#so this scene tickled my brain in such a delightful way

[mayhemforlace]

call upon the center of the fade // my love, come to me one last time // call upon the center of the fade // if only to grant me my rest

[brawlite]

some horror fic recs for october 👻

i wanted to put together a rec list of my favorite horror fics for the spookiest month. there are a bunch of different flavors of horror in here as well as a number of different fandoms, so hopefully you can find something that tickles your fancy (though ngl i would still rec reading these bad boys even if you don't know the fandoms at all).

i tried to tag tumblrs when/where i could find them, but if i couldn't, the author name links to ao3.

a reminder as always: this is horror—please read all the tags.

thanks for reading and i hope you find something to enjoy!

also, pretty please feel free to reblog and add your favorite horror fic recs.

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

the ghost apple tree by @thefearofcod

10k words, rated m song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Fixing up a decaying house in the woods is the same as addressing your problems. (sxx is haunted)

brawls' notes: i think about this fic a lot; i'm haunted by it. this is by far one of my favorite horror stories i've ever read—the vibes are off-the-charts and horrific in a very visceral, tense way. made me feel weird (positive). i hope it makes you feel weird too (this is a threat).

—

convergence by @astrophyllitely

33k words, rated e lan zhan/lan xichen, lan zhan/jiang cheng (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Lan Wangji regains consciousness in a crashed spaceship on an unfamiliar planet. He is not alone; Lan Xichen is there. He is not alone; Jiang Wanyin is there. But never both at once.

brawls' notes: space horror? check. psychological horror? check. uneasy and tense alien vibes? also check. beautiful push and pull of the narrative, paired with an an intense feeling of claustrophobia. there's a particular moment that had my heart right in my throat. stunning.

—

mockingbird by MarInk

82k words, rated e stiles stillinski/peter hale (teen wolf) summary:

Stiles works tirelessly to keep the roof over his heads and longs for a proper challenge for his brains. Peter chafes under his sister's authority and nurses big, bloody dreams. One day, the two are connected by a mistaken text message. One never knows who is on the other end of a wrong number. Sometimes it's somebody one will come to cherish and adore. Sometimes it's a ruthless, unapologetic monster. Sometimes it's both.

brawls' notes: sometimes you read something and are just blown away by it, forever altered. that's what this was for me. want a type of monster-au you've never seen before? this is it. also: ostensibly a wrong-number au, but don't be fooled. (i was.)

—

never meant by nonhicsumus

3k words, rated m alex krycek & dana scully (the x-files) summary:

Sometimes the past isn't worth digging into.

brawls' notes: whump and psychological horror? plus alex krycek?? my favorite. every word of this is perfection—i instantly wanted to read it again for the first time. you can.

—

fais do-do by @moku-youbi

18k words, rated e will graham/hannibal lecter (hannibal)

summary:

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (this fic does not have a summary, but begins with this quote)

brawls' notes: a different-meeting au packed with everything you need for the perfect horror story: violence, blood, a chase scene, and an unreliable narrator. delightful.

—

blackbird, fly by @acroamatica

19k words, rated m kylo ren/armitage hux (star wars: tfa)

summary:

One sunny afternoon in the mountains of Washington state, Ben Organa-Solo walked out into the woods. He never came home. Six years later, a journalist specialising in missing-persons cold cases decides to follow his footsteps and see where they might lead.

brawls' notes: a masterpiece of vibes. this reads so much like a spooky mystery novel, but with a creeping, anxious dread. perfect for the season if you want that true autumnal sort of chill. i've carried this fic in my heart for nearly a decade now—it has inspired me in my own writing so much over the years.

—

grey stars on the rise by @iodhadh

4k words, rated e song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Xiao Xingchen comes back. Xiao Xingchen comes back wrong. It takes too long, maybe, for Xue Yang to realize something is wrong with Song Lan too.

brawls' notes: the exact embodiment of: be careful what you wish for. brutal and crushing and so deeply, utterly satisfying. absolute yi-city perfection: the vibes are wretched but strangely romantic (chefs kiss).

—

half your life you've been hooked on death by @whatever-you-can-give-me

4k words, rated m vash the stampede/nicholas d. wolfwood (trigun) summary:

Wolfwood is cornered in an alleyway. Things get worse before they get better.

brawls' notes: and what's a horror rec list without a little bit of gore? whump and blood and near-death-experiences—oh my. this is brutal and feverish and exactly the right flavor.

—

black rock mountain by @bokuno-jinsei

24k words, rated e will graham/hannibal lecter (hannibal) summary:

Will is a hitchhiker with questionable hobbies. Hannibal is a man who has questionable motives. When Hannibal drives by Will who just so happens to need a ride, things quickly take a turn from the questionable to the downright depraved.

brawls' notes: you know That Fic that is really the epitome of that pairing for you? yeah, this is it for me. perfect alternate first-meeting fic. lives rent-free in my head.

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

and hey, why not be a little self-indulgent: i can't help but rec a few of my own horror fics here, too:

old growth

21k, rated m song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

There’s something in the woods outside of their hometown. Xue Yang and Song Lan are going to find it.

brawls' notes: i tried something new with the formatting on this one and i think it panned out solidly and was a desperately fun way to tell the story. this is full of spooky, sleepless forest vibes.

—

what's real or isn't

57k, rated e kylo ren/armitage hux (star wars: tfa) summary:

Hux's new house is not haunted. It isn't.

brawls' notes: i honestly love playing favorites and this is one of mine. this was a load of fun to write—it's chock-full of vibes, personal experiences, local history, and love notes to my favorite horror stories.

—

acquiesce

16k, rated e original luo binghe/original shen qingqiu (svsss) summary:

After seeing the gentle and loving Shen Qingqiu of the other world, Luo Binghe returns to his own with a hunger that can only be satisfied by one thing—a Shizun of his very own.

brawls' notes: this isn't spooky or haunted, but it is psychological horror—packed with nightmares, flashbacks, dread, and manipulation. enjoy!

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

and that's it! hope you find something fun to read for this october 🖤

and again—please reblog and add your own horror recs if you are feeling so inclined!

[curio-queries]

Hi CQ, Thank you for your ask! I would also like to keep this conversation going as it tickles my brain in the most delightful way.

My question is kind of circling back to your comment about the use of Go-Pro's going forward when it comes to BTS content. It's such an easy way to add a very personal and up close pov to the scenes. YET, I feel like the scaled down crew of AYS and the use of Go-Pro's and especially the lack of attention to the audio has led to some pretty egregious technical setbacks. From choppy audio to a lack of proper coverage in certain scenes. This leads to an edit that has to cover a lot of potholes, so to speak. Do you think this is purely due to the intimate nature of AYS (less crew means more comfort for jikook, easier travel in between locations) or something else? Where's that Disney money 😩😩😩?

Hi Sol, I'm loving our exchanges, so thank you for keeping it going and sending me such an interesting prompt! I definitely had to think about this one a little bit to find how to encapsulate my thoughts.

The short answer is, I think this all just speaks to how the BTS production team is approaching experimental content and the financing required for such projects. Some comparables would be Suchwita and Jin's Alcohol Journey.

Let's start with Jin's show first.

(For anyone that hasn't watched it, I highly recommend. I don't drink but I still found it fascinating.) This is a 4 part episodic show that followed Jin as he learned about and made his own batch of a traditional drink. This show was a collaboration with Chef Baek Jong-won.

Personally, I feel this show was a success. Definitely leaned into more traditional filmmaking and storytelling (appropriately given the subject matter) and was a little more heavy-handed with the promo of Jin's solo music. In my opinion, this will lean the content to feeling more dated than it truly is but that may give us a hint as to how it was funded. There weren't any blatant sponsorships aside from the partnership with Chef Baek so it could have been reconciled as part of the promotions for The Astronaut. Wooteo is pretty prevalent in the show and it aired in the midst of the promo content.

I don't remember when the deal with Disney started to become known but I don't recall anyone in my circles angry that it wasn't getting the Disney release. (Could have been happening but I really limit where I spend my time engaging in social media so maybe that's on me for not being aware. Does anyone here remember if this was an issue?)

Now, let's move on to Suchwita.

(Disregard the quote on the above gif, I couldn't find a different one from the first ep.)

If you watch the first episode, it's on a different set and aired about a month before ep 2. When ep 3 airs, they first make it very clear that the show 'survived'. This is what leads me to believe that episode 1 was filmed on speculation. They could use that as a proof-of-concept to shop the show around to brands to secure more long-term funding. Suchwita's main focus as a show in the current events space is very focused on the guest's current projects and promotions.

Getting back to AYS,

We're far enough into the show that I believe we can rule out album promotions as being a financial driver. Not only because most of the member's songs that even make an appearance in the show were long-ago released but the manner in which they were incorporated is indicative as well. They're really only mentioned in the context of bringing us into the member's lives and sharing in the joy they have for eachother's work. (Also hopefully satisfying those fans that only ask the members to mention other member's songs when one of them would livestream...but that's a subject for another day.)

I think there's a strong possibility that the US eps were filmed on speculation as well. That there was no guarantee of a Disney release at the time. Just like the other shows, they knew they knew they could release on their own if Disney decided to pass so the footage definitely wouldn't be wasted. But I believe that's why the scope of the show seems vaguely undefined during eps 1&2.

Everything else that we've been discussing regarding production honestly seems within the typical scope of BTS's content under similar circumstances. Yes, there is plenty of room for improvement, but it's far from the worst show BTS has ever produced. I think one of the points that makes ppl think it's worse than it is is the management of expectations. I mentioned this in my review of Jimin's Production Diary but if we approach that show expecting that we're going to get detailed breakdown of all of the steps to create an album, we'll be very disappointed. Likewise, AYS is not a detailed vlog of how our members spent their time in these mini vacations.

One last thought,

BTS is not really given the space to experiment and explore. True experimentation requires space for failure, realignment, and growth. And that's just not something BTS has been granted the luxury of. There is such EXPECTATION with everything they release. Everything HAS to be success. That's one of the reasons I was so thrilled to hear RM had performed an unreleased song at the D-DAY concert. Crowdworking new material at concerts was a staple of tourning bands in the west and it helps bands get such critical live feedback DURING the creative process. Now, I don't think that was necessarily the goal with RMs performance but it's so lovely to see him able to even take a step in that direction. Such a thing woukd have been completely unheard of years prior. Fans (likely still) would have been clamoring about being led astray if the song changed drastically after that performance.

Anyway, I could very easily be completely wrong about all of this so let's all take it with a huge grain of salt.

[siderealscribblings]

Hello. I hope you're okay with me dumping every ounce of my adoration for you The Games of Divinity series here, because I simply cannot stay silent any longer. I read the whole thing yesterday in the span of fifty three minutes at one a.m. with my eyes barely open and a blanket up to my chin so it was truly one of those Authentic Fic Experiences TM. I'm obsessed. I'm enraptured. I'm in love.

Your character analyses of Neuvillette and Furina? Chef's kiss. I am throwing them into a glass jar and shaking vigorously to watch them bounce off the walls. I am chewing on them like a four year old with unlimited access to a bag of Starburst and every flavour in their mouth at once. I am gripping you by the shoulders with tears streaming down my face because you have ruined every fic I read for the next two hundred and sixteen business days. Nothing will ever compare. Sanity is a long lost dream. Your AO3 account isn't a prison, it's home.

If you can't already tell, I adore your work. As a writer myself, I get gender envy while reading it. Except its writing style envy. Your use of italics for highlighting humour is wonderful. The shift in dynamic across the years with Furina and Neuvillette is masterfully done. It's hard to ship Neuvifuri because to me it's only appealing in one of two scenarios: an AU where Neuvillette knows, or one in which he begs pitifully for Furina's forgiveness after trapping her and putting her on trial without knowing what she was going through. Your fic is easily the best example of the former I've ever read. The only reason I haven't flooded your inbox with Kudos and AO3 comments is because my account is acting up and I had to read as a guest.

