#those thighs are actually unreal

[yanderedrabbles]

What's the worst thing Yan Military Contractor has ever done to the reader?

Yandere! Military Contractor

The very worst? Now that's tough competition. He's fucked you raw so many times that afterwards you can only curl up and whimper, legs aching so bad you can't stand. He's bitten you so hard that he's left a scar of his teeth on your thigh. He's bent your arm so very far up your back that on bad days your shoulder still aches. He's done anal without any prep or lube.

But the very worst? That happened on the day you almost escaped.

He likes to humour you. Likes letting you try and get away, just to drag you back at the last second. Likes the way you fight so much harder when freedom is so very close. But he never once entertained the thought of you actually succeeding.

You're too damn clever sometimes. Too smart for your own good.

You planned your escape carefully this time. Waited for a rainy day when he'd have trouble hearing your footsteps and seeing your tracks. Managed to make a mess in his armory and get out of a second story window when he was distracted counting his guns. And then you ran.

You saw a tree out on your forced walks once. Thick oak with branches that just about reached over the fence. It would be a hard fall, but if you managed to not snap an ankle you'd be home free.

He almost found you. You were up in the branches, rain pelting you in thick sheets when he walked right under you. It was pure luck that you noticed him in time. Even without the noise of the rain to cover his footsteps, he was dead silent.

He looked pissed. But that wasn't what made your heart drop.

He had his gun with him. Not one of the rifles or shotguns. That might have almost been better. Those guns felt unreal, felt like something out of a movie. No, he was carrying his chrome .50 calibre Desert Eagle.

You hated that gun. It was the one he carried on him almost all the time, the one he had the day he took you. Huge, mean looking thing. 'One of the nastiest shots you'll ever see,' he told you once.

It was scratched with years of use. A soldier's gun. A killer's gun.

You fingers went numb on the branch before you had the courage to keep moving. You dropped down on the other side of the electric fence, landing bad. You smacked a hand over your mouth to stifle your yelp.

Staggered to your feet, holding onto the trees to take the pressure off your stinging ankles. You did it.

You actually fucking did it.

You were free. Actually, finally free. You half didn't believe it until you reached the end of the trees and open farm land stretched in front of you. The rain was so much worse without the trees to protect you, but you didn't care. An empty field of wheat had never looked so damn good.

"On your knees."

You froze. No. No.

"I said, get on your fucking knees!"

You sat so fast that you felt lightheaded.

He came to stand in front of you, blocked your view of the open land and your last chance to escape. He was scowling, hand gripping his gun so tight that veins were standing out on his forearm.

The rain was sheeting down around you, running past the grooves and catches of his pistol. You couldn't see his face through the rain, but you could feel his eyes. Raking down your body, burning.

He pointed the gun at you, cocked it. The metallic sound of it somehow the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

"Open your mouth."

"I'm sorry! Please just-"

"Open. Your. Mouth."

You did. He forced the barrel passed your lips, all the way to the back of your throat. Your teeth scraped the metal.

It tasted bitter. Iron, gunpowder. It tasted like your death.

His finger was on the trigger. One little twitch, one inopportune gag, and you were done.

"Suck it."

You did, crying so damn hard but terrified to make a sound.

"No," he snarled. "Suck it like you would a cock."

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back. "Show me why I shouldn't kill you right here and now. Remind me exactly why I keep you around."

You sucked his gun like your life depended on it. Tongue out, drooling, like you weren't a hairs breadth from death. Looked up at him with rain and tears pouring down your face.

You must have given him one hell of a show. When you couldn't take it anymore, when you were shaking from the cold and your lips were turning blue around the metal, that's when he pulled out. One hand still in your hair, he pointed the gun at the sky and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed over the trees.

Fuck. You really did just have a loaded gun in your mouth.

He holstered it, grabbed your jaw with the hand that just held your death.

"Never again. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[starkeyisthelastname]

porn star daddy eating you out?? absolutely love this series

thank you love! 💖 pornstar!rafe uses that pornstache to his advantage 💦

Pornstar!Rafe loves to eat pussy… a lot. His dirty mind got off on having his mustache covered in pussy juice, always rubbing his face in a girl’s cunt to coat the thick hair and make it sticky. He had eaten a lot of pussy in his porn career, it was part of the job. Of course the girl he was trying not to fall for, had the sweetest cunt a man could ever dream of. One taste had him addicted, so much so he might actually be happy having you dripping against his tongue for the rest of his life.

He had you on the kitchen counter of all places, your legs spread as his tongue was laid out flat against your drenched folds. You felt your cunt clench as you saw his blue eyes roll back as he got a taste of you again, like if he wasn’t just face first in your pussy the day before. You had a hard time focusing when he ate pussy the way he did, his words filthy and mouth hungry.

“R-rafe…” You gasped, pretty toes curling as you watched the sight between your legs. His dirty blonde hair messy and unkept, unreal blue eyes boring into you, thick fingers digging into your spread thighs and that fucking mustache tickling your pussy lips as he hungrily ate.

