fem reader) The slow decent begins...we're just at the start of the ride. 😈

Between the Sheets by @saturn-rings-writes (William Tell x fem reader) Reminded me of an Isley Brothers song. I feel like we're headed toward that song. Please with this direction.

Hiccup by @morallyinept (Javier Gutierrez x fem reader) A whimpering Javi G. What an evening. 😘

A New Home by @charethcutestory02 (Frankie Morales x Benny Miller) Budding feelings. 🤗

Special shout out to Ms. Payday - Le Poet and lover of da words: @maggiemayhemnj They seek her out, have brunches and nightcaps. It's what all writers long for. She checked in on me along with @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @lady-bess

I've been not as active - mainly due to work, school, and the insomnia. But still writing. 😄 priorities. lol

New appreciation for Javier Pena. well not new, re-newed. Maybe am working on a few things. None are good, none are final. Still need polishing. Also need to give Javi G's outline another look. I might...👀 have a chapter for him this week. I hope. @goodwithcheese was pleased with this. @undercoverpena was Luke-warm. I think she thought I was taking something, but if Javi P has shown us anything, sharing is caring. 😘

Stay well, sleep in your bed (unless you're planning not to) and be hydrated,

Love Nerdie 💕

[pedrito-friskito]

'til kingdom come - tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

the evolution of your relationship with peter parker.

a/n: my entry for the April TFC Writing Challenge! it was for a fic based on a song, (til kingdom come by coldplay - off the soundtrack!) I happened to watch The Amazing Spider-Man and No Way Home in the same weekend, and well, here we are. enjoy! 🤍 (just for the record - this would be no way home era tasm!peter parker, so at least a 5-6 years older than at the end of tasm 2!)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: mentions of car accidents, hospital stays, broken bones, fluff, not completely explicit but still explicit smut, this was INCREDIBLY self-indulgent and I regret nothing

✨@friskito-library for updates on new works!✨

You’re used to him disappearing, at this point.

To waking in the middle of the night to an empty half of the bed, the pillow still warm, the only sign that he was here at all your scattered clothes on the ground, the ghost of a kiss on your mouth, and the satisfied hum in your bloodstream. It’s routine, to a degree, and has you burying your face in his pillow, chasing whatever remnants you can until he comes back.

And he always comes back.

+

It started as some kind of strange, electric current that ran beneath your skin when this doe-eyed scrap of a man paused in the doorway of your hospital room. He heard you crying, walked in, concern in that chocolate-coloured gaze and asked you if you were alright. Given the circumstance, your leg casted six ways to Sunday and a painful crick in your neck, you blubbered out a no, but then he introduced himself - “Peter Parker, I’m…I’m Peter.” - as he handed you a tissue, and then all of a sudden he was sinking into the chair at your bedside, distracting you from the pain.

“You don’t even know me,” you protested, shaking your head.

He’d just lifted a shoulder, dragging the chair a little closer. He handed you another tissue, asked if you wanted some water. “If you told me your name, then I would.” His grin was infectious. “Besides, when I heard you crying, I couldn’t just keep walking.”

You talked for hours. Until the nurse came in and declared visiting hours over, your evening round of pain meds in your hand. Peter hovered as she pushed the syringe into your IV, and your vision swirled at the edges. Ah, morphine. “Say your goodbyes,” the nurse prompted, giving him a pointed glare. “Boyfriend can come back in the morning.”

“He’s not my…” you trailed off, the meds kicking in fast, making your words slur. Your hand flopped off the edge of the bed, and Peter could resist the urge to squeeze his fingers around yours.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he grinned, and you were out cold by the time he reached the door to your room.

You saw him the next day. And the next day. The day after that, and the day after that. He became a permanent fixture in the chair at your bedside, distracting you with anecdotes and cheesy jokes while your leg healed. He never showed up at the same time each day, but learned the visiting hours window quickly, and was good with his timing, always showing up within it. Your nurse still had to kick him out when he showed up later in the day, your visits often trailing well past the end of visiting hours, but she let him stay longer more than once.

He was there the day they discharged you, and helped you into the taxi to take you back to your apartment. He was patient, helping you up the steps and into the elevator, carrying your bags. At that point, you knew each other supremely well, and there was something so comforting about being around Peter, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You hungry?” he asked, setting you up on your couch, propping your leg up the way the nurse had instructed. “I’m no chef, but I make a mean boxed mac and cheese.”

“Everything in my fridge has probably gone bad,” you pouted, wincing as you adjusted slightly. “It’s been weeks since I’ve been home.”

“Shit. Right.”

“Pizza?”

He grinned, nodding in agreement. “Pizza.”

And so you spent the day together on your couch, watching old movies and eating pizza. Peter made sure you had water close by, doled out the meds the hospital had given you, fluffed your pillows. 

You forgot about the pain, and it wasn’t the drugs.

And before long, you were half asleep, as you were most nights when he visited you in the hospital. Except now, your head lolled on his shoulder, his t-shirt covered chest rising and falling beneath your hand. “I should go,” he mumbled into your hair. “Let you get some rest.”

“I can sleep here,” you mumbled back. “You can take my bed, if you want. You don’t have to go.” You hummed, your voice drenched with sleep, and then you were out like a light.

You woke some time later in your bed, your leg propped up on pillows, blankets pulled to your chin. There was a note on your nightstand, scrawled in a hasty hand.

Couldn’t leave you on the couch. Quite the first date, if you ask me. Hope you slept well - Peter x

Your eyes lingered on the words first date, and you tried to ignore the thump in your chest, but no matter what you did, it wouldn’t go away.

+

About a month later, after your cast was removed, the first few rounds of physical therapy done, and you were feeling good.

Good enough to call Peter out.

You’d finally gone back to work, and perched at your desk, staring out the window on your lunch break, you dialed his number. You’d seen each other a few times since you’d been discharged, the odd cup of coffee when you were both free. But the note he’d left at your bedside still lingered in the back of your mind. You needed to know.

“Hello?” he answered with a grunt, and it sounded windy as hell wherever he was. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, spine prickling at the concern in his voice. “Everything’s fine, I’m just…”

“You’re what?” he questioned, almost heaving a breath on the other line.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He grunted, and there was a sound like he almost dropped the phone. “You’re what?”

“You called it a first date,” you spewed out, the words tumbling out of your mouth. “The day I came home from the hospital, when you stayed with me.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I did.” You could almost see the blush in his cheeks. “Is that okay with you?”

“It is,” you said slowly, ignoring the whip of wind on his end of the line. “But you realize that calling it a first date implies that there’s gonna be a second date.”

“Does it?”

“It does.”

“Then how about I pick you up at seven?”

+

“I wasn’t gonna do this,” you breathed out against his mouth. His hands - god, his hands - were on your hips, pulling you against him while his lips ghosted over yours. He’d spent the elevator ride mapping out the curve of your jaw, making your pulse jump beneath your skin as he roamed your neck. “I was gonna make you wait, I was gonna-”

“Shut up,” he mumbled back, and his hands jumped from your hips to your mouth, pulling you more firmly against him, his lips claiming yours. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

He’d knocked on your door at almost half past seven, and as you yanked the door open, some chastising comment about him being late, he’d pushed a semi-crushed bouquet of flowers into your hands, leaning forward and pecking your cheek as he murmured, “You look nice.” And the comment died on your tongue.

Dinner was great. The conversation passed between you as easily as ever. You talked about work; your journalism gig was busy as ever, and when you told him you had Spider-Man to thank for your latest front page article. “Your pictures worked perfectly,” you said over the rim of your wine glass, not missing the way his ears turned red. “It was the perfect cover shot.”

“I’m glad.”

A few hours of conversation, a brief tussle over who would pay the bill - Peter won, claiming that it was your article that put his photo on the cover, so he owed you one - and you were walking back to your apartment. You had to stop a few times, rubbing at a rogue pain in your leg, and after the second time, Peter tugged on your hand until you were behind him, then gestured for you to hop up.

“Are you insane? Peter, I’m not light, you can’t-”

“I carried you to bed on our first date,” he quipped, dropping his hands and turning around. He watched the puzzle pieces fit together in your expression, the details sussing themselves out. It formed a little dip between your brows, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and smoothing his thumb over it.

“You did, didn’t y-”

And then he kissed you. Right there on the street, lamplight pouring over the both of you, the slight pain in your leg forgotten.

You were speechless when he pulled back, and a moment later, you were on his back, the pair of you striding towards your apartment.

He’d kissed you again in the lobby as he set you back on your feet. Again as you waited for the elevator. When it was blessedly empty, he crowded you into the corner and pushed his face into your neck, teeth scraping your pulse. When your breath hitched, he did it again. Again and again and again.

Then, inside your apartment, he pushed you against the wall, quieting your words, drinking them down with his hands on your face. Your blood thumped in your ears, heat flaring between your legs as he pushed his tongue between your teeth.

Fuck waiting.

He was careful. Gentle, even, as he snaked his hands back down your body, glancing around the curve of your ass before he was gripping behind your knees, lifting you up and against him. You squeaked at his strength, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you down the hall to your bedroom. You undressed each other slowly, lips never far apart as clothes scattered across the floor.

Something like panic flared in your eyes when you saw the bruises along his ribs, the scratch at his collar, but he kissed you again, silencing your worries when he snuck his hand down your front, fingertips licking at your nerves, pulling sensations to the surface of your body you hadn’t felt in a while.

The carefulness continued, both of you bathed in the darkness, the only source of light the slit in your curtains. Peter moved differently in the dark, somehow anticipating every move you made, as you explored each other. He pulled noises from you you didn’t think yourself capable of, making you cum hard once on his tongue before he was crawling over you on the bed, the ends of his hair tickling your skin as he made his way up to your lips once more.

There was that moment of realness, that pause of trepidation that filled the space between you when you fished a condom out of your nightstand. He hissed when you moved your hand over him, following his movements, tracing his outlines.

When he pushed into you, your good leg wrapped around his hip, his hands braced around your head, his face buried in your collar, you lost what little breath you had left. He managed to find every last nerve you needed touched, and it wasn’t long before you were losing it again, your head thrown back on the pillow, fingers buried in his wayward hard.

You fell asleep shortly after, curled on your side, Peter glued to your back.

But when you woke up, he was gone.

+

Peter avoided you as long as he could.

He felt bad about it, obviously, the guilt tugging at his insides anytime he saw something that reminded him of you, caught a scent in the air that smelled suspiciously like your shampoo.

He hadn’t wanted to leave. Truthfully, he could have stayed there in your bed all night, even if sleep evaded him. He would have watched you for hours, committed every inch of you to memory as you slept, maybe woke you up once or twice with his mouth or his hands or a combination, just to hear those sweet noises of yours again.

But then his senses had prickled, the scream of alarms outside reaching his ears. You stayed soundly asleep, your brow furrowing again. Despite everything in him yelling that he needed to go, Peter reached out, swiped his thumb across the dip in your skin yet again. It hadn’t disappeared when he’d kissed you hours ago, his movements taking you slightly by surprise, but then, your lashes fluttering with dreams, it smoothed out beneath his touch, and he smiled.

He didn’t want to leave.

He was falling for y-

The thought cut short. He shook his head, snuck out the fire escape and climbed to the roof of the building, pulling his gear out of his bag and disappearing across the city, his senses chasing the alarms.

The thought, and the feeling that accompanied it, wouldn’t leave him alone. Even when he went back home, Aunt May chiding him to eat him something when he appeared in the kitchen the next morning, his mind wandered back to you. You would have woken up alone, the only evidence he was there in the first place being the condom in your garbage can. 

And the sucked bruise he’d left on the inside of your thigh.

He was a mix of longing and guilt, heat and despair. His body begged him to go back to you, to apologize as many times as it took for you to let him kiss you again. But his mind said no, told him it was too soon, that his past was too fresh.

But could you really put a timeline on grief?

He’d never forget Gwen, never forget the way he’d held her that night, the way life had so cruelly ripped her away from him. She was a part of him, forever. No amount of time would change that.

Aunt May’s voice echoed in his mind. What she’d said when he found her packing Uncle Ben’s things into boxes.

You’re throwing his stuff away?

No, god, no. I couldn’t do that. It’s part of me. I’m just finding a better place for it. I’m gonna take one last look, and I’m gonna put it where it belongs.

For years now, he wasn’t sure what to do with everything he felt for Gwen. It still loomed around his heart, clutching at him like a vise, sneaking up on him at the most inopportune of moments. The love he’d had for her, it had nowhere else to go, so it sat in him, brewing like oversteeped tea, making him feel sour for what he’d lost.

Finding a better place for it.

Put it where it belongs.

He intended to call you that day. He was running late for an appointment, rushing through the city streets, when he collided with someone, a cup of coffee falling to the sidewalk at his feet. He narrowly avoided the hot liquid, cursing under his breath, and then he caught the scent of your shampoo, forcing himself to ignore the way it twisted his gut.

But then he took a deeper breath, and realized it wasn’t just the smell of your hair. 

It was you.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, shame and guilt washing his cheeks rosy. “I’m so sorry, I’m-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you said, rising to your feet, now-empty coffee cup in hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

He pulled you to the side, avoiding the coffee spill, dragging you into a doorway a few steps up from the sidewalk. You went willingly, but he could see the hesitation in your eyes, and he couldn’t blame you. Your eyes darted anywhere but his face, leaning back against the doorway, chewing at your lip.

“I screwed up,” he said bluntly, and that had your eyes zipping to his. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to sneak out on you, or avoid you, or any of it. I just…I’m sorry.”

Your brow lifted slowly. “You keep saying that.”

“Would you give me another chance?” he asked, the words still pouring out of him. “Please?”

Your chest lifted as you inhaled deeply. “I don’t hear from you for weeks, you come out of nowhere and spill my coffee, and you ask me for a third date?” Your tone was almost flat, but there was a quirk at the corner of your mouth you couldn’t hide. 

Daringly, Peter took a step forward, crowding into your space. His hand hovered for a moment before he lifted it, curling his fingers and letting his knuckles trail down your cheek. Your eyes fluttered and he took another step.