I love every chapter. Like actually. The first one? Seeing their initial attitudes towards each other was fascinating. The one where Neuvillette gets The Horny? Literally so funny and somehow hot as hell at the same time. The chapter from the POV of the Gardes? Hilarious and an incredibly creative way of showcasing their relationship from the perspective of an outsider. On that note, the Gardes themselves are such colourful characters, I think it's amazing how you went to the effort to give everyone such a distinctive personality. Also the scene with Xiao and Zhongli was scrumptious, that one line... "Zhongli placed a hand on the back of his neck, thumb gently kneading the soft spot where his neck and shoulder met like a man scruffing an unruly cat." That's so cute to me. Your Honour. They are so cute. And Neuvi being all baffled by himself for trying to intimidate Zhongli was endlessly amusing, especially when you said something along the lines of '"Neuvillette didn't mind being spoken of like a dog in heat, but he drew the line at barbs being aimed at Furina." You nail the dynamics every single time. Wild.

The internal conflicts of both Furina and Neuvillette are delightful as well. Furina's guilt for needing Neuvillette versus Neuvillette wishing Furina would let herself need him? Collapses. I am bleeding from multiple stab wounds. It's so eiohrohsiowiourwhrf. They're so vdhkfhoewirdkf. Neuvillette being awed by her humanity versus Furina wishing she could properly hide it. Neuvillette wishing he could share her altruism but knowing he would send a fleet to die in Furina's place even if she despised him for it. Banging my fist on the table. The intrinsic protectiveness and the guilt of needing to be protecting. Clutching my head in my hands. Tearing out my hair. Shuddering like I'm attached to an electric chair cranked up to the highest voltage.

I would suffer the trials of every hero from Greek mythology to read more of it.

Thanks for reading! Love hearing your thoughts on this; I think one of the big appeals about this pairing is crazy devotion that can happen between two people lying to God's face. It's like the greatest hits of every ship that's tickled my brain over the years and I'm glad I have an opportunity to play around with it.

No Neman Lions will need to be slain for the next chapter (probably)

[safetycar-restart]

I HAVE WANTED TO TALK ABOUT THIS FOREVEERRRRRR BUT I NEVER KNEW WHAT IT'S CALLED SO

GAUZE PLAY WITH CHARLES.

i believe once again that charles would be the one to bring this up, and you're always there to fulfill his wishes.

so you soak the soft gauze (like the soft white kind) in some oil based lube (or just coconut oil) to get it slippy and ready, and charles just whimpers as soon as the gauze touches his cock! his mouth agape, hands gripping onto your thighs while you sit on his legs.

he says it tickles really bad but also tickles in a good way, there's definitely giggles mixed in with moans? by the time he's so close to cumming, he's being so loud and squirmy, the gauze kinda scratchy (in a good way) on his cock, overstimulating him even more. safe to say this is one of his biggest kinks so far lmao

I... I've never even heard of this before but now that I have I think my brain chemistry has been forever altered. I love this. So much. Oh my fucking god.

So firstly, I think that once Charles is comfortable, he just loves trying out new kinks and fetishes with you? Even stuff that neither of you have any real interest in, he just wants to try! He wants to experience new things with his dom!

And even if the new thing gets abandoned within two minutes and turns into a soft hand job and a promise to never try that again, that's fine! He still had fun!!

Because of Charles's clear interest in trying things, you put him in charge of finding new kinks and fetishes to try out and he takes his job VERY seriously. Whenever he's bored he'll scroll through endless articles and forum posts, looking for something that seems like it might be fun to try with you. Then he'll present you with a list and you can then choose what to try and when.

The gauze play is something Charles discovered when he couldn't sleep one night at a race weekend and got way to deep into a Reddit page for sensory play. And well... it sounded to cool?? He loves sensory play so much, and he's sure you'd be willing to try this with him.

And of course you are! The idea sounds very interesting and you love trying new sensory things with your good boy.

You get everything ready and have him lay on his back, his head resting on some comfy pillows and a blanket or stuffy within reach that he can grab if he wants (that's the rule with new play, when trying something out Charles must have something comforting and soft and fluffy within reach).

So you soak the gauze in oil based lube, and maybe start off with running it along Charles's chest? His nipples have always been so sensitive and the sounds he makes when the gauze scratches across his nipples is just delightful.

He's so hard by the time you reach his cock, whimpering and shaking a little cause he's so turned on!! The gauze feel ticklish and kinda scratchy and so so good and he wants to feel them on his cock.

You're gentle at first, just laying one on his cock and gently pulling it off. He whines, back arching because it's so intense! It makes him feel so overstimulated in the best way. It's similar to the way you'll sometimes gently scrape your nails over his cock, but much more intense and he adores it.

He's giggling between his moans, squirming and whining and mumbling thanks because it feels so good! He's such a mess, unable to stay still or quiet or even slightly composed.

You check in one him all the time and he's all smiles, having so much fun.

When he cums, he's so loud! He shakes and whines, getting the gauze all messy and covered in cum.

Of course he's absolutely covered in the oil based lube by the end, a very messy boy. But you get him to the bath, and end up getting in with him because he got you covered in the oil too during post scene cuddles.

It definitely becomes something you use all the time.

(Sidenote: this with poly!piarles? Pierre holds Charles against his chest while you have your fun and then you get a very cruel, and very good idea. The next time you wreck Pierre: you use the gauze on his cock after his second orgasm)

[astrawberrykitsune]

Sooo just a little snippet I thought of and had to write it down and get it out of my system. I thought I would share it 😬

Pronunciations:

Eimear - ee-mur

Réitlín - rayt-leen

Eimear tried to convince herself that she just wanted to check on Réitlín. She had been fussy this morning, she just wanted to see if she was doing ok. It definitely wasn’t to see the Daycare Attendant of the Pizzaplex.

Stepping off the elevator, Eimear weaved her way through the crowds. The closer she got to the daycare, the louder the muffled laughter and screams of delight became. As carefully as she could, Eimear opened the door and poked her head through the opening and found herself speechless.

Children ran around, whooping and hollering, playing one game or another. But what caught her eye was Sun. He stood among the children, laughing as they ran around him, with little Réitlín in one arm propped against his side. She watched the older kids, giggling and kicking her little legs. Sun looked down at Réitlín, his permanent smile still present, and said something to her. Réitlín grinned back before plopping her head against his shoulder. He tickled her side, the exact spot she had told him was Réitlín’s weak spot. Her baby squealed in delight, curling further into his neck in an attempt to get away from the wiggly fingers. She proceeded to dissolve into a fit of laughter as she put her tiny hands on his faceplate and gave an equally tiny push. Sun laughed with her before carrying her off to continue playing.

Eimear gave a soft smile, but an ache gripped tighter at her chest. She couldn’t deny that she had thoughts of similar scenes on more than one occasion, but seeing it in front of her eyes was just…

She carefully, quietly, let the daycare door close before Sun or Réitlín noticed Eimear. Réitlín was doing fine, perfect even. Sun would buzz her on her Fazwatch if anything came up anyway.

Eimear shuffled through the crowd, letting it take her as she got lost in her thoughts. Why did seeing Sun holding Réitlín hurt so much? She knew why. Of course she knew why, but even thinking it would make it too real. But the interaction between the two…

It was quieter, she realized. “Probably the only quiet place here right now,” she mumbled. It was just a little corner, tucked away from the majority of the crowds. There was enough noise, though, that she’d be able to follow to find her way again.

Probably.

She flopped on a bench with a groan. What was wrong with her? He…they were an animatronic. A robot. An advanced robot with an advanced AI, but still. It was impossible for something like that to happen for them. For them to have a normal life, let alone a normal life with her, of all people.

She needed to stop the images and scenes that played in her mind. She had to stop.

But they came anyway.

Sun sitting at the kitchen table with Réitlín next to him in her height chair.

Eimear hung her head, hands gripping at her work slack, willing her brain to stop.

Walking into the living room to find Moon asleep on the couch with Réitlín sprawled out on top of him like a starfish.

She could feel her throat tightening and her eyes start to sting. Her hands ran into her hair, grabbing fistfuls. “God, don’t you start. Don’t you dare start crying.”

The tears didn’t listen. They flowed as she watched Réitlín be fussed over by Sun for her first day of preschool, leaving the little girl exasperated.

She gave a wet laugh. She wanted to sob. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to scream about how cruel fate is. She shouldn’t have gotten so close to the Pizzaplex’s Daycare Attendant. She knew she had a tendency to fall fast and hard.

But how was she supposed to know it’d be for an animatronic?

Her hands slipped from her hair, and Eimear leaned back on the bench. It would inevitably crash and burn, she just didn’t know how things would look on the other side just yet.

Groaning, she ran her hand down her face. “Jesus, Eimear, you’re so screwed…”

“Eimear? Are you ok, hun?”

Well shit, she thought as Eimear turned to look toward the voice.

[frannyzooey]

Apologies in advance, but the opening of this chapter made me lose my fucking mind.

I cannot tell you how many times I have read the opening of this - the words have a specific sort of cadence that has been etched into my brain and I can't stop thinking about it. It is infused with intimacy, but also with all these rich, delicious details: "thin reed of sun streaming" "rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core" (are you kidding me with these) but also, I am the worlds biggest sucker for long, winding, gorgeous sentences followed by blunt ones and you are such a master of it, I am sick.

Every single thing about this, I love:

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin.  And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

Details like this have me frothing at both him and your talent, which makes me feel like I am truly living this scene:

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

Annnnnnd then you ended me with possibly the hottest blow job I have ever read in my life. What the FUCK.

Their relaxed day spent together reads like the perfect daydream and I am so in love with how much they are slowing opening up to each other. You write it all so...realistically, this one step forward, couple steps back, a sort of hesitancy to bare yourself until you can't help it anymore. Gorgeous. This was such a striking section:

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

This was so emotional and gentle and soft and then - AND THEN - we have the RETURN OF THE JOEL FROM THE FIRST CHAPTER, WITH THAT FUCKING BALCONY SCENE.

I do not have the words to describe how much your smut affects me. It's so raw and hot and sensory, but then you give this man the dialogue you do and I want to COMBUST.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

When he texted "show me" I literally squealed and slid down deeper under my covers to get comfortable, but the rest of it....jfc. It reminded me so heavily of the way they fucked when they didn't know each other yet, which only had me salivating at the idea of him fucking other people like this and I -- I'm pretty sure my soul ascended while reading that scene.

I feel like this reblog makes no sense whatsoever, but just know: I would sell my soul to the devil to even write a fraction as well as you, and I want to grip your face in my hands and tell you in PERSON how much I am obsessed with this story and with you.

Good CHRIST thank you for writing and sharing. ❤

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin.  And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

 You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.” 

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

 “Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye. 

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name. 

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.  

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.” 

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock. 

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.  

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm. 

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.  

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder. 

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.   

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

No

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home.  Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.” 

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists. 

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you. 

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching. 

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?” 

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much. 

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”  

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”   

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?” 

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”  

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.” 

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”  

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you. 

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.  

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

[venenatd]

last meal; jean kirstein x reader

summary: you and jean are in a relationship, and finally get some private time for a cute picnic date the day before he goes on the mission to marley. it’s v cute but also ur both horny!

content: smut / nsfw 18+. minors dni. (public/outdoors sex, dracylphilya, size kink, fingering, thigh riding, use of “good girl/baby”, praise kink, female bodied reader, unprotected sex, creampie) some fluff for good measure.

i am new to this pls let me know if i should add anything!!

word count: 3.3k words of unedited content

a/n: i saw a cottage core inspired jean post and this idea immediately popped into my head. i also kept thinking back to the sunset blush scene and it felt destined lmao. i thought it was gonna be shorter but i guess i get carried away lol. pls feel free to send me requests or ideas or give any advice on what you liked!! thanku!<3

Everything is painted with gold. The sun hanging low in the sky, despite the late hour, still warms your skin. You and Jean walk away from the Scout Headquarters, warmth of the evening allowing you to roam without coats. 

