#this was written for a challenge so it had to be under 1k words but i hope to flesh it out in another fic so the wc doesn’t hold me back

[baronessvonglitter]

I’m having a really rough day and the only thing that will make me feel better is a story about Joel tying me up and devouring my 🐱🐱 for an hour until I’m happy again.

I’m sorry is that too much 🤣😭

I was very happy to step up to this challenge! Hope your day got so much better, hon! 🩷

kiss it better

joel miller x f!reader | wc: 1K

summary: after an awful day, you turn to Joel for help to de-stress

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Light D/s tones. Soft dom!Joel. Reader is tied up at her request, so.. subby reader? ❤️Joel is a cunning linguist (aka f receiving) 😏Pussy pronouns. Fingering. Squirting. Also Joel comes in his pants because I said so. Reader is not much described besides female anatomy. No use of y/n EVER and not beta read because I live dangerously. If I've missed anything please LMK!

a/n: still gonna add a fun fact to this request! Hi, I'm Adriana and I cannot play video games because I will get addicted to them 😞

Please enjoy this, Anon, I wish I could have written it sooner for you 🌹

dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics 👑

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Had a bad day, huh?" Joel's deep voice sends a thrill through you as he stands at the headboard of his bed, expertly yet softly tying your hand to the bedpost in a black silk scarf. He tests to make sure it's not too tight, and when he asks you tell him it's perfect. Satisfied, he goes to the other side, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist before securing that one as well with another scarf.

"Need me to kiss it all better?" he asks, and you tell him yes because words are important, and he only has you like this when you really need to give over your power.

You're spreadeagle on his bed, naked, your wrists tied as per your request to Joel. He's played out this scenario with you a few times before, and he was more than happy to fulfill your need once again when you showed up on his doorstep after an agonizing day.

His bare hands smooth back your hair, caress the curve of your cheeks, and stop teasingly upon your lips before gliding down over the hollow of your throat and in beteween your breasts where his palm rests a moment, feeling the beat of your heart.

Now he moves slower, his touch more calculated as he cups the heft of each breast, giving each a good squeeze before flicking his tongue against your nipples, the flat of his palm on your torso to keep you still as you writhe under him. He knows you can come from just sucking on your nipples, but today you need something stronger than instant gratification, and his mouth is already watering at the thought of getting to taste you.

Your belly trembles, your cunt already constricting around empty air as his hands and lips travel south, pressing soft kisses into your skin, worshipping the curve of your hips

"Lift up them pretty legs," he softly orders you, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of your wet core as you lift your knees, thighs spread apart exactly as he likes them. You're sopping wet already, your sweet and musky aroma greeting his nostrils. "Cryin' already," he murmurs. "You're havin' the shitty day and she's the one with the tears."

You muffle a giggle at his rare show of playfulness.

"Into each life a little rain must fall," he continues, thumbing your folds with the rough pads of his calloused thumbs. Your viscous slick is thick, more pouring out as he spreads you open. His eyes look up to meet yours. "Ever heard that song before? It's an oldie, so probably not," he says, so conversationally as though he's not in between your thighs, spreading your pussy juices all over your mound.

"I like when you're hydrated," he says softly, as if to himself, and gives a kitten lick to your clit, smoothing your thighs when they start to shake.

"Easy, now," he murmurs, sitting up to take off his shirt, leaving his jeans on, the top button undone just enough for his paunch to be free. You want to rub your hand across that little belly, feel the kitten-soft hair that rests on it and have his erect cock tap your hand when he's fully ready for you. But right now it's about you, not him.

Your hips lift off the bed and a sweet moan flies from your lips as he dives in, tongue roving languidly over your cunt. He laps up your nectar, wiggling his tongue into every nook and cranny, then stopping to press soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, edging you.

"Joel," you whine. He puts your knees over his shoulders, large hands cupping your ass. There's a pillow beneath you to keep you at an angle so he won't hurt his neck giving you head. Last time he had a crick for a week, and he plans on being down here for awhile.

"Patience," he soothes you, his kisses now on the crease between your thigh and your pussy, taking in your scent. "Got all night, don't we?" His own body is desperate for release, his cock rock hard, straining against the denim of his Wrangler jeans. He's humping the mattress as he eats you out, needing to relieve the ache building up inside.

Time seems to still as he goes back to devouring you, using the flat of his tongue to lap up every drop and the pointed tip of his tongue to tickle your clit. He leaves you guessing at every turn, fucking you with his tongue and suctioning his lips around your clit, keeping your orgasm out of reach until he feels you're ready, despite your pleadings, your bound hands clawing at nothing.

"We're not through until ya soak me," he grumbles. "Wanna be able to smell this cunt in my mustache for days." With that, he gently inserts two fingers, softly curving them, tickling that spongy part deep inside that makes you forget your own damn name.

"Fuck! Joel!" Your thighs threaten to constrict him, your back arches, offering all of yourself. You lose yourself in the sweet pleasure, gasping and sighing, calling out his name as his skilled tongue licks a wide stripe across your drenched cunt. He delves inside of you, tasting you like he needs it to survive, all while his fingers pump into you steadily.

"You taste so good.. I could do this all night."

All the warmth that has been gathering in your core now threatens to spill over, and your eyes go wide when you realize what's about to happen. "Joel! Joel, wait.. I think I have to pee!"

He lifts his head, an amused little smile on his lips. "Nah, baby, you're gonna squirt, and I want you to do it. Come for me.."

You're powerless to stop the huge wave of pleasure that engulfs you, your muscles tensing right before you squirt, the warm liquid gushing out, covering the sheets, covering Joel, who stays where he is, continuing to finger you through your climax as you pulse and choke his fingers.

You come down at last to view the aftermath: a soaked bed, and Joel pulling off his jeans, his cock now softening. You made him come in his jeans.

"Better, baby?" he asks, concerned with you before himself.

"Well.. it was a really bad day." Your eyes glisten with mischief, matching the glint in Joel's. "I might need another round."

no pressure tagging some joel babes: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @joelmillerisapunk @tateypots @probablyreadinsmut @joelalorian @joelmillerswife9

@evolnoomym @cxrsed-angel @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

@letsgobarbs @everybodylovedcontractors @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @untamedheart81 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @sunshinehaze1 @604to647

@rav3n-pascal22 @axshadows @inept-the-magnificent @ohhoneypascal and probably others, forgive my goldfish brain

[gingersxng]

Put It In Your Mouth

Pairing: f!reader x Mingi

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: being away from each other wasn’t the easiest for you nor your boyfriend but I guess he takes it a lil extra hard.

Notes: sub!reader, rough dom!Mingi, kissing, groping, pet name (darling), Mingi has a big dick duh, Mingi is horny as fuck!, blowjob, manhandling, dacryphilia, throat fucking, cummmm, unprotected sex (don’t do it), mentions of porn

a/n: writing this while being sick and nauseous was a bit of a challenge but I’ve never written something so fast before. and also a BIG THANKS TO 1K!! I can’t believe how fast this acc has been growing, love you all so much<3 been awhile since I posted a fic so hope you enjoy!

edit: so I saw today when I reread this that it was so strange somehow, I guess it’s the result of me being sick. I’ve changed the title and Mingis line so it actually adds up better omg

Words: 699

your boyfriend was working late in his studio… again. it wasn’t any news to you cause it happened most of the time, you didn’t mind it but it made you miss him more tho.

instead of being half asleep in your bed at home watching boring television you got up, grabbed the car keys and drove to the KQ building. it was almost midnight and the street lights guided your way to the front door.

you reached the third floor where you knew Mingi had his studio and gently knocked on the door. a deep groan came from the other side and you saw how a tall silhouette came closer and closer. when he saw you his eyes lit up immediately, he wasn’t at all expecting to see you. Mingi lowered himself for your 1,60cm frame and gave you a kiss on your lips, you placed your hands on his chest and you felt his hands slide down to grope your ass, something he used to do when he wanted you to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist.

“you don’t know how much I’ve missed you darling” Mingi groaned as he placed kisses on your neck down your collarbones. you tossed your head back and responded with a breathy “really?”

Mingi took a seat in his computer chair as you straddled him, he roamed your body as his hooded eyes scanned every curve and valley. he was very quite tonight, more than he usually used to be but that didn’t mean his body language was. as you had your hands on his chest you felt how his heart rate increased and his pupils got dilated, something poked you in your core as well.

“are you this hard already?” you whispered in his ear and moved your hips a little. a low moan escaped his throat and before you could blink he lifted you up from his lap and pushed you down on your knees in front of him under the desk. his sudden action took you by surprise, it wasn’t like Mingi to be this violent with you.

he was quick to unzip his pants and pull out his massive cock, the aching red tip was leaking so much precum and the veins on his shaft looked like they were about to pop. you looked up at him with big eyes and gasped, Mingi grabbed your chin and put some pressure on his grip only for you to whine out in pain.

“put it in your mouth” his husky voice sent chills down your core, he stuck his tongue out raising an eyebrow before pushing your head down on his cock.

his cock head reached far down your throat and you gagged pretty good on it, he held you down for a couple of seconds before releasing you to get some air.

Mingi grabbed a handful of your hair and guided your movements so he got satisfied enough. he kept his eyes on every bob you did on his dick, his moans and groans got lower and he started to still your movements so he could do the work himself.

Mingi fucked your throat and he mocked you when he saw you begin to cry, “is my little one crying for my huge cock? is it that good”

you let out a loud cry and he came just from hearing that, your mouth got filled with loads of his warm cum, it even dropped out on the corners of your mouth. you swallowed all you could and then tried to catch your breath from the harsh actions your boyfriend took out on you.

Mingi tugged some hair behind your ear and you looked up at him, his cock was still out and it was still rock hard, like you hadn’t even touched it. he helped you up and tugged at your skirt and panties, he pulled the panties to the side and dragged two fingers through your folds to feel if you’re wet enough. your boyfriend sunk you down on his dick and slowly stretched you out.

“what’s with you Mingi!?”

“only being able to watch porn for days does things to you I guess..”

[notlongtolove]

petals and frost

hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. an agent liaison from the nyc office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. a brief attachment, hotch had said. too bad spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst w no happy ending (sowie)

content: avoidant bau reader, non descriptive mentions of sex

word count: 2.8k words

note: written for @mggslover 1k event, congrats once again my love!!! yall can blame @esote-rika for that sadistic ending, i idea dumped that on her and said i didnt know if it wld be too angsty and she begged me to use it so... fuck yalls valentines ig (anyways spencer reid, just know that i, user notlongtolove, would neverrrr do that to you)

a line: You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again.

And some part of me came alive, the first time that you called me ‘baby’ The perfect genius of our hands and mouths. - Hozier, First Time

Hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. An agent liaison from the NYC office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. You were easy to like, easy to talk to, definitely easy on the eyes. A brief attachment, Hotch had said. The phrase seemed almost oxymoronic—Spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind. 

As it turns out, there are a lot of other things Spencer forgets around you. When you twist your hair into a haphazard ponytail mid briefing, he forgets the third personality trait of a classified sociopath. You don’t. Interpersonal offensiveness, Reid. That’s criminology 101. Emily makes a comment under her breath about his IQ being slashed in half. If you do hear her, you pretend not to. 

When you slide a beer across the table after your first case, he forgets that he doesn’t drink, masking a grimace as he takes a sip. You’re trying. He doesn’t want you to feel bad. By the time he’s on his second, his face is warm. Too fast, he tells himself. From the alcohol, definitely not from the way your thigh is pressed against his in the booth.

Later, when you’ve got him pinned against the wall under a dim lamppost kissing him breathless, he tries to forget the bureau’s policy on interoffice relationships. It’s after hours. You’re not really part of the team. You’re here contractually. A technicality. He can make an exception. 

You run your hands through his hair tugging faintly and he decides he will make an exception. 

The only thing Spencer doesn’t forget that night is the route from O’Keefe’s to his apartment though it’s a blur all the way from the cab to his apartment to his bed. He pulls you through his front door, fingers curled tight around your wrist. A tangle of limbs and lips pressed against lips feverishly, desperately—He’s certain he’s got that memorised. 

“I’m not…” you start, voice faltering between kisses, searching for the right words that just aren’t coming when you’re straddling him and he’s looking at you the way that he is, “not looking for anything… serious.”

Alarm bells go off in his head blaring amidst the euphoric haze he’s in. It’s a warning he registers but doesn’t heed. Caution. Danger ahead. He tells himself that if he squints hard enough, that if he really really tries—It’s a challenge. And Spencer Reid has never backed down from a challenge.

So he bites. Takes the bait. Plays along.

“What makes you think I am?”

You smirk like you don’t believe him but your fingers move to make quick work of the buttons on his shirt anyways. He tries to laugh when you joke about how you should definitely apply for a permanent spot on the team now, but it sticks in his throat. He distracts himself by closing his eyes.

“Spencer,” you say breathlessly, “you sure about this, baby?” 