He pulled back, his handsome face already covered in your wetness as he took two digits to spread your folds open. He had no shame, spitting on your pussy with a smirk on his lips.

“I don’t know where you came from, but you have the sweetest fuckin cunt I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting and I’ve been in a lot of pussy.” His voice low, pad of his thumb coming out to run over your swollen pearl.

You let out a whine, manicured hand coming down to yank at those wild locks to bring back to your sopping center. He quickly reminded you who you were fucking with when he roughly yanked your hand away with his own.

“This is my shit to enjoy, yeah? So be a good whore and keep your hands to yourself.” He spat at you, massive hand spanking your pussy. “Don’t you have any fuckin manners?” He mumbled, as if he wasn’t the one with the pornstache covered in your juices from his messy eating skills.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Paint Me Red

Synopsis: You and Damian like horror movies for the same reason.

Pairing: Dark!Damian Wayne X Dark!AFAB!Gn!Reader

Tw: 18+ pwp; Kinda gore?; Cannibalism kink? Definitely hinted; Biting link; Blood kink; Fingering; Watching straight porn; Torture porn? It's all fake and no one’s suffering; Pain kink maybe; They are freaks and they are in love; Worshipping?; A hint of love-bombing? I repeat, they're freaks and they're in love, your honor; Mention of hipersexuality; Damian enjoys pain, gore and death, despite not killing anymore, Reader likes it too; Reader has long hair and is implied to be wearing a shirt or dress with straps and bare thighs; English isn't my first language.

Word count: 1,2k

Requested? No.

Extra notes: Inspired by the movie May and everyone who yaps about yandere!Damian being cannibal coded. I also love when someone writes Damian a little psycho, a little sadomasochist. And a Damian who worships his S/O is the best Damian!!! I recommend reading this while listening to Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. Not sure I like my writing here tho, especially the title, there were many good options that also seemed bad options

General masterlist

Damian was odd, you knew it from the start. Everyone who interacts with him knows it from the start.

That didn't stop you from being flustered when he confessed his — in his actual words — all consuming, undying love. You never thought anyone would actually use those words while declaring their feelings for someone, but as always with him, Damian was different.

And maybe you were different too.

You came back from your weekly date with him to the apartament you recently started sharing, despite being so young and having been dating for only a month when he asked. Your friends called it love-bombing. You had never heard of a more romantic term.

He took you to the bedroom as soon as you crossed the threshold, excited about a surprise he planned for you, but there was nothing different there, until he pulled his laptop out, fiddled with something, connected to the overhead projector you bought once on a whim, after watching a tiktok, only to realize it wasn't any better than just watching on your television or laptop. At least it wasn't as expensive as one would think.

Regardless, you still used it sometimes, even if for the sake of being spontaneous — and making your money worth it —, and your boyfriend was clearly looking for that.

You sat on the edge of the bed, and in less than a minute, Damian was sitting beside you, while a weird video started playing.

— I found it online, beloved. — Damian explained. — A short film, made by a group of independent artists, I think. — You nodded along, this level of cinephilia was not exactly your thing, but you did enjoy watching movies and leaving reviews on Letterboxd, if it caught Damian's interest, then it must be something.

— Yeah, very Texas Chainsaw Massacre. — You commented, not because it actually looked to be a horror movie, but more because of the quality of the camera, the eery atmosphere, and the scenario being filmed in the middle of nowhere. It seemed like an actually calm movie, but you knew something was up, there was only a young couple having a cute picnic.

Damian looked at you with wide, almost innocent eyes, boyish excitement coupled with some glint you couldn't identify.

— Exactly!

You felt some satisfaction and pride. You were the one who presented him with the classic slasher movies — one of your favorite genres — and were surprised by his eager acceptance of them, since a lot of them didn't have much quality. But he seemed interested in the death scenes and gore. Maybe it was the remnants of his childhood on him, but you didn't have that past and still related to him, much to his delight. He also commented about how unreal a lot of it was, from experience, no doubt.

It was almost cute. And hot.

Damian's hand laid on your thigh, while his thumb started rolling circles on your bare skin.

You let out a gasp when the girl in the movie, out of nowhere, bit hard on her boyfriend’s finger while he fed her a piece of pie with his hands. An exaggerated amount of blood started sliding down her lips and his hand, but he didn't scream, he just stared at her while she had mischief and desire in her eyes.

Damian's hand squeezed your flesh.

— How did you find this on YouTube? I'm pretty sure they wouldn't allow it there. — You wondered out loud, squeezing your thighs when the guy used his bloody hand to push the strap of her sundress down, revealing her supple breast. He leaned forward and peppered kisses down her chest, while pushing the other strap down, revealing her torso even more, until he bit her ribs’s flesh just as hard, face partially covered by her left tit.

Now, they were both smeared in lots of blood, from his hand travelling her body and the new wound.