He’s in a tight cream shirt, braces holding up darker toned pants. A simple hat sits on his head, shading his eyes from the setting sun. You, a simple sage dress, loose and flowing around your legs. The long grass tickles your flesh, and the two of you laugh as you try running through the field, lifting your limbs stupidly high to jump over the pasture. 

Jean snorts at you, watching you flap around. The orange hue of dusk makes your hair shine, your skin glow beautifully. And as you look up at him, a wide and goofy smile spreading across your face, he can see all the flecks and details of varying colours in your eyes. And it takes his breath away. 

It was the last night before the end. He’s not sure of what, but it feels like the next chapter is to be finished when he closes his eyes tonight. Tomorrow he goes to Marley. Hange ordered all of their team to go relax for the final day at home. “We’ve gone over the plans enough, we know every angle! Go! Shoo!”

Hange was right. Going in and getting Eren home. It was engrained in Jeans brain. The scouts knew everything they were going to before they arrived. So tonight, it’s all about you.

You, with your skirt floating around you as you weave between trees, making your way to the clearing the two of you know so well. It’s where he first admitted feelings, where you first kissed. The others don’t know (or so you both think), and until he’s safe from his last mission, you’re not sure the two of you will ever reveal your affiliation. 

Pulling a blanket from the picnic basket you’ve brought with you, Jean lays it down on the ground. There’s a wide pond in front of you both, some ducks still paddling about. A thin haze floats over the water, the last of the summer heat still encouraging dragonflies and water skippers out. 

The light snacks you’d managed to sneak out from your job in the kitchen were delicious. You’d whipped up some light pastries and desserts from leftover ingredients. Even some strawberries and grapes. Whilst everything was miniscule from lack of provisions, it tasted good enough. 

Dipping the sweet red fruit from the cream and sugar and between your lips, Jean is in heaven. Your hair being pushed by the wind away from your face, the rosiness on your cheeks. The world may end tomorrow, but tonight he’s got all he needs.

His hands reach over, noticing the drip of cream collecting on the corner of your lips. Swiping his thumb along your cheek, he notes “you’ve got a lil..”

Jean looks at you, his eyes locking on yours, still gently cupping your face in his hands. Warm pupils flick down. His brows scrunch together for a moment, before he moves forward. His other hand comes up to your face, and he is so gentle when he kisses you. It’s as if he may break you if he goes too far.

The soft plush of his lips on yours, slowly pulling you in is intoxicating. He leans back on his forearms, pulling you over him, not letting you leave his mouth. You knock into his hat, it flopping off behind him as you lower your chest over his.

A hand reaches to his chestnut hair. It’s grown long over the last few years. You play with tendrils, the two of you lazily kissing. It’s soft and easy. You’re breathing into one another your chest resting on his as you move a leg to intertwine with his. 

Shifting yourself slightly, you rest directly above his thigh. Jeans hand comes to the back of your neck, making sure you don’t split the contact he so desperately needs. Your nails slide softly against his scalp, twisting into his hair with more want. 

The man, your man, underneath you curls forward, leg lifting and chest pushing up into you. Your crotch bumps against his thigh. A delightful little gasp erupts from you. If Jean wasn’t tongue deep in your mouth he could have even missed it. But he is, and he didn’t. 

He’s tempted to see how far he can take this, maybe make another first here. You’ve had sex, and plenty of it. Although for the most part it’s been rushed, the nature of your jobs only allowing for quickies. You both lived in shared rooms, and the lack of privacy was definitely a roadblock in his attempts to please you.

This clearing, in the outside meadows by headquarters, is maybe an ironic place for the privacy you both so need. Putting any doubt out of his mind, Jean lifts his muscular thigh, achieving another gasp into his mouth from you. You grind against it slowly, tentatively.

“No need to be shy, baby girl” he smiles into the kiss.

Cheeks rosy, you roll your hips along his leg. Jeans body rises further, leaning back casually on one hand, the other gripping the flesh between your waist and hip. He breaks the kiss that has been going on so long, wanting to take in all the ways your face displays pleasure. 

Your eyebrows knit together slightly. Your lips are wet with saliva, slightly parted as you give off little mewls each time your clothed cunt is brushed along his cotton pants. 

There’s a sweet and tender feeling building in your lower stomach. You can feel how wet you’re getting, the slow and methodical undulations generating a heat between your thighs. 

“Jean, plea-”

“You want more?” he’s quick to answer. Your head jumps and up and down, past the point of playing shy. 

His long fingers meet with your jaw once more, lightly skimming your features. He’s noting it all down in his head. Maybe he’ll even make a drawing of you. You pause in your ministrations, and a low tutting comes from the man. “No, no. Keep riding. Get yourself ready.” 

A delicious smile emerges on your face, and you bear down on his thigh. You take your hands on each leg, gripping onto the thickly built muscle underneath the cloth. A couple of fingers miss their mark, and you can feel how hard Jean is getting. Eyes flash between his crotch and his face, and he can sense how eager you are to please him. 

His touch moves from your jaw down, one finger slowly running along the centre of your throat. Jeans hand dips, slowly dragging his fingernails across each collar bone, down to the valley of your chest. Your breath hitches, and he moves away again. You shift your hand in response, moving it towards the joint between his thigh and pelvis, allowing your fingers to brush his clothed balls.

Wherever his fingers move leaves a tingling in their wake. They push towards your shoulder, teasing the fabric from each one. Your dress pools a little, allowing him to make his way back, this time taking your breast in his hand. Thumb brushes against your puffy buds, and a finger meets it to squeeze lightly.

Jean fully lifts off the blanket, sat up straight. He makes quick work of your dress, pulling it down and pushing it up. He grabs at your legs, going between light caresses and tight grasps, not knowing which to settle with. Finally he finds purchase in your ass, guiding you back and forth over his thigh.

You moan into his mouth, fully succumbing to the wetness surely dampening through your panties, the feeling of his fingers twisting and teasing your pert nipples. He raises his fingers from your chest, using his thumb on your lower lip to apply gentle pressure. 

Breaking the trail of saliva that connects you both, he pushes an index finger between your lips. You’re all too eager to suck on it, eyes looking dutifully at him. He inhales sharply between his teeth. His cock is so hard, so desperate to fuck into you. Jean wants it to be slow and beautiful, but he simply needs to have you. He wants you close to him before he leaves and doesn’t know if he’ll come back. And close means being inside you, hearing you in your purest form. 

The dusky pink settling on his cheeks could be the sun, low in the sky, filling the meadow with rich hues. 

Your moans could not be interpreted so wholesomely.

Fingers wet with your spit, he moves his hand between your legs, under the skirt. Pushing your panties to the side he lets you ride his palm for a moment. Teasing yourself, teasing your clit on his strong hand. He goes deeper, fingers sliding through your folds. He slips through your folds, resting at your entrance, before allowing your hips to rise and him to push knuckle deep inside you.

You reddened lips form a perfect ‘o’, and the bliss on your face is one he will remember forever. His thumb moves to your clit. Still on top of him, Jean watches you fuck yourself on his fingers. He kisses your neck, your chest. Taking your nipples and sucking, biting, nibbling. 

Your walls are closing in on him, before gently relaxing and he can tell you’re close. 

“Don’t be shy” Jean reissues his earlier statement. But now it’s far huskier, far more commanding. “I want to hear you, y/n. I want to hear you cum.” 

You’re watching his face, the words - orders - tumble from his lips. They make you flutter around his fingers. You murmur out tiny please’s. 

“What did I say? Louder, y/n.”

You moan against his neck, “please.”

Jean pulls your hair, making you extend your neck, forcing you to look up to the hues of pink and orange. “Louder.”

You’re so close. “Jean, p- please!” 

“Good girl.”

With that he’s flicking his thumb over your clit, fucking his fingers up into your cunt. The sounds of liquid and wetness only add to the noises of you cumming. Pussy clenching around his fingers, hips giving way and as your legs start to burn and shake. Jean holds you up, working you through your orgasm. He wants nothing more than to watch you fall apart, moaning his name. And then whining curses as you become oversensitive. Yet your gummy walls still suck him in, begging for more.

Leaving your tight walls, he brings the fingers to his lips. You taste tarte and sweet. Better than strawberries any day.

Your breaths are heavy as he twists the two of you, resting you with your back on the blanket. You are radiant. A green halo of grass above you, the dusting of pink on your cheeks, your lips kiss-swollen.

Jean pushes your skirt up, eyes trained on yours as you rest on your elbows. Your eyes follow his movements. How his tongue wets his lips before he drags them on your inner thigh. How his fingers dig in to pull you closer towards him. 

He pulls off your sodden panties, kissing into your hips, your belly. Jean is slow and deliberate. As much as he wants to be deep within you, he’s never had the chance to enjoy you this slowly before. 

He rises, kissing your breasts as they spill from the top of your dress. His tongue paints saliva on your lips before slipping between them. The kiss is intense. It’s deep and sloppy and so needy. 

Your hand reaches to his shoulders, thumb slipping underneath his braces pulling them off. Hands slip under his shirt, and he quickly helps you pull it off. His muscles are firm and taught, the amount of work his body has been through over the years evident underneath your fingers. You trail fingertips over stripes of knotted flesh, kissing each mark and scar after your hands move onto the next one. 

“You’re beautiful, Jean”

Jeans cheeks go rosy and he smiles so bashfully that it breaks you apart. The lopsided grin makes you pull him back into you, teeth bumping together as you giggle into the kiss. 

He unbuttons his pants, pushing them far enough down his thighs to allow more friction as he grinds into you. Jean is noticeably straining his underwear, his member long and hard. You move your hand down to cup him, squeezing gently through the cotton. You tug on his cock, leaving him stuttering into your mouth. Holding him just tightly enough, he ruts his hips into your hand, little sighs escaping his mouth into your hair. 

Tucking your hand under the fabric, you pull out his dick. It makes your hand look smaller, Jean’s member long and hard. The pink tip is slick with precum, and your thumb brushes his head slightly, earning a little hiss. 

You go from light little touches to harsher ones. Fingers brushing against the veins on his length, before you wrap around him again. He’s whining in your ear, “you like playing with my cock? Seeing what you do to me?” 

With hooded eyelids you look at his contorting face and whisper “yes, yes. I want to please you, I want to make you feel good.” 

“Such a good girl for me.”

Taking his member, you push the tip against the heat between your legs. Teasing your clit with his head, he looks down to watch you work. Precum lightly sheens over your folds, and fuck, Jean can’t wait to add to it. 

“I w-want you so bad Jean.” 

“You have all of me.” 

You hold him against your entrance, the tip of him just resting at your little hole. Pulling him in a little, he pushes against the first tight ring. It’s always intense letting Jean fuck you, making you so full. You rock your hips up, letting him slip out a little, before grinding back down. It pulls him into you so sensually. He moans unashamedly as you control the pleasure you both receive. 

Repeating the action, you lift again, pushing him out, and again tightening your stomach muscles to curl and bring him deeper inside you. His golden eyes are trained on where you’re conjoined. 

He’s halfway inside you, stretching your tight walls so much already. Jean sits back, moving his tongue around inside his mouth before letting a ball of spit fall where his cock rests inside of you. Spreading it on his length, he helps you the rest of the way. Letting your eyes widen and gasp of surprise (how are you always surprised by the feeling?) as he fully sheaths himself inside you. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he holds himself above you, head falling back as he inhales slowly.