His eyes snap open so fast it startles you, leaving you flustered, halfway to pulling back before his grip tightens at your waist, keeping you right where you are. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“W-what’d you just say?”

You blink back at him. “I asked if you’re sure about—”

“No, the—the other part. The last part.”

A pause. Then, deliberately, “Baby?”

Oh fuck. 

“Y-yeah. That.” He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s bracing for impact. “Say it again. Please.”

You smirk, the corner of your mouth twitching like you’re holding back a laugh as you lean down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses down his bare chest, whispering against his skin, “whatever you want baby.” Spencer has to force his eyes shut again.

You mark him up in the shades of purple wildflowers. Spencer shivers at the sight of them. Theres not much talking when skin finally meets skin. Spencer’s starved, insatiable, burning hot and ice cold all at once. This okay, baby? Yes, yes, god, yes. Can I? Yes, please, please do. Sweat pools around your bodies and Spencer tries to forget how much he wants to remember this moment. The purple wildflowers bloom across his skin—deadnettle, henbit, african violets. 

Oh, he thinks, this one’s gonna hurt, isn’t it? 

When Spencer wakes the next morning, he’s only mildly afraid to open his eyes.

He’s never done this before—doesn’t know what to expect. But he knows enough to predict the possibilities. Regret. Yours, not his. Shame, embarrassment, maybe even anger. You’ll be gone. Nothing left behind but the imprint of your body on his sheets, marks of purple left in your wake. 

Spencer Reid does not like not knowing. 

So he braces himself, steels his nerves, and opens his eyes—only to be met with something far worse.

You. 

Still here.

Curled up beside him, peaceful, angel deep in sleep, gut wrenchingly soft. In sleep, you’re nothing like how you are on the field. Out there, you’re a good shot, a great one, you think quick on your feet, you’re confident, never stuttering or stumbling like he does. You’re heaven on earth, right in his bed—He’s utterly ruined for it. He doesn’t know what possesses him to move closer, to let newfound confidence guide his arm around your waist. But he does. You stir, just barely, waking to the feeling of his lips pressed into your hair.

The morning melts into something else entirely. An abandoned attempt at breakfast in bed, clothes forgotten in a scattered trail from the kitchen counter to the couch. Unsanitary, he’d think, if he weren’t already too far gone to care. The boy’s insatiable once again, chasing a thirst only you seem to have awakened in him. It’s fiery and passionate as drinks you in, icy cold hisses when you nip at his neck. But you’re neither summer nor winter. You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again. The way your nails claw at his back, marks of sinful desire turning into ivy that grows to cover you both. It’s entirely all encompassing.

God, you have him in the palm of your hand and you don’t even know it. 

Dancing around the team is its own kind of purgatory. Turtlenecks in sweltering Texas heat which you make up for with a fleeting kiss to his cheek in the break room when everyone else has their back turned. Spencer tells himself to keep his feelings in check, to keep his adoration at bay. But it’s hard to when you exist so seamlessly within the liminal spaces of the team. Always in Hotch’s good books. Cracking jokes just dirty enough to make Morgan laugh and Rossi raise a brow. Even JJ loves you.

Silently, Spencer thanks the BAU’s abysmal budget for the run-down motel they’ve stuck you in. It makes it that much easier to convince you to stay at his place—only for a night or two, maybe three, maybe four, eventually a Baby, Hotch is gonna call us in soon anyway, and the freeway near yours is a nightmare in the mornings. You might as well stay one more night. He seals with a look, a soft plea, and you cave every time.

5 months and a week is what you’ve built together. Your days are disgustingly domestic and Spencer just can’t seem to get enough. It’s not like the two of you go out much. Long days (and longer nights) in the field leave you both drained, running on fumes. Just enough energy left to call in takeout accompanied with something strong for you, water for him. Just enough left to trade lazy kisses between bites and fall into bed tangled together. This is it, isn’t it?

Waking to rushed mornings, shared showers, half-hearted protests when you insist on shampooing his hair for him. Bare feet on hardwood floors and the bumping of hips in the kitchen as he makes coffee for two. Rendezvous on a crappy motel mattress that creaks beneath the weight of both of you when you run out of clothes for the week. Baby, we shouldn’t really—swallowed by the press of lips.

Your laughter comes to him in little bursts of light. You’re his absolute heart in human form. 

The purple wildflowers haven’t made an appearance in awhile but spring blooms in his chest all the same. When you inevitably drift off to the sound of his voice reading Spencer makes a mental note to bring The Iliad when he comes to visit. You’ll probably be done with Dante’s inferno by then. The weak fistful you have of his shirt tightens ever so slightly in your sleep and he knows what you want. He turns to shut off the light and fits himself against you, tucking you closer to his chest. Spencer tries to distract himself from the fact that you’re set to leave in a month. He’d drink dry the River Lethe to forget it if he could. Instead, in the quiet, he allows himself to think about what the weather will be when he gets the chance to visit you. 

He’s always wanted to go to New York. He’s never been the best flyer and he doesn’t know how he’ll fare on a flight without the comfort of his team and the jet’s coffeemachine. It’ll have to make do, he thinks. It’s only a little over an hour’s flight. He tells himself it’s basically nothing. He can handle it. Besides, he can always make the eight hour drive, or the six hour train. The options are endless, much like his devotion to you—He’ll walk to you if he has to. 

“Do you think you’ll have time for a trip when I come visit?” Spencer asks one night, eyes boring holes into the ceiling. You’re too busy fumbling with the buttons of his pants to catch the lovelorn grin tugging at his lips. “I know there’s probably a lot to see in New York, but I’ve been saving my days off. And if I catch Hotch on a good day, I think I could carve out a few more.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t know,” you murmur, distractedly, “I usually don’t get much time off when I’m back. Let me know if you are planning to come, though—I’d love to show you around for a day or two.”

The fuck? 

Show him around? A day or two?

It’s frosty. Ice cold. A slow caress of his cheek at arms length. Cruel in the way that kindness can be. He tenses beneath you, shifting upright so suddenly that you blink up at him, confused.

“Everything okay, baby?”

The frown on his face indicates he’s anything but okay. “Yeah,” Spencer lies. “I just… I just thought—I mean, you knew I was planning to come visit, right?”

You hesitate. “Spence, we didn’t really discuss that, I—”

“I know we didn’t.” He tries to keep his frustration subtle, but it slips through when he runs a hand through his hair sharply. “But this? Us? How could I not?”

You try again, gentler this time. “Oh, baby, you don’t have to. I know you’re really busy, and—”

“I want to.”

The realisation settles slowly into your features. And then, quietly—naively—he lets himself ask, “Don’t you want me to?” 

Silence.

Oh. 

Somewhere deep inside him the ivy shrivels and the purple wildflowers wither. It appears that spring has come to a close. 

“Spencer,” you say gravely, “I thought we talked about this—” He doesn’t hear the rest. It all dissolves into static, white noise humming in his skull. He hates that tone on you—the way it sounds so careful, so deliberate. Its how you talk to Hotch, to unsubs, to people that need to be managed. Never how you talk to him. Not how you talk to him when you share sly jokes and interlock pinkies at the back of the van, thighs touching when you share a blanket in the jet. Not how you talk when you whisper baby, stop, someones gonna see us when he insists on a chaste kiss to your nose and another to your forehead—Because how could he ever stop at one?

He blinks back into focus when you reach for his hand, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

He should brace for the inevitable. He knows what’s coming, but he’s too far gone for it to matter, too far off the deep end for it to hurt now. What’s a stab to the heart when you make up for it with cotton-soft kisses and a feather light touch? I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t be sad. I wish I could stay too. Don’t be mad, okay? I don’t want you to be mad at me. As if he ever could be. Not when you’re kissing him the way that you are. Still, Spencer tries to tell himself that the wildflowers that bloom into rosettes beneath your touch are fragile things. He tries to carve it into his bones to remind himself that they won’t survive the winter of your absence.

It starts with the smallest frost, like soft snowflakes clinging to his lashes, signs he might have missed if he wasn’t already looking out for them. “Baby, you shouldn’t have,” you say when he comes home with a restock of your makeup remover. Spencer only shrugs, wordless. He knows you mean it. Not out of politeness, not out of gratitude, but because there won’t be any use for it soon.

Winter calls for shorter days, for less sunlight. It brings more cases, more exhaustion, more time spent apart. Nights where Spencer wakes up to an empty bed because you’d insisted on packing your suitcase, and insisted on doing it alone. As it turns out, the cold really does bite. 

It all couldn’t happen fast enough.

Nobody bats an eye when Spencer insists on tagging along to drop you off at the airport. It’s practical, really—an extra set of hands. Even Morgan doesn’t say a word, doesn’t call him lover boy with that knowing smirk. Maybe he would’ve if Spencer didn’t already look like he was on the brink of death. Hotch keeps his goodbye brief, a quiet nod, a quick squeeze of your shoulder after he helps unload your suitcase from the van. He mumbles something about keeping in touch, about how the door’s always open. 

Spencer is the one who walks you to your terminal. You walk briskly ahead of him, fingers curled loosely around the handle of your suitcase. You’d brushed off his offer to help—All the better because he has to shove his hands into the pockets of his coat just to keep them steady. He tries to count the steps between the check-in counter and security. All in all, both literally and ironically, too little too late. 

This is finality, signed, sealed, delivered. The clock has run out. Spencer Reid is out of time. And, for once, Spencer Reid is out of words. 

So, it’s you who takes his hand, pulling him closer. Drop me a call if you ever come visit okay? I will, I will. You’ll love it there. Take care. Call me whenever. This was amazing. You’re amazing. You’re so good. Too good. It’s you who tilts his chin and kisses him with such force he wants call it love. He would call it love. If you asked, he’d rip the wildflowers from his ribs and place them at your feet as proof disguised as an offering. You’re kissing like you’re trying to make him forget—where you both are, where you’re going, where he’s staying. You pull away, breathless, fingertips ghosting along his jaw when the intercom blares above you. He lets the last shreds of sunlight slip from his grasp when you walk through the gate. Spencer doesn’t stay to see if you turn back or not. He’s felt like an afterthought enough. 

The van is quiet when he climbs in.

Spencer ignores Hotch’s glances, keeps his head down, busies himself with the air conditioning. Granted, he rarely sits shotgun, but still, today, it feels colder than usual.

“She’s a great agent.”

“She is. She… worked great in the team.” Spencer’s fingers tighten around the vent. He nods, swallows around the lump in his throat. “You should’ve offered her a spot.”

Hotch’s eyes stay set on the road. “I did. JJ and I drafted a two-year contract for her.”

Spencer scoffs bitterly, “yeah? I’m sure Strauss took that well.” 

“Strauss had no issue with it.” 

That makes Spencer pause. His head turns, brows pulling together. “Then?”

A beat of silence before Hotch exhales, “she rejected it.”

The world stops. His stomach drops first, then his chest. Fragile stems and violet petals turn brittle, cracking as the frost works its way through him. Tiny pieces of petals and frost splinter his being. A brief attachment, no doubt. He should’ve known better. He should’ve noticed the subtlest change in the winds, distractions cloaked in tender touches as wandering hands made their way beneath clothes, apologies in a baby, I wish I could stay too. He really should’ve remembered to forget you. 

He feels the wildflowers inside him freeze over and with the gentlest shift of breath—They shatter.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

[arcanefox207]

Relax, Miller.

QZ!Joel Miller x You | Explicit 18+ MDNI | 1k WC | AO3

Summary: In the Boston Quarantine Zone, you and Joel both find a way to get what you want.

Warnings: This is just smut and filth. Reader age undefined. Written as a female reader but could be anyone. Oral. Cum eating. Drugs. Not beta'd.

M A S T E R L I S T | A O 3

The satisfying sound of Joel moaning under your tongues handiwork should be payment enough, but you would never let him know that. 

His grip on your hair is fierce. His right hand tangles into your locks. His fingernails claw into you each time you do that thing he loves. 

Hearing his low growl as he tenses was a tonic for your ears. Inspiring you to do your worst.     

He leans back on his couch and places his forearm across his brow, mouth agape, panting as you hollow your cheeks. 

Joel was always so quiet, and you loved the challenge of getting him to vocalize when you had him in your mouth.

His dark and mysterious facade was eroding. Just a man after all. Much less intimidating when he was at your mercy. The only time he ever was vulnerable and it turned you on to orchestrate it.     

Your hands were pressing his thighs wide open for you, but you shifted between his legs to access more of him. You reach a hand to hold him at his base. Your pathetic fingers can barely wrap around his cock. The other hand cups around his balls and you make him groan as you massage him in his most tender spots, hitting the areas you know make him come undone. He twitches in your grasp as you work him just how he likes.   

You bob your head on the end of his cock, sucking with restraint at first. Behaving yourself. Relishing his skin getting taught. You can feel it stiffen more and more the harder you inhale him. You ease up and swirl your tongue around his tip and he moans as you lap up the drops of precum beading. Tasting his sweetness while you breathe in his musky scent. It was intoxicating.      