“Yes,” he breathed, leaning down until his forehead was pressed to yours. His knuckles caressed your cheek again. “Please.”

Your next inhale was sharp and you tilted your head back, the tip of your nose moving along the curve of his. “I swear to god, Peter Parker, if you disappear on me again, I won’t-”

He was too busy kissing you to hear the end of the sentence.

+

Three days later, you had him in your bed again. It was an interesting evening, to say the least.

You made him wait this time. Sort of. It was your fourth date now, technically - you’d held out after the dinner he’d taken you to after your collison on th street - but the way he’d kissed you goodnight after this one had you saying fuck it to waiting yet again. There was something different about him, something less haunted in those dark eyes, something less hurried behind his movements.

Your kisses lingered in the elevator, the doorway, the hallway. You drank glasses of water in the kitchen, and Peter was distracted, his eyes catching on the drafts of your latest articles, spread out on the countertop. “No more Spider-Man?”

You lifted a shoulder. “No one’s seen him around in a while,” you answered, stepping close to him. “Plus, my favourite photographer disappeared on me.”

He cracked a smile. “Well, he won’t do that again, I’ve got it on good authority.”

Your smile echoed his. “Good.”

But then just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded. “Listen,” he started, his brow going hard, rubbing his hand up the back of his neck. “I promised myself I’d be honest with you, and there’s…there’s something I gotta tell you.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, tilting your head to the side as you set your glass down. “So tell me.”

He braced both hands on the sink, pressing his lips together for a long moment before his head turned in your direction. “It was me that saved you that night. The car accident, when you broke your leg.”

Your brows pulled down, instantly confused. “No, it wasn’t. Peter, we didn’t even know each other back then, it was-”

The cops had told you who it was, your nurse repeating the story with the tiniest bit of disdain. It was what had inspired your front page piece, when you finally went back to work. A thank you, of sorts. It was-

“Spider-Man,” Peter says, his jaw hard enough to cut glass. Your head is spinning. “That’s me. I’m Spider-Man.”

You started laughing. Giggling like mad, nearly bent in half. “What are you-”

Without a word, Peter stepped away from you, one hand held palm up, and jumped. The ceilings in your apartment were low, but it was still a good three feet above your head. His bare hand connected with the ceiling…

…and stuck.

He swung slightly, staring down at you, his lips still pressed together.

“You…saved me?” you murmured out, your voice dropping as he did, his feet back on your kitchen tile. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Your memories of the accident were hazy; you’d spun out, your car diving off the edge of the bridge and into the river below. You remember being filled with fear as soon as the car hit the water, but the impact knocked you out. You woke up in the hospital later on, and the cops filled you in, told you that Spider-Man had carried you into the emergency department.

Peter just nodded. His shoulder lifted. “It’s kind of what I do.”

“But then you…?” you trailed off, your brow scrunching again.

He closed the distance between you, his thumb smoothing between your brows, something of a habit of his that you were already growing used to. “Then I came to see you in the hospital. I had to. I had to make sure you were okay.”

“You…You’re Spider-Man.”

He smiled as his hand moved around the outline of your face, his thumb now riding the curve of your lower lip. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“I’m having sex with Spider-Man?”

“I thought we were dating, too.”

You pushed at his chest, curling your fingers in the collar of his t-shirt and tugging him close. “I’m having sex with Spider-Man.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and you kissed the grin off his mouth. He moved faster than your eyes could track, grabbing you up into his arms, carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

+

You lay sprawled in your bed hours later, the sun long gone. Peter is stretched out, his arm tucked behind his head, while you are laid on his chest, your chin resting on your hand. You’d only stayed quiet when he’d had his mouth on yours, your questions deterred while he was busy having his fill of you, making those sweet noises echo off the walls of your bedroom. He wasn’t sated, not by a long shot, but he could see the questions on your face as you both came down, chests heaving.

“Go ahead,” he prompts you, tugging you close. “Ask me.”

He tells you everything. He fields every question, tells you as much truth as he could bear. He doesn’t hold anything back, his words spilling out faster with every question on your lips. Soon enough, you’re kissing the words out of each other’s mouths, tangling in the sheets once again.

And then you have a secret of your own to share.

“I’m in love with you.”

His heart stalls in his chest. Every feeling he’d battled over the last few months brought back to the surface. “I…” His eyes search yours, so full of emotion - so full of truth - he feels guilt crawl up his throat. 

He’s told you about Gwen. You know what happened, you know the story. And you hadn’t pressed him for details, when he first brought it up. You were in the hospital still, laid out in that bed, him perched in the chair beside you. Your fingers had curled through his when he first brought it up, your eyes shining back at him. “It’s okay, Peter. I…I lost someone too. A long time ago. I get it.”

He wants to. He wants to tell you the same. He wants to admit it - to you, and to himself, finally.

But…

“I can’t,” he says, the words feeling like lead weights on his tongue. “I just-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you reply, an echo of what you’d said when he’d first told you. “I get it, I just-”

He grabs your forearm, pulling you further up his chest, until he can bury his hand in your hair, his kiss cutting off your sentence. “Can you trust that I want to? That I want to say it, I just…need time? I’m not gonna ask you to wait for me, but if you-”

It’s your turn to cut him off, your mouth lingering on his. “I can wait, Peter. I will wait.”

+

And so it’s continued. More dates, more nights spent in your apartment. Walks through Central Park, dinners at Aunt May’s. May is in love with you from your very first meeting, which Peter predicted, and it’s all too easy to fall into the patterns, to become an even steadier part of each other’s lives.

Every time he has to go, his senses pulling him to another corner of the city, he sees the concern in your eyes. “Be careful,” you beg him, kissing him soundly. “Come back to me.”

“Always will,” he grins, returning the kiss, ducking out the window.

And he always does.

But now, he’s been gone for hours. You’ve been checking the news like a crazy person, scrolling on your phone, refreshing your best sources every few minutes. But nothing. You even go so far as to call the hospitals, making sure he hasn’t turned up in an emergency department somewhere. You can’t tell May; you can’t worry her like this.

Hours turn into days. You deter May’s worried calls with a white lie that Peter has food poisoning and has been sleeping it off at your place. Almost two days, and your worry is at an all time high. This is different. Something feels different, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

All you can do is wait. You told him you would.

+

The weird tingling from Dr. Strange’s spell fades, the brightness clouding his vision fading away, and Peter finds himself standing in your living room. A glance at the kitchen clock tells him it’s very early, and as the exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours starts to set in, already making his limbs heavy, he heads for your bedroom, stripping out of the suit as he goes.

By the time he steps through the doorway, he tosses the suit in the direction of your laundry bin. His mind is still spinning, churning with everything he’s witnessed in the last few days. He doesn’t really know how to make sense of it all, but there’s one thing he has to do.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out and covering your shoulder with his hand, shaking gently as he pulls the blankets back with his other hand.

You grumble for a moment, your eyes cracking open, but when you see it’s him, you surge upwards, throwing your arms around his neck. “Peter!”

“Hi, baby,” he mumbles into your neck, dropping the blanket and wrapping his arm around your waist, the other finding a home in your hair. “Sorry I disappeared on you.”

“What happened?” you cry, pulling back, taking his face in your hands, your eyes instantly inspecting him. “You were gone for two whole days, I didn’t know what to-”

He kisses you hard, wrapping your hair around his knuckles. You return the affection, holding him as tightly as he’s holding you. “I wanna tell you what happened, but I don’t totally know myself? All I know is that I’m exhausted, and there’s something that I do have to tell you.”

You pull him down into bed, instantly fitting yourself against his side, pulling the blankets over you both. Puzzle pieces falling into place. Your brown furrows, and he moves his thumb over the dip. “What is it, Peter? Tell me.”

He drags his knuckles down your cheek. “I’m in love with you, too.”

THE END.

[here2bbtstrash]

your votes are in! part 2 survey results ✨

i asked, and y'all answered!!! 👀

as mentioned a few times before, the survey is not closed - i won't update it with new works moving forward, but i will keep an eye on it if anyone decides to run back and add votes! so please don't feel like it's too late, esp if you're new and still catching up on the porn (there is A LOT of porn. pls take your time and stay hydrated okay 😵‍💫)

but since it's been about a week, and new votes have slowed down, i thought it'd be fun to do a reveal of the top 10 results as things currently stand! sticking them below the cut - join me, won't you? 🍷

at #10, with 40 votes, we have... moving day! i was honestly surprised to see this one crack the top 10, but i should know better than to underestimate the yoongi hoes at this point. y'all love your delusional long-haired boyfie content, and who am i to deny you that??

at #9 (my lucky number 👀), with 42 votes, we have... it's sweet! shocked to see a fluff fic crack the top 10 honestly, but let's be real, the taehyung hoes are THIRSTY (anyone who follows jai already knows this 😂) - i promise i'll write more for y'all soon, and that the next one will actually feature smut!!!

at #8, with 43 votes, we have... park and ride! (and technically also its sequel, five minutes!) y'all really said give us a part three mother 😭 and jokes on you because i have an idea for a part three *and* a part four for these two. you'll never be free of them lmao!!

at #7, with 45 votes, we have... the spins! i'm happy to see this one here!! i love this couple and i've wanted to do a sequel for them for AGES, though i swear my idea for what i actually want to do changes every few months 😂 guess i gotta decide on one!!!

at #6, with 51 votes, we have... sunday! idk why i didn't expect this one to rank omg!! i don't feel like i write jin particularly well, and i especially thought that level of BDSM would be too much for some 🙈 but i have learned y'all are freaks who like crying during sex.... huh...... DULY NOTED 👀📝

halfway there, time for the big hitters! at #5, with 54 votes, we have... party on you! ahhhhh this one makes me happy to see 🥲 forever AMAZED and ECSTATIC that my most popular fic on this blog is a hoseok fic!!! i want to write a million billion more hobi things this year, and i will certainly see what i can do about circling back to these two cuties. at the very least there shall be more ass-eating in 2023!! 🎉🍑

at #4, with 58 votes, we have... deep end! joon hoes with TWO appearances on the board, we love to see it 👏 i loooove that y'all are down not only for period smut, but for some of the risks i took with using more flowery/poetic language in this one! i had so much fun trying something new, i'd love to revisit this couple and that writing style again!!

at #3, with 59 votes, we have... two in one! y'all. no. i'm shook. wig FLEW, wig in the STRATOSPHERE. say WHAT?!?!?! the first fic i ever posted on this blog, my most self-indulgent work (actually it might not be the Most lmfao but it's UP THERE) - i'm. NUMBER THREE?!?!??! okayokayokay 👀 i see y'all 👀 we're gonna have a verrrrry fun jihope month next month aren't we?!?! 😈

at #2, with 65 votes, we have... the shape of your body! oh man 🥺 i'm almost, like, emotional to see this one rank so high. this fic is so so personal and dear to me, and was a BIG leap for my writing in a lot of ways. the fact that the response has been so overwhelmingly positive, and that so many of y'all read all 24,000 words of that fic and said you want MORE. i can never put into words how much that means to me 🙇‍♀️ it's hard for me to think of a whole plot for a sequel - bc i wrote so damn much already 😂 but lemme see what i can do to at least cook up a drabble or two (if you have ideas, keep 'em in your back pocket for jihope month 👀)

and finally... at #1... with 70 votes... no one is surprised 😂 - it's drip! ahhhhh squirt god min yoongi. we meet again. i will never live this fic down lmfaoooo. and funny... doesn't he have a birthday coming up soon? i could've sworn... 👀💦💦💦

alright besties!!! i'd love to know your thoughts!!! any surprises? any you're happy to see?? anything that didn't make the list that you're about to get out the torches and pitchforks over??? i wanna hear it all, so drop me a comment or an ask and let me knoooow!! 🎤💜

(for me, it's babygirl missing out on the top 10 by two votes... but it's fine i'm fine... 😭)

also can i just say - look at y'all, getting ALL OF OT7 ON THE BOARD??? we fucking love to see it!!! equal opportunists on this blog! yaaaaaaas porn for everybody!!! 👏👏👏

[sammylibrary]

Compilation of all the Fluff fics that were rec'ed by everyone! Feel free to send in more!!

Support the writer by reblogging and leaving comments on their fics <3

Notes: I have kept smut and implies smut to the minimal. But respect the writer's wish if they are a Minor DNI blog.

Please read the warnings at the beginning of the fic. I'm not responsible for your media consumption.

Unconventional Date Night by @lovelyavengers

Little Spoon by @musingsinmoonlight

Sunday tiny drabble:) by @sammiesonyourleft

The vow by @scandinavianfairytale

Confessions by @bemine-bucky

I'll Make It Short by @kingbuckyx

Book Smart by @indyluckycharlie

Hurry Home by @jobean12-blog

Diamonds & Granola Bars by @suitofvibraniumarmor

Long Day by @self-indulgent-imagination

Dragon by @buckysknifecollection

im too lazy to write a fic so heres various headcanons about Sam Wilson and Relationships by @mayonnaise-and-anarchy

Prompt: I'm so proud of you by @barnestuff

you make my dreams come true by @samwlscns

Never Planned On You by @hellotvshowtrash

Sick by @mellowavengersstuff

Fluff!! by @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

Take you home by @ginagrey

time can wait by @elysianrogers

Seen (angst with fluff. tw: depression) by @pinknerdpanda​

Bringing The Cheer by @amanda-teaches

Back To You by @bitchassbucky

In This House You Are Safe by @harrysweasleys

I'll Be Home for Christmas by @jbbarnesandnoble

caffeine kisses ☕️ by @jamalflanagan

Delirious by @xoxoavenger

3 am. Kisses by @beelicious-barnes

Just Another Day by @jewels2876

smooth talker by @shmaptainhotchner

lover by @roger-that-cap

Forward (DDLG themes) by @honeydulcewrites

‘till death blooms us art (angst with happy ending) by @divine-mistake

@bvckysmoon:

scary love

a christmas miracle

@thighs-of-betrayal-blog:

My Only Concern (angst/fluff)

Rough Couple of Days

@barnesandco

I'm spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we're both drunk

Light pink sky up on the roof // Sun sinks down, no curfew // Twenty questions, we tell the truth

@xbuchananbarnes:

Paper Thin

here we go again

@justagirlinafandomworld

Say Yes

Worth It

@ambrosiase:

in a garden of wilted flowers (angst with happy ending)

there are many ways to say, i love you

@ofstarsandvibranium:

A Touch of Normal

Come Stop Your Crying

@moonlight-prose:

fooled around and fell in love

finally

easy living

@whisperlullaby

Let Me Come Home

The Perfect Dress

What's the tune

@princessmisery666:

Lazy Morning

A Reason To Come Home

Adventures In Babysitting Captain America & The Winter Soldier

Dance

@historygeekfics:

First Date with Sam

Gentle Knight

Big Spoon (nightmares and fluff!)