— I did not mention YouTube. — He answered, and you hummed, paying extreme attention to the movie, intrigued, and half surprised to be turned on. But it was shallow, a thin layer of lust that went unnoticed by you, mistaken by intrigue and excitement.

You only noticed how hot you were, when Damian did the same thing to you. He slowly and deliberately got closer, pushed your hair back from your shoulder, and left wet, slow pecks down your neck, while pushing your straps down. You just stared at the images while he did his thing.

You were interrupted when he bit down on your shoulder, hard, leaving teeth marks, but not enough to bleed. You couldn't help the yelp of pain that escaped you by surprise, but didn't feel like reprimanding him when he soothed the feeling by still kissing you, and buried his hand between your legs, invading your underwear.

You opened your legs to give him more space, while your lips also parted to let out a deep breath, not out of nervousness, but anticipation. When you paid attention to the movie again, the guy was lying between the girl’s legs, leaving a nasty bite on her inner thigh. The blood dripped down and ruined her white underwear, but her boyfriend just started eating her out with the fabric still on the way.

Meanwhile, Damian played with your wet clit with his thumb while he inserted two fingers into your moist hole with ease, catching you both off guard with how wet you were with basically nothing. He had a hunch you would like his surprise, but not that much.

In need to let out some pent-up desire, he bit your flesh once more, this time above your breast. A low whimper of pain forced its way out of your throat. You looked down and noticed Damian's full-on boner.

You reached and pressed your hand against him, making him hiss and finally stop lapping at your skin, to look at you with desire. You kept eye-contact while rubbing him through his pants.

Damian pressed his lips to yours in haste, eager to taste your tongue while pumping his fingers faster and deeper against your walls, focused on abusing your sweet spot. The kiss was more sensual than ever, a dance which consisted in sharing heavy breaths, exchanged pecks, sucking lips and caressing tongues. While you both were like rabbits a third of the time, you being hipersexual and him being in love with you, the newfound shared taboo kink definitely turned things up a notch. And you expressed it by interrupting the kiss with a hard bite on his bottom lip.

Damian hissed like a cat until you let his lip go. When he glared at you, anyone would think he was livid like you just kicked his dog, but you knew him better than anyone. In fact, you were the only one to ever see him in the vulnerable side that came with intimacy, the only one he would ever want and trust to either lay beside his naked body, or willingly allow to leave a mark on his scarred flesh. Taste his muscles. Drink his blood.

He used his free hand to touch his lip, and found blood there. You licked your own, bright crimson and wet.

When he looked at you again, you wondered if you had finally ruined him for anyone else forever, and he made sure to paint both your faces red with a kiss, while he made you cum on his fingers.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[yunjardi]

STRICTLY BUSINESS [18+]

[JAKE SIM DRABBLE]

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/pairing: boss!jake x fem!assistant/

/content warnings: smut [18+ mdni], semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral [m receiving], dirty talk, spanking, making out/kissing, nail marks, pls lmk if i missed anything!!!/

/wc: 1,296

/author's note: i know i said this would be more of a drabble, but i got a little carried away lol. i'm super glad to be back after over a year <3 thank you to those who have been here and also those who are just stopping by :) ily <3

p.s. this is not proofread at all oops

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you found yourself wondering how you managed to get yourself into this position.

that said 'position' being on your knees between jake's legs as he sat back in his office chair.

you didn't think that this was something that actually happened in real life, fucking your boss that is. it seemed so unreal until a few short months ago when you were hired to be jake's personal assistant- something that would ultimately lead to you keeping a dirty little secret.

jake is smooth talker, so you assumed that he spoke in a flirty manner to everyone. that was until the two of you began building a closer relationship which was natural due to the nature of your job, but you didn't think that it would go this far, you didn't think that you two would end up being this close.

flirting turned into dates (that jake referred to as simply 'treating my assistant for being so great at her job'), dates turned into late nights together, late nights together turned into sleepovers, and those sleepovers soon became a regular occurrence. i mean, waking up and already being by your boss's side first thing in the morning makes your job a whole lot easier, right?

right.

whatever way you tried to dance around it doesn't (and won't) change the fact that you are, indeed, banging your boss.

"just like that," jake breathed out as you let his tip hit the back of your throat, "such a good girl."

a constant string of praises, moans, and curses fell from jake's pretty lips as you mercilessly teased him with your tongue, unable to stop yourself from getting wet in the process.

jake smirked and raised an eyebrow as he noticed one of your hands gently slipping into your panties. he watched as you pleased yourself whilst simultaneously pleasing him which was bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

"is my princess getting riled up?" jake cooed as he looked down at you, being sure to focus on the way you touched yourself. you couldn't help but look away as your face began to heat up at the sudden confrontation, but jake was quick to tilt your head up so that you had no choice but to look him in his pretty eyes.