Jean allows you a moment to breath, before he pulls back out, quickly snapping his hips back to yours. Moans tumble out of your mouth as he fucks into you. Lashes fluttering and your tits bouncing in rhythm, you are a sight for the sorest of eyes.

“You’re so pretty for me, all splayed out on my cock.” 

He pushes your legs apart, watching his length disappear inside you. Watching how one hand twists your own nipple, the other feebly trying to grab onto his wrist. He’s splitting you apart on his dick, the feeling of being so fucking full taking over. You were already sensitive from your last orgasm, but he builds another, the tightening in your core unmistakable. 

“J- Jean,” you hiccup, so overwhelmed by him. “You’re s- so big” 

“You’re taking me so well, y/n.” 

He lowers himself against your chest, bringing his knees upwards and closer to your ass. You curl up around him, holding your legs further up. Jean quickly renegotiates the position, pulling your legs around him whilst you hold under your knees. You can feel him so deep inside you this way, pulled into a ball underneath him. Jean wants to be impossibly close, and this new angle is punishing on your pussy. He can feel how wet you are between you, how much you enjoy the intensity of his cock working in and out. 

His forehead presses against yours, his hand snaking between you two. From his new angle, he can hit that sweet spot inside you so easily. His length sweeps against it, and hits into your furthest wall. He lets out curses as he feels your cunt tighten each time, mixing with the moans and mewls from you. You lock eyes with him, big doe eyes pricking. 

“Pl- please, I’m so close, Jean.”

Fat tears roll over your cheek, trailing to your temple. Everything feels too much. Him inside of you, the wet squelching between you. His strong fingers rubbing over your clit again and again. You let out a sob, followed by a moan. It’s a combination of knowing this is the last night, feeling how fucking intense his cock is inside you, hearing how much Jean needs you. He kisses your cheeks, tasting the salt, not faltering as he continues to pummel into you. 

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

His balls slap against your skin. 

“You can do it.” 

His teeth bite at the flesh of your breast, pull at your nipples.

“I want to hear you.”

His fingers play and roll with your clit, feeling the way you tighten around his cock.

“Please cum for me, y/n.”

Your back arches off the blanket, the night sky soaking up the moans. The lewd noises in between you both are all consuming, the slap of slick and wetness only adding to your full body sensation. 

His fingers keep moving on your clit, and Jean grunts each time your pussy spasms around his cock. He keeps pace, fucking you raw and with need. He loves to see your delicate face scrunched up, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. 

And with the tightening of your walls around him, Jean’s close. “Where do you want me?” 

“I want,” you inhale sharply, as his cock drives back into you, “you inside me- I- I need you Jean. Please.”

“You’re so good, baby, you’re so good.” He’s getting quicker, making you writhe beneath him in your overstimulated state. “I’ll give you what you want, okay? I’m going to cum inside your pretty pussy.” 

Jeans fingers are going to bruise you. He's holding onto you so tight, never wanting to let you go. It’ll be something to remember him by. Movements are starting to stammer, the sweat evident by the sheen forming across his shoulders and face. You tuck a tendril of his honey hair behind his ear. “I love you”, you whisper amongst the moans. And with that he pushes deep enough to make you cry out, feeling the hot ropes of cum painting your walls. 

Your man rests inside you for a moment, gathering his breath as he leaves languid kisses against your breasts, your jaw, your lips. He pulls out, seeing his cum drip from your pussy. Using his fingers he pushes the white around your folds, earning a sharp his when he brushes past your clit. Finally, he brings his fingers to your lips, and you put out a delicate tongue. 

Cleaning him with your mouth, he sits back, sighing softly. How can you be this good? And you like him? Jean thinks he is the luckiest man on earth. He adjusts your dress for comfortability, before dipping next to you. Your heads are lightly touching, your hair intertwined with his. Staring up at the sky as the last colour leaves it in its inkiness, he holds you close. He presses his final kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you too.” 

[belmottetower]

Can I just say you're my favourite writer for the Ted Lasso fandom?? 😊🥰 Every time I see your name pop up in my email it's a delight!

I have a headcanon I wanna run by you if you'll indulge me for a moment, I'm very interested in your perspective on it 👀👀.

The reason Jamie gives for not getting a secret Santa gift doesn't make sense to me, like I could see an initial confusion if he'd never heard of it before but he should have known that he was expected to do SOMETHING, and season 2 Jamie would've asked someone if he didn't know what he was supposed to do (I love that season 2 Jamie actually asks for help, insert "y'know what that is? Growth" meme here 😭❤️). BUT I think the reason he gives is probably what he thinks other people would accept as a reason that makes sense for him, and he's just using it as a smoke screen! My personal headcanon is that he thought Santa would STAY SECRET and he didn't realize they would be giving their gifts all publicly and he's embarrassed for people to know what gift he brought. Not sure what gift it would've been, but with everyone else gifting booze I could see him being embarrassed about literally anything that wasn't booze 🤔. No one else is really talking about this but that scene just doesn't settle right in my brain. Do you have any thoughts on what gift he may have purchased in this version of events? Or do you have a different idea of what was happening there?

Sorry for the monster ask lol but I love how you write Jamie's thought process! (I know this isn't in the form of a prompt, but if you answered in mini fic format I would be positively tickled!!)

Jamie knows what Secret Santa is, of course he does. It’s just, well. He hadn’t realised they’d be giving the gifts out publicly, and now his feels way too personal. Nearly everyone else so far has handed over a bottle of booze. Moe had knitted a scarf, sure, and Colin had seemed pleased by it, but there had still been a moment of “is this weird” before he’d hugged Moe and Jamie doesn’t want that for him.

The day after the Dubai Air protest all the main papers had carried photos of their protest, mostly in the Sports section, but the Guardian had actually had it on their front page. Jamie had seen it while out buying a coffee the next day and he’d bought a copy. It had seemed important, a reminder of him doing the right thing, supporting his teammate in something that meant a lot to him.

And then he’d gotten Sam in the Secret Santa and it had seemed perfect. He’d had the front page properly framed - after checking that the Guardian was the kind of paper Sam might agree with politically - and wrapped it nicely. 

But now, well, it feels too personal to give out in front of the rest of the team. What if they think it’s weird or cheap of him? So it’s a relief when Ted finds him a bottle of whisky and they all help him wrap it. He knows they think he’s an idiot for not knowing what Secret Santa is, but better than any awkwardness in front of the team.

Sam seems chuffed by the alcohol anyway, and he sticks the bow that Keeley had added at the end to the top of his head, so Jamie makes it through without any embarrassment. At the end he hangs back and waits for the room to empty out before digging his original gift out of his cubby and tucking it into Sam’s. He doesn’t want it to go to waste, and he’s pretty sure Sam won’t guess it’s from Jamie. That done he heads out to his car ready for the drive up to Manchester and Christmas with his mum. He’s definitely gone overboard with her gifts, but she’s used to that by now, barely puts up a token protest or anything.

[kanene-yaaay]

Look. Look at me. Directly in my beutiful brown eyes. Yes. You need to read this fic. Yeas, right about NOW. BECAUSE HOLY FREAKING FUCK!!!!! BRUH!!!!!! I literally don't even know how to START to talk about it because there is no way this fic is 16.000 words long. I didn't even FEEL the time flying as I read it because every scene is so well constructed, so well described that it's just delightful to accompy those characters as their relationship and feelings are shown and cultivated right in front our eyes.

I LOVE how in character everything is. I love to see Cellbit being a MENACE to society, how methodic and CARING he is!!! It's in his words, his actions, his expressions and everything! And it complements so so well how actually crazy, silly, expectant and actually daring Pac is. I love the context and the trust and the care and the playfulness and the joy and the friendship here so so so sooooo much.

That being said you don't EVEN get me started about how actually UNHINGED and TOTALLY NOT NORMAL AT ALL they are for each other.

Spoilers under the 'read more'

Cellbit being THRILLED in finally FINALLY having a healthy way to hunt, catch, drill and make Pac descend into madness is *chef kiss*!!! The way that he was literally so HAPPY in going into his dramatics during the entire hunt, how he watched every single expression and pushed every button with all the teases, all the compliments, all the silliness and playfulness and gave Pac every single opportunity to run away, to stop and escape if he wanted. How mean and yet extremely comforting he was, literally using the tickles to PRAISE HIM and TELL HOW MUCH IMPORTANT AND GREAT PAC IS LIKE!!!!!!!!!!! YOU ARE KIDDING ME!!1THAT IDEIA IS GENIUS!!! GENIUS I AM TELLING YOU!!! ABSOLUETALY GALAXY BRAIN! COMPLIMENING SOMEONE AS YOU LOVELY DESTROY THEM WITH TICKLING I AM DYING I AM SCREAMING ON MY PILLOW I AM THINKING ABOUT THIS TO THE END OF MY DAYS

AND PAC????? My dude is having the TIME OF HIS LIFE HERE!!!! The way that he gets so flustered and crazy and giddy and giggly just at the HINT of Cellbit knowing how much he would love for Cellbit (Cell?) destroy him and willingfully walking DIRECTLY into the danger (I mean, there was some chasing but REALLY PAC??? REALLY?? YOUR HIDING SPOTS WEREN'T THAT SUBTLE LETS BE HONEST HERE) over and over again not only, literally taking any and every changes to push Cellbit's buttons as well and poking fun and being CUTE at him like come ON you know exactly what you are doing WE KNOW WHAT YOU ARE

Also love you did Cellbit's feline traits here I am hugging my phone I am trhowing it at the wall and biting it

["Foi divertido?" He didn't need an answer, he saw in Pac's eyes already. Cellbit took one step closer to Pac, who remained still as if paralyzed. Then two. Then three. Then more. A low purr rose in his chest, his tail looping loosely around Pac's ankle as they stood closely together. "Você tá nervoso, Pac?"] THE WAY THIS BROKE ME IN A MILLION OF PIECES I WAS SMILING SO BIG JUST AT THIS PART LIKE LET'S FUKING GO YEAH YEAH GET HIM GET HIM GET HIM

And I know that I allready mentioned this before but I truly LOVE how every tease is in character. Like, of course, the usual teases are GREAT but the way that every word, every question and phrase was carefully treaded and callculate to destroy Pac because it held a special meaning for them both? THIS!!!!! THIS IS GOLD!!!!!! LITERALLY SO PRECIOUS AND WORTH TO BE SHOWN ON A MUSEUM WHAT THE HECKKK HOW CAN YOU BE SOCREATIVE AND FABULOUS HOW DAREEEE!!!!!

Also, I can not describe in words how close to actually screaming in rl I was when Pac decided to get Cellbit back and my BRO WAS IMMEDIATELY OVERPOWERED LIKE COME ON YOU BOTH ARE SO TRANSPARENT LIKE PLEASE PLEASE!!! MY DUDE DIDN'T EVEN TICKLED YOU FOR HALF OF A SECOND AND THE BIG BAD TICKLE MONSTER IS ALREADY MELTING SMILING LAUGHING *PURRING* NON STOP PLEASE PLEEEEASEEEEE

This woke a feral part of me thank you so much for this fic I will be thinking about it forever.

Catch. Release. Repeat.

Fandom: QSMP

Characters: Lee!Pac, Ler!Cellbit + brief Ler!Pac, Lee!Cellbit

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, mentions of substance abuse, mention of implied suicide, terrible (horrible, no-good) coping mechanisms in my humble opinion, mentions of predator and prey but they're not TOO important, mentions of murder and cannibalism, a couple mentions of Q!Forever

Word count: around 16.400 words (yeah, I know)

Summary: Recovering from the Happy Pills, Pac sits alone with his thoughts in the Hide-and-Seek arena. Cellbit promised Pac he wouldn't be alone. He intends on keeping his word.