Prompt was crafts

@world-of-aus:

Pre-mission Jitters

Fall Tradition

Take A Ride With Me

Spooktacular Sight

@samwilsonshandsandass:

Five Times Sam Kissed You First And One Time You Kissed Him First (A/N: I basically wanted to make it unbearably fluffy.)

The Massage (A/N:I just wanted to pamper Sam)

Samtember 10 Secret Admirer (A/N:Sam just deserves some flowers)

@19ana45:

The Best Part of it All

Kiss Me Better

Let it Snow

Close Your Eyes and Kiss Me Now

Time for Love

@aynanasstuff:

Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar

Dance For You

Blissed Out (A/N: 18+ but still really fluffy)

The Way You Look At Me

There She Is (hurt comfort)

The Wilsons' Residence

@etherealthors:

if you ever want to be in love (angst, fluff)

baby, i still see ya

i can't sleep until i feel your touch

you and i remain the same

(we can be like they are) come on, baby

[the-sinking-ship]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

This is really nice! Thank you for thinking of me, mysterious anon.

When asked to rec some of my favourites from my own collection, I tend to always gravitate to the same long fics. So this time, I think I’ll offer up five of my less popular works that I really love!

Things We Do (Explicit, ~17k, clubbing, roommates, smut)

This was a birthday gift for Fwooshy, who loves fuck-boy Harry and a few drinks at the club. It was also the first thing I wrote after the gruelling marathon of finishing two 100k+ fics in a row. Maybe the angst scared people away from this one, but apparently I really needed to write some messy they-were-roommates smut. There is a happy ending, I promise.

‘Tis a Far Better Thing (Explicit, 37k, fashion designer Draco, banter, humor)

I don’t know, I just really love this fic. It’s lighthearted, and goofy, and chock-full of fashion (it’s loosely based on the movie Clueless, after all). I wrote it for Lynn’s birthday last year and I’m not sure I’ve ever had more fun writing a story in my life. I allowed myself to be indulgent and write the type of fic that I love to read. I’m a firm believer that not all fic has to be serious. It doesn’t have to tear you apart and put you back together again. It’s the milkshake and french fries of fic, and I’m not mad about it.

Sweet Indulgence (Explicit, 10k, Head Auror Harry, snarky Draco, office Christmas party, desk sex)

Another one of my earlier fics, but I’m still really fond of this one. I took a leap and gifted a fic to an artist I was trying to woo (@fictional), and it worked brilliantly. Yeah, it’s a Christmas party fic, but there are jokes and snacks and sex on the Head Auror’s desk, so I think it can be enjoyed year-round.

Like Gold (Explicit, 4.9k, praise kink, motorbike rides, established relationship, giving the middle finger to oppressive parents)

I’m just leaving this here as a reminder to myself that I CAN write a fic under 5k and still manage to cram in both smut and motorcycles.

Finely Drawn Lines (Explicit, 60k, Hogwarts professors, artist Draco, lots of smut, a forest of pine)

My new fic finishes posting THIS SUNDAY (3/27), so for those of you who are WIP-phobic, the time has come! I started this story in January of 2021 and I’m just now getting around to publishing it. It’s also my first/only fic that takes place in Hogwarts and writing it felt a bit like returning home after growing up and living a life.

I'm off to sneakily send this to some of my fav writers!

[cryinginthebackseat]

the trick is to keep breathing

AO3

Fandom: Silent Hill

Pairing: James Sunderland x OC, James Sunderland x Mary Shepherd-Sunderland

Words: 9.132

Summary: They're both lonely and miserable creatures. Maybe that creates a bond. (Pre-Silent Hill 2)

Warnings: Swearings, smut, adultery, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Author’s note: this fic is purely self indulgent that i've been working on since december.

again, i would have to thank my sister/best friend @mortifying-macaroni for introducing me to the world of silent hill, especially silent hill 2 because that game... boy, what a masterclass in writing.

the fic takes before silent hill 2. also i didn't plan for the story to be this long, but here we are, i guess.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When we are strongest— who draws back?

Most merry— who falls down laughing?

When we are very bad— what can they do to us?

- Arthur Rimbaud

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Einstein once predicted, in his theory of general relativity, that when two neutron stars collide, they would create a ripple in the fabric of spacetime known as gravitational waves.

On one Sunday afternoon, James Sunderland walks alone inside a cafe, shaking off the rain from his jacket.

He bumps into Mauve Shepherd-Graves.

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"God, I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?" Mauve asks him later after they squeeze into a booth in the corner.

James is eyeing the coffee-stained table and gives her a tight-faced closed-mouth smile. It's been a while since someone asked him that.

“I'm fine," is what he can come up with as an answer. He doesn't know what else to offer her. He feels like he doesn’t know much these days.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

To start from the beginning, you would have to go back to Ashfield.

It was a long time ago, long before his whole life fell apart. A house party being held by one of Mary’s great-uncles and Mary had begged for James to come with her.

Of course, he said yes.

This was the role he meant to play for the night: James was supposed to be rubbing elbows with several members of her family— notably her father; making a good first impression, securing the vote as they say, if there was any political aspect to this, but what did he know about fucking politics, right? Except everyone has a role in everything.

That, and coupled that with the fact that he is never too good at any of this: socializing. There’s no safety net in talking. Anything could go impossibly wrong, anything could collapse. And James almost did, that night. He was smothered with questions and curious glances by the rest of her family. He felt pinned. He was being observed, processed and assessed like he was taking a shit at the Guggenheim.

He needed to get out of here.

"I'm going outside for a smoke," James whispered to Mary, almost in a hurry. She nodded, but her voice was drowned out by the boisterous, overlapping conversations around them.

Alone, James headed out from the house into a chilly and blustery February night. He buried his nose in his coat— it was fucking freezing, but he found it he could breathe easier here. There's no need for masks out here.

He reached for a cigarette pack from his pocket only to remember he’d left his lighter in Mary's bag.

"Here." Said someone cheerily from his left. James tilted his head to the side to find a young woman in an oversized overcoat offering her lighter to him.

"Thank you," he said as he handed it back to her, a plume of smoke coming out of his mouth. "How did you know?"

"Smoker's instinct, I guess.”

James chuckled. "Well, that’s quite the instinct you have. I appreciate it, though," he told her, kind. A beat, then: "I'm James, by the way. I came with Mar—”

"I know who you are, Mr Man of the Hour,” she interrupted, lifting her cigarette to her mouth. “Seriously, there wasn’t a conversation I participated in where the aunts or the uncles didn’t mention your name. You’re like, I don’t know, an astronomical phenomenon or something.”

Something dour settled over James’ face before he chuckled again. This time sounding dry and forced. “Yes, I guess I am,” he said. “Are you family or…?”

“Mary’s dad and my mom are sibs.” She shrugged. “So yeah, I guess that makes me family."

Recognition quickly settled over him. “You must be Mauve.” The Mauve in question nodded, grinning when she did. Like the rest of the world had the habit of forgetting she even exists in the first place. The idea rang impossibly absurd in his head. “Mary might have mentioned you once or twice.”

“And Mary might have mentioned you once or twice.”

James smirked, feeling a new taste in his mouth. It wasn’t awful, for once. “I’m terribly sorry, I should have recognized you.”

Mauve shrugged again. “No harm done. It’s not like we’d met before,” she responded glibly. “Tell me something, though, shouldn’t you be inside, trying to win over the old dinosaur cull that is my uncle and the rest of the family’s blessings instead of being out here?” Her mouth twisted slowly, equal parts shit-eating and knowing. “I mean, you can’t be hiding from my family, can you?”

James stared at her with vague apprehension. He didn’t know what to make of her yet; Aegean sea-eyed and windswept dark hair. A relative of Mary’s or not, she was a stranger to him and he didn’t trust her enough to have this conversation with her.

“I… I don’t know what you're talking about."

Her smile grew into something less easily identifiable. The bright light from the lamp post they stood under made her feature glow translucent and otherworldly.

“Sure you do," she said, then dropped her cigarette onto the ground, stomped it into ash and went back inside.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Naturally, James told Mary about his encounter with Mauve once they’d got back to her place.

To his utmost surprise, she only laughed at him.

“Mauve is a wildcard. You never really know which side of her you’ll catch,” Mary started. She sat down at the vanity table and took off her earrings. “That, and she's always been too keen on giving her heart away and far more perceptive than we thought she was. In another life, she might have done well sitting next to Poirot or Dupin.”

James nodded absently. He had not taken off his jacket and tried his damndest not to stare at Mary's mauve-colored duvet.

Somewhere in the back of his head, James couldn’t help but classify Mauve Shepherd-Graves in the same category as landmines and Punji sticks.

He made a mental note to tread carefully around her.

“She didn’t always have this enigma about her, though,” Mary continued. “There was a time when she would wear her heart on her sleeve. I suppose it’s true when they say really knowing someone doesn’t mean anything. People change.”

Silence settled for a long moment, before he prompted, “What happened to her?”

“Her father happened.” And that was it. Mary never cared to elaborate and James didn’t know how to ask her without sounding like Sherlock Holmes being high as a kite on a fuckin opium, so he kept his mouth shut.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So, how’s our Lady Magdalene holding up these days?" Mauve asks now, slipping a finger inside her mug and licking the remains of the eggnog latte. James watches her over the rim of his glass, the conversation stalled.

He looks away sharply. "I don't know. I haven't seen Mary for more than a month."

Mauve frowns. "Why not?"

James peers out of the stained windows, rain tapped and dripped at the skylight. The cafe is a few degrees colder now. It’s late afternoon; rainy autumn, golden and damp and gray clouds cosset down the sleepy sky.

"The last time I went to visit her, she made it very clear she was not happy to see me," he utters, feeding himself on the knowledge.

"Oh. I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “Mary lashed out on me too, when I visited her. Told me I’m taking away everything from her, whatever that means.”

James snaps to attention. “She did?” he asks, trying to contain his disappointment for his bedridden wife, but failing.

She waves a hand. “It’s fine. Didn’t stop me from coming back.”

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. You're her cousin, not just some dummy she can verbally pummel on whenever she feels like it. That’s not fair.”

“True. But I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt and assume that it was the medications talking,” she says but James is already shaking his head. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He doesn’t think he has the capacity for it.

“I don't think it's the meds."

"What are you talking about?” she questions, confusion bleeding into her voice.

James pretended not to hear this. “So, how about you? How’s college?” he asks instead, pivoting the conversation.

Mauve catches that, keen-eyed as ever. “Fine.”

“That’s good,” he says, much to himself than her. This is good. He could use this kind of distraction. “You’re in your final year now, right? Have you chosen what topic you’d want to discuss for your Bachelor's thesis?”

“James, what are you doing?”

James releases an unexpected sigh. For a moment, he hates her. To hell with Mary and her thrice-damned family. “Look, can I…" he ducks his head. "can we not talk about her right now?”

He feels her face narrow into assessment, aimed at him and James lets it- he has no cards, no motives- while sipping on his cooling coffee and feels the strangeness of his life.

"Okay.” She pauses. "Okay," she repeats, her voice firm. “Whatever you want, James.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They fall into an amiable silence. Unsurprisingly, it does not last.

"Are you going to eat that?" James motions to the almond croissant he bought for her. He knows her enough to know she likes it, he's seen her eating it on several occasions.

Mauve has been picking at the pastry with the fork, pokes it, slices it with some effort, then abandons it altogether for the past few minutes.

She pushes the plate aside.

“I don’t eat gluten anymore,” Mauve drawls. “Jayden told me it’s bad for my health.”

James lifts an eyebrow. He once heard, over straggling one-way conversations at the dinner table over a plate of turkey that looked as if it had died long before the colonists had set foot on this land and someone roasted the mangled corpse in a wood-burning stove then thought that it was good enough to serve it for Thanksgiving, how one of the cousins had eloquently put it that: “Mauve’s diet depends on whatever the man she’s screwing tells her what’s bad for her and what’s not.”

And James can’t help but ask, "Who's Jayden?"

Mauve blinks in a way he understands she didn’t expect the question. "Just some guy I've been seeing,” she answers after a pause.

“I see.” It isn’t his business of knowing, yet he really can’t help himself. “Is it serious?”

Mauve pauses longer. Reconsidering her answer, she wants to see how he responds.

“I don’t know.” She adjusts her posture. She looks very guarded suddenly and uncharacteristically calculating. “Maybe it is, I guess. Why do you want to know?”

He regards her solemnly. James knows what it's like to pledge yourself to another in the eyes of god. In sickness and in health, he’d vowed, but words are complicated airflow. And frankly, he’d rather not have her plunge into something she’s not ready for, but he doesn’t say that.

“Nothing,” James breathes instead. “I’m happy for you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Another year, another one of Mary's many cousins threw a New Year's Eve party at her apartment; Mary dragged him to it.

There’s a recurring pattern here: James being thrust into an environment he was both familiar and unfamiliar with. Someone had cranked the heater all the way up, he had to take off his jacket. It was the kind of night where everything was too loud and too bright (and too warm, in his case) with too much booze and everyone was caught in crosstalk and soundbites.