You loosen your neck and let him thrust into you. He tries to conceal his whimper as the tip of his cock nestles into your throat.

You don’t let him get too carried away and you know how much it turns you on to edge him. 

“Fuck..” he mumbles to himself under his breath. He was losing control and you didn’t want him to come just yet.

You pull back and let his length slide out of you, sucking on the tip before letting it pop out of your mouth with a wet squelch. He stifles another whimper and grits his teeth as he stares down at you with needy eyes. 

“Relax, Miller.” You scold him with a cunning tone, knowing full well you have him right where you want him.

You drag a finger playfully down his shaft, tracing the pulsing vein. His cock was gorgeous. Girthy and commanding. He was getting impatient with you riling him up.  

He restlessly repositions his grip in your hair and takes his other hand to grab at the side of your neck, urging you back to his cock. Pleading without words.   

He leans back against the couch and closes his eyes as you lick a stripe up the underside of his cock. When you press your lips back to the head you rip out a guttural sound from within him as you take him back in your throat. A crescendo praising your work and you smile wickedly at his coming undone. 

He bucks into you, writhing and groaning. His beautiful, incoherent sounds getting louder and more desperate. You feel his body tense all over. He goes to pull out of your mouth but you lock onto him and take him deeper. Your warm, wet mouth and tongue lulling him into a moment of ecstasy as he spills into you. The taste of his hot cum on the back of your tongue sends you into a frenzy as you drink him down. His spent body thrusts weakly as you empty him and then he stills. Finally at peace. Finally relaxed. 

He drags his cock slowly out of your mouth and winces when you kiss his sensitive tip. Still overstimulated by your doing. You drag your finger under your lip and wipe the cum and saliva that trailed out behind his cock. You lick it off your finger as you stare at him down, knowing full well how filthy he likes it. You catch the corner of his lip pull up just slightly. Pleased with your obscene display of satisfaction. You loved the taste of Joel.    

He loosens his grip in your hair and holds you tenderly against his thigh while he catches his breath. He brushes your hair behind your ear. His comforting and intimate touch juxtaposes the reality of the world you live in. There is no room for weakness or getting soft.     

This calm and fleeting moment of respite was such a rarity in the QZ. A Joel Miller at peace and unvigilant. A sight you never got tired of seeing and a sight you promised not to get used to.  

Too quickly the moment is over. He shifts his legs as you raise to your feet and adjust yourself. 

He zips up his jeans and groans as he stands up. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a tiny bag with white pills in it. He hands it over to you and you grab it casually, pleased with your compensation.         

You turn around to examine the pills and stow them away into your pocket. You feel him watching you, following you through the living room.

“Need the baggie back.” He reminds you gruffly, looming over you with his arms crossed as he leans against the open door frame. 

And you remind him that you know the drill. You wave the empty baggie between your two fingers and hand it over to him with a slyness.

“See you later, Miller.”

Tagging Friends / Mutuals / Joel People I hope will enjoy this <3

@magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @for-a-longlongtime

@redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @galaxyedging @mystickittytaco

@mischiefmanaged2 @aurorawritestoescape @beardedjoel @lotusbxtch @toxicanonymity

@moonlitbirdie @tonysopranosrobe @mothandpidgeon @604to647 @thebeldroramscal

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @sin-djarin @mermaidgirl30

@pedrospatch @pearlessance @sawymredfox @morallyinept @schnarfer

@strang3lov3 @itwasntimethatdidit40 @inept-the-magnificent

Thanks for all the love and support <3

[guiltyasdave]

glitch

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: ~1k

summary: Prequel to nights are so starry, blood moonlit. How you and Javi became neighbors with benefits.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), smoking, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, a hint of dom!Javi, unprotected p in v, kinda rough sex, ass slaps, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Javi is a menace, a hint of angst and feelings because of who i am as a person

a/n: written for @iamasaddie’s writing challenge 2.0 with the prompt "never knew you were such a freak", and since my first story about these two was also part of one of aly's writing challenges, it just made sense to revisit them :)

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates!

It had started out with fleeting glances in the hallway, quick greetings when your apartment doors opened at the same time, then short conversations on your adjoining balconies, late night talks with your feet propped up on the railing and his back leaning against it, sometimes exchanging a cigarette or a light, or occasionally a bottle of beer when one of you had run out. 

Of course you noticed the ridiculously tight jeans that really shouldn't look that good on him, the way his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, and the way his shirts always revealed a little too much of his golden-skinned chest. You couldn't deny the fact that your neighbor was incredibly attractive, and that he knew it. 

You probably should have said no when late one evening, after Javi had found you on your balcony, smoking and watching the glistening city lights, he invited you to share a glass of bourbon. Together. At his place. 

He had been flirting with you, which you suspected he did with every woman he met, and you had tried not to pay it any mind, but you were well aware of how this evening would end if you accepted. 

You should have said no, and a stronger, less lonely version of you might have, but you craved human contact, craved to be touched by someone else than yourself, and if the sounds that traveled through the thin walls from his bedroom to yours frequently enough were any indication, Javi knew what he was doing. 

You should have said no, because it became clear to you very quickly that Javier Peña would ruin you for all other men.

He was more gentle, more caring than you had expected him to be and he prioritized your pleasure in a way that you had never experienced from any man before. He took you to heights that you hadn’t thought possible before, and it was addicting.

You should have said no, but you hadn’t, and now you keep coming back for more. 

You keep coming back for the way his skin tastes under your tongue, for the way his lips press against yours, swallowing moans and whimpers, for the way his fingers and his cock reach so deep inside of you that you still feel him hours later, when you have said your good nights and crawled under the covers of your own bed. Never his, never crossing the line to a different kind of intimacy.

It’s another one of those nights, a soft knock on a door, a mutual understanding passing between you, gentle touches that burned under your skin until they got more demanding, until you both gave in to that pull that kept you coming back. 

He’s already made you come on his tongue twice, until you were dripping onto his sheets, his name the only word in your mind and on your lips. You’re on your hands and knees, limbs shaking, trying to accommodate his length and the harsh rhythm that he’s setting. 

“Taking me so fucking well,” he pants, running his hands down your back and over your ass. You chase his touch, goosebumps forming in its wake, your moans filling the air as he keeps hitting impossibly deep inside of you. 

His palm connects with your skin, nothing more than a playful swat, but the sensation sears through you, lighting your nerve endings on fire as you all but scream your pleasure into the softly lit bedroom.

“Oh?” His voice is low, rough in his throat. You don’t need to turn your head and look behind you to know that he’s smirking down at you right now. “You liked that, huh?” 

You nod eagerly, too far gone to be ashamed of the way your hips are bucking back against him, working desperately to feel him deeper inside of you. 

He slaps you again, harder this time, and you feel yourself clenching around him, feel the way a new wave of slick is coating his cock. His fingers dig into your shoulder and he pulls you up, until your torso is pressed against his, his mouth moving against the delicate skin of your neck. 

“Never knew you were such a freak, baby,” he whispers, his lips curling into a grin, teeth nipping at you.

“Shut up.” You try to hold your voice steady, ignore the throbbing need between your thighs, but he just chuckles and presses another kiss against the side of your throat before he loosens his hold and pushes you back towards the mattress. 

His hands grab your hips instead, pulling you into his thrusts, filling you so deeply that you see stars behind your eyelids.

“You want me to do it again?” You hate how smug he sounds, would love to deny him the satisfaction, but god, you do want him to. 

“Fuck– please, Javi.” You’re breathless, reduced to a mess of trembling thighs and desperate whimpers, and you wish that you could stay like this forever. 

He slaps your ass twice in quick succession and deepens his thrusts at the same time, punching all air from your lungs. His hand snakes down to graze your clit and you’re overwhelmed with sensations, pure pleasure coursing through your veins so suddenly that it’s almost disorienting. You collapse onto the sheets, your pussy pulsing around him as your body shakes through its third orgasm of the night and you’re whimpering his name as he buries himself deep inside of you and comes with a groan, painting your insides with his release. 

After more kisses, more touches, and a shared cigarette, you get dressed and eventually, his apartment door clicks shut behind you. You lean your back against the wall, closing your eyes and breathing deeply for a moment before you enter your own place.

Again, you know that you’ll be coming back for more. And that no matter how many times you come back, it will never be enough.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[yuta-nakamots]

Kick It - N.Yuta

Pairing - Soccer!Yuta x Female Reader 

Genre(s) - Fluff, University!AU, slight enemies to lovers 

Warning(s) - you get hit in the head with a soccer ball??, yuta is kinda mean at first

Summary - Yuta was one of the best offensive players on your university’s soccer team, yet his defense was just as strong. Namely, his emotional defense. It became your personal goal to break away into his heart and score points in your favor.

Word Count - 5.9k

Author’s Note - I had this half finished for the past two years and I’m so glad I finally came back to it :) I was surprised when I found it was featuring @horanghoe but I must say it was quite a good idea from my past self. This fic is based on one of the requests I got in my first event when I reached 1k where Yuta is a moody soccer boy that only shows himself to the reader who is also a soccer player. Not gonna lie, I’m really just projecting myself through this fic lol but people always say write what you want to read

Taglist - @k-vanity @neocity-net (fill out this google form if you'd like to be added!)

Written for the Quarter Life Shenanigans Collab hosted by @ncteaxhoe. Beta read by the lovely @lovetaroandtaemin.

Prompts: “I have a term paper due tomorrow but the cafe you work at after college is the only 24 hour cafe with internet,” and “I want to take a shower so you should probably join me, to save water you know.”

Now playing: Kick It - NCT 127, Bad Euphoria - Yuta, Meaning of Love - NCT 127, Pandora’s Box - NCT 127

A shrill blow of a whistle rang in your ears, signaling the end of the soccer game. Your best friend, Wren, had somehow convinced you to go with them to watch the university’s men’s soccer team, despite the chilly autumn weather. Wren’s boyfriend, Hoshi, was one of the captains of the team, and Wren had become a devout fan of him and soccer ever since they started dating.

You trailed after Wren, both of you heading down the bleachers towards the field so that Wren could greet their favorite player. “Hoshi!” they screamed in delight, the aforementioned soccer player making a beeline for his significant other as soon as their foot hit the turf. 

“Thank you for coming!” Hoshi wrapped Wren up in a tight hug, picking them up and spinning them around. “We won because you came.” 

Not wanting to hear any more of their sweet nothings, you absentmindedly nudged one of the extra soccer balls that were sitting around. Just a light tap on its surface had you thinking back to your younger days when you played soccer for your high school. You were never the best, but you kept at it because of your love for the sport. 

You stopped the ball under your foot, pressing it down into the turf. With the slightest push, you set the ball in motion, making it roll straight ahead. Surely, you remembered this drill from all the times your coach made you practice it. As the ball continued to roll forward, you stepped forward and then across the ball’s path, repeating the commands in your head ‘out and around, out and around,’ just as you did all those years ago.

As if you were lost in a trance, you continued the motions until you had made it down to the edge of the penalty arc. This, too, was something you recalled vividly, all the missed shots meaning another lap your coach forced you to run. 

“Are you gonna shoot it or what?” A voice called out, breaking you from your memories. You turned to find one of the team's eldest members, Yuta, standing with a soccer ball tucked under each of his arms and his weight shifted onto one leg. “I have to put these away, you know.” 

His hair was slightly damp from sweat, cheeks flushed pink with a slight sheen over them. Gosh, he looked good even if he had just played a whole game before this. “Oh, it’s okay-“ you stammered, moving to pass the ball to him. 

“No, no, go ahead,” he encouraged with a smirk, “I’d like to see what you can do.” 

You weren’t one to turn down a challenge, so you shifted the ball around with the bottom of your foot, placing it squarely on the penalty arc. It had been a while since you were last in this position, but surely your muscle memory would pull you through. Yuta was getting impatient. “Hurry up. The ground crew is gonna lock us in here if you don’t get a move on.” 

Not wanting to be stuck on the field with such a prick, you locked your gaze on the goal, switching back to the ball. Your feet were firmly planted before pushing all your momentum forward, taking two steps towards the ball and kicking it hard on the third. The sound of the leather against your shoe made that satisfying noise you remembered all too well. The ball flew through the air valiantly, but your chest filled with embarrassment as it so clearly missed the goal, not even coming close to the posts. 

“Nice one,” Yuta sneered as he dropped the two balls he was holding in order to run after the one you had sent to the edges of the field. “Take those back to the bench for me,” he shouted as he took off running. 

You sighed, feeling bad about giving the already tired soccer player more work to do, but after he acted like he had a stick up his butt, you didn't feel all that guilty. Picking up the two balls that Yuta had dropped, you headed over to the team’s bench where Hoshi and Wren had taken a seat to wait for you. Wren raised a hand to wave at you before turning to Hoshi and speaking into his ear. Hoshi smiled and laughed at whatever your friend had said, nodding his head enthusiastically. 