A/N: Cellbit called Pac "Queridinho" with proud/affectionate connotations once, and I've been holding them between my teeth and shaking my head back and forth like a feral animal ever since <3 Ngl, I wrote this because I wanted Cellbit to hunt Pac for sport but in a way Pac would find fun and that wouldn't send him into trauma response mode, thus this fanfic was born. Some things in this fic are a little (or more than a little) fucked up if you squint. It's a Celltw (Cellbit and Pactw) fic. I had to make it fucked up <3 There's not many people from this fandom here, I think, but I just wanted to keep it archived here where my other fics are!

Flashbacks will be shown between brackets and in italics. [Like this.] A different memory between each pair of brackets.

Some words/phrases hold extra value for the characters, whether because of sentimental value or because of inside jokes. These words/phrases will be written in portuguese since it's the characters' native language, but I will put the translations at the end of the fic.

|Click here to read the version with english dialogue|

|Click here to read the version with portuguese dialogue|

[vaguely-concerned]

PLEASE talk about the Lupin-Jigen sunset motif more when you have the time/motivation!

Haha oh boy I probably will at considerable length once I've got a handle on it, if I know myself right! XD To be honest I feel like I've only just started to pick up on just how often and consistently it pops up, though, so I'm not sure I know how to analyze it yet -- here are the examples I've noticed in what I've watched so far, everyone please chime in if you can think of any more! These are pretty much all intimate private scenes between just the two of them rather than like group shots/scenes, I haven't really been tracking those the same way

- I haven't watched part 1 yet, but I know there's a scene with the two of them and a sunset in it. Maybe this was where it got started? If so I guess the seed of it was there from the very beginning lol

- Episode 0: First Contact: They literally drive off into the sunset together as newly minted partners at the end ffshdjakfs just completely normal heterosexual life-long partnership things

- The Gravestone of Daisuke Jigen: The two of them yet again in a car looking out over a sunset while lighting each other's cigarettes in another very normal heterosexual move while having a Moment of mutual delight in themselves lol

- Part 6, episode 0 'The Times': The last shot of the episode is Lupin alone next to the Fiat looking out over a glorious sunset while waiting for Jigen to show up so they can have the drink they talked about earlier. Lupin's voice over about it is exceedingly tender. As I believe I said at the time, "I hope I one day find something I can be as passionate about as Lupin is about thinking sappy shit about Jigen while gazing at beautiful sunsets" lmao

- The Part 5, episode 19 'Mirage': The final part of the episode is a quiet scene with just the two of them at sunset. I personally didn't get any romantic vibe between Jigen and Mirage in the backstory at all, but if you read it that way there's literally no way to misconstrue the way Lupin echoes that scene word for word with him here. Actual 'what do you mean subtext???' territory. Man I love part 5 haha

- The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, Episode 8: While they're eating together for the first time (feat. Lupin's dubious-looking home cooking but Jigen's no coward, he eats it anyway haha), they're sitting in front of a painted wall that looks very much like a sunset scene

(like so!)

- The Castle of Cagliostro: Parts of what I affectionately call the wistful gay roadtrip AMV during the opening credits are clearly set at sunset, and we also see them gazing out at it together at one point. (Incidentally the last scene of it where they're smoking together seems to be right before dawn instead, which tickles my brain somehow, especially since Miyazaki has said he imagined this movie as further down the timeline, with an older gang)

[direwombat]

1, 23, 69, and 71 for the fanfic writing asks? :)

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

oh god yes. there's so much daydreaming that happens, usually as a way of playing with ideas before committing them to paper/word doc. once i have daydreamed enough to produce an outline then i'm usually able to jump right into writing, but i need to play with my dolls in my brain sandbox first.

23. Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

middles are usually the easiest for me. once i get into the action or really hit that flow/rhythm it's usually really easy for me to just go which is always a really good feeling. it's the reward for setting up the dominoes. the second they start to fall is such a delightful part of the writing process for me.

and as for the hardest? endssssss. my god ending a story is always a struggle. mostly because i get lazy and i know i get lazy so i have to show some sort of self discipline, either while writing or while editing to make sure that the end of a fic/chapter/scene remains consistent with the rest of the fic.

69. What are your favorite fics at the moment?

god i haven't been reading much fic recently afdljasfl;ajdf, but souvenirs from better times by different_approach dug its claws in me back in like 2019 (i think i found it right before it went on haitus) but i finished, oh gosh probably last year at this point and i haven't stopped thinking about it. and it was lowtides' come a little closer that hooked me on Jacob/Deputy and i haven't crawled out of that hole yet.

but as far as ongoing fic goes, i need to catch up on pretty much all of @socially-awkward-skeleton 's works. i love me some werewolf aus, and everything i've read of american beasts sounds so good i've just not had brain for reading recently) also @adelaidedrubman‘s wildfire. i’m only a few chapters in but jestiny is such a fun protagonist i love her and i want to study her. 

71. Do you spend more time reading or writing?

adlfkjafd piggybacking off the end of the previous question: writing. i've been trying to get back into reading and have recently figured out what kind of reading tickles my brain rn, but normally i only have the energy for one or the other after work, and usually i choose writing.

[kanene-yaaay]

Yellow, Black, Blue and Warmth

Kanene’s note: I am very proud of this sdfghjqswerty.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic. ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Toshinori with Ler!Hizashi + Ler!Aizawa. Platonic or Romantic. Around 4.500 words.

* This has mouth tickles (raspberries, nibbles, tickly kisses...), teasy nicknames, use of the spotlight system (green, yellow and red) and baby talk. If there is anything that needs to be tagged just lemme know! 

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Tell someone that makes you feel safe how much they matter to you. If you want, no words are needed. Sometimes just an emoji or ‘this reminds of you’ is needed. Don’t forget you’re especial to someone, as well. <33

[~*~]

“W-wait!”

 His arms twitched on their position above his head and, not for the first time, he felt himself starting to lower them in a desperate urge to hide his flaming face adorned by a soft, uncontrollable kind of smile that only a few people in the world could claim the happiness of seeing.

 A warm hand rested on the right side of his ribcage and nails positioned themselves under his toes, two playful gazes looking at him, warningly.

 “Let’s-” a quiet gasp escaped from his lips when he tried to make a placating gesture with his hands and lowered them further, making the nimbly fingers start to wiggle restlessly on his spots. “I aham sure we can think another solution for this p-problem!”

 Goosebumps ran freely across his body in a wave of warm and excitement as the concentrated, evil black eyes blinked lazily at him, their owner not dignifying himself with an answer before he shoved his face back on the right side of his stomach, nuzzling and humming calmly, his nose exploring, drawing shapes on the ticklish skin, the adult being extremely careful and attentive enough so every vibration seemed to buzz on every and any of his so, so sensitive nerves, leading his back to arch with the unbearable sensation and the “attacker” to smirk in his quietness.

 “I-I beg f-for you to reconside-eek!” He squirmed harder as a low ‘oh’ was pronounced, trying - with not nearly all his strength, if he was being honest, but no one needed to know that - to dislodge the other adult from the newly found sweet spot right next to his hip, which was currently being rustless attacked with soft, barely there kisses that, no matter how much he buckled, refused to move. “Please, please. Yohou don’t have to d-do this!”

 His barriers were starting to crumble, quiet sounds beginning to find their way out of his firmly pressed lips, red growing more on his face as an awed cooing researched his ears and the long, awfully long nails lightly scratched the arch of his feet, making themselves known. They prodded, scribbled and danced skillfully across his sole, circling the weak spots that, for the way the blonde’s grin widened every time he stumbled in a new one, wouldn’t be forgotten that easily.

 And then Toshinori giggled. 

 That was when he realized he was doomed.

“Aw, but I do think we do! Who wouldn’t want to hear more of that cute laughter of yours, my dear squeaky listener?”

 “Hi-hizashi-san!”

 “Yes, my wiggly wiggley bear? What is the matter? You seem rather smiley today. ~” Hizashi sing-sang, an only one finger focusing at that lovely spot right under the ball of his feet that made him squeal in a poorly hidden delight, his laughter starting to overcome his titters. Especially as Shouta decided to be a little more hands-on and weak, almost maddening touches were spidered on Yagi’s right side, not helping at all the flow of high pitched squeaks escaping from his mouth. “Does that tickle? Huh? Does that tickle tickle tickle you so much that it makes you want to give us all that amazing squealing squeals and cute yelps? Aw, isn’t that so kind of him, Shou?”

 “You think that after so much hero work the Symbol of Peace would have gotten at least a bit of a resistance.” Aizawa pointed, not bothering to lift his head so his words wouldn’t be muffled as they hit directly Toshinori’s tummy, not even a drop of remorse on his tune as his act made the aforementioned to crackle, kicking as a series of ‘nonono’s filled the room. “Don’t you agree, Toshinori? Just a few well placed tickles here and there and then All Might would be begging for mercy in a few seconds. Tsk. So ticklish, so helpless, so cute.”

 Aizawa didn’t call them cute often. He did, however, reconsider his choice when his gaze quickly locked on Yagi, a nice feeling bubbling in his chest with the other’s half whine, half giggle, his wobbly, happy smile almost disappearing under all the blush that consumed his features.

  “Right!” Yamada experimentally squeezed his calf, beaming when a guffaw answered him, the leg tugging halfheartedly on his grip, arms hugging himself to not push them away. “But that is no problem! We are teachers, after all. Teachers very capable of teaching him how to increase his endurance, and I think I have the perfect idea of a lesson to help him.”

 Yagi was dying. Part of himself wanted to flee away from all the attention, all the warm, caring touches and compliments and that absurdly insufferable sensation that still tingled his body even now, when Shouta and Hizashi stopped to loom over his form with matching evil smirks, making it almost impossible for him to not hide his face and curl in a silly, rather giggly ball.

 The words of the previous finally sank in his mind and he fiercely shook his head, not trusting his own mouth and trying to not let the amusement he felt blooming on him to drip on his move.

 “Awesome! Thank you for agreeing, tickly listener. It’s amazing to know you’re also as eager for this just as we are!”

 “But I did not-” A true shriek cut his words as Aizawa dug his fingers on his armpits, resulting in a sea of wild giggles to overtake him. The tickles being mean enough to be able to completely dissolve his protests, although also the right amount of light so Yamada’s teasy words would still be able to be heard above him.

 “So!” The Voice Hero clapped joyfully, getting even more excited at the other's reactions. “The best way to be prepared for any situation is to train! Practice! You need to be prepared to all resist to any and every trickys tickly tickle technique that exists, which means scribbles, scratches, squeezes, kneads, nibbles, nuzzles, kisses, spidering, nursery rhymes, and ooooh, of course, raspberries!” Hizashi nodded once, determined.

 “I can’t!” Yagi threw his attempts of forming entire, coherent sentences out of the window, his brain basically short-circuiting on Hizashi’s first examples. “Please, please, I swear! I cahahan’t!”

 “Oh, don’t worry my dear sweet, squirmy listener, it’s really a lot of work to do... But! You will not be doing it alone! Me and Shouta will be here cheering and helping you for hours and hours and hours until you master the whooole lesson. And," the blonde got closer, lowering his tune until his words were just a breath on Yagi's ears, teasing the sensitive spot no matter how much he shrugged and shook his head. "If you get something wrong all we need to do it's just start aaaall over and over again, right, Shou?!”

 “Oh gohod.”

 “Of course, I don’t waste my time with someone who doesn’t have potential.”

 Aizawa’s predator smirk and tone maybe would be scarier if it wasn't broken by Yamada’s loud cooing, the taller coming back to his previous position as he rested a quick squeeze on Shouta's hip, fishing a surprised snort and a warningly glance from the black haired man, who, on his turn received an innocent whistling as an answer. Toshinori chuckled in amusement at the scene, gratefully taking the breather.