Mary had circulated. Now, she was helping the hostess in the kitchen with some kind of artichoke dish thing going on. James had decided not to intervene. The further he got from the kitchen, the better he thought.

So, James made a beeline towards a vacant armchair by the bookshelves. He found Mauve wandering about with a drink in hand. Her eyes lighted up as she spotted him.

“Hey,” she greeted. “You doing okay?”

James slumped onto the armchair, sighing. “I’m fine. Just needed to stretch my legs.” He looked up at her standing beside him. “Are you having a nice time?”

"Nope." Was all Mauve offered as an answer and moved over to sit on the coffee table across from him.

“Tell me, is it me or is it hot in here?”

“It’s not just you. I think someone messed with the thermostat.”

A breath escaped her. Like the start of a laugh, though it sounded a lot like a scoff. “I knew it. It’s probably Bob. He’s also probably the one who let Alex replace the DJ halfway through the party. He wants us all to suffer,” she says and James laughed at that.

"Well, I've been around your family long enough now to know that it's probably his aim.”

“Yep. Just cousin Bob trying to suck us all inside a black hole of terribly hand-picked songs and fry us all to death on New Year’s Eve. No biggie," Mauve drawled, her own smile mirroring his. James laughed again. But now she was looking at him strangely, he thought. She must be slightly drunk- or at least veering into it.

A pause, then: "Can you keep a secret, James?”

James stilled. He didn’t know why he stilled, but he did. “Uhm, sure, what is it?”

Mauve looked over her shoulder, as if making sure no one was listening, then leaned in toward him. James swallowed. Fear lurched in his chest. What was this or where was it going, he had not the foggiest clue.

“I’m organizing a prison break,” she murmured in his ear. “Operation: Getting The Hell Out Of Here and I’m in a dire need of an accomplice. What do you say, partner? You in?”

James exhaled, like he’d been underwater and now came up for air.

“I’m in.” There was a tremble to his voice, but he was grinning. “Let me get my jacket and I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.”

"That's the spirit." Mauve giggled approvingly with a tipsy edge to it. Her cheeks flushed pink. James couldn’t look away.

“Oh, I haven’t asked,” Mauve said after coming down from her high. “How was Silent Hill? What’s the Sunderlands’ consensus to the foggy town?”

"It was beautiful. Mary wouldn’t let me check out of the hotel until I promised that I’d take her back there one day.” And Mauve smiled endearingly, chuckling a low “that’s our Mary, alright.” James continued, “Though I’d suggest you visit in the summer if you’re planning your next vacation there.”

“I'm good. I’d take foggy mornings over the sun trying to burn me into a crisp, thank you very much.”

James smiled. “Mary pretty much said the same thing. I have a feeling you’d love it there, too.”

“How about you, though? Did you like it there?”

The question itself was not a challenge. She was not mocking him. She was genuinely curious. Mauve wondered if he was as cagey as Mary had once claimed him to be. She had experience with men like him, she thought. She knew how to make them cough it up.

“It was nice,” he told her. He almost sounded like he meant it.

Mauve rolled her eyes. Of course, she could see through him. “Sure. And I’m Barbra Streisand.”

“You don’t believe me?”

"Call me crazy, but no."

Something was happening behind James' eyes, but she had no idea what. "Okay, I guess you're crazy."

Mauve arches a fine eyebrow. "Am I though?"

James leaned back in his chair, his chest expanding as he breathed deeply. Any other day, he would have swatted her question with his usual grim, self-evasive ease, but tonight, he leaned forward; faint amusement settled over his face, their nose merely inches from one other, and muttered,

“Can you keep a secret, Mauve?”

Something very odd crowded Mauve’s face before her mouth flexed into a wide, knowing smile. “Yeah?”

“Actually, I happened to find the place rather dull,” he said and it was like untying someone else’s thick scarf from his throat.

That's a new thing about him: courage. It wasn’t really in his nature to escalate, to take the bait, yet here he was.

Mauve was silent for a beat. The smile still lingered on her face as she leaned back, her eyes were huge, disbelieving- like he’d just woken up from a coma and sputtering nonsense in another language or something.

“My, my, James Sunderland…” she said, mouth still curling in a smug grin. “I knew you had it in you. I just knew it."

Later, in the car on his way home with Mary, she asked him what he and Mauve had been talking about.

“Oh, we were talking about Silent Hill,” James answered her. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but neither it was the truth and Jesus fuck, Mauve was right; he really had it in him. He really was that person and he didn’t know what to feel about that.

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Mauve follows him out of the cafe, hands shoved deep inside her pockets.

“When do you think you’ll be visiting her again?” she asks, eyes blinking up at his ridiculously tall frame.

James reaches for his umbrella from the umbrella stand, puts it up and offers to share it with her. She joins him wordlessly.

“I haven’t really thought about it. Soon, perhaps,” he answers as they walk along the sidewalk. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, I got here by bus."

He stops abruptly. "What? Can't you call your Jayden to pick you up or something?"

"No, Jay's out of the country. Just drop me off at the stop and you can go,” Mauve says, jerking her thumb towards the bus stop not far from where his old Pontiac is parked parallel to the curb. “I'll be fine, James. No one has ever pulled a Speed on every bus I rode in so far."

They start walking again, but he doesn't seem happy with her answer.

"Where are you heading?"

Mauve resists the urge to roll her eyes. “What, you’re offering to play chauffeur for the rest of the evening?”

“I won’t leave you out here in the rain, if that’s what you’re asking.”

"Technically, you wo-"

"Mauve, come on." James looks sidelong at her, a pleading note in his voice. "Let me do this for you. It's not like I have much to do at the moment, anyway."

She sighs. There's no talking her way around this, she thinks.

"Fine. There’s this bar a few blocks from here. You know, the one’s adjacent to the motel?”

They're stopping again. He glances at her in surprise.

"The Brightwater Inn?" James asks, chuckling when he does. Mauve nods, but she looks at him like there’s some inside joke she isn’t getting. “Sorry. I’m actually about to head there.”

“Seriously?” And James nods. “Well, what are the odds? It looks like you won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”

James smiles gently at her. “I couldn’t even if I tried.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They’re sitting side by side at the bar. He’s facing her while she glances up at the shelves— the bottles showcased like stones, reflecting in the low light.

He ordered them gin, straight over ice witha wedge of lime while she had to make a quick stop to the restroom.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she'd said as James flagged down the bartender and for lack of anything else, he did.

“Whoa. Holy shit. That’s- that’s really strong. And I’m pretty sure that’s only gin,” Mauve says now as she chokes down a sip. “You drink your gin like this?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty uncommon, I know, but trust me when I say it’s the best way to enjoy it.”

“Please, tell me you’re joking.”

He could laugh; instead, he grins, small, yet it tells her that he is humoring her. “I wish I were. I've been drinking it straight for as long as I can remember."

"I don't think I've ever met anyone who drinks gin straight," Mauve says out loud, kinda laughing. She takes another sip and winces. “Gah. This is awful, but I can’t stop drinking it.” Another sip. “Okay, never mind. I think it’s growing on me.”

James is watching her intently. His curiosity is ever-present. Years ago, he saw a double pendulum at a science center. The nonlinear motions fascinated him, which was unusual from any model of regular pendulums he’d seen before; the very appearance of chaos. The pendulum is here, today, embodying the very woman sitting next to him.

He chances one last look at Mauve, and then goes to throw back his drink in one chest-burning swallow. The inside of his bottom lip feels numb from the gin. He bites it down, hard, willing for the pain to the surface.

It never comes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning sun drenched his bedroom Tuscan gold. James woke up, hungover and miserable, to the sound of the telephone ringing on the bedside table.

He blindly reached for the handle and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello.”

“Son, hey. Did I wake you?”

James sat up in his bed.

“Dad?” he cleared his throat, voice hoarse and underused. “No. No, no, I was just, uhm…” he trailed off. He couldn’t handle hearing his dad’s voice. Not now.

“I called the office earlier, and they said you aren’t in?"

"Yes." Blurry eyes glanced at the alarm clock. 9:20 am. Fuck. "Yes, I'm taking PTO, dad." Fucking shit.

“I see.” A pause. “James, are you sure you're alright?”

“Dad, come on—"

“Well, forgive me for making a fuss out of this, but can you blame me? I haven’t seen you in weeks, let alone hear from you and now you sound distinctly hungover- from what I can tell, you don't seem okay."

His hand knotted tight in his hair, it was shaking. Fuck, he was going to lose it. He was going to have a breakdown on a call with his father on a Wednesday morning.

“I am okay, dad.” The words coming out of his mouth were not his. “I guess I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

He heard his dad sigh on the other end. “Son, I told you you don’t have to go through this alone,” Frank reminded him, almost rueful. “I’m here for you, but I can't help you if you keep shutting me out.”

"I know,” James said, mouth full of tears, but he would not shed them. His pride, shredded as it was, refused. “Thanks, dad. I appreciate it."

But what Frank Sunderland didn’t know is that it was too late; nobody had heard James, as he lay moaning, much too far out all his life and not waving, but drowning.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Another thing:

James now drops his glass noisily on the counter, he and Mauve are pleasantly drunk. The bar is packed now and they have continued to drink. It’s a classic recipe for disaster. If he was smart enough (and good enough, and fill-in-the-blank enough) he’d make a cease to this, walk out of the door, catch the cab and go home.

But he isn’t. James Sunderland wears many names and being good and smart aren’t one of them, unfortunately.

Maybe that’s why he first allows this to happen; Mauve, still holding the glass and still pretty much looking at him (she rotated her body to face him on her third glass, their knees almost touching), as she asks, “I don’t think you answered my question.”

James fixes her with a look, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “I… I didn’t?”

“At the cafe," Mauve elaborates, even-toned. "I asked you how you were and you didn’t answer.”

James’ mouth curls softly into a tortured smile only to grow corrosive. In all honesty, he’s been bracing himself for this, a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate whenever she feels like it.

He pulls the cigarette from his mouth. “I think I told you I was fine.”

“Which is a cop-out answer."

“I know.” His smile falls. James looks away coldly, firmly, but without malice. “What do you want me to say, Mauve?”

“The truth?” She shrugs, like it’s self-evident. “Or at least a sliver of it? I don’t know, isn't it exhausting keeping everything bottled up to yourself?”

“I’m fine.”

She snorts. “Right. You keep telling yourself that and you might as well patent it and turn it to a… I don’t know, a James Sunderland soundbite.”

“Shut up,” James snaps. He sounds like a child. He doesn’t quite know how to behave around her at the moment. He shuts his eyes at the look of hurt she’s sending him. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Mauve, don’t,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth.

“Why not? I’m trying to do you a favor here,” she argues, steely and unyielding.

James opens his eyes and lifts them back to her. Is she even serious?

“Mauve, I’m not going to use you as a…” he gesticulates. “As an emotional punching bag just because my life is falling apart. I’m not—” Mary, what he meant to say, but he’s not crazy enough for that. “I’m not that cruel.”

The brunette stares at him carefully. James wants to look away but he won’t let himself.

“Use me.”

He blinks stupidly slow, once, twice, thrice and he can’t think of anything besides the context juxtaposed to the words.

Shit. James thinks he might be a little drunker than he first realized. Which brings us back to the part where he should stop drinking and go home, but he’s not going to do that.

“What?”

“Use me,” she repeats, looking straight into his confused green eyes. "as your emotional punching bag. Talk to me. Heck, you can lash out at me if you want. Just lay it all on me.”

"No,” he spits the word out. “No, I refuse to do that."

"Why not?"

“Because that's not fair for you,” James counters. His mouth thins, his shoulders tensed, like he wants to run away. It’s all performance, though, considering he’s still here.

“James, when the fuck has life ever treated us fairly, honestly?”

James twitches his shoulder. She’s hit a nerve and he knows that she knows it. He can feel his resolve crumbling. Underneath it all, he misses it, talking, having someone to listen to him, to understand, so he starts to talk and it’s like word vomit, a book that’s been opened and its spine has been completely torn apart.

He tells Mauve everything; about his new routine, going to bed hungover and waking up drunk. It’s not pretty, but it’s enough to mute the pain for a few hours. Sometimes, he thinks he forgets how it feels to be James Sunderland, not simply an extension of Mary’s misery and he hates her for it. He’s not a good man, he’s well aware of that for so long, but he’s never really called it by name until now and he’s not sure what to do about that.

On one hand, James is miserable, exhausted and frustrated. He went to a bar last month intending to get jackhammered shit into the weekend. He nearly fucked a woman there. He didn’t really know what he was thinking except maybe, just maybe, he could hurt Mary like this. That there’s some sort of twisted bastardization he could subscribe to just to punish her except he backed off the minute he got into the bathroom with her. He couldn’t do it. Maybe there’s still hope for his morals, or maybe he wasn’t simply drunk enough to be able to sink this low, but it doesn’t matter. He's adrift now; a planet without its orbit and he’s going to collide into something absolutely destructive. He knows he will. It's only a matter of time.

"Jesus, James," Mauve manages after a while.

He returns to his drink. He thinks he very much wishes he could sink into the floor and cry his eyes out, but the thought disappears as soon as it comes.

"Do you know what Mary told me this time? The last time I visited her?" James finally says. Mauve doesn’t think she wants to know. "She told me she was not happy. And I thought who would be, when you’re chained to your bed 24/7 from a terminal disease? But then she clarified that she wasn’t happy with me. She doesn’t think my love is sincere, that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve sacrificed for her is only performance because I’ve nowhere else to go- and she wasn’t not even on her meds at the time.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it, James.” Mauve tries to change the mood, steering the conversation the way she only knows how.

James shakes his head briefly. He doesn’t believe her. He refuses to believe her.

“I don’t know, Mauve. It didn’t seem like it to me.”

“James,” Mauve says softly. Heartaches and misery is definitely not a look she’d want to see on him. “Come on. Don’t say that.”