"so cute," jake chuckled sexily as he brushed your hair away from your face, "now, be a good girl and sit on my desk, yeah?" naturally, you followed his orders (mostly out of habit at this point) and sat yourself up on his desk, ready to fulfill his every request.

he looked gorgeous standing before you, his hair slightly messy from having run his hands through it and his shirt halfway unbuttoned. it was impossible for anyone in their right mind to not be attracted to him in some way, shape, or form.

jake gently leaned in, giving you a tender kiss on the lips before moving down to you neck. his hands wandered from your lower back down to your thighs as he continued to kiss all over you, causing your breath to hitch. he made sure to hike up your already short skirt as the gap between your bodies became slimmer and slimmer.

you instinctively brought your hands up to further unbutton his shirt, wanting to see the entirety of his toned body. jake followed suit, beginning to slide the thin strap of your top down your shoulder before fully discarding your shirt somewhere in his office, leaving you in the lacy bra jake had gotten you as a gift for 'being such a great assistant.'

it drove him crazy to see you wearing the pretty bra he bought just for you, and it made him crave you even more desperately.

he couldn't resist you any longer.

he pulled you into a passionate kiss before teasing your entrance with his tip, causing a little gasp to get caught in your throat at the sudden rush. once again, he tilted your face upward, making sure to meet your gaze before slowly inching his throbbing tip into you. you gripped tightly onto his forearm as his cock went deeper and deeper inside you, your walls squeezing every inch of his length.

"jake-" you moaned out as you loosened your grip on his forearms, your hands now holding onto his as he slowly began to move his hips. your eyes rolled back as you let a string of moans leave your lips, his thick tip hitting your sweet spot with every single one of his strokes.

"your cunt is so tiny and small, yet you take me so well," jake smirked as he brought one of his hands down to your clit, beginning to gently rub circles around it as you struggled to keep your legs apart.

your moans became increasingly desperate as jake began to pick up his pace, his hands now gripping at your thighs as he pounded your sweet spot. you could only manage to let out little whines and begs for him to not stop as you felt yourself leaning closer and closer to your climax.

jake promptly picked you up from his desk and sat you down on his lap, guiding his length back inside you as to not waste any precious time that he could be spending fucking you.

the two of you moaned in sync as you sunk back down onto his cock, his tip immediately poking at your spot once again.

after he fully bottomed out, you wasted no time grinding your hips against his, still desperate to reach your high.

jake let his head fall back in pleasure as he left harsh spanks on your ass and thighs. "my good girl," jake moaned deeply into your ear as he left kisses on your neck, "you're all mine, yeah?" you barely managed to nod your head through the extreme pleasure. "mhm, all yours," you moaned breathlessly as he fucked his cock into you from underneath you.

a familiar burning sensation bubbled in your core as jake took control again, being rougher with you than he was before. all you could do was moan uncontrollably about how good he felt being this deep inside you.

"feels good, yeah?" jake teased as you snaked your hands around his shoulders, leaving your nail marks on his skin, "you haven't managed to let go of me since i put my dick inside you." he chuckled as he let caressed all over your body. you pouted at his teasing, but that only prompted him to grab your face and kiss you before pounding into your pussy again.

you could barely warn jake before you inevitably came all over his hard cock. all you could do was let out pathetic moans and hold onto him as you reached your high which jake found oh-so cute.

"you did so good for me, princess," jake praised you as he gently rubbed your clit, his cock still buried deep inside you, "i won't last much longer either." he sighed breathily, flashing his pretty smile before giving you a few more strokes. soon enough, jake finished alongside you, his deep groans penetrating your ears as he let his seed leak into you.

the two of you sat catching your breaths for a bit before jake helped you get cleaned up. you ruffled his hair as he turned to hand you his suit jacket. jake draped his suit jacket across your shoulders, adoring the way you looked wearing his clothes before the two of you exited his office.

a co-worker of jake's stopped to say hello and commented on how lively he seemed today.

jake couldn't stop the cheeky grin from forming on his face.

"well, what can i say? i've got a really great assistant to keep me company."

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a/n: thankyouthankyouthankyou for reading <3 i've truly missed writing and you all so much ! i'll be back with another one soon my loves <3

main taglist: @axartia @jjhmk @jayroseyy @ayohahaha @asaheyow @bunhoons @red-xherry @duolingofanaccount @leeis @jaeyunologyy @green-orangeade @imbaeksbae @sunghoonmybeloved @leeheeheeseung (send an ask to be added + if you have asked to be on my permanent taglist and don't see your username, pls message me bc i removed blogs that were unable to be tagged!)

©yunjardi on tumblr

[cheolieji]

Uh, hi! Been reading ur work by a lot of time now and I really like it<3 just had never won the courage to actually come and make a request. Hm, I dunno if it's possible or if u r okay with writing it,

How about a svt x 14th member, like hm, they are in some award show or something and 14th member is way more stunning than usual on her outfit, like a real life doll. And well, svt members get like protective, a lil jealous? Like not a familyhood jealousy but like platonic? And a hyung line member(whoever u wish) from all that is happening decides to confess and kisses 14th member and well, they become real. (Dunno if you do suggestive or things like that, if you do maybe that could be part of the end?) If not that's okay!