 “Better be careful,” Yagi’s tune was innocent, with a titter dropping here and there, still, a dangerous shine gleamed intensely on his blue eyes, “so that lesson won’t backfire on you in the future.”

 Aizawa stared at him, the tip of his lips curling in a barely there grin that heavily contrasted and complemented Yamada’s dramatic gasp in betrayal.

 “Very well.” Eraserhead said, positioning himself on top of his legs, successfully pining him on the mattress. "Let's take care of any riot that might happen right now, then."

 Suddenly, All Might senses all the confidence he felt not a few seconds ago to transform in butterflies flying in despair on his stomach. Shouta’s shadow stood above him, the usual bored expression plastered on his features as his face lowered closer and closer of the blonde, stopping just a few centimeters from his ear.

  Toshinori held his breath in anticipation.

 “Green?”

 Something… something he couldn’t really nominate melted in his heart and for a moment he forgot how words worked.

 He really loved them both so much.

 “Green.”

 Shouta chuckled.

 "Good." He adjusted himself, resting their foreheads together and capturing those blue eyes to himself. "Giggles, titters, whines… every sound you make I will be able to hear clearly so be very, very careful and don't laugh.”

 Toshinori gasped when the feeling of skilled hands, scratching and kneading his side shoot through him. The offending fingers danced slowly, taking their time on each weak spots before switching to another one, a bit too close of his stomach or his spine, completely oblivious to how Toshinori's chest already shook with trapped sounds. Toshinori realized, maybe too late, how their new position prevented him to perceive where Aizawa would attack next, every time the black-haired hero changed his target to an unexpected spot adding a tear in his barriers, the squeaks and crackles getting stronger and harder to contain.

 “So, sweetpea, how would you rate your ticklish experience from one to ten, so far?” Yagi couldn’t help the way his body twitched and squirmed involuntarily at Yamada’s voice, his imagination unhelpfully whispering that, at any moment, any moment now, Hizashi would give up from his purely verbal teases and be touchier. “One being ‘That Is All You Can Do?’ and ten being ‘This Is Everything I ever Dreamed About Please Don’t ever Stop?’” 

 “P-p-lease!”

 “That is not a number.” Aizawa observed, jumping in his friend’s teasing at the same time he stopped, thinking about something until his eyes shone. His voice was velvety, almost as a purring. “But that can be helped. Here, I will refresh your memory.” A finger pressed on the lowest rib on his right and the blonde’s eyes widened, a snort flying from his lips, his head shaking from one side to other, a pleading gaze.

 “Wait! Aizawa, please, wait! I will do anything!”

 “What.” Suddenly the finger was replaced by the whole hand shaped as a claw, the spot where it touched tingled in anticipation. “Did you call me?”

 Aizawa was adamant about very few things, actually.

 Hizashi chuckled darkly, free of any pity, next to him. “I think he is asking for it, Shou.”

 Do not mess with his cats. Do not mess with his kids. Do not wake him up. Do not eat his jelly porches and, of course, if he gave you the permission to call him by his first name, use it.

 “No, no, no! I meant! I meheheant Shouta!”

 Of course, except for the first two, he didn’t actually care that much for when the others were ignored by his close friends, but - he curled his fingers, watching as Yagi continued to squirm and snicker at every twitch of his fingers - that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have his fun with this slip. 

 “And also,” again, Yamada pipped in, “he just giggled, didn’t you just said him to not laugh?”

 “I did.” 

 “Please! Anything! Anything you want! Just name it! I will givehe you anythihihihing.”

 Aizawa adjusted himself so his lips would rest on Yagi’s neck, he sighed deeply, relaxed. 

 “Then give me your laughter.”

 And he started.

 The fingers dug on his spot, prodding and scribbling in attacks which danced in a perfect synchrony with the fast nibbles assaulting all the sensitive skin he could reach, expertly dodging from all the trashing, the attacks seemingly to only be fueled by his shrieks.

 “An autograph!” loud, booming laughter exploded, snorts and an intelligible mix of half English and half Japanese painting his words stumbling and falling nonstop from his mouth. Yagi lost track of what he was saying the moment a raspberry was placed right under his chin and the hand tased his side, vibrating and vibrating and vibrating there for what seemed an entire eternity. “Rare merchandise! My house! Anything, I swear, anything but this!”

 “Oh my god.” Hizashi braced himself on the wall, his conflicted heart torn between cooing and teasing the other for how much adorable he was being and giggling in joy with his funny reactions. “Oh my god. Shouta, please, don’t ever stop tickling him, this is the most precious scene I witnessed in my whole life.”

 Shouta felt tempted to agree, however, after a couple of minutes, he stopped, shoving his face on the other’s shoulder to hide his own soft chuckles, being accompanied by the residual, bubbling giggles. They waited until his breath became steadier before the one with black, deep eyes stared at the watery, gleaming blue ones.

 “Shoutahaha…”

 “Just one more spot, okay?”

 Toshinori closed his eyes, nodding before trying to hide his expression under his hands, being stopped by Yamada, who took each one of them gently and gave a kiss on his knuckles, lacing their fingers, knowing very well Yagi wouldn’t attempt to pry them away like this. 

 “No hiding your beautiful face, remember?” Yagi wanted to huff in annoyance at the unprompted tease, but it was being said with such lovely care that he couldn’t help but melt under it, especially when Shouta began to bombard the place behind his ear with kisses and small raspberries, descending him in quiet titters and silent laughter sprinkled with sporadic guffaws.

 After a few more of kisses, tickles and fast, inaudible giggles he ceased his attack, giving a last nibble on his ear before getting up from him, letting the Symbol of Peace recompose himself between his blush and gigantic smile, offering a cup of water when his laughter stopped to fly across the room, all of them enjoying the silence as Toshinori drank the liquid, thanking Shouta.

 “Green?” Hizashi asked, stepping a little closer, a shy grin on his lips.

 “Oh my… Why do you have to make me say that?” Toshinori squeezed their hands, huffing and deviating his gaze. “Green.”

 The blinding smile that was sent in his way seemed to have enough shine to light up the whole house. “Let’s jam!”

 The Voice Hero tried to untwine their hands kindly, blinking in surprise when the other only held them more fiercely. He tried again, same result. Behind them Shouta snorted, amused.

 “Giggly bear, my sweetpea, you will have to let go of my hands.”

 “Absolutely not, you will attack me.”

 Yagi stared at him with a challenge in his face, daring the hero to do something about that.

 “Well…” Hizashi winked playfully. “I always have my mouth, and, you know? That wiggly wiggley yummy tummy of yours seems to be asking for a couple or maybe a dozen of raspberries… ~”

 “Wait, no!” Toshinori squirmed, instinctively sucking his belly. “Don’t!”

 “Aw, but that is such a pity! I was thinking about being a bit merciful today, you know? Maybe some skittering under your knees, being sure to give enough attention to every inch of both of them, I mean, we don’t want anyone feeling left out of the fun, of course! Then I would give one or two squeezes on them, a swift under your wiggly wiggley toes, a few scratches on your squirmy feet and voilá! A happy, silly, giggly Yagi ready to go. But, well, now I believe I don’t have another choice except place all the mean raspberries aaaall over your unprotected stomach and sides and ribs and sides and neck and ribs and-”

 “Stop, stop!” Toshinori let go of his hands in order to hug his tingling torso, curling in a defense ball, trying to stop the feeling of the imaginary tickles. “J-just get over it!”

 “Aw,” Hizashi placed a kiss on his temple, smiling softly for a piece of moment before letting it turn into an evil grin. “Your wish is an order, my adorably ticklish bear.”

 He positioned his hands in each leg, grazing his nails from the bottom of his calves and lightly scribbling their way up to the wonderfully sensitive spot under his knee, taking his time to draw spirals and rivers on the skin, being very content to feel the other squirm under his touches, huffs of laughter puffing from his lips. “Hey, Toshi, can I ask a question?”

 “Fuck,” he squeaked when an unexpected pinch was placed on his hip before Hizashi innocently continued his previous attack. “Y-you may.”

 “Right! But, first of all, let me take care of this two...” Yamada smiled, completely unfazed as he sat on the bed, holding both ankles and lifting before resting them on his shoulders. “There you go, squirmy toy! All comfy and unable to wiggle away from my curious, tickly fingers!”

 “He is going to kick you.” Aizawa rolled his eyes, getting closer until he could get a firm, yet gentle, grip on Yagi’s ankles, truly preventing him from moving them. “Here. Now ask your question.”

 “Thank you, babe.” Hizashi relished on the way Aizawa’s ears were painted in red before beaming again at Toshinori, who kept trying to pull his legs away from his predicament, and seeming to take the fact that he wasn’t laughing his head off as a personal offense. He rested his hands on his knees again, one of them squeezing them skillfully while the other scratched the sensitive skin underneath it. “So, Toshinori, what do you think it tickles more? When I squeeze, squeeze, squeeze those adorable ticklish kneecaps or when I tickle tickle tickle them silly?”

 “No, no, no!”

 “No?! Aw, I am afraid that isn’t really the answer I am looking for, darling… But that is okay! Do you know what I am going to do now, Toshi? Huh? Do you know?” 

 Yagi just shook his head, knowing pretty well that anything said would just fuel the evil words dripping freely from the other’s mouth.

 “Not even a guess?” He changed his technique to lightly tease with plentiful of scribbles the sensitive spot with just the tip of his fingers. “An itsy bitsy tiny guess? Awn.” A fake pout adorned his face. His fingers ascended a bit more, now tormenting the thighs, their owner smiling wide as the squirms began to get stronger, drawing circles around the little weak spots he knew that would fish the wildest laughter. “But I will tell you anyway! Because the Tickle Monster is feeling very kind today. I am going to get those sensitives calves riiiight here!” 

 “Hizashi!” Yagi tried to pull his legs again, his giggles becoming more frantic as he realized they didn’t even buckle from their spot. “I can’t. I promise you, I can’t! Hihihihizashi!”

 “But I do think you can! I believe in you, Toshinori. You’re such a strong, nice tickle bug. I think you definitely can take some good cootchie-coothie-coos right here!” He poked. “And here” Poke. “And here, and here, and here, here, here!” 

 Suddenly a sea of pokes - just that, just tiny, harmless, quick pokes that shouldn’t be able to make him feel even more ticklish than he already was - assaulted his calves, some surprising pinches and clawing also making an appearance and disappearing just as fast as they came.

 “Shut up, please, shut up!” Throwing his head with loud, squealing chortles, Toshinori pleaded, his mind overtaken with how much it tickled and how unbearable it was and how amazing all of this felt. 

 “Gasp! Toshi! How can you say that? The Tickle Monster thought you loved his teases. Why would you want them to ever stop? Do they make you feel more ticklish? Huh? Do they? Do all my silly teases and tickly attacks make the big, strong Yagi Toshinori become a very lovely and adorable mess of those cute sounds? Huh?”

 “Don’t you think how great would it be if we just stayed like this forever? Me, here, playing with you and your awfully helpless toes,” at the mention of the new spot Yamada changed his target, making the other to arch his back and shriek in belly laughter as fingers attacked under his toes, tickling and digging unmercifully at every single one of them. “and hearing this wonderful laughter! Don’t even make me start about your laughter! It is music to my ears.”

 When nothing but a series of snorts and loud laughter answered him, the blonde decided to stop his tickles, slowing them until his warm hands just rested there, peacefully.

 Toshinori wiped the single tear that traveled to his hot cheek, just a quick glance in Aizawa and Yamada’s general direction being enough to make his giggles start a-new.

 “I am not even doing nothing to you.” The tease couldn’t be helped, especially as his giggles got stronger and, consequently, quieter.

 “Your hands!”

 “My hands? What about them?” Hizashi shouldn’t be allowed to feel that much smug nor powerful.