Someone told him, a long time ago, that love is a game you should play with all your cards, and all your dice and whatever else you have in your pockets. When you love, you have to give them everything you have. He did that with Mary— still does. He laid his entire life at her feet, but now… now old routines begin to feel more like an obligation than a cocoon.

How could this happen? He can still recall feeling so happy and content with her, not just the illusion of it and have they changed that much, and he’s only noticing it now? Do people really change that fast? Is she even capable of change, given her current state? He has so many questions.

"Sometimes, I can’t tell if the pain I’d have without having her with me, would be less than the pain I get from being with her. Yet I still love her. I don’t know how that is possible despite everything she’s done to me, but I do.” James lifts his eyes to Mauve. “Am I crazy for feeling this way?”

“No,” she says. Her voice almost overlaps his, passing on the word to him like an invocation. “Trust me, you’re not crazy.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So, you know why I drink, why do you?” he asks nearly half an hour later.

The bartender stops by to deposit their drinks on the counter and leave. Mauve reaches for her glass. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and sips, slow and considering.

“It’s the same as why any of us did it in the first place, I guess.” Mauve shrugs. “To take away the pain and all that.”

“Yeah.” His voice is small. James thinks with startling clarity despite the drink in his hand that maybe, just maybe, he and she are not so different. “I’m sorry you feel that way, though.”

“You too. Who knew life would turn out this way, huh?”

“Yeah,” James says again. He cranes his head to her when he hears her sigh. "You can tell me, you know? If you want." He adds, “Use— you can talk to me. I’m all ears.”

Mauve pulls a face. "Isn't it a little late on my part for another soul-baring confession for the night?"

He turns to fully face her again. "Well, in case you still haven't noticed, I've got all the time in the world.”

She frowns. James doesn't know what that's supposed to mean. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. She silently debates what to say. Mauve wasn’t planning on showing her cards to him, but he offers it like a dare, like his words are the only rope that would swing her to the other or she’ll tumble into the abyss if she said no.

“Has Mary ever told you anything about me?” she asks, breaking the quiet. “Anything at all?”

“Well.” James clears his throat. “She did once mention something about your father and I assume your relationship with him isn’t exactly…” he hesitates. “ Ideal?”

Mauve starts laughing.

“Ideal is an understatement of the century, but okay, sure, I’d take ideal,” she says. “I know you and yours are close, though.”

“Yeah. We get along just fine, I guess.” He shrugs a shoulder, thinking back of the conversation James had with Frank a few weeks ago. He wonders if he’s okay. If he’s hated him yet.

“I can tell he cares a lot about you.” And James doesn’t move. It’s awful that he knows that. “I remember seeing your old man going all misty-eyed and grinning like the proud father he is at your wedding. It’s really wholesome.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Rather, polishing off his third drink and contemplating a fourth. James decides he will check in on his dad in the morning.

“My old man, on the other hand,” she continues. “He’s a… I don’t even know what he is, really.”

“What’s he like?”

James watches her attempt to steel herself; the corners of her mouth grow slant. Mauve moves her glass to her left hand, her eyes unfocused and red-rimmed.

“He’s selfish, a bred-in-the-bone gambler who only cares about more about what he can spend than what he can earn,” she says, and she thinks, embarrassingly, Christ’s sake, of all the daddy issue cliches.

“When I was fifteen, he forced me to work a double shift to keep the dough rolling in the household. I had no idea that he gambled everything - everything I toiled and sweated for for his own pleasure. I confronted him about this and he hit me. He hit the only person who cares for him. I ran away since and have never returned.”

Sympathy slots inside of him. His jaw works; he utters, “I’m sorry, Mauve.”

“Yeah.” She’s crying now, her face flushed with something that makes James’ heart compress. “Sometimes I wish mom hadn’t died. I don’t know, I thought,” she says, then stops. “Shit, I guess it wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You don’t know that.”

"Maybe, but I don't know." She sighs shakily. "And you know what’s worse, though? That even after everything, I can’t deny him. Heck, I still care for him, even. He called last week, asking if he could borrow some money and I couldn’t say no,” Mauve confesses. She’s jittery, almost manic. “God, I’m so pathetic.”

James doesn’t know what to say, he truly doesn't. He has no clue with this Mauve when she’s drunk; all self-loathing and volatile. He didn’t know this side of her even exists in the first place, it honestly scares him.

“Mauve, hey.” But she’s raising her drink to her mouth again, gin sloshing out of the glass over her hand. “Mauve, look at me.” When Mauve doesn’t obey, James cups her face and tilts her to face him. “Stop this.” The alcohol leaves him angrier, there’s a force in his voice that finally commands her attention as Mauve looks at him, albeit dimly. “You’re not pathetic, okay? There’s nothing wrong in wanting to love those who’ve hurt us.”

“But that’s not right, isn’t it? They don’t deserve our love.”

James sighs a long-suffering sigh. “No, they don’t,” he says, running an idle thumb along her cheek. “We deserve more than this.”

“I… yeah." she sniffles loudly into his hand. People are watching now. They could give a rat’s ass about it, though. “Yeah, we do.”

“We don’t deserve any of this.” His face looms close to hers. Something rings on the back of his head, but he can’t tell what it is. His forehead pressed against hers and his hands drop from her face beneath the counter, gripping her smaller ones.

James can feel her breath on his face this close. She can feel his, too; warm and gin-stale against her mouth. They’re too close. Their hands still knotted together. He knows they’re going to do something entirely foolish but it’s too good, too much of a satisfying remedy to the misery they’ve been feeling. This feels wrong, this feels right and it never occurred to his inane, alcohol-induced, touch-starved self just exactly how much he misses this, something as mundane as body heat.

“You and I deserve more than this,” he says again as if it’s something sacred, straight out of a holy book or whispered by the gods themselves and Mauve pulls back. Something switched behind her eyes.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changes, goes taut and heavy. For a moment Mauve goes still and so does James, like they've just stepped on a landmine and are just waiting for the explosion.

For a minute, they just look at each other, and he finds his gaze dropping to her mouth, the spot right in the center that is wet from tears and gin, the white edge of a tooth. He wants so badly to smear her lipstick all over her lips, but he doesn't.

Instead he kisses her.

And she kisses him back. Eager, hot and not entirely coordinated. Kissing her is much worse and better than he imagined it would be and he’s not entirely sure what he wants, or what she wants at this point, but that hardly matters now.

The lines have been crossed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

James once heard a saying:

With every person we meet, we run the risk of taking a little piece of them with us.

Perhaps it’s inevitable— unfair, even, that others can use our skin to bury their stories in and there’s nothing we can do about it. And there is always that outcome, a question that does not take shape and it’s always far too late until it dawns on you that maybe, just maybe, life would have been easier if you never met them.

(He only tells himself this because he's hurting, but really, he’s only fooling himself at this point. He knows he's fucked)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

So, none of this is supposed to happen- that, he's certain— but it's happening none of the less.

And now, they’re in the back seat on his Pontiac. She’s on top of him, her lips against his jaw, his neck, smearing lipstick with every kiss and all James can do is dazedly stare up at the headliner.

His first line of defense is this: he has never thought of Mauve like this. Even as he holds her hips and gently rocks her against him; mind lost. He’s painfully hard. She bucks against him and she’s making these high-pitched, little whimpers against his skin that spurs him on.

He moves to her ass and squeezes hard, rough enough to bruise. Mauve yelps and she grips at the back of his neck to pull him for another kiss, filthy and rough just like how he handles her. How he ruts against her and yes, this is really happening. He’s really going down this road with her.

“Use me,” Mauve pants against, into, his mouth. He can taste the salt and alcohol in her mouth and all he thinks is the ocean. “Fuck me, James.”

And so, he does. His hands are clumsy, out of practice as they slide inside her short skirt, as he yanks her underwear down her hips, past her knee. His fingers skim up the flesh of her thighs as James bunches her skirt up.

It’s him who groans when he touches her, wet and warm against his fingers. He shuts his eyes. The flat of his palm grinds against her, the band of his wedding ring getting slick with her want (and she does want this. She bucks down onto his hand, desperate for some relief. She will table just how wrong and fucked up this is in the morning) before he slips his fingers inside her.

He feels her jerk against him. He opens his eyes and watches as she trembles, moans, clenches hard around his fingers. Her own ones in his hair, scratches and pulls and digs into his scalp and James grunts hard against the junction of her neck, fucks her harder, more deliberate with his fingers and pushes and pushes her so far onto the edge until—

"Fuck! ”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

If he closes his eyes, he wonders if it would be possible to imagine that it's his wife's head bobbing up and down on his shaft, that he hasn't broken any promises yet. But even his illusions can't save him from this. It's still Mauve's mouth sucking him off, her brunette strands he's twisting in his hand.

But his mind is too winder and slippery, gin numb, so he lets them escape.

“Mauve, Mauve, Mauve,” James babbles. His eyes opening and shutting, his brain stalls. His tongue burning up. He can’t remember if they have locked the car, if the windows are tinted enough to hide them. For a single breath, he imagines getting caught and a low moan catches in his throat.

“Mauve,” he manages again, his voice twisted low and pleading. “Shit. Come here.” He reaches down and tugs her by the hair. Her mouth disconnects from him with an audible pop. “Get back on my lap.”

She obeys wordlessly. James sheds his jacket and shirt, she frantically pulls her t-shirt over her head. He shoves her bra down her chest as she settles back atop him. His mouth closes around her breast and bites softly, his teeth dragging through the flesh, taking a nipple.

"Use me," Mauve begs and he's too broken and selfish to deny her.

She settles onto him slowly, he guides her until he's fully inside her.

"I'm doing it," he snarls against her sternum. She shouldn't feel this good, he thinks. Something that'll be bound to bury him shouldn't feel like this, yet he wants this, right? In fact, he initiated this. "I'm doi— I'm fucking you."

He kisses her as she starts moving. She bites and takes and lets her nails scratch red lines across his chest. They both have the same foreign concept of intimacy. They both are lonely. Her body arched back. He watches her throat work as she moans.

Without thinking, James raises his hand and wraps it around the warm skin of her throat.

She gasps, he feels the way her throat bobs as she swallows. He doesn’t move, gauging her reaction. Her face is lit by something he can’t recognize. She wants this as much as he does and his head is so intoxicated by her taste, her smell, her heat, but it's easy to blame it on the alcohol.

Mauve covers his hand around her throat and squeezes, just faintly.

“Fuck. James, please.” And his dick throbs inside her and holy shit, what more can he want from her?

Wordlessly, he gives in. He gives her what she wants— what they both want. James starts to choke her.

His fingers cruelly dig into her throat and he shows her, all the violence and darkness in him, what he’s capable of doing. Her mouth gapes open, her eyes black in the dark. Mauve’s making falling noises, desperate and encouraging. He chokes harder, revelling how power surges through him. She picks up the pace and his other hand grasps at her waist, trying to match her rhythm.

“James," she gasps out, her words barely audible. “Oh god, James.”

James groans a shapeless word against her jaw. “Keep moaning my name like that.”

At this rate, he fully expects her to swat his hand away, but Mauve bites through it. Her body spasms and she comes apart before him, pressing her lips to her ear, biting hard on his earlobe, whispering brokenly between choked breaths: “ James.”

And he follows her over the edge like that. He collapses like a dying star as James spills into her, moaning into her shoulder. His hand still presses around her throat before he lets go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Promise me that you’ll take care of me. You said ‘in sickness and in health.’ you said that. That was a promise, James,” Mary muttered.

It was years ago, it was yesterday, it was two weeks ago. The thing is, time behaves differently when you stop paying attention; your days and weeks and years bleed into the next.

For the first time in his life, the words rang more like a chain to the feet than an oath. James opened his mouth, only to stop himself. He dropped her gaze and held his mouth tight.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The horror, guilt and self-loathing is slow crawling before it hits him like a sucker-punch in the gut.

James remains frozen in the back seat of his car, fully aware of whose sleeping head rests on his shoulder. He keeps staring at the window he cracked open hours ago. The temperature in the car has dropped significantly now. He does absolutely shit nothing to resolve this issue.

He closes his eyes again.

James suffers in silence. It’s the realization of what he’s just done, that he chose to do this and… Oh, god, this is real and it’s permanent. He can’t take this back. James thinks that the worst of this all is that he wants to do it again. He really does. He thinks about taking her back to his apartment. Perhaps she’d let him take her against the kitchen counter. Perhaps he’d let her eat her out until her body won’t stop shaking. It’s easier than thinking about anything else.

Just then Mauve’s phone rings. He feels her stir next to him, but dozes back off.

“Mauve.” He shakes her once, and then again, harder. “Mauve, wake up.”

She does, her face scrunches up as she blinks owlishly at him. James can clearly see the still marks his hand left around her throat. He did that. He hurt her.

“Huh?” she croaks.

“Your phone,” he tells her, and she nods, struggling to rifle through her bag for her cellphone. The ringing stops when she finally finds the pitiful device.

Suddenly, he feels her tensing.

"Shit.” He can hear the panic in Mauve’s voice. She scrambles up, clad only in her coat and panties, staring at the small screen of her cellphone with half-shut eyes. “Shit. I have to return this call.”

"Oh. Sure." He hears himself say. “Do you want me to step outside for a bit?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

He shakes his head. Makes himself shrug. He needs some alone time to sort out whatever bullshit he finds himself in, anyway.

“Of course not.” James reaches for his shirt and jacket at his feet. Her eyes are on him as he gets dressed. She seems distant now. Closed off in a way he’s never seen her before. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure.” And he steps outside into the night. The last thing he hears before he closes the rear door is: “Jay? Hi, babe. Sorry, I didn’t answer earlier-” and James feels sick.

It’s not long before a rap on the window pulls him out his musings. James flicks away his cigarette, he shuffles back inside his car, finding Mauve already dressed back in her clothes.

"I have to go," she tells him, refusing to meet his eyes. Hands knotted together in her lap.

"Okay." He looks at her, wondering if he peers long enough he would see the accusation in her eyes, if she blames him for this. "I'll drive you back."