Thank uuuu, hope u have a great day♡

Doll pt 1 - ??

wc: 1,623

pairing: read and find out��

Idol au

genre: fluff with tension, suggestive (so mdni)

14th member fic (feat.svt)

guide for requesting on my page, check [17] (pink highlighted) for my yes and no's

PART 2 (Doll part 2)

A/N : thank so much for requesting! and dont be shy/scared to send asks guys it's there for a reason and if you're afraid of being judge (which won't happen) you can just make it anonymous :)

and I absolutely love and appreciate it when you guys send me asks, genuinely makes me so happy

A/N 2 : had hella technical difficulties with the pictures soo no pictures today lmao (I'm honestly bad at technology so deal with it)

You weren’t someone who typically turned heads at award shows. At least, not in the way you were doing tonight.

Standing at the edge of the red carpet in a sculpted satin gown that hugged your figure like it was made just for you, hair cascading down your back in soft waves, lips painted a red that could kill. You looked unreal. A living doll. Far from the baggy sweats and oversized shirts you usually wore in rehearsals.

And your members noticed.

God, did they notice.

"Is she serious right now?" Mingyu muttered, his eyes tracking your every step like you might disappear if he looked away.

"She said she was wearing something simple," Jeonghan whispered, eyes wide.

"That's simple? I need to reevaluate my standards," Seungcheol sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

It wasn’t just them. Other idols were staring. Some of them too long. Too bold. Too obvious.

"Is he looking at her chest?" Vernon squinted across the carpet.

"Yep. Definitely." Joshua’s voice was clipped and sharp.

"She’s not even doing anything," Woozi muttered, arms crossed, clearly annoyed.

But Wonwoo said nothing.

He just watched. The kind of quiet stare that felt like heat on your skin.

You caught him once. Just a glance. You smiled.

It wrecked him.

---

Later, backstage, after the lights had dimmed and the applause faded, you walked into the waiting room barefoot. Heels in one hand. Water bottle in the other.

"You guys killed it out there," you said, dropping onto the couch beside Wonwoo. The satin of your gown brushed against his thigh. You felt the tension in his body.

"You look tired," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly. "Stage killer mode catching up to you?"

"I'm fine," he replied, voice tight.

"You've been quiet."

He turned to you slowly, eyes scanning every detail of your face. The lipstick. The shimmer. The curve of your shoulder. His jaw tightened.

"I didn’t like the way they were looking at you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Them. Everyone. They don’t get to look at you like that."

You leaned in a little, intrigued. "Why not? You don’t usually care."

"I do."

There was a pause. One of those pauses that felt heavy with everything left unsaid.

His hand came up to your jaw. Thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth where the red had smeared. His gaze flicked to your lips.

Then he kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and hunger. You felt your back press against the couch as his mouth moved over yours, slow but deep.

When he finally pulled back, your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Lipstick ruined. Eyes locked.

"You look too damn good tonight," he said, voice low and rough. "I'm done pretending I don't want you."

A knock came at the door. Staff calling everyone for encore.

You didn’t move. You just smiled, slow and dangerous, already thinking about what came next.

"Then stop pretending," you whispered. "Show me."

The encore was a blur.

You danced, smiled, did everything expected of an idol under the lights. But your mind? It was still backstage. Still with him. With that kiss.

And Wonwoo? He didn’t stop watching you.

Even from across the stage, you felt his eyes on you like a magnet. You met his gaze once, briefly, and the smirk he gave you promised more than words ever could.

--

Back at the hotel, things moved fast.

You barely got the door open before you felt his presence behind you, quiet but electric.

“Yours or mine?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t even hesitate. “Mine.”

The second the door shut, his hand was on your waist, spinning you gently to face him. You didn’t get a chance to say anything before his mouth was back on yours, firmer this time, more certain. Like he’d been thinking about it all night. Like he was starving.

His hands slid down your sides, fingertips brushing over the silky fabric of your dress. It was almost reverent, the way he touched you. Careful, but greedy.

“You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, “how hard it was not to do this the second I saw you tonight.”

You laughed softly, breathless. “You looked like you were about to murder someone on the carpet.”

“I might have,” he admitted, lips trailing along your jaw. “They all looked at you like you were for the taking.”

“And I’m not?”

“No.” He looked into your eyes, completely serious. “You’re not. You’re mine.”

The words settled low in your stomach. Hot. Sharp.

His hands moved to the zipper at your back, but stopped. Waiting.

You nodded, heart pounding.

The dress slid down your body like it was melting off, pooling at your feet. You stood in front of him in only your underthings, bare and exposed in the soft hotel lighting.

Wonwoo’s eyes darkened.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, stepping closer until there was nothing between you but heat and air. His hands found your waist again, thumbs stroking your skin like he couldn’t help himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He leaned in, kissing you again, slower this time. Deep and deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.

And tonight, he did.

Your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, tugging him toward the bed. He followed without a word, lips never leaving yours, hands never stopping. You fell back onto the sheets together, limbs tangled, breath shallow, hearts racing.

