#that athlete fic i swear i’ll write someday

[calpops]

........I may start that new Ashton au today.......

[beggingwolf]

I for the ask meme

Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Oh, more than I can count, frankly. I'm not subtle about them, evidently—a/b/o is one way to my heart, as are age gaps, as are wonky power dynamics, as is (light, usually) feminization. If we're talking PG-rated guilty pleasures, I'm a damn sucker for mutual pining and I very deeply enjoy moments where Character A has to witness Character B flirting/dating/being sexual with someone else and angsting over it. I loooove luxuriating in that moment. I'll reread those passages over and over. But I suppose that's not really worth being guilty over.

If we're talking stuff probably worthy of being guilty pleasures, then yeah, it tends towards kinks and sexual situations, ha. I love dubcon, the riskier the better. I love fucked power dynamics. I like it when situationally a character can't really say "no." I like it when within a sexual situation something changes and the character can't remedy it—consider breeding kink that they didn't consent to at the outset. I dunno, a good example that contains practically all of my guilty pleasures is a hypothetical sequel to chapter 3 of my compilation fic. I was thinking about What Happens When The Pens Finally Acquire Geno and where it goes from there. A few options illustrating all the things I enjoy:

1. Sid has already been bred by Mario and whelped his first child with Mario in the postseason. He's now freshly able to play his first season of pro hockey, having been kept from the last one with his pregnancy, and Geno sniffs around because Sid just smells... way, way too homely for an omega athlete. I liked the idea of Sid still breastfeeding at this point and just smelling milky to the alphas and I dunno, maybe he'd need to relieve his milk at some point and Geno would be there to lend a helping hand... maybe take advantage of the situation....

2. Mario lends Sid out to team members on occasion for exemplary work on the ice. Sid listens to what his alpha tells him to do, and he likes helping out the team. anything For The Boys, eh, including showing hole.

3. Mario's health problems meaning he sort of put breeding Sid on hold for a while, and when Geno gets to town Sid's like 👀 because that's a nice looking alpha, strong on his skates, seems sweet enough... and maybe they try to do something under the table, keeping it secret since Mario collared Sid and #owns him, but when Mario finds out he takes it calmly and then proceeds to strap Sid to aforementioned breeding bench to knock him up and stake his claim properly :^) Geno won't be getting anything from Sid, not when Mario has anything to say about it. Also maybe going full exhibitionist and Mario fucking Sid in front of Geno As Is His Right

4. Mario entrusting Sid into Pat's care, and part of getting Geno overseas involves him getting access to Mario's omega. Mario is [elsewhere for stupid reasons] and Pat did what he did in chapter 3: facilitated a bonding/breeding/some sort of moment between Sid and Geno

5. ...listen, I'd also take a dubcon/noncon moment of Pat having to hold a less willing Sid down for Mario in an AU of chapter 3. maybe Sid's nervous! maybe he has to be talked into it! hey, I'm into it! maybe pat gets involved too! maybe PAT helped sid through his first heat! options, people options!

6. Sid finally pregnant when Geno makes it to America (see: here) and Mario lets them have their dalliance because Sid is very literally carrying evidence of his real bond within him. Maybe, Mario says, if Geno's VERY good, he'll get to put the next one inside Sid.

7. ....Mario having promised rights to Sid to Geno for coming to America. Sid's resistant because he only wanted one alpha, insert more strapping down to furniture and/or holding down because Mario makes good on his promises and Sid will be a good omega for his team.

8. Sid Being Unwillingly Bred There I Said It It's All I Want Like Seriously

9. I'd also take a large serving of Sid needing his 3 alphas to get him through his first heat. Maybe he only wanted one alpha! Maybe the alphas had to decide to take care of his heat! Maybe he got overpowered!

Also unrelated to all of this but something I haven't even flirted with in fic yet has been xeno stuff! tentacles, shapeshifters, the list goes on. Someday, I swear. I have lots of.... I dunno, filthy ideas, but it seems when I sit down to write them they go soft (see: TKK).

...speaking of TKK there's a dirty AU in my mind of Geno not resisting Sid when he first saves him from the Czech alphas as Sid goes into preheat and Geno just takes him then, which is spicy and flavored with dubcon, severe age gap, etc. Also mob Geno just keeping Sid as a pet. delightful. Also because it's me probably throw some mpreg there. I'm a simple person with simple wants like [laundry list of dubcon and funky fic tastes]

[churchyardgrim]

local undead businessman fails at body disposal, accidentally makes a friend

terrible gift fic for @mrveils, amoretti is a goddamn delight and I’m absolutely going to write more of this. someday. I promise.

---------------------------------

It is cold, and windy, and Gregory did not expect to be dragging a body down a beach at four in the morning.

He’d thought he had another few nights with this one, but the poor sod had to go and die on him — heart condition! The audacity! So now he’s got the carcass slung over his back, picking his way down the piled rocks to the water, avoiding the sand wherever possible but safe knowing the morning tide erases all sins.

He’ll tie the body to the pier, down by the low tide mark. He’ll get water into its lungs somehow, and he’ll just have to hope the local sea life does their job ruining the meat. It could be days before it’s discovered. That’s plenty of time.