James doesn’t wait for her reply. He moves to the driver’s seat the way a man finds out he’s been sentenced to death and accepts his fate in acquiesce. He starts the car.

Mauve’s hand, shaking and cold, touches the pulse at her throat.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You have one new voicemail.

“Mauve, it’s Mary, I— Oh dear, I think I found something I wasn’t supposed to find. Hint: it’s round and has a diamond on it and it’s so beautiful, Mauve. I think it’s his mother’s but I’m not sure… counting your chickens before they hatch will make things worse, I know, but… God, I feel like cavorting around and squealing like crazy! [laughing] Please call me back as soon as you hear this. I desperately need your input. I will be waiting.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They barely say a word the whole ride to her hotel.

Mauve’s still in the back seat, silent, nursing a headache, watching out of the window like she’s about to cry. She doesn’t, though. Not until he pulls up in front of her building, at least.

Neither says anything. The elephant in the fucking car remains untouched. James tries to catch her eyes from the rear-view mirror. Eventually, they find his. Her face reflects his own: fear.

He chokes on the words that threaten to come out of his mouth— it's all my fault, I didn't mean for any of this to happen . The back of his head is vertiginous. Mary's words ricochet truer and louder than ever, maybe she's been right all along. That maybe his love for her is not real.

She's the one to give first. "We shouldn't have done that."

James drags a hand over his face. "I know."

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Mauve gasps again- chokes, really. “Oh god, what were we— James, what have we done? How could we do this to… to Mary?— and Jay, oh my god."

He strives so hard not to recoil in his seat. But it's impossible not to react when someone is pointing a gun at his face.

"I know." James closes his eyes. "And I didn't even use a—" He ducks his head low. Elbows on the steering wheel, his arms are thrown over his head, like he's trying to escape a collapsing house. "Mauve, please, please, tell me you're on the pill."

“I am. Believe me, that’s not going to be an issue.” Her voice is so quiet, there are tears in her eyes.

“Okay. Good.” Something like relief swarms him, but it’s short-lived. His heart still feels like it’s being spaghettified. He presses his palms against his closed lids. “God, I’m so sorry.”

A choking sob escapes him before he hides his face in his hands. He didn’t mean to have a meltdown— least, in front of her, but he’s so tired and lost and angry at himself. He’s broken too many promises and crossed too many lines. He is abject, a shining example of moral depravity. He hates himself.

He doesn’t hear her move until she does, shifts forward in her seat and rests her forehead against the back of the driver’s headrest.

“Me too,” she breathes, choking on her own tears. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it isn't.”

James ignores her. “I started this. I shouldn’t have…” he clenches his teeth and sighs. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I didn’t stop you.”

“You were drunk. I was still co—”

“And I didn’t do anything to stop you!” Mauve snaps and James keeps quiet. “I could have pushed you away, I could have told you to stop, but I didn’t. It’s on me, too— it’s on us.”

"I'm sorry, nonetheless. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just…” he trails off.

“I know.” She breathes the words more than she says it, like she understands— and James really knows she does.

Hesitantly, James sniffs and leans back into his seat.

“Listen, Mauve,” he mutters lowly. He knows she’s still behind him, he can hear her breaths from here. “We can’t… no one can know.”

She laughs darkly, like there’s anything funny about their situation. “Oh, trust me, I’ll take this to my grave,” she says. “And I think it’s better if we don’t see each other for a while.”

His heart breaks, but he nods anyway. "Okay."

A long time ago, none of this would have mattered, but they have ruined everything now. And James doesn't know what he would do the next time he sees her, knowing how her body feels against and inside him. It’s too much.

She starts to leave, but he’s faster than her. She hasn’t even made it to the door when his hand, clenched around her covered forearm, ceases her in her place. Mauve flinches.

“James?” she asks.

“Mauve, I…” James trails off. Then, his eyes glide to her face, as if trying to memorize it. The small gap between her front teeth, her too-bright eyes. He thinks he can never say what he wants to say, but it’s better this way. It’s easier to pretend the unsayable never exists, anyway; shoehorned somewhere on the margin of his mind, lost and hidden.

Mauve stares at him curiously. There is something on his face that makes her pay attention, that stops her. It's not his genial eyes that she always searches for during one of her family's gatherings or the way they openly seared hers, hours ago; primed and loaded with want underneath her. It’s something different. Something shriveled and defeated.

She opens her mouth, he assumes she’s going to say something, but she only kisses him. Their lips touch, briefly, for one last time and he shudders. Unbeknownst to either how this will become the final moment between Mauve and James before they find him, months later, after he drove the car they'd fucked in, filled with Mary's body, into Toluca Lake.

But for now, they have this.

“Promise me, you'll take care of yourself, okay?” she whispers against his mouth now.

"I will. I promise,” he says and before he can add anything else, she’s gone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mauve was to leave for college. Her plane left for Sea-Tac that evening.

Mary and some of her cousins had insisted on driving her to the airport, even though Mauve told them she would return every Christmas. For once, James found that he didn’t want to miss this moment.

“I suppose this is goodbye for now.”

James crossed the wide distance between them, his face was strangely contemplative. “Yeah. I really hope Seattle will treat you well, Mauve.”

“Thanks. Sure it’s a long way from home, but I’ll be fine,” she said, then added: “I think.”

“You’ll be fine. I know you will.”

A breath of nervous laughter from her, her mouth kinked upward and beautiful. “Says you.”

“You will. I believe in you— we all believe in you,” he told her, placing a hand onto her shoulder.

Something like melancholy stuck inside her, threatening to delude her. Mauve felt tears stinging her eyes, then before she could think it through, she propelled herself into James’ arms and even caught him off guard. His arms slowly snaked around her smaller form and she held onto him, tightly; eyes closed. His warm breath fanned the crown on her head, and then it was over.

When he pulled back, he smiled, wistful.

“Take care of yourself, Mauve,” he said.

“I will. I promise,” she said.

fin.

[adorethedistance]

Tell Me Your Favorite Song - Owen Patrick Joyner x Reader High School!AU (18+)

JATP masterlist

Requested: Reader is in a shitty relationship and she hooks up with Owen before breaking up with her shitty boyfriend. Then the boyfriend goes to a show to win her back, and they're playing a song titled her name including the lyrics “I fucked your girlfriend”

Warnings: Smut, swearing, unhealthy relationship

Words: 3107

Summary: Your inattentive boyfriend is falling inferior to a certain drummer from your AP Lit class, who wants to get to know you better inside and out.

A/N: Despite being in high school, all characters in this fic are 18+. DNI IF YOU ARE NOT 18+. This is semi-self indulgent bc it was inspired by but not directly derived from a request so. This IS a part 1 and I will be writing more parts in the future. FEAR NOT!

Part 2

“Babe?” The sound of my boyfriend’s voice pulls me from my wandering thoughts. I thought I loved Peter but he doesn’t seem to really know me. We’ve been dating for almost eight months and he doesn’t really know what I like or don’t like to do, eat, wear, listen to--none of that stuff. At least not in the way a boyfriend should.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I ask, coming back to my senses.

“I was thinking… to celebrate your birthday on Sunday we could go catch that new movie ‘The Morgue’ and then go surfing afterward.”

“I don’t like scary movies,” I state for the fifth time since we’ve started dating.

“You don’t?”

“Yes. I’ve told you this before. And I don’t even own a surfboard.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m such a terrible boyfriend.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“Forget it. I’ll see you at lunch,” he pulls his hand out of mine and storms off to first period, leaving me to walk to class alone. I’m standing in front of the entrance to Loz Feliz High, dumbstruck by the reaction my comment warranted. Does he really think he’s a terrible boyfriend because of what I said?

“Yikes. You okay?” Turning around, I see Owen Joyner. The rock and roll drummer of the band Radical Dreams, and the only person in my first period AP Lit class that has an A- other than myself.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? He seemed pretty pissed that you didn’t wanna go surfing.”

“I guess he was… Wait, how did you know what we were talking about?” I ask pointedly. Owen sharply averts his gaze from mine, watching the passersby instead of having to look at me.

“Uh, wanna walk to class together?” I sigh out a laugh in response to his erratic behavior. I begin walking to class, setting the pace for the two of us.

“Did you do the reading last night?”

“No.” Owen smiles at my confession before responding.

“I didn’t either.”

“It’s not like she’ll know anyway. You and I bullshit better responses than other kids would give if they dedicated their lives to studying the passage.” My exaggeration makes Owen laugh so hard he nearly drops the pair of drumsticks I didn’t realize he was holding until now.

“That’s probably true. Hey, we have sixth period together, too...”

“That we do,” I confirm, although the rhyming was unintentional.

“If things are still weird with you and Peter after lunch, I can walk you out to your car.” A small smile destructs my previously confused expression. As he awaits my reply, Owen flashes me a nervous smile and I feel my face flush. I’ve never noticed how opalescent his teeth are. And I’ve never taken notice of the way dainty strands of his golden blonde hair flutter around his face. Or how his lashes eloquently frame his glassy green eyes. Or how soft his rosy cheeks and lips must be.

“I didn’t bring my car today, Peter gave me a ride.”

“Well, I can give you a ride if things are still weird?”

“...You can give me a ride even if things aren’t still weird.” And with that, I enter the classroom and find my seat in the middle row without sparing Owen a second glance.

This is wrong. I can’t fall for Owen. I can’t be falling for Owen. He’s gonna make it huge as a rockstar and I’m probably going to be stuck in a job based in LA for the rest of my life. I mean we still have to the end of high school if anything were to happen. No. Nothing is going to happen because I’m with peter and he loves me. I shouldn’t be flirting with anyone when I have a boyfriend who loves me... Does he love me?

The question lingers in my mind all throughout the next three periods when finally, the dreaded lunch period arrives. I enter the outdoor cafeteria seating and don’t hesitate as I strut toward my usual table. Peter and all his basketball friends are standing around the table but not sitting down.

“What’s going on?” I ask once I’m close enough for them to notice me.

“Y/n, Spud needs to go talk to coach, do you wanna come with us?”

“You all need to go?” Peter confirms and I’m skeptical of the entire starting team needing to go with, but I know when to pick my battles. Peter leans down to kiss my cheek before the bunch of them disappear into the crowded hallway. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Sighing to myself, I set my backpack down on the table and fish out my lunch and homework. If I have to be alone might as well be productive. Halfway through the first question of my Lit packet, I hear a familiar voice to the right.

“Hey, Y/n!” Looking up from my homework, I spot Charlie as optimistic as ever.

“Hey.”

“I don’t know if you want to or not, but you should come sit with us. If you want.” He’s rambling but he’s adorable.

“Oh, I don’t wanna intrude-”

“You wouldn’t! It was actually Owen’s idea to invite you over!”

“But he sent you?”

“He was too nervous to ask, so I decided to do it for him.” The thought of Owen being nervous around me makes me smile for some reason. Maybe I’m too optimistic.

“Yeah. Okay. Give me a second to clean up and I’ll be right over.” Charlie nods and skips into a jog to head back to Radical Dreams’ usual table. I need to think of a conversation starter before heading over otherwise I’m just gonna be a silent, anxious mess and they’ll never invite me to sit with them ever again. No one cares to share their favorite holiday. I don’t know anyone with a favorite car brand. Oh. Duh! They’re musicians I can just ask about their music.

“Hey.”

“Y/n!” Jeremy and Taylor practically cheer when I arrive.

“Hey, guys.” Before I can bust out my premeditated conversation starter, Charlie jumps in to speak.

“What’s your favorite song, Y/n?” I’m a bit taken aback by his question, but I oblige and tell them my favorite song and why it’s my favorite song. All four of them smile and attentively listen to what I have to say. Halfway through my explanation, I trail off in a sense of shock. I can’t remember the last time anyone has cared this much about what I have to say. It makes me realize how fake the friends I have are. It also makes me realize that maybe I shouldn’t be withPeterafterall.

“You okay?”

“What? Yeah! I’m good, I just…”

“...Just what?” Owen asks when I trail off once more.

“I was just thinking is all.”

“About what?” Charlie asks after taking a bite of his food.

“Nothing. But as I was saying,” And once I continue telling them about my favorite song, I make the decision right then and there: I’m breaking up with Peter tomorrow. It’s Friday today so I can ask him to lunch tomorrow, and have the morning to figure out what I want to say… What do I want to say?

__________________________

It’s been about fifteen minutes since school ended and Owen still isn’t here. I’m sitting on the concrete stairs in front of the school, waiting, as a few freshman stragglers shuffle by to be picked up in their parents’ busted minivans.  

As I decide I’m gonna give him a few more minutes and then I’m walking, Owen jogs around the corner and comes to a screeching stop, looking slightly panicked. When he sees me sitting on the centermost bench, his face softens and he sends me a happy smile. All of my previous negative energy is dissolved by the warm look Owen is showing me.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Charlie just needed a favor but we’re good now.”

“Cool.” Owen simply stares at me as he catches his breath, so I decide to head to the parking lot and have him follow. Otherwise, we’d never leave.

“What was the favor?”

“Huh?” he seems caught off guard by my question.

“Charlie. What was the favor he needed from you?”

“Oh. It’s nothing.” Owen then opens the passenger door to a silver prius, and ushers me into the seat. I’m a bit surprised by the gesture which is just another reminder for how downhill my relationship with Peter has gone.

I don’t live all that far from Los Feliz so it only takes a short while before we arrive at my house. Our conversation simmers into an antsy silence and the only sound in the car is the static of the radio we’ve both tuned out for the whole ride.

“We should hang out more.”

“Just the two us or would we invite the rest of the band?”

“Both,” I shrug carelessly, but secretly hope Owen understands I want to spend more time with him. As we’re sitting in the driveway, I recall my parents are both at work at the moment.

“...My parents aren’t home… if you wanted to hang out right now.” Please majestic powers from above, pull through.

“Okay.” Owen shuts off the ignition and we clamber out of his car, into my quaint LA home.

“Would you want to watch a movie or…?” I try and gauge what Owen wants to be entertained by.