“Now what are you lovebirds laughing about?” You inquired, not wanting to be left out of the fun. 

“It’s nothing,” Wren said with a smile. You knew it wasn’t nothing. 

“Looks like you met Yuta,” Hoshi noted. “He played well today.”

You spared the aforementioned soccer player a glance over your shoulder, finding Uta jogging while dribbling the ball in your direction. “Yeah…is he always like that?”

Hoshi raises an eyebrow, “like what?”

“You know…sassy, brooding…” you trailed off, not knowing how else to explain the attitude of the older athlete. 

“Hmm, I’d say so,” Hoshi mused, his eyes shifting to focus on something past you, “WATCH OUT-“

Hoshi towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder while his other stretched forward. But he was too late. There was a loud smack as the ball collided with your head and bounced off, sending you reeling. Hoshi barely caught you in his arms while Wren lurched forward to make sure you didn’t completely fall over. 

You felt a wave of heat wash over your head and face, ears ringing and burning. It was partly from embarrassment, but there was a stronger emotion present. Anger. You whipped around, knowing fully well just who sent that ball at your head. 

“Nakamoto Yuta!” You shouted, eyes falling upon the dark-haired soccer player clutching his stomach and laughing. He staggered around as he struggled to catch his breath, falling to his knees and putting a hand on the ground to steady himself. 

You stood still in shock, feeling a sudden hatred for the man in front of you. “Don’t take it too personally,” Hoshi muttered as he moved to retrieve the ball and slide it into the bag with the rest of them. 

“Don’t take it too personally?” You repeated, not sure how to handle the situation. 

“He’s just playing around,” Hoshi reassured. 

You shook your head and asked, “How in the world can that be considered ‘playing around’ when he literally nailed me in the head?”

Hoshi put a hand on your shoulder, patting it as if giving you support. “That’s how he fools around with us. Just trust me.”

No matter how much you trusted Wren’s boyfriend, there was no way you were going to trust that asshole of an athlete for deliberately kicking a ball to your head. 

After the little incident on the field, you start to notice Yuta like an Easter egg hidden in plain sight. On Monday, when you entered the classroom for your 9AM business ethics class, he was sitting on the other side of the room with his phone out. The seats had always been arranged in a circular formation to allow for discussion, and as you took your seat, Yuta was almost directly in front of you. There was no way he had always sat there. You had this class three times a week and already had six class meetings, yet you didn’t recall ever seeing his face. 

Yuta momentarily glanced up at you taking your seat, the two of you making brief eye contact, though he looked away, turning his attention back to whatever was on his phone. You were still perplexed by his appearance in class. Perhaps someone had taken his seat, and he had moved to a different one. Sometimes, that happened in your other classes, and you begrudgingly took up a different place in the room. Yeah, that’s probably what happened to him.

Most students streamed in and filled up the remaining spots in the circle while the professor started his lecture. Today’s focus was on profit margin, and the professor started monotonously introducing the topic of buying low and selling high. It was common sense, really. 

You found yourself falling disinterested in the lecture and allowed your eyes to wander throughout the room. When your gaze fell upon Yuta, it was startling to be met with his that was already on you. Now it was your turn to avert your eyes from his piercing stare. This type of interaction happened a few more times throughout the hour you were forced to listen to examples of net profit calculations. 

It was quite inconvenient that Yuta chose the seat that he did since whenever you relaxed and forgot about his dark and foreboding presence, he came into view again. When the lecture drew to a close, you breathed a sigh of relief as he swiftly left the room. The stifling feeling that had gripped you throughout the class finally began to fade, and you made a mental note to never again sit across from Yuta. 

Later in the week, on Friday, you were halfway through your shift at a small cafe just a block away from campus. Due to its close proximity, it was frequented by your fellow university students, so you shouldn’t have been surprised when a certain person entered the shop. Already preoccupied making another order, you didn’t pay him much attention, but your hands became shaky as you felt the unsettling sensation of someone watching you. 

“One medium green tea frappe with a caramel drizzle,” you heard him order while finishing up the drink you were working on. It may or may not have been on purpose that you took a while unscrewing the lid of the blender and pouring the contents out into a cup. But regardless, Yuta’s order went to another barista, and you were happy to have avoided the awkwardness of calling his name and handing him the drink.

After your coworker had finished making his order, you subtly watched him take a table near the back of the shop. That particular spot was coveted by many since it only seated two people and had access to the outlet in the wall next to it. As he pulled out a laptop and charger from his backpack, you wondered just how long he would be staying since it was already nearing 6PM. 

Yuta left the forefront of your mind as the hours dragged on, and you got lost in the repetition of completing orders and cleaning the equipment. The two other baristas working were entertaining enough with the rumor they heard about one of their professors doing drag at a local gay bar. 

Before you knew it, the end of your shift was approaching, and the employees taking the graveyard shift arrived. You double-checked that you had clocked out properly before taking off the cafe apron and throwing it in the laundry bag. Upon exiting the bar from the side door, you were surprised to see Yuta still at his table nestled in the corner. 

He looked the same as when he first sat down all those hours ago, except he now wore glasses and had a collection of empty cups next to his laptop. He came in around 6PM and was still working at 10PM. You wondered what Yuta could possibly be doing that he kept himself holed up in the cafe for so long. 

As you held the door open for your coworkers leaving behind you, Yuta looked up from his computer, his interest piqued by the motion behind his screen. Your eyes caught his, just as they did during class, though this time, you could see exhaustion painted ever so clearly in his expression. 

“It’s already ten o’clock,” you called out to him, walking over to his table, “what are you doing here this late?” 

Yuta let out a heavy sigh, which was laced with his stress and lack of energy. “I have a term paper due tomorrow, but this cafe is the only 24-hour cafe with internet near campus. So I’m stuck here, pretty much.”

“You don’t have wi-fi at your dorm?” you inquired. The thought of being a college student without internet access in their accommodations utterly horrified you. 

“Apartment,” he corrected. “I do have an okay connection there, but my roommates slow it down a lot because of all the stuff they do.”

You couldn’t really imagine what a group of guys had to do in order to slow down their connection so much that Yuta felt he had to go elsewhere. Especially to work on a school assignment on a weeknight. That seemed inconsiderate of his roommates, but you knew you weren’t in any place to voice these thoughts to Yuta. “How much longer are you planning to stay?”

“Maybe just another hour or so. I’m almost done,” he shared. “Why? Do you need me to leave or something?”

“No, I was just curious,” you blurt quickly, not wanting to provoke his thorny personality when he is already worn out. “I guess I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

Yuta looked down at his laptop and sank into the seat. “Yeah, probably. If I actually wake up and get there in time.” 

“I can take notes for you if you end up not making it,” you offer, surprising yourself. 

He perked up at your words. “That would be nice. Here,” Yuta picked up his phone from the table and held it out toward you. “Send yourself a message from my phone so that you have my number.” 

You typed in your digits and sent a smiley face before handing the phone back to him. “Good luck on your paper,” you encouraged, “and hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Thanks,” Yuta answered curtly while returning his focus to his assignment. 

On your walk back to your dorm, your thoughts kept drifting to Yuta. It was clear that you hadn't broken through his shell, but you had his number now. Surely that was progress, right? Why were you even trying to make progress in the first place? He was only a classmate, and not even a very sociable one. So, why were you still so drawn to him?

As the semester went on, you noticed the way that Yuta became a regular in your cafe. His piercing gaze met yours whenever he came in, no matter if he came during the lull between lunch and dinner or if he came during the peak of rush hour with customers waiting for their end-of-work caffeine fix. Yuta always ordered the same thing whenever he came. A medium green tea frappe with a caramel drizzle. Surprisingly sweet for the likes of him. 

You became so familiar with his presence in the shop that you would start working on his order as soon as you saw him walk through the door. At some point, you noticed that you began looking forward to his visits when you were working. You caught yourself wondering when he would stop by, what he would be wearing, and what his plans were for the day. 

Whenever you happened to be the one to take Yuta’s order at the register, he would greet you with a smile and ask how your day had been. Sometimes, you’d answer with a simple “good.” But whenever the store wasn’t busy, you took the time to share more about yourself, and he would do the same. 

You came to know about which classes he had besides your shared one. He was a fifth-year business major with a focus on international relations and a minor in travel industry management. He spent his earlier years in college partying until the sun rose, forming bad habits to the point that he was going to be kicked from the team if his grades dropped any further. Yuta told you that he took his third year as a time to change. He shared about his withdrawal from the soccer team and the long hours he spent at the library finishing assignments and proofreading his essays in a grand attempt to resurrect his GPA. 

To him, soccer was more than just a sport. It was something that grounded him and brought him back to his senses. To Yuta, soccer was the reason that he was able to clean up his act and get his academics in order. You would have never guessed that this one activity meant so much to him. “I’m worried about what I’ll do once this is all over,” he confided during one quiet evening. “I’m scared that I’ll go back to my old habits once I don’t have the team to keep me in check, once I don’t have practice to go to every week.”

The conversations with Yuta became a regular occurrence, especially when he would come near the end of your shift. You worked from the end of your classes at 1pm to 5pm on Mondays and Wednesdays, which was right in time for Yuta’s coffee pick-me-up before heading to soccer practice at 7pm. Originally, you hated your Friday schedule, starting classes at 9am with hardly any break until 2pm, then off to work from 3pm until 10pm. But when Yuta began coming in during those late nights, you grew to like them. 

“Can’t let a pretty girl like you walk home alone when it’s this late,” Yuta reasoned when you asked why he insisted on coming to the cafe and getting his normal iced americano when any normal person would be winding down for the night. He stuck to his words, walking you home every Friday night after you helped close up. You weren’t going to admit it, but you enjoyed his company, and it helped to put your mind at ease whenever he was with you. Sometimes, he would even help you clean up, picking up trash and taking the large garbage bags out to the dumpster for you. “The faster you close, the faster you’ll get home…gotta make sure my girl is safe.” 

His girl. 

Yuta had never asked you for more than his normal medium green tea frappe with a caramel drizzle, yet you both knew each other well past customer and barista. Were you his girl? If you were, you had no way of knowing. You didn't want to ask and push the situation around when you were already happy with where things stood currently. The way Yuta made time for you in his busy schedule despite his soccer commitments and impending graduation. Surely that must mean something, but you shut down those thoughts, not wanting to place more weight onto Yuta’s actions. 

Aside from Yuta becoming a regular at your cafe, you similarly became a regular at the men’s soccer games, much to Wren’s surprise. After that first incident with Yuta, Wren was so sure that you would never want to go to another soccer game in your life. Wren jokingly asked if you would be down to watch the team’s upcoming match, fully expecting you to say no. Wren’s eyes went wide in shock upon hearing your answer, not sure if they heard you correctly. “Y-you’ll go to the game with me?” 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” You said matter-of-factly. 

“I know I said that it’s an important match because it decides whether or not they qualify for the play-offs, but that doesn’t mean you have to go,” Wren blurted, as if double-checking that you weren’t merely forcing yourself to go in order to support your friend in supporting their boyfriend. 

“It’s okay,” you told them. “I want to go.” But if you were being honest, you were already planning to go. Yuta had invited you to the game the previous week. When he explained how important the match was to him, being that it was his last year with the team, you couldn’t say no. Not when he gave you the cutest pleading look, eyes wide with hope. For all the times he kept you company at work and got you home safely, you figured this was the least you could do to repay him. 

The bright stadium lights shone harshly upon the two teams running around on the field. You watched the throng of players weaving in between each other as the ball was passed around the turf. It was already nearing the end of the match, yet the teams were neck and neck, tied with one goal each. You admired all of the athletes on the pitch, in awe of the stamina and strength they’d shown throughout the entire match, yet your eyes followed only one of the players. Number 7, Nakamoto Yuta, left striker. 

Yuta dominated his area of the field, expertly handling the ball with precision and skill. Throughout the game, he was constantly breaking away from the opposing players defending him and taking multiple shots on the goal. He played with such vigor and ferocity that it had you doubting he was the same man that watched you with such softness as you wiped down tables. 

With only a few seconds on the clock, the play started with a throw-in from Hoshi, who was playing as a right-side midfielder. Sitting next to you, Wren cheered on their boyfriend as he sent the ball to the right-side center back, Jeonghan. The ball was sent on its way from Jeonghan across the field to the left, bouncing over to where Yuta was in tight quarters with two players from the opposing team. One of them attempted to do a header, causing the ball to continue in the air and the group of them to run after it in a fight for dominance. When the ball came back down, Yuta swooped under it, nudging it with his thigh to push it forward and into his control. The team erupted in cheers as they knew what was about to happen. 