He kissed down your throat, across your shoulder, everywhere but where you needed him. Teasing. Taking his time.

You arched into him, whispering his name like a secret. “Wonwoo…”

He looked up at you from between kisses, lips swollen, pupils blown.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You cupped his face, smiled with lips still tingling from him.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed. “Not tonight.”

[ghostgirl-22]

Patrick wearing lingerie with Tashi….

So… this turned into kink really fast I fear. Sorry if this isn’t what you wanted anon 😞

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Toys, mention of spanking, pegging and mild daddy kink. In addition to what it says on the tin

—-

Patrick’s still trying to dig into their lives. Get into every aspect so they can’t take him out again. Arts not home for a week, and Patrick’s wearing his clothes everyday... Is how it’s going. Sometimes wears his underwear, tight little briefs. Art is just a bit smaller than him, thighs, arms…cock. He’s filled out though. A lot. Patrick gets hard when he thinks about it.

Art’s on a ski trip with the whole Donaldson family and Lily. He isn’t ready to say to his parents and sisters and in laws that Patrick likes to sleep in bed with him and his wife. Art doesn’t say Patrick shouldn’t come but they all know he shouldn’t. And Patrick can’t be alone. Patrick doesn’t say he can’t be alone. But they all know he can’t.

So Tashi stays at home. She’s is happy for the excuse not to go…“I’ve got company in town.” Tashi explains, oh so regrettable that she can’t make it. She doesn’t tell them it’s Patrick or Arts mom would’ve made them both come.

So they’re home alone in a lavish townhouse. He’s showered in their bathroom and he’s digging through Arts clothes for something to wear. And all hidden away in the back there’s this garter and tights. Patrick fishes them out. He leaves the walk-in closet and Tashi’s in bed watching some housewives show and painting her nails. Hair loosely pinned up, in an oversized hoodie and short shorts. She looks so pretty it’s unreal. She doesn’t even have to try.

“Where’s the rest of this? I need you to try it on for me.” Patrick demands, holding up the tights.

She looks up, eyes narrowed and then her expression changes to one of amusement. “Where’d you find that?”

“In the back of Arts underwear drawer.”

“You know…” she goes back to painting her nails, “the clothes I get. But you’re insane for wearing his underwear.”

“I’d wear yours if they fit,” Patrick smirks.

She looks up at him again, still amused but something else is there. Patrick can read her like a book. He walks closer, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. “What?” He asks softly.

She bites her lip. “Those are Art’s.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah… it’s a whole set. Pink, satiny or something. It should be in there.”

“Wait…” Patrick starts because he’s actually having a slight mental breakdown. “You mean he wore pink satin, tights and a garter belt and—and pink satin?

“Don’t have a stroke,” Tashi smirks.

“Fuck,” Patrick groans.

“It was like… forever ago. Halloween. A friend from Stanford took us to a drag night. He was freaking out about what to wear. I bought him that but it was too… revealing. He just wore a dress instead.”

“Too revealing?”

“Yeah… actually you should try it on,” Tashi says, carefully. “Check the bottom drawer, towards the back. I think the gown is in there.”

“You think?” Patrick asks, staring at her a moment longer. She’s looking back at him, those pretty brown eyes dilating in real time, he’s obsessed with her. “Bottom drawer?”

“Mmhm,” she says. “It might fit perfectly.”

Patrick smirks and goes back in the closet. The gown is a tiny, entirely see through number. He drops his towel and pulls it over his head. It’s so smooth… satiny and sheer. Tight on his waist, loose in the chest cause he doesn’t have tits. He’s looking at himself in the full length mirror, he’s got hair everywhere that Art is smooth. He doesn’t bother with the tights for that reason.

He does pull on the satin panties, and that is comical, trying to tuck himself into them. His balls and cock are fighting for space. He turns to look at himself from the side. The frills barely fall below his ass. He could just bend over the slightest bit and he’s exposed. He feels his dick starting to swell, sees it in the mirror.

“Did you find it?” Tashi calls from the bedroom.

“Uh huh,” Patrick replies.

Seeing it on himself, all Patrick can think about is Art’s body, the pink stretched over his chest, the skirt not even long enough to hide his ass, or his cock. Patrick with easy access to both. God, he rubs himself just a little as he imagines it. He wants to call Art right now. “Hey Tashi?” He calls.

“Yeah,” she’s closer now. He turns as she enters the closet, slowly taking him in.

“Do I look pretty?” He asks.

She smirks and then cups his nipples. “Pretty as a princess. Wanna give daddy a kiss?”

Patrick laughs. “And you’re daddy?”

“I am when you’re in that pretty dress,” she says playfully pinching his ass. He grins and looks up before gazing back at her and leaning in to kiss her mouth.

”Good girl,” she sighs against his lips.

“Mm, daddy. You ever peg him in this?” Patrick asks.