“I was wondering if we could listen to your favorite song?” The idea practically melts my heart and I lead Owen upstairs to my bedroom. I haphazardly toss my backpack on the ground and begin digging through my electronics to find my speaker. As I try and turn it on, the power hub blinks red signifying it’s out of battery.

“Shit.”

“What’s up?”

“My speaker is dead.”

“It’s okay, we can just listen to it on my phone.”

“No, the phone speaker doesn’t perfectly balance the bassline with the melody,” I sigh, grasping at straws for a solution. “I guess we can use headphones.”

Plopping down on my neatly made bed--thank you morning Y/n-- Owen lays back to stare at my ceiling. Once I pull up the song, I hand Owen an earphone and lay down next to him to put the other earbud in my ear.

When I look at Owen, I see his eyes are closed. He’s really taking in the music. Nodding with the downbeat, the crease of his brows pinch with concentration. The amount of focus he’s putting into the song warms my heart, and at that moment I decide I need to break up with Peter ASAP. Picking up my phone, I unlock it and take a deep breath before opening my messages.

Hey let’s meet for dinner tomorrow evening to talk. I wanna be completely transparent and say I think we should break up, if you don’t want to talk that’s fine but I want to offer a space for you to get an explanation for why

Sent.

I set my phone back down on the bed. The end of the song prompts Owen to look at me with a smile.

“That was incredible.”

“Right? I love that song so much.”

“I think I do too. You’ll have to make me a playlist of all your favorite songs so I can get to know you even better.”

“Do you really want that?”

“Hell yeah. That was a slap.” I laugh at Owen’s word choice and sigh into a monotony of happiness.

“It’s pretty similar to the music that inspires Radical Dreams’ sound.”

“No way. I never realized how similar we might be after all.”

“Yeah... We’re, uh, we’re playing a set tomorrow at this little pub venue if you wanted to come?”

“That sounds like so much fun, I’d love to go!”

“Cool.” After a brief moment of staring into one another’s eyes, Owen breaks the silence that settled over my bedroom.

“Who were you texting?” Oh gosh.

“What?”

“I heard you send a message in the middle of the song, I was just wondering who it was.” Moment of truth I guess.

“That was, uhm… that was Peter.” Owen’s demeanor shifts from calm and content to rattled and confused.

“I see.”

“Yeah… I broke up with him… technically.”

“Technically?” he asks incredulously.

“I told him I wanted to break up. We’re talking out the details tomorrow over dinner.” Owen nods in understanding, but I can still see some gears turning in his brain.

“So, if you’re technically broken up… does that mean… can I- kiss you? Right now?”

“Yeah.”

A flurry of excitement swims around my stomach as Owen leans in to passionately kiss me. Our eyes flutter shut as we lean in, and once our lips connect, he brings a hand up to gently hold my chin between his thumb and his forefinger. The eagerness of the kiss is unrivaled as his lips move tenderly with mine. Bringing my hands up to hold the sides of his face, I deepen the kiss further. Owen adjusts himself on the bed and pulls me over to straddle his lap. Before I sit down, I’m kneeling with my legs on either side of his hips, causing him to tilt his head up to keep his mouth on mine. From this position of kissing Owen from above, I run my hands through his perfect hair, and he trails his hands from the sides of my waist, up the skin of my back, moving my shirt up in the process.

As his hands come back down my body to settle on my hips, he pulls me to sit down in his lap, fully pressing my clothed heat onto him. Owen sighs at the feeling and provides me with the opportunity to run my tongue against the curve of his lower lip. Humming a soft ‘wait’ into my mouth, we mutually break the kiss and I open my eyes at the same time as him.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the top of my exposed hipbone.

“Yes,” I whisper. And with that, I crawl off of Owen as the both of us frantically strip off our clothes. Two shirts and two pairs of jeans are piled on the floor beneath my bed, leaving us in only our underwear. My bra and panties don’t match today but they’re both cute on their own, so that’s a win more or less.

“You're gorgeous,” Owen sighs as he pulls me back in for another kiss. I move to take off my bra but Owen stops me. “Keep it.”

I don’t question his command but simply tangle one hand back into his hair, and drape the other over his toned shoulder. If being a drummer isn’t hot enough, the muscles you get from doing it are even hotter.

“Hold on,” I give Owen one last peck before slipping off the bed and digging into my discarded backpack. Opening the smallest compartment, I pull out a condom from my days of sneaking around in Peter’s car.

“You have condoms in your school bag? How naughty, Y/n.”

“Shut up,” I roll my eyes before joining Owen back on the bed. “At least I have condoms.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t,” he quips back and flashes a teasing smile. I see Owen glance behind me for a brief moment which prompts me to question his gaze.

“What are you looking at?”

“I wanna fuck you facing that mirror.” I have to say I’m stunned by his boldness, but I’m turned on by it even more.

“You do?”

“Come here.” Pulling me into his line of sight, Owen settles behind me as we both face my floor mirror. Without breaking eye contact through our reflections, Owen slips one arm around my waist and brings the other to slowly pull down my soaking panties. Reaching down, he delicately slides a finger over my folds, and collects a bit of my arousal on the tip of his finger. Trailing the moisture upwards, he drags the wetness over the swell of my clit, rubbing the spot with a feather-light touch. I breathe out a moan and leans my head back to rest my head on his right shoulder. Now I understand why he’s got a hold of my torso: he knows exactly how to pleasure a girl and soon enough, I’ll need all the support I can get.

“See, I love this: the way I can control you with the lightest touch. But the real fun...” Rubbing his finger over my clit one last time, Owen slips his hand down further, and expertly slides his middle finger inside of me.

“The real fun starts here.” As he finishes his sentence, Owen curls his finger just right to stimulate the spot that has me crying out in pleasure. With his right arm still around my body, his left hand is back to rubbing my quivering pearl.

“This way I’ve got my light touch keeping you under my control, and-” he inserts his ring finger with his middle as they curl inside of me, “You’re completely helpless when I know how to use the inside clit.”

My breathing picks up and my soft moaning becomes repetitive like the melody to a love song.

“Open your eyes, baby. I want you to look in my eyes as you come undone.” I nearly finish at the sound of his words, but will my eyes to open, first catching a glimpse of my own euphoric appearance. I connect eyes with Owen. It takes a mere few seconds for the pleasure of his fingers to overtake me. When I finally finish, I reach down to force Owen to stop his movements over my swollen clit. His fingers still inside of me but he doesn’t take them out yet.

The aftershock of my orgasm lasts another few seconds and I don’t release Owen’s hand from my grasp. Not yet.

“Fuck.”

“Has Peter ever been able to make you cum like that?” He almost challenges. I can’t tell if it’s jealousy or arrogance but whatever it is, I’m enjoying it.

“No, he hasn’t,” I confirm just to boost his ego.

“Figures. See, I can tell because of the way your pussy is still pulsing.” The pointed read causes me to laugh humorlessly. More than anything, I’m embarrassed at how quickly I had come undone. Without warning, Owen removes his fingers which makes me yelp because the sensitivity has yet to subside.

“Ooh. Sensitive, are we?”

“Fuck you,” I spit, bitter with contempt.

“You will.”

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever @yikesgillespie @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @dmcfarland1

[july13th2004]

Fictober 2021 Day 10

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia

Characters/Relationships: Kratos Aurion, Anna Irving, Kratos/Anna, Kranna, Lloyd Irving (mentioned), OC children (mentioned), Yuan Ka-Fai (mentioned), Colette Brunel (mentioned)

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Warnings: Explicit Content (Graphic Smut)

Word Count: 1062

Prompt: "It’s so quiet.”

Author’s Note: So, this is probably the most self indulgent fic I’ve ever written. It’s based on a canon divergent AU that’s been in my head for the better part of a year now, just set in a modern AU for this specific fic. Basically, Lloyd isn’t an only child in this AU, he has siblings, or more specifically, twin siblings (boy and girl). And while I don’t mention the twins’ names in this fic, they do have names, but I’m going to save that revelation for if/when I write another fic based on this canon divergent AU. Also, I don’t mention ages either, but Lloyd is six and the twins are two in this fic.

This fic also ended up being pretty dialogue heavy, so I really hope Kratos is in character, because whenever I write dialogue for him, I tend to dwell heavily on whether he would actually say a particular line that I’ve written for him...

Anyway, this one also contains explicit content, so again, if that’s not your thing, just skip it. Next one will be posted on the 12th!

            After a long, arduous week of work, school, and taking care of two rambunctious and fussy toddlers, Kratos and Anna were finally ready to settle down for the rest of the night and spend some much needed alone time together. It was a Friday night, and the couple decided to snuggle up on the couch in front of their fireplace in the living room, the sound of the crackling fire being the only sound that could be heard throughout the whole house.

           “It’s so quiet.” Anna spoke out of the blue, one hand undoing the top three buttons on his white work shirt as she laid her head on his shoulder.

           He leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of her head, “Finally some peace and quiet after putting the kids to bed…”

           “I wish I didn’t have to go back to the restaurant on Sunday. I feel like we didn’t have any alone time on my week off this week.” She sighed, shifting her gaze up at him.

           “You can blame Yuan for that. He’s made me work overtime every day this week. That, and it seems like you had your hands full with taking care of the twins this week as well.”

           “They’ve been such a handful this week! Just really fussy and defiant all the time. I just put them to bed a half hour ago and they fought with me on that, too. I don’t remember Lloyd acting like that when he was their age.”

           He leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead, “They’re toddlers, my dear. And Lloyd had his moments too, remember? Eventually they’ll grow out of it…”

           “I hope you’re right… Who knew taking care of twins would be so… involved?”

           “And yet you’re the one who wants to have more children…” He met her gaze with a smirk on his face, his hand lightly squeezing her shoulder.

           “Hey! I told you when we started dating as teens that I wanted to have a large family since we both grew up without siblings.” She lightly poked his chest.

           “Well, I’m sure neither of us thought we were going to have twins, and you never told me how many kids you wanted to have, either.”

           “Yeah… Wait? I never told you how many kids I wanted to have?” She frowned for a second, “I thought I had mentioned I wanted seven, numerous times in fact, and especially when were about to graduate from university and get married.”

           “This is your first time mentioning it to me, my dear…”

           “Hmm…” She tapped her chin in thought for a moment before her lips curled into a smirk, “In that case…”

           Kratos tensed up slightly in surprise as his wife swung her left leg over his lap, shifting her body to straddle his waist. Her fingers quickly and deftly unbuttoned the rest of the buttons on his work shirt, the shirt having already been untucked from his black work slacks by him earlier. She smoothed her hands over his sculpted bare chest, her lips showering open-mouthed kisses up and down his neck.

           “Anna…” He groaned half-heartedly, “I have to drop Lloyd off at the Brunel’s for a playdate with Colette in the morning. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

           “Oh, and when’s this playdate in the morning?” She inquired, her hands drifting up to tangle in his hair.

           “Late morning…”

           “Then we can just sleep in a little later, can’t we?”

           “What about the twins? They tend to wake up rather early…”

           “Then we’ll just have a quickie right now…” Her breathing was already ragged against the skin of his neck and cheek.

           Letting out a half sigh, half moan, he decided against protesting further. It had been way too long since they’d been intimate like this, and he could already feel that all too familiar tightness in his slacks. She cupped his face and kissed him again, her tongue slipping into his mouth. He moaned softly when one of her hands drifted down to gently rub his rapidly hardening length through his slacks, her lips still melded to his. His hands ran through her hair as hers began to quickly unbutton and unzip his slacks, freeing his stiff manhood from the confines of his boxer-briefs.

           Fortunately for the both of them, she had already changed into her nightgown sometime earlier before cuddling up with him on the couch, so she was able to make quick work of removing her underwear before swiftly mounting him again. His length slid into her slick, wet entrance with relative ease, and he let out a low, almost inaudible hiss at how good her walls felt clenched around him. She set the pace, bouncing atop his manhood slowly at first, before intensifying her pace, her hips thrusting up and down relentlessly and roughly. Her head lowered into the crook of his neck, stifling the loudest of her moans and whimpers that fell from her lips. He held onto her tightly, his fingers digging into the silky fabric of her nightgown as she began gyrating her hips. The couple came together moments later, with him completely spending himself inside her.

           She slumped against him, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck, and let out a satisfied and contented sigh. The two held each other in silence for a short while, coming down from their highs.

           “We should probably clean up a little and get ready for bed now…” Anna whispered, lifting her head up off of his shoulder to look down at him with slightly tired eyes.

           Kratos gave her a smirk while matching her gaze, “I think I could go for another round, my dear…”

           “Really?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

           He cupped her cheek and locked his lips with hers before lifting her off the couch with him, their bodies still intimately connected, and headed up the stairs to their bedroom.

           About an hour later, at around midnight, they laid in bed with their arms around each other, her nightgown and his work shirt, slacks, and boxer-briefs in a pile at the foot of the bed; both were fast asleep with their bodies intimately connected once again.

           A couple very short months later, the two would find out they will be expecting another child, their fourth, yet another welcome addition in her wish to have a large family.

[dickpuncher420]

fic writer review

tagged by @chitsangenthusiast thank u kath <33

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

23! which is. so crazy to me?? no way i’ve written that many stories lmao

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

144,536 (also like half of that is from this past year alone LMAO??)

3. how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

only 3: atla, daughter of smoke and bone, and leviathan. and since 2015 ive only written for atla lol

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

fumbling towards ecstasy

love language

sunday morning

the kind of love (i’ve been dreaming of)

before the storm

5. do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i try to!! i’ve def been slacking recently, and i generally only respond to comments on a new fic for a certain amt of time after it’s been posted. but i like to do it bc i LOVE when fic authors respond to my comments, so i just want to return the favour to other ppl who might feel the same way! :)

6. what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

LMAO i was about to say none and then i remembered as we fade in the dark, which i wrote years and years ago so i just forgot it existed hfhsjs

7. do you write crossovers? if so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

nah, not a fan of em

8. have you ever received hate on a fic?

omg YES i got THE funniest comment on victory lap where this person was just SO MAD that sokka was a dick to zuko abt figure skating, calling him toxic and shit akwhdjwhs like i swear they just completely missed the entire point of the fic it was so funny

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

FUCK yeah i do baby. idk if i would say i specifically write a certain kind of smut but i am very fond of writing established relationship sex where they’re just very comfortable w each other and already know each other really well. which is funny bc my most popular fic is a first time sex fic but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

10. have you ever had a fic stolen?

as far as im aware no

11. have you ever had a fic translated?

nope! i did have fumbling towards ecstasy podficced tho if that’s anything?