Yuta brought the ball to the ground and dribbled it while coming up to the opposing team’s defensive players. He lightly tapped the ball towards the outer line before quickly sidestepping and redirecting the ball towards his right, now with a clear path towards the goal. Yuta broke away from the small mob of opposing players with exceptional speed, his shoes turning into a blur as he sprinted toward the penalty box. 

The opposing team watched, unable to catch up with him, their only hope left being their goalie. Right as Yuta reached the top of the penalty box, you saw the all-familiar plant of his left foot while his right hung back, winding up for the shot. The crowd was in a frenzy as supporters of both teams yelled and cheered. The sound of Yuta’s shoe against the ball echoed from the field, followed by the swish of the net when the ball soared right over the goalie’s outstretched arms. 

You and Wren jumped in the air, holding each other's hands in celebration while the other boys on the team ran onto the field and crashed into Yuta as he ran into their arms with a smile on his face. The buzzer rang loud and clear, signaling the end of the match and the team’s entrance into the playoffs. You watched as Yuta’s hair flew around while he hugged his teammates, all of them equally sweaty yet even more energized. “Come on, let’s go and congratulate them,” Wren said, holding onto your wrist while guiding you down the bleachers toward the turf. 

Not wanting to interrupt the team and their hard-earned moment, you and Wren hung back near the edge of the field. Your eyes floated over the crowd of boys in the same jersey, buzzing with the same excitement. A singular ball came shooting out towards you from the mass of men, followed by the athlete whose smile felt like it was even brighter than the stadium lights. 

You trapped the ball gently with your foot before passing it back to Yuta as he approached you. He received the ball with the top of his foot, popping it into the air and letting it fall onto his thighs before juggling it a couple of times, showing off his skill before sending it back to you. You trapped it with your thigh, waiting for it to fall down a bit and then tapping it back up with your foot, only juggling the ball twice before firmly pressing it onto the ground. “Looks like you should be on the field instead of me,” Yuta joked with a smile. 

“No, I could never,” you shook your head as Yuta closed the distance between the two of you. “You did so good tonight,” you said quietly as Yuta pulled you into a hug. 

“I had to,” he responded, pulling away to meet your gaze. “Couldn’t let you down.” 

“Couldn’t let your team down,” you corrected. “Congratulations on making it into the playoffs.” 

Yuta sighed as he released you from his grip, “Yeah, just means more games, more practice, more sore muscles.” 

“You act like that’s such a bad thing when you’re quite literally the star of the team,” you say with a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Am I?” Yuta mused while turning to look at the rest of his teammates as they began to pack up their equipment. 

“I think so,” you nearly whisper as you approach him once more. You place both your hands on his firm chest before shoving him lightly back towards his team. “Go back to your team before they leave you behind.” 

Yuta shot you a quick smile as you passed him the ball, and he took it back over to the bench and joined his team in cleaning up. “What’s up with you guys?” Wren's voice breaks you away from the fading image of Yuta’s smile in your mind. You shrug, not really knowing how to explain the situation between you and Yuta. Wren gave you a look that meant you were done for once the two of you were alone. “There’s no way you guys go from nearly fighting each other one game and hugging the next without telling me what’s going on.”

“I became a fan, I guess,” you tell them with feigned nonchalance, causing Wren to let out an exasperated sigh.

In celebration of the soccer team’s advancement into the playoffs, their coach had given them the week off and canceled practice on Monday and Wednesday. You knew this much because of Wren’s insufferable yapping about how excited they were to have Hoshi all to themselves for the week and how they had so many fun things planned. Wren and Hoshi had extended an invitation to both you and Yuta privately in hopes of getting to play matchmaker and help move your relationship along. 

You meant to ask Yuta about it on Monday, but your plans were thwarted by the midterm, which occupied all of your class time. Since Yuta’s practice was cancelled, and the midterm for your shared class was over, you knew there was really no reason for him to stop by the cafe that night. You spent that entire shift anxiously glancing between the door and the clock on the wall, wondering if the dark-haired soccer player with the piercing eyes would show up. He did not. 

On Tuesday night, your professor announced that class on Wednesday would be canceled to allow for makeup tests for any students who had yet to take the midterm and for the grading of tests. As such, you were robbed of your next chance to see Yuta. When you went to work on Wednesday, you assumed that Yuta’s familiar presence would again be missing from your schedule. 

It was fine; he deserved to rest. Yuta should have been using this time to recover. He earned it. 

The bell on the door chimed as Wren and Hoshi entered the cafe, interrupting your pitiful worrying. “How is my favorite barista doing?” Wren asked with a wide smile, their hands wrapped around Hoshi’s bicep. 

“Good, good,” you start, “just…working.” You took down their order seamlessly before continuing the conversation. 

“You know, we didn’t think you would be at work tonight,” Hoshi shared. “We thought you would be with Yuta.” 

“Oh?” You were intrigued. Yuta hadn’t mentioned any plans to you. The two of you hadn’t seen, much less spoken to, each other since the game on Saturday. 

“Yeah, I was stalking your location, and when I saw you were here, I knew something was up,” Wren spilled, causing you to roll your eyes at their antics. “Hoshi also said that Yuta has been radio silent in their team chat too, so we thought maybe he was over here with you.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed in thought. “He didn’t say anything about hanging out this week, and he hasn’t stopped by the cafe while I was working either. Should I be concerned?”

Hoshi looked between you and Wren. “Well, nearly every guy on the team is spending this time with their significant other. I’m not saying it’s a problem that Yuta isn't with you, but I’m just saying maybe he would like to have some company.”

You thought back to the late-night conversations you shared with Yuta in the cafe and on the walks to your apartment. The way he told you about the passion, loyalty, and devotion he had towards soccer and the team. The image of his brow furrowed with worry comes to your mind, remembering how he spoke about his future and his life without the guidelines of the sport keeping him afloat. 

All the pieces suddenly fell together. You had a newfound sense of urgency to finish Wren and Hoshi’s orders. Looking over at your coworker, you quietly asked if they would be okay closing alone, which they more than happily obliged, as you often did for them. 

You brought Wren and Hoshi their order before taking off your apron and clocking out early. “Where are you going?” Wren asked, the slightest bit of concern showing in their expression. 

“Is the field open?” You ask Hoshi. 

He nods. “Should be. We normally have practice right now, so I would assume it’s open.”

“Thanks.” You packed away your belongings into your school bag and headed out just as the sun was starting to set. 

After the short walk back to campus, you finally reach the top of the soccer stadium. The lights illuminated the field, all but empty aside from the lone man taking shots from the edge of the penalty box. As you made your way down the bleachers, emotions swirled in your chest. Would this be too far for your relationship? Was it too much for him? What if he wasn’t comfortable with this? What if he really just wanted to be alone?

Part of you wanted to turn around and go back to the familiar warmth of the coffee shop and spend a peaceful evening with your friends. But it was too late for that. Yuta had already spotted you and now stood waiting with his arms crossed, one leg straight while the other was planted on a ball. “What are you doing here?” He called out to you. 

“I thought practice was canceled.” You deliberately didn’t answer his question. 

Yuta shrugged, then returned his focus to the line of balls and sent another one whizzing through the air and into the corner of the goal. He continued down the line as you drew closer, sending shot after shot into the net. He paused right before the last one, placed his foot upon it before turning to you. “Just because it’s canceled doesn’t mean I can’t practice on my own.”

He took his foot off the ball, doing a little nod over to it and stepping back a bit to give you space. You smiled at him before shooting the ball towards the goal, hearing the satisfying swish as the ball fell against the net.

Yuta praised your skill, and the two of you played around for a bit while collecting the balls from the goal. Once all of the balls were fathered into a bunch, the two of you laid down on the cool turf together, looking up at the night sky. 

“Shouldn’t you be at work right now?” Yuta questioned. 

“I should be. But I’m not.” You didn’t dare look at him, keeping your eyes glued on the stars above you. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Yuta adjust himself. You saw him roll onto his side and prop his head up, his cheek resting inside his palm. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you might need some company,” you breathed out, feeling the heat of Yuta’s gaze on you.

“I guess you were right.” Yuta’s eyes traced up and down the outline of your face. “So do you have any plans for tonight?”

You finally turn to face him. “No, this was about it.”

“Would you like to come over?” Yuta offered.

You looked at him incredulously. “Come over?”

“Yeah,” Yuta chuckled, seeing your expression. “To my apartment. Well, it’s a shared apartment. I live with Seungcheol and Jeonghan from the team.”

You knew he had roommates, but you didn’t know they were his roommates. You should’ve expected he would be living with people from the team, though. They were his inner circle, and you knew that much. “What are they doing with their free time tonight?”

“Don’t know. They said they’re going to a party, so they probably won’t be coming back until later.” Yuta rolled onto his back as a gust of wind blew over the two of you, carrying his sweat-tinged scent. “So are you coming or what?”

You hummed as if thinking about your answer. “I smell like coffee, and you smell like, well…”

“Yeah, I know.” Yuta let out a laugh as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “I want to take a shower, so you should probably join me,” he smiled further as your brows furrowed, “to save water, you know?”

“I-” you were left stumbling for words. “I mean, yeah, I guess that makes sense.” You sat up to match him, dusting off the bits of turf that stuck to your clothes.

Yuta looked at you through strands of damp hair. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I was only joking.” You froze in place. “Unless…you really want to.” A smirk slowly formed on his face. “I won’t stop you if you do.”

You didn’t want to speak, afraid of tripping over your words as your heart pounded in your chest. “Yuta, what are we?” You blurted out.

“Well,” he began, placing a hand on your knee, “what would you like us to be?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh and look up at the stars glimmering in the sky as if they would speak your innermost desires for you. “Would it scare you if I said I want us to be more than friends?”

“No, not at all.” Yuta’s hand lifted from your knee and gently cupped your jaw, turning you to face him. “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“I would love that.” Your eyes lit up, mirror the stars above you. 

Yuta closed the distance between the two of you, the hand on your jaw tilting your head as his lips caught yours in a kiss. You kissed him back and felt his lips form a smile against yours. 

Yuta scored many goals on this field, but nothing compared to the one he scored tonight. 

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Good Thing - K.Doyoung

[retrosabers]

𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒.

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: just some good old fashioned riding with big dick steve

warnings: SMUT 18+. MINORS DNI. swearing, unprotected p in v, mentions of the female anatomy, riding, male & female orgasm

word count: 1k

based on the song “pyramids” by frank ocean.

a/n: this is the first complete smut blurb i’ve ever written, so please bare with! any feedback is greatly appreciated, hope y’all enjoy <3

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐁𝐈𝐆, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓. 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋.

the sight below you is ethereal. steve harrington, under the glow of moonlight, soft brown locks askew on the pillow, plump pink lips parted, and pupils blown wide with lust. he looks like a fucking god, and you��re more than willing to worship. his large hands find solace on your hips, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. the weeping tip of his cock presses against your clit, causing a small whine to escape your lips.

“come on baby” he encourages, voice dripping with desire. “you can take it.”

his length is unlike anything you’ve ever had before. you could barely fit him in your mouth when you sucked him off, and you were sure it was going to be a challenge for him to fit inside your cunt.

his name comes out in another whine, pleading and desperate. steve can’t stop the smirk that forms on his face. he loves knowing that he’s gotten you watered down to this, the strong, confident girl gone cockdrunk before he’s even slipped it in.

“baby” his voice is a little gentler now, one of his hands moving to stroke up and down your back. “i gotcha, okay?”

you trusted steve enough in every other part of your life to know that those two words were true as could be.

nervously, you plant your hands on his chest, wiggling your hips to get a better position, and his cock teased your folds. it’s a touch that makes up your mind. you need him, all of him, right now.

steve hisses out a raspy “atta girl” as you sink down the first few inches. the stretch burns deliciously, bordering on the line between pain and pleasure. you’ve never felt this full before, and just this bit of him has you whimpering and squirming like crazy.

“good girl”, he coos, tongue poking out to lick him bottom lip. “such a good girl for me.”

“jesus you’re big steve.” you manage between shaky breaths. his cocky smirk intensifies and it manages to make you even wetter, granting you access to slide even further down his cock. a moan escapes both of your lips, and steve’s grip on you tightens. he’s fighting the urge to buck up into you, but he knows you have to do this at your own pace.

“that’s it honey. take it. take it all.”

steve’s praise only spurs you on, sending him further into you bit by bit. the sting was slowly giving way to something warmer, and by the time he’s fully seated inside you, you’re convinced if he barely moves an inch, you’re going to cum.

“god you feel so fucking good” steve groans, squeezing the flesh of your ass with one hand. “s’like you were made for me.”

you moan unabashedly, still adjusting to his size.

“steve.”

he shudders. god you were insatiable and you didn’t even have the slightest clue. his hands go back to resting on your hips, an encouraging and gentle touch that gives you confidence.