 “They’re just…” A flow of intelligible noises fell from Yagi’s lips, and he decided to try again. “They’re just there! It tickles!”

 “Now, it does?”

 “I would never have guessed.” Aizawa deadpanned, watching as the other wiggled and squirmed in protest.

 “Right? I mean, they’re just chilling there. No moving, no tickling and Toshinori attacks them like that! I would feel wounded, but I guess he is really just a very ticklish giggle bug. Shouta, what are we going to do? The lesson clearly isn’t working… Oh, I wonder if there is something I could do to stop tickling him...”

 “Just take them off there!” Yagi gasped when the fingers started to skitter around his ankles, another newly discovered sweet spot that erupted a new round of snorts. “No!”

 “I don’t think there is anything that can be done. We could just stop and stare at him and he would be laughing uncontrollably in three seconds.” Aizawa remarked.

 “He is just too much sensitive, ya know? Just an itsy bitsy touch and you get him all giggly and blushy.” 

 “Am nohohot!”

 “And helpless too. Cute and helpless.”

 “Shouta, plehehease, let me go!”

 “Yean, absolutely.” Hizashi agreed, shaking his head with fake sadness, a tiny grin blooming on his lips. “I guess this is our fate, Sho, to hear him laugh and squeal and snort and giggle-giggle-giggle at anything we do.”

 “A pity.”

 “Enough!” Both stopped, hearing the light of tiredness painting Yagi’s tune. “That- haha, that is enough, please.”

 “Yellow?”

 “Red.” Toshinori smiled, feeling yet too shy to find their gazes with his. “I'm just an old man with one lung.”

 Hizashi snorted, offering him a bottle of water and heading to the kitchen to make his special tea - after all, no one knew a better recipe for tired throats than the Voice Hero himself, - and Aizawa just rolled his eyes, sitting on the mattress and massaging his feet, a calming gesture that helped both to relax as they enjoyed the silence with the phantom laughter and reminiscent giddiness that still ran on their veins.

 “Shouta,” Toshinori lightly hit the other’s thigh with his free feet until the black haired one turned his attention to him, not even slightly prepared for the soft, incredibly soft, expression and gleaming, energetic eyes which found his. “Thank you.”

 Aizawa scoffed, quickly trying to brush off the warmth engulfing his heart and smile that tried at all cost to appear on his features. 

 “It was very… enjoyable.” Toshinori pressed further, tipping his head to the side in an attempt to see his expression. “Your technique is very effective! You don’t rely a lot on verbal teases but the way you can mix different attacks and keep track of which spots bring the most reactions is very impressive! Not to mention-” A squeak broke his thoughts when a mean squeeze was delivered on his calf, Aizawa huffing before massaging the local to make the tingles go away.

 “Continue with this and I will not be above ganging up with Hizashi to wreck you, again.”

 “If it’s Complementing Eraserhead hours and you’re being too stubborn to accept the deserved nice words I think it’s very clear who I will end up helping.” Hizashi remarked as he got into the room, distributing the tea before squishing himself between them, almost spilling the drink as a warning tickle on his stomach made him jump.

 “Hey!” The one being called just quirked an eyebrow at him, almost challenging. Hizashi just shrugged. “It would still be worth it.”

 “Yagi,” Toshinori blinked, surprised at being pulled on their usual bickering, staring Aizawa above the rim of his mug. “Analyses about Hizashi as the ler.”

 An inhumane screech flew from Yamada’s lips. “Don’t you dare!”

 When he was over, sneaking one and other praise for Eraserhead here and there, they were all laid on the bed, limbs entangled due both the magnetism that seemed to pull them together and the fact that if it wasn’t for it, Yamada would have already fled from the room on the shine of Yagi’s first word.

 “I don’t like you.” The one with long, blond hair complained, grumbling when his sentence only made the others snuggle closer, snickering. “None of you. You’re both very mean and dirty traitors and I am going to scream.”

 “Don’t.” Aizawa slurred from somewhere behind Toshinori, his tune showing he was almost asleep. Hizashi, who already forgave them for their “betray” searched for his waist, resting his arm on it and very lightly scratching the base of his back, a spot he knew would make the underground hero absolutely melt. Toshinori captured his free hand, coming close and humming softly as his finger traced the lines on his palm.

 Soft. Good. Warm.

 At some point of the conversation, someone had turned the television on, and for a few pieces of moment the show playing in the background was the only thing that filled the silence.

 “Hey, Toshi.”

 “Yes?”

 “I know you don’t like a lot of attention when the tickling is over but… thank you.” A quick kiss was delivered on his forehead, happy to see no trace of discomfort on the other’s features, only a tiny, timid smile. “Thank you.”

 “Go to sleep, Hizashi.” And then he kissed his knuckles, just like Hizashi did back then, and Shouta murmured something, pulling them closer and Hizashi smiled and the television started to grow more and more silent.

 “Ok.”

 After that, everything was soft, good, warm.

[~*~]

Inspirations!

* That entire AllEraserMic tickle series that I absolutely live for

* The teases from the fanfics of that amazing author

* A very especific post about cute reactions when the lee is being tickled but I can’t find it so please enjoy Onion’s blog (the op)  instead. His blog is gold.

[solomonish]

Growing Pains (Lucifer & Mammon)

At first, Lucifer thought that to fall with those he loved more dearly than anyone was the final blessing the Celestial Realm would bestow upon him.

But Father did not intend to stop after taking Lilith from them. He just took her first - the brothers still had themselves and each other to lose.

ao3 link: here!

---

The office in the manor was slowly becoming more and more cluttered as Lucifer continued to drag stacks of paperwork and countless manuals on Devildom culture into the house when he returned from his meetings with Diavolo. The business he had been tasked to sort out for the rest of his existence needed to be started on right away, leaving Lucifer tied up with an amount of work fitting for the place he now had to learn to call home. Instead of navigating the new life with his brothers, he had to spend his time navigating the halls of the palace or bent over an old wooden desk. The impressive castle doors now instinctively sent a pit into his stomach and finding the Royal Butler Barbatos waiting for him to lead him so he wouldn't lose himself in the halls hurt Lucifer in a weird, bruising way he had never felt before.

By the time he got home, the house was normally quiet. It scared him, at first: after spending so long in battle, silence could only mean something bad. During the first days, he found his brothers huddled up in the same spot, unwilling to be alone. Beel and Belphie would be curled around each other in some way, inseparable as they had always been. Mammon could be found sprawled over the carpet,, one hand gripping Satan's ankle or wrist as if that'd be enough to stop one of his rampages. Perhaps it was; from what Lucifer heard, every day he was getting better, learning more. Mammon wasn't the only one gripping him; Asmodeus was often cuddled next to Satan, clinging tightly to his arm or sometimes even to him. He was getting awfully affectionate lately, but maybe it was doing Satan some good. Only Levi wasn't directly touching anyone, but even though his back was turned, his new tail would occasionally twitch and brush against one of his brothers.

These scenes gave Lucifer pause, the feeling he was learning to be pride swelling in his chest. Everything was alright. Mammon had kept things under control.

He left them alone, not wanting to disturb their peace, and continued his work, the task distracting his mind and the affection distracting his heart from the crippling grief that loomed above them all.

Eventually, though, the brothers disbanded. The quirks he had noticed growing in them soon became hallmarks of their new beings: Asmodeus' affections were becoming increasingly licentious, Belphegor could hardly be found awake regardless of the time, items turned up missing and wound up in Mammon’s possession...each of his brothers seemed to spiral further and further towards degeneracy, save for Satan, who was as sinful as it got and instead retreated into himself and forming a grudge against everyone for his status as what seemed like a half-baked replacement.

Ever the dependable brother - a thought that was now strangely accompanied by a twinge of something unpleasant instead of the warm, affectionate delight Lucifer was used to - Mammon still tried to keep everyone together.

At first, it seemed to work. Nobody seemed entirely willing or even purposely trying to avoid the others. However, it seemed that the sin they began to embody were too great an obstacle none of them knew how to hurdle. Any interruption infuriated Satan, and Asmo seemed offended at the concept of taking his own time away from himself to check in on his brothers. Beel and Belphie could never be taken away from easing the effects of their sins for long enough to hold a meaningful conversation, and Levi had already dug himself so deep in a self-deprecating hole he seemed convinced any efforts to connect were the beginning of an elaborate prank to make fun of him. When items turned up missing immediately after Mammon’s visits, doors started slamming if they even opened.

Still, his attempts to keep the camaraderie alive meant Lucifer had more time to spend on the paperwork. It was a good system - at least, that’s how he felt. Evidently, Mammon didn’t feel the same.

Normally, on the days where Mammon made a futile attempt at his rounds (days that were becoming more and more scarce throughout the week), Mammon passed by Lucifer’s door. This time, there was an angry knock on the door, more of an alert to Mammon’s presence than a request for permission. The door didn’t bang against the wall, but Mammon had twisted the doorknob rather ferociously and Lucifer almost flinched at the noise it made. Taken aback by his brother’s stormy entrance, he nearly watched him approach impassively. There hadn’t been any opportunity to discuss the proper, respectful way to enter his workspace - clearly, this needed to be remedied soon.

“What’re ya even doing in here?” Mammon bellowed, looking around. The shelves that had books in them were put together nicely, the sturdy wood packed with old books about a life they both used to find reprehensible. How cruel of their father to force them to live what He made them fear most.

“You can lower your voice,” Lucifer answered, dropping his pen on the desk. When he leaned back, ignoring the way his upper back twinged at the change from his previous slumped posture, he met Mammon’s eyes and was surprised to see genuine frustration behind them. “I’ve been working.”

A scoff had never sounded more irritating to Lucifer’s ears. “Is that what it is? Because to me, it seems like you’re avoiding us.”

Lucifer scrunched his eyebrows. “Where did you-”

“Is that it? What, we all lost so now we’re losers and you can’t stand to look at us?”

“I never-”

“Or you couldn’t fill the void left when you were thrown out as the world’s best lapdog, so you became Diavolo’s instead?”

“Stop right there, Mammon,” Lucifer commanded, standing from his seat. His voice had a steely chill to it that it never had before, one to match the resentment burning inside of him. Instinctively, Mammon backed off. They didn’t know much about their new predicament, but they knew how the seven of them ranked in power, and Lucifer would always come out on top. “I’m won’t concern myself with where you got these foolish thoughts from. Perhaps it would benefit you to spend less time with Levi-”

“Levi? How could you know if he even had anything to do with this? When’s the last time you saw him?” Mammon shot back. “Spending less time with anybody isn’t the answer to anything, though of course it’d be your answer to things.”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m working out the details of this situation so you don’t have to worry yourselves with it.”

Mammon didn’t have an immediate response to that, instead watching Lucifer with betrayed eyes. He seemed to deflate over time, a resignation falling over him that forced his fire out with a sigh. "We were a team, Lucifer. What the hell happened?"

There were obvious answers to that, and there were not so obvious answers. Faced with so many options, Lucifer found himself unable to choose between them, and instead stared blankly at Mammon. Slowly, Lucifer sat back in his seat without breaking eye contact.

We've been ripped away from everything and left to become scabs over the wounds we've been given. All I'm trying to do is give you the freedom to heal however you need to, to keep you from the chains that could have just as easily awaited us as this fate did.

I'm hiding from you a burden that is too heavy to pass on - if I move it from my shoulders, I fear my arms would be too weak to carry it to you.

There were so many ways to tell Mammon that Lucifer had to lock himself away, the door a heavy shield against his own grief and the ever-growing work that buried him and the secret he carried. Even if Lucifer didn’t trust his own mouth to only say what was necessary, he could just thank Mammon for his efforts, tell him that he trusted Mammon more than anybody to keep together the one thing that ought to stay intact after the holy hell they’d created. But something inside him bristled, swelling uncomfortably until he felt like a balloon ready to burst. Gulping down his thoughts, Lucifer resumed his writing, the pen scratching against the paper more ferociously than the claws of any creature by which they now found themselves surrounded.