12. have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes, once, and tbh i don’t think i’d ever do it again djhsjshs it’s just not rlly my jam

13. what’s your all-time fave ship?

i rlly don’t think it’s that hard to guess LMAO

14. what’s a fic you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

ughh i hesitate to say lover come back bc i am still dead set on finishing it one day but i just haven’t made any real progress on it in so long and just arrfgghhdh it haunts me. i have so much of it written already and i don’t want it all to just go to waste :(

15. what are your writing strengths?

i’d say…dialogue and having my writing feel very physically grounded in the moment. personally, i don’t like to spend a lot of time in that sort of abstract, reflective headspace—i prefer to focus on specific, concrete moments and interactions. i try to bring attention to the sensory side of things to make it feel more tangible

16. what are your writing weaknesses?

both over- and under-editing lol. sometimes i’ll rework a line or passage too much when it was much better off the way i’d originally written it. and sometimes i’m so intent on just getting things done and posting that i don’t spend much time editing at all

17. what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages on a fic?

personally i would never do it myself, and i’m not a huuge fan of it in other fics either. there is one rlly old makorra fic that i love tho that does it and i think it works incredibly well in the specific context that it’s in

18. what was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

leviathan! those books were my first introduction into any kind of fandom stuff, they still hold a special place in my heart

19. what is your favorite fic ever written?

my favourite fic that I’VE ever written is probably victory lap, closely followed by love language. i’m still incredibly proud of both of them, but victory lap wins out in that it was such a huge, daunting project that i never expected to actually complete—and then i smashed out 26k words of the most self-indulgent au i’ve ever written in a little over two weeks and i was like. holy fucking shit. i can’t believe i did that JFHSJSH

also i’m very happy with the way i managed to execute all the stuff about sokka’s feelings and motivations and the struggles of being an athlete. it was just such a fun and fulfilling way to combine two of my biggest interests ^_^

now if we’re talking abt my favourite fic that someone else has written….shit. pls don’t ask me that, i can’t choose >_< i have a favourites tag in my bookmarks for a reason

tagging: @dameferre @goldrushzukka @ofherlionheart @foyal @lesbianvampireboyfriend @quenchyest @zukkababey @badgerfrogzukka

[nanso]

I would love your extended thoughts on people writing for things where they haven’t consumed the source material 🙏

Anon, thank you for indulging me in my clear desire to be salty. On a Sunday. Salty Sundays. 

HEY OOOO. 

Anyhoo - it's pretty simple. Why write about something you haven't read or watched??? Like...what is the point? What is your desire? Specific to ASoIaF, even before the more glaring narrative atrocities that were committed from season 5 onwards (*cough* Dorne-Sansa-Jeyne), there were of course a lot of changes that took place in the first 4 seasons that make these two very different works to write fanfic about. When you write about Tyrion, is it book!Tyrion or show!Tyrion? And if it's the latter, are you only incorporating mentions of Tysha because you've seen tumblr or reddit posts about her? I believe it is a disservice (and let me go further - it's disrespectful) to a horrific storyline and tragic character to write about someone like Tysha - and not have read the books. It also takes away from who book!Tyrion is, I think, if you haven't actually....read the books and then try to write about book plotlines. 

I mean, that's the crux of it - again, why write about books that you...haven't read? More broadly, HOW can you possibly write or comment about something that you have not read or watched?? I just....why...how...

I truly cannot fathom writing about characters and storylines from a piece of fiction that I have not consumed. Then you may as well just start writing your own story period that has nothing to do with the source material that you have deigned not worthy of your attention - but your exploitation.

Maybe I'm being too snobby and purist about it. But what really gets me is when people haven't read the books and write fic or commentary about Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys; Though honestly I think it's really glaringly obvious when people write about Catelyn (or not understanding why Talisa made no sense! vs Jeyne W). Fans who haven't read the books and only watched the show seem to indulge in the same problematic behavior that the show writers did - and I'm not just talking about race and gender. I mean more narrative issues, like flattening characters and neglecting world-building in favor of making a human character god-like with no flaws.

And there is truly nothing worse than seeing people state that "this is canon!" and are CLEARLY basing it off common headcanons perpetuated in fanfiction that are not part of the source material (everything to do with Ashara Dayne is a good example of this).

Listen, maybe I take it all too seriously - it's just fanfiction. But I also like to think of fanfiction as not just an exercise in self-indulgence but one where we, as the consumer, whether of a visual or literary medium, are expressing our thoughts on what the creator/s has/have done; and it then can become a form of critical expression and remedy for our woes and angst with what we are simultaneously enthralled by but also have issues with. And so then you get to channel that in a constructive and fun way (and hey, if you can add some smut or romance in, YAS QUEEN).

But shit - I'm just a messy, snobby bitch so 🤷🏽‍♀️

[here2bbtstrash]

hi, m! as you know, you're one of my favorite, if not my absolute favorite, writers on tumblr. and i was wondering, where do you come up with the ideas for your fics? how do they come about?

although im kind of in a rut at the moment, i always read something on tumblr and start to daydream about a life in that world and then inspiration just kinda strikes? i always put myself in stories and let everything hit me. probs a lil masochistic since angst is my fav genre, but there's so many ways to do angst that it helps me explore creatively. you know?

much luv! from, millie.

ahhhhh hi millie 💜 this is so sweet of you omg thank you 🙇‍♀️ and it's kind of a complicated question bc there is no one answer, and i think every fic is a little different!

sometimes i start with a kink or something i want to explore in smut and build around it (deep end, sunday). sometimes something happens in my real life that makes me want to put together a fictionalized/embellished version (park and ride, moving day - no i will not be elaborating 👀). some ideas are sparked from songs (party on you) or other kinds of media like movies or tv (heartless). sometimes it's a thought exercise like what if jungkook was a fratboy? what if you hooked up with jimin in a club bathroom? what if you were sick and your fuckbuddy taehyung took care of you? lmao

my ideas come from everywhere (and i have way more than i will ever actually turn into finished fics 😵‍💫) - if there's a common denominator tho, it's probably music. making a little playlist and looping it and going off into my own imagination for a while is the best way i've found to take a seed of an idea and flesh it out into a whole proper fic. and it's one of my favorite parts of the writing process!!

the only other thing i'll say (i was just talking to @eoieopda about this actually) is that ultimately, the fics that i am most satisfied with in the long-term are the ones that i write for me. like the more grossly self-indulgent with something i am, the more proud of the end result i usually end up being 🤣 life is short, and nobody's paying us to do this anyway, so write whatever YOU want to see in the world!!!

thanks for sending this in and letting me babble 🥺 don't be too hard on yourself about your rut - we all fall into one from time to time (personally, i am currently in my flop era, so i get it 💅) but i promise the inspiration will come back if you give it some time and space to breathe! i hope this answer was in any way helpful! 💜

[katsukis-sad-angel]

Ok but I would love a mini story where kirishima's s/o threatens to eat the last protein bar as a way to convince Kiri to get out of bed, and then he full on scrambles out of bed to his protein bar stash and delicately cradles the last one in his hands and speaks to it softly, right before ripping it open and swallowing it down XD

Energy

A/N: This was such a cute idea! it took a rather horny turn though, forgive me. i guess it’s not just the men who are extremely horny in the morning. Anyway, I hope it’s ok!!

pairing: eijirou kirishima x reader 

word count: 590

warnings: yall are married, yall fuck but since i physically cannot write smut i insinuated it very obviously, light swearing i believe, kirishima being a buff baby boi, it’s just a nice little self-indulgent fic

“Eiji? Eijiiiiiii…” You murmur, shaking his shoulder gently, “Come on, wake up honey.”

“Three… more… hourss…” He slurred, rolling over in his sleep, “Don’ wanna… get up.”

You pouted, knowing he had more strength in one arm than you had in your entire body so using brute force to get your husband out of bed was out of the question. You couldn’t blame him though, it was chilly outside and very, very warm in bed, so why should he have to get out of his warm little haven on a Sunday morning?

He cracked open his eyes just a little, warm red irises meeting your own in a silent plea to join him. It just wasn’t perfect if you weren’t there to snuggle with him.

He made a swipe with his hands for your waist, but you jumped out of the way just in time.

It was his turn to pout.

“Babyyyy,” He whined, “Come lay with me! Pretty please? Just for a little bit-”

“We’re having breakfast with the old Bakusquad, remember? Get out of bed and shower you big baby!” You remind him, tugging on his hand.

“Only if you shower with me~” He giggled sleepily as he watched you slip on the carpet in your efforts and fall on your butt with a thud.

You narrow your eyes at him, “I already showered, plus I can see your bone through the sheets. I know what you’re trying to pull and it’s not working.”

He sighs and closes his eyes again, turning over to hide his blush.

“Whelp, guess I’ll just have to eat the last protein bar.” You shrug, before leaving the room.

That woke him up.

He shot out of bed in a moment and skidded into the kitchen of your apartment, mere seconds after you had wrapped lithe fingers around the last bar in the box.

The last thing you saw was a flash of bright red hair before something hit you with the force of a semi-truck and the next thing you knew, you were under Eijirou’s massive body on the couch.

He cradled the snack like a child, whispering comforting words into its green packaging before swallowing it in two bites.

It was then both of you realized the compromising position you were in; you, face down on the couch, legs spread to accommodate the girth of your husband’s thigh, and him over top, basking in the taste of the protein bar but not completely oblivious to the way you squirmed under him, as well as the fiery blush spreading down your neck.

Eijirou pursed his lips, allowing calloused hands to caress the now exposed area of your waist. He leaned down to whisper in your ear; “How long until we have to go?”

“A-An hour.” You murmur back, shuddering with delight as his hands continued to wander.

“That’ll work.”

---

“Where the hell were you guys?” Bakugou snarled, vermillion eyes darkened with rage, “You’re 20 minutes late!”

“Sorry, Bakubro!” The redhead gave his most endearing, awkward grin to soothe his best friend’s temper, “The alarm didn’t go off!”

A pause.

“They were definitely fucking.” Mina stated before turning on her heel and entering the restaurant, with Sero snickering right behind her.

Kaminari burst out laughing as the sudden warmth in your husband’s cheeks only confirmed Mina’s assumption and the other blonde wrinkled his nose in disgust, promptly leaving the conversation to join Mina and her fiancee at the host podium.

“Way to go Eiji,” You shook your head playfully, “You gave it away.”

[fatefulfaerie]

Okay so

I’m a piece of s**t and I want to answer all these questions. I know they are supposed to be for ask boxes but...well here we are. I’m that pretentious type of trash so answers under the cut:

monday: do you struggle with the ‘boring’ parts of writing?

Yes. Sometimes there will be something later in the scene or in the fic that is exciting so getting there seems kind of obligatory. I try to subvert the boring feeling by mixing it up or adding something I’m excited about that makes it more interesting.

tuesday: name a fic you have posted which you think is overrated?

Reunion

wednesday: name a fic which you have posted which you think is underrated?

A Moment Beyond

thursday: have you ever written a high fantasy concept?

Yeah it’s basically most of what I write lol

friday: most self-indulgent fic you have ever posted?

Desperate

saturday: what gets you excited whilst writing?

angst

sunday: how frequently do you take requests or prompts, if at all?

Every 100 followers unless I know someone’s birthday

fortnight: what wip do you plan on posting next, if at all?

Tomorrow’s febuwhump prompt (#19)

january: what was the first fic you posted this year?

Brighter

february: have you ever written and/or a holiday-centric fic?

Yes! Twelve of them! My favorite is Disguise

march: do you listen to music whilst writing?

Always

april: have you ever written and/or posted a crackfic?

Not that I recall

may: a fic you have regretted posting?

Ashes Risen (doesn’t even exist anymore)

june: have you ever written and/or posted a marriage fic?

Done a lot of proposals because the drama. I think the only wedding I’ve written is in A Moment Beyond.

july: what’s the hottest fic you have written and/or posted if you write smut at all?

I’ve never written smut but the closest I’ve gotten is, again, in A Moment Beyond

august: are any of your fics associated with certain genres/artists/songs/etc?

Yes, all of the 12 days of Christmas prompts are associated with songs

september: share a comment or review which still warms your heart?

Every comment I receive warms my heart

october: name the darkest or angstiest fic you have written and/or posted?

Ooh they all have a touch of darkness but...it’s gotta be Ten Thousand Years Ago

november: do you have any rituals or requirements for getting in the mood for writing?

Just turning on the music

december: have you ever gifted a fic to someone?

Yes! For their birthdays!

recent: the most recent fic you have posted online?

“I Can’t See”

ancient: the first fic you ever posted online?

I was maybe 12 or 13 and I was obsessed with Once Upon A Time so I wrote an AU. I’d have to dig deep in the inter webs to find it and I don’t know if I have the courage.

seconds: shortest completed fic?

“Take Me Instead”

minutes: how long does it normally take you to complete a fic?

Several hours to a week for a oneshot.

A few months to a year for a long fic.

hours: longest wip or completed fic?

A Moment Beyond: 103,016 words

tomorrow: favourite ways to write fluff? 

First kisses

yesterday: favourite way to write angst? 

From the emotional depths of my f***ed up life

today: have you made any progress in any wips today?

Yep

calendar: do you have a schedule for posting?

Yes for longfics, no for one shots (unless it’s an event like febuwhump)

forever: do you balance fic writing with original concept stuff?

I don’t but I should