“honey” he breathes, sounding just as desperate as you. “i want you to ride me, okay?”

you take a deep breath, before rising off him slowly, whining as you went, before taking his length in you once more. slowly, you rise up and down his cock, familiarizing yourself with the feeling before you pick up the pace.

as you begin to move faster, steve is embarrassed over the thought that he’s not gonna last long. between the way your pussy feels wrapped around him, the way your tits were bouncing with every roll of your hips, he was a goner. you’ve built up a steady rhythm now, the burning stretch long gone and replaced by the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt. the only sounds in the room are both of your lust drunk moans and the sound of your soaked heat.

“that’s it baby” steve purs, his grip on your hips sure to leave bruises. “just like that, just like that.”

when steve starts lightly thrusting back up into you, an electric shock of pleasure courses up your spine. the way you moan his name in return is so pornographic it’s making his head spin.

you’re panting and whining, so lost in the feeling of him, and that ever familiar coil begins to form in your stomach.

“m’ close baby” you breathe out, sinking your palms further into the planes of his chest.

he meets your eyes. “yeah? you gonna cum for me pretty girl?”

steve cants his hips up at just the right angle, and you throw your head back in ecstasy.

“right there stevie, please don’t stop.”

and who would steve be if he was to deny your simple request?

your bodies move synchronously, vibrating with need and your orgasm begins to creep up the back of your neck. when you moan out his name this time, steve knows it’s coming. his pointer and index fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles as he works to bring you over the edge.

“fuck! steve i’m gonna-”

before you can finish your sentence, your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. the feeling coursing through your veins is white hot, burning your every nerve . your mouth opens in a silent scream, body twitching as steve works himself up to his own orgasm. steve chases his high with your name falling from his lips like a prayer, hips stuttering into one final thrust before he cums inside you. aftershocks run through your body as he stills, body falling limp onto his chest.

you lay there for a few minutes like that, just bathing in the afterglow before steve eventually decides to pull out. you whimper at the loss of contact and steve holds back a groan at the sight of his cum still dripping a little bit out of your pussy.

“christ, you’re gonna be the death of me” he mutters under his breath, head shaking side to side as he wanders off to the bathroom. steve hears the sound of your laugh echo throughout the room and he can’t help but smile. when he returns with a damp rag, your heart inevitably warms up.

“you okay?” he asks, gently rubbing the warm cloth against the inside of your thighs.

“never been better” you breath out, a lazy smile spreading across your face.

“good.” steve grins, and leans over to plant the most feather-light kiss on the top of your nose. when it scrunches and you giggle, his heart skips a beat.

“always gotta make sure i’m taking care of my girl.”

[oflights]

Bloodweave Inn New Year’s Prompts Day 2: Growing Old Together

written for @bloodweaveinn’s New Year’s Prompt Challenge! I rolled a 2 this time, which means my prompt was Growing Old Together. i wasn't really feeling it until a little while ago and just kind of knocked this out in 20 minutes lol. i'm a little late but oh well! it was fun.

enjoy just under 1k words of extremely sappy established bloodweave, post-cure for astarion's vampirism. 😌

“Is that a gray hair?”

Astarion’s outraged cry draws Gale out of his reading, and he looks over the top of glasses at him with a slightly distracted “Hm?”

“Look!” Astarion insists, jabbing his finger at both the mirror—where his reflection can now be found, and though it’s been nearly a year since finding Astarion’s cure, Gale still can’t help looking upon it with pride and affection—and at the top of his head. “I’m going gray, Gale.”

Gale blinks at him, then squints. Astarion huffs automatically, an instinctive response to Gale squinting and a result of the Great Glasses War of 1494 DR, which Gale had summarily lost.

Eager to draw Astarion’s attention from his squinting—gods forbid he make Gale get a thicker pair of lenses—Gale hastily says, “Astarion, your hair is already gray. What are you talking about?”

Astarion gasps. His eyes, luminous and green-gold, as pride-inducing as his reflection, go very wide.

“How dare you. My hair is white blond! It’s platinum! It’s not gray, you heathen.”

“My love,” Gale says soothingly, setting his book aside and holding out two placating arms. “Come here. Let me see it.”

Grumbling, and with one more pouting glance into the mirror, Astarion slinks over, as graceful and lithe as ever. He fits himself into Gale’s lap with fluid motions Gale could never hope to replicate, and he butts the crown of his head into Gale’s chin, not unlike a cat. Gale hides a grin over the top of his head.

“Look. It’s awful.”

Gale truly cannot see any bit of what has Astarion so upset, but he kisses the crown of his head anyway, taking off his damnable glasses with some relief. “It’s not awful,” Gale says into Astarion’s beautiful, soft hair. “It’s lovely, because it’s on you, and you are the loveliest elf I’ve ever seen.”

“Just the loveliest elf?”

“Being. Humanoid. Immortal or mortal.” At that, Gale tips Astarion’s face up by the chin, gazing down at him adoringly. “You are as gorgeous as the day I met you. Gray hairs and all.”

“Hairs, plural? Did you see another one?” Astarion scrambles to get up and go for the mirror again, but Gale draws him into a kiss first, sighing as he settles down in his lap again.

“What’s so bad about grays, anyway?” Gale asks when they break apart, smiling when Astarion, eyes closed, chases his mouth a bit. Astarion huffs, the scent of their shared dinner—some nice, bloody red steaks; Astarion still has a taste for it, and he’s as bad as Gale is about eating his vegetables—hitting Gale’s nose and making it wrinkle. “You like my grays, don’t you? You certainly admire them enough.”

As if to prove Gale’s point, Astarion’s hand goes up into Gale’s hair, sifting through what are surely more bountiful gray streaks now. Just as there are more wrinkles in his face, more pronounced crow’s feet and laughter lines, and a softer, chubbier frame as their adventure days have fallen behind them. Astarion has lavished each of these features with so much love and approval that Gale has had barely any room to ever feel self-conscious about them.

“Of course I do; your grays are beautiful,” Astarion says. “You’re aging like a fine wine, my dear, and I’m—well, I’m just aging, aren’t I?” He says it like it’s just occurred to him, a bit wondrous, and also a bit sullen.

“Of course you are, though much, much more slowly than you seem to think,” Gale says. “Slower than I am, naturally. We both know this. It’s a good thing, isn’t it? Part of your cure?”

“But I’m no distinguished professor like you; my looks are like your brains,” Astarion tells him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it when I start looking like Jaheira, gods.”

“Jaheira is beautiful—oh, stop, you know what I mean,” Gale says as Astarion scowls. “And you are much, much more than your looks. Which are still beautiful.”

“You have to say that. Your opinion is biased.”

“Is my opinion not the most important, after yours?”

Astarion eyes him carefully, as if genuinely judging Gale’s sincerity. Gale tries not to huff back at him—he’d put a garlic sauce over his own steak tonight, which Astarion still doesn’t care for.

“You’re certain you’ll love me even when I look like a withered old crone?”

Gale tips his head back. “Astarion, I’ll love you until the day I die. And not to be depressing, but you must understand that I’ll be a withered old crone long before you will. I probably won’t live to see you that old.” He strokes the back of his hand over Astarion’s face, the lines that are there, and feels a bit of sweet, sad longing over that fact. He sees it reflected on Astarion’s face, in the sudden droop of his ears. “So don’t worry—I’ll be old and wrinkly and gray all over, and you’ll still be my pretty young thing.”

“Gods, you’re right,” Astarion says, aghast. He settles further into Gale’s hold, shaking his head. “We’re going to have to do something about that.”

“About what?”

“The whole thing where even though I’m cured of vampirism, you’re still going to die first. I don’t approve of that. That’s our next project. Ugliness notwithstanding—I do want to grow old with you.”

Warmth suffuses Gale at that, and he places another helpless kiss in Astarion’s beautiful, soft, and yes, gray hair.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Gale says, and he picks up his book again and starts squinting down at it, his love in one arm.

“Gale,” Astarion murmurs against his neck, breath ghosting out against the old bite scars.

“Hm?”

“Put your glasses on.”

With a laugh and a sigh, Gale complies; he supposes they both have their vanities.

[nakachuchu]

CHAPTER TWELVE: BORN OF SIN

Golden Child series

SYNOPSIS: You were cursed since birth.

READER: female

WORDS: 1k

WRITTEN: 10/04/2023

You normally never dreamed.

"This isn't a dream, number 777."

It had to be a dream. The place you were in was dark and red with floating masses of rock above and below you.

"Welcome to Inferno."

You raised your eyes to the tall cliff-like throne until you met the eyes of a man with skin as red as blood and horns curved like a goat's.

You found yourself getting sucked into his eyes full of swirls and something oddly familiar yet terrifying.

"Don't look too long. You're not at the stage where you can match me, 777."

"I have a name," you said.

"Names are irrelevant for what I must achieve with my offspring."

"Offspring?" you questioned as you tore your eyes away to look at it a pebble instead.

"Yes."

"You're not my dad."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

All the hairs on your body stood up immediately. You didn't know that. You couldn't remember what your parents looked like.

"My dad was human," you replied, uncertain.

He laughed, shaking the world you were in like an earthquake. "Your stand-in father, yes. You see, your parents believed in something dark. They believed in me. They prayed to me with their cute little group, so naturally, I blessed them with an offspring made of me and your mother."

"You had your way with my mother?" you questioned, looking up at him.

"Every mortal woman I impregnate gives me their consent. They're lucky to have my offspring."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Your father wasn't your father. You had siblings made from a man who wasn't all man.

You fought back against the torment of his eyes full of colored swirls, memories of your childhood, and the screams of strangers.

He smiled as you struggled for some sort of control in his world.

"You're one of a kind. Others before have failed tremendously. A few made it past the seven challenges, but they quickly died. Live up to your expectations, 777, because you were created with a purpose. Do not think I gave you life to be anything but extraordinary."

Your eyes snapped opened and a wrenching scream escaped your throat as a searing pain enveloped your body.

The sheets and blankets tangled around your legs as you writhed in pain before tumbling to the floor.

You felt an invisible fire envelope your back as the demonic ritual branded you. There was no metal rod or physical mark, yet your nerves seared with agony as the number 777 was being branded onto your back. You screamed, writhing on the floor helplessly.

Satoru was quick to wake and get on the floor to support you as your hands clawed at your back, twisting and turning in an animalistic way.

He lifted your shirt and his eyes froze at the sight of a '7' being written. His brow furrowed in frustration as he realized this was no ordinary wound.

Scooping you up, he rushed to the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. Icy water rained down as he stepped fully clothed under the showerhead, holding you tight against his chest.

You continued to scream and thrash in his arms. The freezing water provided only minor relief to the inferno raging through your body. Satoru held you close, getting thoroughly drenched as he tried helplessly to ease your suffering.

"I've got you," he murmured. "I'm here."

You clung to him like a lifeline, tears mingling with the chilling shower spray. The pain was beyond unbearable, but Satoru's steady presence kept you tethered. His grip never loosened, even as the frigid water soaked through his clothes.

His unwavering touch was the only thing keeping you from completely slipping away.

He didn't know if you stopped feeling the pain of the brand before you passed out in his arms. His fingers dug into your wet clothes and flesh as he cradled your unconscious body.

He leaned down to touch his lips to your hair as his bright blue eyes stared at the bathroom tiles in concentration.

Whatever had you so deep was never going to let go.

Satoru held your unconscious body, his jaw tight with frustration. He cursed himself for not being able to prevent this somehow. Even with all his power, he felt helpless against the dark forces tormenting you.

Gently he carried you back to bed, tucking the blankets around your chilled form. He wished he could take away your pain. Your life had been filled with such misfortune, and you didn't deserve any of it.

He thought back to when you first joined Jujutsu Tech, shy and haunted. Over time, you had started to open up and find happiness amongst the other students. But this demonic curse threatened to destroy everything you had built.

There was no one to blame but your parents for dabbling in evil rituals they didn't understand. Their selfish occult obsession had doomed you before you were even born.

Yet, all your memories of them were happy.

Satoru carried your limp body out of the shower and laid you gently on the bed. He found a towel in your closet and dried your body. Your skin was icy and pale, but the angry red brand still seemed to glow on your back. He dressed you in warm dry clothes before tucking you under the blankets.

He brought a chair next to your bed and sat in it. As you slept, he kept watch.

“What is this?” he questioned quietly.

He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees as his lips laid near his fists.

“She is property,” Ayumi answered, bringing her human finger to brush away your hair.

“She has potential, but she will die,” added Chiaki. “The expectations placed on her are unimaginable.”

“No,” murmured Satoru with a quiet laugh. “She's not allowed to die.”

His eyes were mad as his shoulders shook at the mere suggestion of your death. He leaned back and brushed his hair back with his fingers.

“Until I see with my own eyes, I am God. No Devil or Curse will harm what belongs to me.”

[FIRST ARC END]

TAGLIST: @sleepydang @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @the-fab-killjoy @kooromin @momomoswan @ameliabs-world @wtfbtsislit-blog

[youre-ackermine]

✍️ Fic authors self rec!