But the rocks are slick with sea spray, and Gregory didn’t exactly plan to be ending his night like this, his shoes are meant for carpets and marble floors, so when one foot slips and goes one way the rest of him goes the other and he goes down a good ten feet of rocky incline and ends up sprawled in the wet sand under the pier swearing a blue streak.

It was supposed to be easy! A quiet night in, laying low while his properties the next town over are picked through by lawyers and police, waiting for them to declare they’ve found nothing and let him back into his offices. Some dull conversation, a snack, possibly a day trip tomorrow to keep the child occupied. But no, he has to be dumping a body itchingly close to dawn because he has no support in this city and this idiot did not think it necessary to inform him of a family history of heart failure. Unbelievable.

He gets to his feet stiffly, already feeling sand getting under his clothes, and limps to where the body fell; his cane’s useless on sand, it’ll sink right through, so he’s on his own. “I blame you for this,” he hisses at the corpse as he drags it laboriously to one of the great support beams holding the pier up. If the fucker had just stayed alive and bled like he was supposed to…

He’s lashing the body to the beam with a length of rope he’d commandeered from the docks above — no hope of making it look like an accident, he’ll just have to arrange things so someone else takes the fall — seawater soaking into his painfully expensive shoes, when he hears sand crunching in a way it shouldn’t.

He freezes, straining to hear over the surf; footsteps, maybe? To his right, a couple yards out, opposite direction than the way he came. He inhales slowly, trying to catch a scent, but everything is salt and sea trash, he can’t get past it. Damn.

He stays still, eyes raking the dark. After a tight moment, a shape becomes visible trudging through the surf, appearing hunchbacked and loping. Their footsteps are heavy; practical boots.

Gregory’s jaw clenches. This entire shore should be empty, who… He supposes he could double the night’s body count if absolutely necessary, but that’s just more work to be done making sure no one looks his way when they’re discovered…

“Well. This is awkward.”

He can’t help himself; he sputters, straightening compulsively. “Excuse me?”

The figure gestures to the slumped form of his ex-mark. “I wasn’t aware this spot was already taken.”

Taken. Like they’ve both claimed the same sunbathing spot. “…um.”

The figure shrugs, so casual. “But I’m already here, might as well.”

They straighten, and in the dark Gregory can see that there is a sack slung over their shoulder. It’s soaked through dark at the bottom, and as he watches the figure swings it around, walks knee-deep into the surf, and upends it. Chunks splash into the water, white bone glinting in the dark, and the smell of old meat rises through the salt. Gregory snorts. Well now.

“Really! Who did that used to be?”

“No one important,” they say breezily, “an athlete I think. Gamey.”

Even this close it’s impossible to tell gender; masculine shape with flat chest and narrow hips, but a faintly feminine sharpness to the face and thin, if rough-looking, hands, one of which appears to have one more digit than is standard. Their white shirt reflects the meager moonlight, and he can see a red kerchief around their neck like a cut throat. They extend a hand, empty sack now tucked into their belt.

“Amoretti. Captain.”

That’s interesting. Are they military… no, probably not. That haircut isn’t regulation, at the very least. So, independent then.

“Gregory. Too many last names to bother.”

“That means I’ll recognize them,” Amoretti says smugly, and continues before he can do more than pull his head back in indignation, “I honestly didn’t expect to see anyone else out here tonight, and from the looks of things…”

They cross to the carcass lashed to the pillar, tilting their head as if appraising it. Then they tisk, smiling. “Terrible table manners. All this, going to waste, for shame.”

He bristles, taking offense. “Dissection is legal now and butchers have gotten smarter, it is harder to dispose of bodies than it used to be.”

“Ahh but the meat! It’s not tainted, is it? No poison nor vice?”

He sniffs. “A hair dry, but otherwise clean.”

Amoretti flicks out a small knife and begins cutting the ropes. “Then I’ll take it off your hands.”

“Excuse me?”

They prod the corpse’s flabby stomach. “Good meat on that, and I, too, have terrible table manners.”

Gregory turns up his nose. “Offal and fat, sure— but now I’m curious.”

Amoretti grins, standing from their crouch. “An acquired taste, from necessity. Yours?”

His mouth twitches. “A curse. But one I’m well used to.”

“Ahh, I’ve had my fair share of those.” Their anomalous hand twitches towards their opposite forearm, for just a moment. “But this has potential! Do you always leave the meat behind?”

Water laps more insistently at Gregory’s ankles, making him grimace. “Usually, I’ve no use for it. But come, the tide is coming in and we’ve been here long enough. Care to discuss this further over, say, drinks?”

Amoretti gives him an appraising look. “What kind?”

He groans, low in his throat. “Not… you know what I mean!” but Amoretti’s chuckling.

“Not that I’d object! But yes, lets be going.” They bend, dragging the corpse’s arm over their shoulder and hoisting it up, boots steady in the surf. Gregory steps out of the way, following them back down the shore, slow on his sore leg. Amoretti is similarly hampered by their burden, or perhaps they are keeping pace with him out of politeness.

This is… not what he expected out of tonight. The odds of encountering someone else at this spot at this time… and on the same errand no less? But this person has his interest, and, well… what’s the worst that could happen?