“I wish, he would’ve absolutely freaked out. I fingered him once while we were fucking… he came so fast he had an existential crisis,” she sighs, working her thumbs idly over his nipples. Patrick takes a breath, he’s sensitive there and the feeling of her fingers and the satin is crazy. Patrick can understand how Art got off so quickly.

“So you expect me to believe he wore this… and there were no consequences?”

She shrugs and walks her finger tips down his waist. “Well… I spanked him.” She says smiling.

“Say more,” Patrick says, curling one of the stray hairs behind her ear.

“I made him bend over the bathroom sink and I told him daddy was gonna spank him. And then I did it. His ass got so red.” She reaches the panties and slides her fingers over the swell of his cock as she looks at him, her eyes all shiny.

“Fuck, seriously?” He breathes, dizzy as she teases him.

“Mmhm. He got so hard. I’d never seen him like that before. Made me wish I had a dick so I coulda fucked him.”

He cradles her face between his hands, “you can fuck me daddy,” he says, softly.

“Yeah?” She says and she leans in and kisses him. It’s more chaotic. He’s walking her back and then she’s resisting, then pushing him back against the mirror.

“You’re so slutty… can’t even hide it from me,” Tashi says, pushing him back hard and gripping his cock. “I can see everything when you wear that for me.”

Patrick sighs. He can’t help but imagine her talking this way to her husband. Tries to imagine how he’d react.

“I just want your dick,” Patrick says, he’s eager and It’s what Art might say to him.

“I know you do,” Tashi smiles. “I actually have one. Stay there. Don’t touch.” She says.

Patrick lingers in the closet. He’s looking at himself again. Skin flushing, he’s tenting the panties, they were barely doing anything to keep him in before, now he might as well be wearing nothing. He rubs the fabric, continuing where Tashi left off with his nipples. Tashi comes back moments later and she’s got a dildo.

“No strap?” Patrick smirks.

“I’ll get it for your birthday,” she says pushing him up against the glass so she can fuck him with it. It’s slick with lubricant and she’s easing it inside. Panties still on.

“I can take more than that daddy.” Patrick teases.

“Can you pretty girl? You’re gonna come all over your pretty dress.” Tashi says softly. And Patrick sorta regrets saying anything, because moments later she’s ramming into his prostate relentlessly. He almost feels his knees buckle after he spurts come all over the glass in one of the most sudden and intense orgasms he’s ever had. He gets on his knees anyway, she drops the dildo and he grabs her by the waist.

“Does he say thank you?” Patrick says, breathlessly.

“He’s very polite.” She smiles, fingers tangling into his hair.

Patrick tugs her shorts and panties down and licks his “thank you daddy” into the wet heat of her cunt.

[feinecutasy]

Straightening up the records

“Stupid”, I curse as I sniff the first pair of musty trainers.

I work for an interrealm conglomerate that provides scented ubersolutions. You know, humans love buying those scented candles that smell like the abandoned garden of some junior apothecarist. Morons, all of them. Like, the scents aren’t even real. They’re still, static, lifeless, worthless! We cater to the warlockry-aligned, and thus it is natural that what we produce are superior. It’s called ubersolutions for a reason. ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ can be imbued with ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ. Bodies, clothes, spells, minds, thoughts, concepts. From tiefling-scented fireballs or halflings' leaf rain cubes to modifying a human’s olfactory sense so that they smell a goblin’s crotch whenever they see a banana. What’s more, an object once imbued will smell as if it’s actually producing the scent itself. Granted, the subsidiary company that I’m working for only makes human and human-adjacent products for mid- and low-end sectors. But hey! Our line of work requires no less integrity and arcane knowledge than those of the other professionals working in the outer realms.

Two days ago, some fruity producer from Nagoya had ordered 16 pairs of sports shoes as part of the preparation for his upcoming unreality show where humans and homunculi compete in some obscure obstacle course. But not just any normal sports shoes, the ones we have in store have been worn by famous human athletes from all over the opaque world. ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟꜱ. The wear and tear and stains are still here. Some of them still retain the smell of dirt and grime, one pair even carries with them the peculiar mixed scent of spilled beer and piss. Although the lads from sales did inform our client that some cleats would suit his’s contestants better, he still ended up ordering normal trainers. 13 of them – a mix of Pamu, Ekin, Azix and Ripoc – are already packaged and ready to be thoroughported to the Japanese hub. The problem? Those scatterbrained SOBs from procurement had fucked up the records of the Valdidaß batch when it was shipped to the thoroughport last month. To make matter worse, the higher-ups decided to use aether clamps instead of mana seals to preserve the scents of all products categorised as “non-fungibly imbued”. This means that any forensic technique applied on a pair of stinkers to find out who its original owner is would risk tampering with the emission mechanism, or worse, the scent.

And thus, the only shapeshifter from the Audit department – that’s me! – is up to save the day. My task: to straighten up the records. Test the trainers, find out the identities of their original owners, single out the 3 pairs to be shipped to Nagoya and send the data along with proof of work to middle management through our internal channel. My boss has so gracefully teleported the whole mislabeled batch to my house, which means my overtime already started 17 minutes ago. So here I am, with 10 identical – and by identical, I mean worn, dirty and smelly – pairs of Valdidaß Top 10 ÆU size 45 lying neatly in my teeny-weeny pocket-dimensional bedroom.  