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to other writers you know. Let's spread some self-love! 💛

Hey Sunshine ☀️

Thanks for dropping by my inbox with this ask! Well, I won't tell you I'm not embarrassed to do this but let's go for a bit of self-promo 🫣

So far my stuff is mostly Levihan-centered but I'm writing for other SNK pairings & for Levi x Reader at the moment as well (still in my WIP though).

✍️

1 - SUNBURST // 2.2k words // Modern AU // SFW // read on Tumblr & AO3

The latest of my works. It's part 2 of my series It's not like I've got something grand to say to you & I wrote it in one go within a few hours but I'm rather proud of it, especially Levi's characterisation. A word about this series: it will be a bunch of "chapters" requested for a drabble challenge that I decided to write as parts of the same story.

2 - ECHO // 1k words // Canon Universe // N.SFW-ish // read on Tumblr & AO3

I love Terra's (@dont-f-with-moogles ) story Never Enough & I wrote this drabble inspired by the series as a gift for her birthday. Once again, Levi's turmoil inspired me.

3 - BEHIND THE SCENES // 2.1k words // Modern AU // Actor AU // N.SFW-ish // read on Tumblr

This one was requested by anon & it's a Pikuhan fic (with a side of Levihan, I can't help it!). Actor AU is really a good setting for stories, I love to see them all being alive & well! I had so much fun writing this one! There'll be a part 2 & there'll definitely be other SNK Actor AU drabbles. I haven't posted it on AO3 yet.

4 - DUMBSTRUCK // 1k words // Modern AU // N.SFW-ish // read on Tumblr & AO3

Part one of It's not like I've got something grand to say to you series, written for another challenge. Hange's POV for once. Well I mean, Hange's POV about Levi's body hehe. The first time I've been proud of something I wrote tbh.

5 - UNDER THE MISTLETOE // 1.3k words // Modern AU // SFW // read on Tumblr & AO3

Part two of my Levi x Reader series Love Language (side note: part one is one year old & it's crap tbh, but I posted it as a reference to see if my writing is improving with time). A bit cheesy but I kinda like it however.

✍️

I'm not a particularly good writer but I'm not that bad after all I guess lmao.

A big shout out to all those who liked/reblogged/commented/kudo-ed my silly works! It means a lot to me & I'm so thankful for your kind support!

Sending love your way Sunshine 🫶☀️

✍️

Please consider reblogging / commenting / kudo-ing fics on Tumblr or AO3 to support writers, it's really encouraging for them!

[onwesterlywinds]

Livvy's #FFXIVWrite2024 Wrap-Up Post

Hi all - we did it! Whether you wrote all thirty days, are still catching up, won't be writing all the prompts or were just spectating this year... we made it through September!

As always, I have to kick things off with a massive thanks to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for creating this incredible event and keeping it running every year. This is by far my favorite XIV event because it's such an incredible showcase of the talent and love we all pour into our own (and each other's!) work, and it couldn't be possible with Moen's absolutely massive investment of time and energy.

This was my SIXTH consecutive year completing #FFXIVWrite! Last year, I learned my lesson about not tempting fate by invoking all the previous life crises I had weathered each September that absolutely would not inhibit me from writing (and I lied in last year's recap, everything was absolutely not fine). This year, in lieu of breaking out the thirty pieces I posted across twenty different characters, I'm going to share some things I've learned this year about myself, my writing, and/or my characters:

I wrote some of my absolute favorite bits with five or fewer minutes until the deadline. Whatever lesson I learn from this will be the wrong one.

Ashe and Rosenheim tied for the highest number of prompts: they each came in at four this year. Rosenheim has historically been a really tricky character to write, because he's so stoic and introspective... but I think I was feeling the sad man hours this year. Ahtyn came in just below them at three prompts.

Ashe and Ilberd canonically fucked during 2.1 (before she and Edge got serious). (I already knew they had canonically fucked pre-2.0, but this new information is extremely important to me. I love my favorite war criminal.)

Ahtyn canonically crossfades.

Ahtyn is also working through some intense and complicated feelings about her legacy post-Endwalker. Getting to develop a new side of her character has been an incredible and unexpected gift.

I try not to track collective word counts for this challenge because I tend to put myself under way too much pressure when I do, and because I like the freedom of going back and editing some pieces after the fact, but I can tell regardless that I've written way more this year than in any year before: I've had more pieces with 1k+ words this time around than any other year previously!

My #FFXIVWrite pieces for this year can be found here! I'm thinking of posting some of them on AO3, so stay tuned for more info!

Thank you to all the wonderful friends who cheered me on, read my stuff religiously, offered thoughts or inspiration, and/or were even more excited about the prospect of an Ashe/Edge/Hien threesome than I was. It made a massive difference, this year and all years. ✨

I'm hoping to use this blog more often outside of September - stay tuned!

And if you're still reading this, if you participated this year, this is a direct invitation for you to send me a piece you've written this year that you're especially proud of. Yes, you!

[sharksscripting]

ERIS WEEK 2024 | AU’s

————————————————————————

Cassian and Eris have had a rivalry since the ginger-headed male joined the professional wrestling industry.

So, when Eris challenges the other faerie to a fight for his title—Prythian’s Wrestling Champion—which he’s had for years now, Cassian doesn’t refuse.

OR

Eris was encouraged to join the professional wrestling industry to help take a jab at his father, and to have a job he can do with his lover.

————————————————————————

WC: 1k | Fight and Sexual content | Casris

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1442857742-𝐀𝐔-𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬-𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚-𝐱-𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧-𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬-𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58925959

————————————————————————

“Remember our bet.” The gruff voice says before walking out, Eris unable to reply from the quick exit, to his introduction music—the melody was a mix of ominousness and metal, it left the audience in a state of excitement and suspense—speak of, the crowd was screaming and waving around colorful pieces of paper with Cassian’s name written in a dark, black ink on them.

One particular sign rambling on about how good his body was when he stripped off his shirt mid-fight. Eris had to agree with that sign, unfortunately; the two have been dating since before the Autumn faerie even signed up for professional wrestling… it was a way for him to silently rebel against his father.

By the time the Illyrian’s theme song ends, he’s in the ring talking about Eris; how his wrestling persona is flawed, weak, pathetic.

“And that’s why-“ Cassian’s speech is cut off, the mic with a wire now slashed in half—his head snaps to the entrance of the stadium where Eris now stands—eyes narrowing at the red-head.

The crackle of fire plays throughout the field, Eris’ entrance music was more elegant, but louder. It was attention drawing.

Without any other word, no mic time from Eris, he makes his way into the ring before tugging himself in it, standing up and motioning for Cassian to come closer.

A loud ring is heard, indicating the match beginning.

Within a second Cassian throws a punch, Eris guards with a small step back before swinging a strong, right hook to the other’s face; It lands.

His head snaps to the side, the Illyrian males face hardening from the stinging of Eris’ face.

“You little-“ Cassian whispers, the camera’s zooming in on his face so that the crowd can read his lips, he pulls back his arm again. “Brat.” He says before jabbing the male with his knuckles, hitting Eris’ ribs.

Eris winces before backhanding the other, the other side of his palm striking the males face.

Cassian stumbles back before grinning and continuing to move back, throwing his spinal area towards the ropes to propel himself forward—making sure not to hit his wings—before spearing the male; Eris fails to dodge.

When the larger male pins him down, hands on his thighs and pushing him flat on his back—Eris attempts to kick out, barely doing it in time to get the ref to stop counting, but he manages.

He then pants before looking to his opponent with a small smirk, “Try harder.” Eris says before standing back up and grabbing the males head, his fingers weaving through his dark, brown locks before tugging his head back—his free hand moving forward in a quick wallop.

“I will.” Cassian growls out, when Eris pulls back his hand for another hit, the other catches it—a smirk forming upon his own face.

The Illyrian stands, both now on their feet—Eris was forced to let go of the other, but his wrist was still caught in the other’s hand.

Cassian swings his hand again, hitting the others arm that he has caught—Eris glares before tackling the man, knocking him onto his back.

The Illyrian yelps, his wings flaring out from the sudden movement, though he quickly regretted it because it left his most vulnerable spot left open.

Eris quickly world, reaching under the man’s thigh and pinning him down to the ring’s floor. The ref slides down beside the two, hitting his hand down…

One…

Two…

Cassian looks down at his boyfriend before flashing him warning look, Eris pays no mind.

Three!

The bell rings and Eris stands back up, his breaths short and heavy, the ref grabs where the Night Court faeries hand was mere seconds ago and tugs it up into the air, announcing, “Winner!” He shouts.

The people in the audience stand up, cheering for the Vanserra male; many of Cassian’s loyal followers leaving the stadium from his quick loss.

The ref then grabs the title belt from one of the other employees, handing it to Eris who holds it into the air with his free hand. He then smirks down at his opponent, his boyfriend.

—

By the time the two males make it back stage, Cassian was fuming.

“That wasn’t part of the script!” He glares at the ginger-headed male.

“I brought up our bet to the higher ups,” Eris says, when his lovers face fades into an expression of horror, he quickly clarifies, “Not all of it, brute!” He glares.

“Oh.” He sighs out in relief before his hand grasps Eris’ side,” I was worried-“

“You should be.” The Autumn faerie replies with a small grin, “You’ve no idea what I have in store.” His own hand moves over the Illyrian’s one on his pelvic bone.

A shiver runs down Cassian’s spine, but he attempts to keep up his angry facade.

“Home.” Eris hums before grabbing his lovers hand, winnowing the two of them home.

—

The two are instantly back in their shared home, a sky-high penthouse with multiple balconies to accompany for Cassian’s wings.

“What do you want to do?” The Illyrian asks slowly, finally accepting that he had… lost their bet; he then strips off his sweaty clothes before plopping himself onto the large, king-sized bed.

“Ropes… some other things… some special things.” Eris shrugs before removing his own clothes. “On your knees.” He hums while reaching down and grabbing a rope from their toy box.

The Illyrian moves to this knees on the bed, eagerly looking at his lover when he bends over. “Eris.” Cassian whines.

“You were the one who made the bet.” He reminds coldly before moving in front of the male, slowly wrapping the rope around where Cassian’s thigh connects to his torso—wrapping it tightly around both before moving to tie it in a harness like structure.

“That-“ Eris’ hand brushes over his tip, he smirks. “Doesn’t count.” He whimpers.

“Hands.” He says firmly, Cassian then moves his hands forward, in front of his chest, and Eris binds the black rope around his wrists. “On your stomach.” The Autumn male commands.

Cassian obeys immediately, wings spread out on the bed as he moves to his stomach, his muscles flexing when he tries to move; this action causes a swat upon his rear.

“Behave.” Eris says warningly.

Cassian whines, moving his body back so his naked form is against Eris’ own.

“Make me.”

————————————————————————

Tag List: @chunkypossum, @molcat07, and @talibunny30

Other: @erisweekofficial

[shipskicksandgiggles]

I know it's entirely possible that no one cares, but I realized I haven't posted my writing in a minute, so this is a collection of things i've done in the last few months. it's mostly 911, but there's a couple midnight burger entries, and one surprise for some people who know me from my marvel days. thanks for sticking with me y'all, finding joy in my writing again has been so much fun, and i hope you enjoy it too <3

9-1-1 (TV Show)

Second Day, Second Chance, a sequel to The Morning Dove Diner (buddie, 6k words, rated T)

Summary:

While Eddie's first day at Morning Dove goes off without too much issue, his second day, which also happens to be Sunday brunch, proves to be more of a challenge. Add to that, Buck still hasn't warmed up to the idea of someone knew being in the diner, so when messing up a woman's order turns into a confrontation, he didn't expect to have the kind of support that he got. He also doesn't expect the conversation and confessions that followed.

Under His Fingertips (buddie, 3.2k, rated T)

Summary:

It’s not uncommon for Buck to get a new tattoo. It is uncommon for him not to tell anyone, especially Eddie. Buck gets a new tattoo. He doesn’t tell Eddie.

how a square is a rectangle and a rectangle isn’t a square (buck-centric, post-bucktommy pre-buddie, 2.2k, rated G)

Summary:

The conversation that Buck had with Josh would come back to haunt him more than once in the days and weeks following his breakup with Tommy, but it was Eddie who would point out that Buck could have benefitted from some advice he’s given Eddie years prior. Cue a post-breakup research spiral, playing catch up on queer culture, and reflecting on other past conversations.

Picture Imperfect (buddie-ish, 1k, rated G)

Summary:

Eddie barely heard the knock at his door over the sound of Old Time Rock and Roll. He looked through the peep hole, and was surprised to see Buck on the other side. He opened the door, not caring about how ridiculous he looked in just his dress shirt with the collar popped. Buck didn't say anything as he sat down on the couch, nor did he need to. Eddie knew they'd talk eventually, but for a moment, they could just be. The song ended, and the silence lingered. Only then, in the relative peace, could they face their situations.