"I don't need your help," Lucifer answered simply, with finality. Though the words rang true in his mind, they were leaden with the way they pulled on his heart and tasted like iron on his tongue.

Mammon scoffed again, narrowing his eyes so Lucifer wouldn't be able to notice the tears that began to gather within them. "Fine, then. I-I didn't wanna help ya out anymore anyway."

As Mammon stomped out the door of his office with a huff, Lucifer felt something snap inside him. It wasn't in the way pent up rage unleashed itself, apparently, somehow in the form of a sixth brother, but more in the way one holds on desperately to a branch too thin for the weight. Once it snaps, the plummet is rough, with stronger branches breaking up the fall and taunting tossing them around in a cruel ricochet. Outside of the thick wooden door, it was startlingly quiet, as if the house itself was forcing Lucifer to grapple with the final thread holding them together being cut with his own words.

The pain started in his chest, the way it always did, wrapping around his heart and lungs like thorny vines. The spot on his lower back, occasionally tickled by phantom feathers, throbbed as his entire brain seemed to weigh heavier in his head. After a near eternity surrounded by laughter and the beautiful, enchanting hum of Celestial life and a thundering of battle that would ring in his head for the rest of his existence, the silence seemed like a stifling blanket, the final lock on the cage they had been forced into.

When one opposed Father and lost, he truly did lose everything.

[roo-bastmoon]

Hi love❤ this was your first memories no? So how did you liked it? Any favourite part? Were you surprised about anything? My love for Jimin and the guys only grew. Jimin is an angel..for real

Dear For Real:

While of course I have seen compilations of Jikookery from other Memories before, this was my first time as an Army getting Memories content in real time. I am really exited!

I have a lot of medical bills from surgeries this year, so I can't afford extras right now. Meaning, I couldn't buy a copy (yet). I'm relying on online Armys like Peaches to share the cool stuff. So I haven't seen it all.

YET I MUST SAY I AM LOVING IT SO FAR.

Particularly what strikes me most is that I'd known of the birthday Live, the LA Live, and Rose Bowl in 2021, but I really had no clue what the day-to-day or behind-the-scenes vibe was between them.

I'd seen other Jikookers say they were drifting apart since the pandemic in 2020, and that seemed like it could be a valid take, given the content (or lack thereof) in very early 2022. Relationships change in tone and chemistry over time. It's no crime to wonder if that happened to Jikook.

But now there's MORE content and oh boy was Jikookery off the charts all last year. There is just far, far too much to ever be considered mere fan service. There was exclusive intimacy and closeness that happened organically and I am rolling around it in like a cat in nip.

Jikookery was happening in boring old quiet times in between hair and makeup. It was happening in both loud and subtle ways during rehearsals. It was happening in the background between takes when the camera wasn't supposed to be on them. It was happening on stage when the lights were down or the show was over.

The delight Jimin and Jungkook take in each other is obvious to anyone with half a brain cell left.

The Jeon Parks were Jeon Parking everywhere, with flirtatious tones and cuddles on the couch and so many lifts and hugs and hand holding and hand licking and neck scenting and handcuffs and tickling and staring and teasing and intense smiles and waiting for each other and neck massages and back rubs and knowledge about drum lessons and CARRESSING BARE WAISTS UNDER CROP TOPS (my favorite, if you can't tell by the screaming all-caps). It's been just lovely to see.

And while I expected some folks to have a problem with all that... what also surprised me is how HARD some folks are working to try and debunk everything we just saw with our own eyes. The meltdowns. The hate speech. The hashtags trending right now, my sweet baby Jesus. Ugh. Q-Anon should hire these people.

The saddest part is that there were some really lovely moments among other members with dancing, giggles, back-lifts, and hair-caressing that should have been celebrated, but haters are too focused on hating Jikook to enjoy anything. As if two multi-millionaire global superstars need to lie about their feelings for each other year after year after year just to sell DVDs. In particular, Jimin gets the worst of it, and as you say he really does have his angelic traits.

But rather than let that negative craziness get me upset, I'm just going to keep reveling in and celebrating all the Jikookery we got from last year. Obviously I don't know what's up with them right at this exact moment in 2022, but I'm far more inclined to sit tight and wait to see a fuller picture, now that I've experienced my first Memories. There was so much I never knew I never knew. ❤

Yours,

Roo

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

I want 8, the hand-kissing, because I am in some respects extremely predictable :D

(I am shocked. Shocked, I tell you.)

8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand

In the polygon of morning sunlight on the floor of jingshi, Lan Wangji is three lines.

One is a headband: straight and steady, a wall of rules made of silk, pale and hard as ice; a horizon—a divider of things—Heaven above and Earth below.

One is a guqin string: the first finger of his right hand hovers over an A as it shimmers and evaporates like morning dew, passing from the “is” into the “was.” Such is a language that can speak to the dead.

And the third… The third only Wei Wuxian has seen.

Beneath five layers of white and a sun-shaped scar, a muscle beats steady and slow. He’d dug them out of the raw earth, carved talismans right into ribs, and seen them in their natural state, rotting inside scrimshaw cages. “Keep me alive that I may kill,” he had intoned, his mouth dry with terror and thirsty for revenge as bones popped and sinew creaked and muscles moved anew.

None ever beat, less so like this one. On a mountain of corpses turned to soil, none were solid ground. None raced to look at him or pulsed when he muttered a name.

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji keeps playing but meets his gaze without hesitation. Wei Wuxian realizes he has no statement or question to follow with; none was really intended, and he fails to contrive one instantly. The thrill of knowing that he can garner Lan Wangji’s full attention with such ease is still overwhelming, and were Lan Zhan really made of thin jade, the whole world, too, could see that muscle picking up speed.

‘May I have the honor of a glimpse from you?’ He had once asked.

It has been a string of hazy early mornings and quiet afternoons since he returned to The Cloud Recesses. Overly quiet. As if something was waiting to be said.

From Wangji rises gentle pops of color: a golden A, the soft green tincture of E, the purple query of G. Sometimes they are soft as rain, sometimes they are momentary fireworks.

There is no end of notes; they spring up like weeds.

But neither had there been an end of corpses.

It was at Nightless City that he had first seen the third, the line that runs from the right hand all the way to the heart, reaching at right angles against the other two down the face of a cliff to catch him, to anchor him to the world when he did not want to stay.

“Let me go, Lan Zhan” he had said.

Now it had reached across 16 years...

“Indulge me, Lan Zhan,” he says. He rises, crosses the room, and drapes himself closer, balanced on elbow and hip, back to the guqin on its low table, and punctuates with a single spin of Chenqing.

Lan Wangji’s hands do not miss a note. “For Wei Ying, always.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips and worries Chenqing’s tassel, twisting it around his finger. “Shizhui told me something interesting the other day.” He pauses and lets the silence sit between them for a moment. “He said that when he was younger he used to hear you playing Inquiry late at night, and that’s why he asked you to teach him: because it was ‘the saddest and most beautiful thing he had ever heard.’” He spins Chenqing again, suddenly introspective. “I don’t think of Inquiry as beautiful, but then… I suppose that would depend on who’s doing the asking… what is being asked… who it is being asked to.”

He does not need to look: he can feel the sudden and subtle electric tension. “Lan Zhan, were you—by chance—playing for me?”

He had never answered when Wei Wuxian asked about burning money, but the guqin has gone silent, so Wei Wuxian waits, the thrill of expectation rising. Then Lan Wangji plucks a solitary note: E flat.

E flat?

Yes.

Ah, so this is our game!

Wei Wuxian rolls excitedly onto his stomach in front of the dias, beaming, his hands clasping Chenqing under his chin. Lan Wangji’s gaze is demurely downcast.

“Lan Zhan, tell me the truth: did you burn money for me?”

Yes.

Wei Wuxian practically giggles with delight. “When I left this last year, did you miss me when I was gone?”

Yes.

He’s going to hurt himself grinning like this. “Did you truly miss me when I was dead?”

Yes. But the note is plucked harder than it should be and it quavers.

“But you find me so boring! Really, how long would it take you to get tired of me?” He crawls up onto his knees and plops himself into a sitting position at the table, guqin between them.

“I know I don’t have much core to speak of,” he pats his abdomen gingerly, “and I’m working on that! But let’s say we both became immortals, would you get tired of me then? 16 years is one thing, but 160? 1600? 16,000 years? Imagine how boring, Lan Zhan!?”

Lan Wangji is silent.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian leans in close and low, trying to catch his eyes under those lashes. “May I have the honor of a glimpse from you?” Lan Wangji looks up at him, and the gaze is so intense that Wei Wuxian feels suddenly vulnerable. “What on Earth did you want to ask me back then?”

Lan Wangji is quiet for long enough that Wei Wuxian starts to think he has no intention of answering, but then...

“If the lotus seeds were ripe. If you thought the day was pleasant. If you heard the birds singing near Cold Pond, and if their song reminded you of the past. If you could forgive me for having only bitter soup for dinner. If you could see the kind young man A-Yuan was becoming. If you could divide for me the black from the white. If you knew the name of the song. But now… Wei Ying, now I think you do; I no longer need to ask that. So I will ask something else.” He swallows suddenly and Wei Wuxian could swear he’s trembling. “May I make this Wei Ying’s home? Will Wei Ying bear the early mornings and quiet hours and bitter soup and cold winters? Will Wei Ying allow me 16,000 years of Inquiry?”

Wei Wuxian is struck dumb. He sits back, slack-jawed and broken open. What can he say? How can he say…? Did he really wake this morning or is he dreaming still? He feels sloppy, wholly inadequate; his lips are clumsy things, his limbs an awkward pile of angles. How can he be worthy of the look on Lan Zhan’s face? Tears well up and surely he will combust.

But there is no end of tears. Tears spring up like weeds.

And there will be no end of corpses. But he is not a corpse. They are not. No, far from it.

Wei Wuxian fumbles with Chenqing and raises it to his lips where he plays a messy and solitary E flat. In truth it is more than that: a polyphonic note in a contrapuntal song that he’s sure only Lan Wangji can hear.

Gently, he reaches for Lan Wangji’s right hand, the one that had reached for him 16 years ago. Pale as a lily, the nails kept long to pluck the strings of his instrument, he wraps it in his fingers as delicately as he has seen Wangji handle his rabbits and brings it to his lips, and if some of his tears mar that perfect skin he has a feeling Lan Wangji won’t mind. The kiss is soft but is not the tickle of joss paper waiting for the fire; it shudders with his breath but is not the brush of a moth’s wings. It’s tender and reverent and warm with the promise of days and kisses to come and is very much—so very much—alive.

“16,000 years of Inquiry… We should get started then.”

He lays the palm of the hand against his cheek. His smile erupts without warning, and to his delight, Lan Wangji is not prepared.

“My dearest Lan Zhan, what would you like to ask me?”

———

In January gifs and meta about The Untamed started rolling across my dash. As interesting as it looked, I was determined not to watch—just no time for that. And then I saw you posting meta about it, and well… you made it sound very good, and I figure you know what you’re talking about. Add to that one particular gif you reblogged: the moment in the opening scene when LWJ’s arm, clothed in bloody white, reaches across the frame towards WWX as he falls. That was the first image of this show that really seared itself into my brain. So, I offer this with thanks for inspiring me to watch this amazing show (and with endless congratulations)!

Notes:

OK, admittedly it’s not a sun-shaped branding iron in The Untamed, but I like the sun shape better.

E flat is what “yes” sounds like to me during Inquiry in the man-eating castle, but I’m also the last person anyone should consult about music.

Still incomplete associated fanart HERE (color illustration on right).

[update: finished fanart can now he found HERE]