The Choices We Make (Eddie-centric, some buddie, 304k, rated T)

Summary:

When Eddie's mom's contact pops up on his phone, he doesn't think twice before he answers. Only, she hadn't meant to call him, and he gets to hear things he probably wasn't supposed to.

Yours for the Asking (buddie, bucktommy breakup, 2.8k, rated T)

Summary: Gerrard offering to take Buck under his wing unsettled him more than he expected. Then, when his boyfriend didn’t have the same response, Buck was forced to rethink some things.

Midnight Burger (Podcast)

Shelter In Place (caspar-centric, minor casparava, 1k, rated G)

Summary:

Being from the Midwest, Caspar hadn’t grown up with earthquake drills. He’d grown up where the only real threat in terms of natural disasters were tornadoes. He knew to duck down, protect his neck, stay away from glass. It wasn’t until he moved to California that he knew how to protect himself during an earthquake, and he never forgot how he learned.

The Silence in the Vacuum of Space (casparava, 1.7k, rated G)

Summary:

In the days after Leif disappeared, the diner felt strange, like they were just going through the motions without it meaning anything. Finally, they acknowledge the silence in the vacuum of space.

Parkner

i know, this was a shocker for me too. ellis writing parkner in the year 2025? well, the truth of the matter friends, is that i'd written the last chapter of an unfinished piece a few years ago, but wasn't happy with it, so i marked the fic as finished and figured that was that. then I got a comment from someone telling me they really loved the fic, and, well, I pulled the unfinished chapter from deep in my files and finally put the last chapter on a fic that should have been finished 4 years ago, but better late than never, right? so, incredibly, the last addition to this list, is a completed Moving Van Mistakes

Moving Van Mistakes (parkner, 7.3k, rated T)

Summary:

A week before he moves back home, Harley makes the biggest mistake of his life.

[greenbriar-j]

Write 40k in 42 days challenge

via @the-wip-project

Week 1 reflection:

So when I initially signed up for this challenge, I didn't quite factor in some life events that I knew would be happening. More accurately, I didn't think they'd effect my writing as much as they did. For the first, oh, three days, I wrote nothing at all.

Then I tried to compensate for writing past the 1k a day goal - I tried to go for 1.5-2k a day. This worked for about two days (not enough to catch up) before I lost steam again.

In the end, I'm still happy with my progress bc any words are better than no words at all, and I am having fun! I'm starting to hit a turning point in the storyline, so maybe that will bolster me to bump this word count a bit more as the plot moves along. Of the five days that I've dutifully sat down and written, only one day actually ended with me writing under 1k.

So all in all, I'd call it a successful first week, even though I remain about 2k words behind from where I had aimed to be at this time. Cheers to another week of more writing!

[crystal-overdrive]

Towards Tyranny Post Mortem

I put it to a poll whether folk wanted to read my thoughts on TT now I've finished it and you said yes, so here it is! Under the cut, 1675 words. Perhaps some minor spoilers but I don't outright say what the ending is.

PROCESS

Towards Tyranny was my first piece of fanfiction and my first long-form piece of prose. I worked on Towards Tyranny for ten months, at a rate of a chapter or 2 -4l per week. I was surprised at my ability to continue a project for this long, as by three months I’m normally chomping at the bit when I’m working on other forms of writing. I think releasing serially and getting constant feedback was a huge motivator I wanted to give my audience something every week and I looked forwards to what hey had to say. I’m not sure I could have written the whole thing by myself without showing it to anyone.

Unlike how I normally work, Towards Tyranny was not edited. It would have taken me about double the time if I’d edited, and editing chapter-by-chapter isn’t particularly helpful to me, as I tend to do a structural and character pass before delving into line edits. I think my writing must have improved over the course of this project, as I don’t believe it is too noticeable that the first ten or so chapters have about four rounds of editing, and subsequent chapters have none. So that’s nice!

Plotting and outlining was pretty odd on this project. I am normally very much a planner, but the fic diverged from the original outline very quickly. At points I abandoned the outline and went chapter-by-chapter. I did make (several) more outlines during writing, but the main purpose of these was to prove that the work could actually be finished than a guideline for writing. Having a bit of room for the characters to speak for themselves was a good thing, and I think this has taught me that I can relax a little with my outlining and still complete long projects.

The pace I wrote this at was reasonable, but it was only possible because I didn’t have a full time job. I “stole” time from uni, and during September and October worked on it full time to get finished. One thousand words a day is my full time pace which, while comparable with professionals, seems to pale in comparison to other fic writers. With any luck I’ll have a full time job soon, and I think on top of working, a reasonable pace for outside writing projects is something like 1k a week. That means I probably won’t be writing a longfic like this again. If I do write something of this size it will probably be an original. I’ve proven to myself I can write at length, and I’d like the challenge of original work.

This doesn’t mean I’m done with fandom, it’s just more likley to be the odd one shot when I feel inspired rather than anything big.

PACING AND STRUCTURE

I think it is evident from the text that my outline was changing during writing, as the structure is odd at times. It feels like the front half is all romance, the back half all plot, and then there’s almost a resolution which is undone by my subversive ending. The way Towards Tyranny ends is pretty typical of my work, but I think part of me was channelling the frustration I felt with the project into the characters motivations by the end. Perhaps a more simple romance ending without The Cell or Astarion/Gasper would have made for a stronger ending.

If I was to do a structural edit, I would either remove or make more of the political plotline. The Hand of Baldur goes nowhere, so I’d either add that in or replace it with the Drains and Underways, because they essentially did what Tav suggested the Hand of Baldur would do in that parliament session. I’d also make more of Jannath considering where she ends up. These are fairly minor things to catch in a structural edit, but for a released work they’re not great. This is just a hazard of releasing serially and changing the outline as I went!

Another issue I have with the political plotline is that it often develops between chapters. I thought writing it was boring, and therefore reading it would be. This means we get a lot of telling not showing in regards to Tav’s poltical prowess. If I had leaned in here and done more political chapters though, the work would have been so long, and it would have veered even further from romance as a genre.

One thing I think I do do well with is foreshadowing and setting up characters and mysteries. This was less deliberate planning, and more “I need a character, guess I’ll pull a name I’ve used before”, but it worked. There is also a lot of nice dramatic irony on a second read — I particularity liked Enver telling Tav he “had to have her before she took the Gate from him” in chapter two. Like, you STUPID man, if you’d have left her alone she’d have been no threat! I

Generally, while too much happens off screen and the structure is a little odd, every plot point feel like it is set up and paid off, and we have a cohesive main plot in the Bane storyline. And the Bane storyline is kind of the big gotcha here. Towards Tyranny isn’t really a romance. The real story is about Bane and Tav’s decent into religious fascism, but that wasn’t my original intent, and it wasn’t until about chapter ten that I actually figured that out. If this was an original and I was writing to market, I’d probably be looking at turning it into a political fantasy with a romance B plot rather than the other way around.

In terms of pacing, the political plots are fine, but the romance pace is a bit weird. We got from quite tame flirting to really quite sexual advances in chapter ten which was faster than made sense on a second reading. Again, if I was to edit, I’d add another romantic scene before it that started to cross the line. I would also add another sex or romance scene before the final chapter that demonstrates that while the power dynamics have changed, Enver and Tav do still love one another, because right now I feel like their feelings could be read as ambiguous at the end. Also, I just think it’s funny that they went from flirting to married in basically two weeks. Time was all over the place in the fic, and juggling a lot of plot points made it hard to manage at times.

QUALITY OF PROSE

I don’t consider prose my main form of writing, so I’m largely happy with how the prose turned out. There’s some really lovely metaphors, similes and description near the beginning that grounds the reader in Tav’s head and world. This does fall off as I stop editing and being to write faster, but in my defence, by chapter thirty, we don’t need more description of Wyrm’s Rock! Some of the description in the later chapters feels overly simplistic—more like stage direction than the sort of description and action that also conveys emotion, theme, tone etc.

While I was writing I was concerned about the overuse of things like smiling, learning, smirking, said, because I tended to use these as fillers between dialogue and they are known as somewhat annoying, but when I read back I didn’t notice it at all as a reader, and though action and dialogue flowed quite well. Nearer the end, we start to get heads talking in the void. I had purposefully used less action and dialogue tags because I had noticed that I used them more than I found them in published work. Looking at it now, I think, no, I don’t need to tag every line, but I prefer (in my own writing at least) more tags and action than less.

I am very pleased with my dialogue. I think it is natural and consistently in character. Each character has a distinct register that I am happy with.

FANFIC VS ORIGINAL

If this was an original, it would have to have been far longer. Through I do a lot of worldbuilding as far as Bane is involved, the pre-established worlds and characters do so much. Without contextt of the Gods, the cults, the adventure, it wouldn’t make sense. An original would have needed flashbacks to the adventure, or perhaps this would have to come as a part two.

I really enjoyed getting to take an established world and pick at it and expand it. By mid-way, when the main cast were mostly OCs and the story had become about my take on the cult of Bane, it felt closer to an original, but the process was still very different.

It had different motivations from writing an original piece too. While I love interacting with readers via comments, and at times it did feel like I was writing for comments, I was ultimately writing for myself, and at points as a form of therapy. During writing I went through a religious crisis, dropped out of a PhD, got engaged and dealt with a lot of family drama. Wonder where half of the plot of the fic came from…

On that note, I back and forthed a lot about whether Tav was a self-insert. She was a lot of my character traits, personality quirks, and I sort of wrote from a what-would-I-do perspective for a while. As she turned more and more evil, more of a gap formed between us, and I think that made writing harder. I started to feel uncomfortable that I had identified with a character whose morals were so unlike my own by the end. In the last few chapters I embraced Tav as not-me, just some cool evil woman, and that was better.

Overall, I’m really happy with Towards Tyranny. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written, I feel so proud of how I committed to getting this done, and I like the end result!

[sillyunicorn]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers 💫

thank you @mostlymaudlin for the tag <3 tagging @facewithoutheart @martsonmars @cutestkilla and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

68! Which is…wild. Six of them are songs though.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

126,027 - dang!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily the simon snow series and all for the game. I recently got into young royals so a few there as well, plus one each for a couple other shows I like.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Like rory my top 5 are all andreil! aftg has a large and voracious readership. Better than Sex (4k, T) / Eating Well (1k, T) / Needing/Getting (3k, T) / Friendly Neighborhood Vamp (.5k, T) / Soak up the Sun (.5k, T)

Rest under the cut!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Usually yes! Sometimes I go through spells of not replying…but I’m grateful for every single kudos and comment, it’s amazing and wonderful <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This is tough bc i love me a happy ending and i don’t really do angst anyway lmao. My joke answer is my crack andreil fic Monday, but maybe the real answer is my snowbaz fic+song Breakable bc I left off before things get fully resolved (but it is clearly hopeful imo).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The happiEST?? Hmmm. I think my overall Happiest fic might be like, Mon Chou? And Better than Sex. both of those are just like, gooey with happiness. And both have happy endings so I’ll say one of them. Actually from a different approach I’ll say my time loop fic has the happiest ending bc it’s probably the angstiest thing I’ve written haha so the ending is such a relief. 

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have not!! Super grateful for everyone who leaves lovely warm positive comments on my work <3333 

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not on my own LOL. i do have some M/E fics in my works though thanks to some collabs (see Q13 lol) <3

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have not! I think about it sometimes….it’s just usually hard for me to imagine a world where all my blorbos live, even though I almost only write AUs…a mystery

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, which is wild!!! I think several of my Vandrew fics and BtS have been translated into russian. Thank you translators, you’re incredible. 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes!! This was one of my most fun and treasured early fandom experiences with @facewithoutheart and @martsonmars <3 published results include The Chain (i was really just losing my mind in the doc while christina wrote tbh) and The Muse’s Waking which is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever (partially) written hahah

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Making me chooooooose ugh. Idk man i reread a snowbaz fic today and almost cried and they were my first fandom love so today i’m going to say them <3 

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I recently picked up a fic i abandoned 2 years ago so now i’m like well never say never! But one that’s in my “this is in the past now” pile that i was just thinking about is my andreil Alex Rider (TV) AU. i actually had an idea for how to get around the bit i was stuck on while rewatching Alex Rider the other day sooo…. But likely still abandoned

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think, somewhat incongruously, 1) writing concisely and 2) setting a mood. I think both these things are true in say Weightless (andreil, 1k, T).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

PLOT. plot is so hard. That’s too broad of an answer so i’ll say, keeping multiple storylines/arcs progressing at once. I don’t do it much. It’s a fun challenge though. I usually write little one-shot, single-conflict fics bc that comes easier for me. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Love it. Not fluent in any other language enough to really do it justice but i’d like to.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I think i wrote some hp and some jane austen fic before i ever got into Fandom Proper lol. First published fandom was for the Simon Snow Series <3

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I think the one i’ve gone back to the most is Weightless. I set it in one of my favorite IRL places and it has tender blood drinking so. How could I beat that, really?