I pick up a pair at random and take a whiff. These seem new compared to the others, and relatively less as rank. Still in my casual clothes – protocols require us to undress before shifting, but I’m too lazy for that – I delve in deeper. The damp smell of grass, dirt and sweat invades my nose at once. And my body, with its innate magical power, reacts almost immediately.

My lanky frame starts to bulge out with lean, toned muscle, filling up my black t-shirt nicely. My facial bones twitch and shift to match the face of the athlete. The skin on my face tightens and the hair on my head starts to grow inward and compresses itself, revealing a crew cut that nicely accentuates my now smooth, youthful face. My cock thickens and pushes out a little bit, the veins on it becoming less prominent. Further down begins the thickening of my thighs, accompanying which is the elongating of my legs. My quads bulge immensely, each head gaining more definition as they grow. I feel itchy for a moment. Seems like a few fresh scars have manifested on the skin of my upper legs. My buttocks expand outward, becoming two large, firm globes of muscle. The increased mass causes my jeans to strain somewhat against the new contours of my lower half. Finally, my calves buff up and my feet get slightly larger until they reach the ideal size to fit into these bad boys.

Nice bod. And a pretty interesting one too. The lad has a birthmark at the base of his dick and left thumb stubbier than right. I glance at the mirror to see a young human athlete with warm blue eyes looking back at me. Judging from the build, might probably be a footballer. But not someone famous enough for me to recognise. Besides, I’m pretty sure we only procured from footballers imbued cleats, not trainers. I have to check the database … Yup, that’s him. He has a beard now, and has grown his hair out somewhat. But a search for some photos taken around the time this pair was first registered did result in current ‘me’. So, this must be Erik Bepunkt, an up-and-coming gymnast from Köln. I quickly pull up the company’s ERP app, note the data, then send to Slakk a selfie of young Erik in black t-shirt, tight white jeans and tattered trainers.

Onto my next pair. I quickly grab the one next to me and sniff. Fuck, this is ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ. Now, I may be a bum, but my experience as a shapeshifting auditor is unmatched amongst my peers. That whiff I just took – that’s real business. I have to take off all my clothing, or else things will definitely get torn off. T-shirt – off, Erik’s smelly trainers – off, jeans – off, undies – bird set free.

Still staying as the young gymnast, I energetically absorb the characteristic foulness into my lungs. Right away, my spine shoots up, earning me an extra foot. Muscles continue to accumulate on my already athletic frame that I copied from Erik. They swell and firm up across my chest, shoulders and arms, giving me a lean but powerful physique. My waist and legs remain roughly the same as before. My arms, however, have noticeably extended outward, greatly increasing my arm span. Perhaps the owner of these reekers was a rower. Or a swimmer. But the next stage of my transformation would cast doubts on that theory. A thick layer of coarse hair sprouts across my newly broadened back and pumped-up chest down to my washboard abs. Cthulhu’s tits this guy is ʜᴀɪʀʏ. My cock twitches a little as it adjusts to its new proportion. Smaller than Erik’s, but still not too shabby. My Ericesque baby face matures, my hair recedes and my jawline becomes more defined as stubble shadows my cheeks and chin.

The shifting is complete. Now that I have a closer look, the build is definitely that of a swimmer. But this amount of body hair combined with the receding hairline tells me that he’s no longer competing. I just need one quick check in the mirror, and … Holy shit, it’s Antoine Plucinski. He’s the coach of the French Olympic swimming team! And his protégé just won a gold medal too! Finally, some progress. Unlike some other cretins who share with the humans the incomprehensible mania towards football, my heart has always belonged to the water. To swimming, diving and sea monsters alike. Well, it’s not everyday you get to shift into an OG MVP. But that’s just one part of my excitement. This pair of trainers is marked to be sent to Nagoya, and that means I’m allowed by management to do some “enhancement” work.

My company is world-renowned for producing the freshest scents. Tch, all marketing gimmicks. If you think the lingering smell of those funky Satyrspel coats on the market was sealed exactly when those hairy bastards were too busy fucking each other, then the company duped you good. Truth is, most of the time the freshness is artificially enhanced. Aye, I know it’s not authentic. But you are delusional to think that the cosmic gem-hoarders care about your demand for authenticity. How is it actually done? Well, industrially, the fleshweavers would grow a bunch of samples in their conjuratory, stimulate the samples to the extreme, then bind them with the items. But for a one-off job like this, a shapeshifter like me with some knowledge of imbuement will suffice.

I delicately remove the aether clamp with my ectoplier. Minutes later and I have already put on a full set of sportswear, with my feet neatly snuggling beneath the dank trainers. No socks, of course. Gotta optimise the process as much as possible. I head downstairs to the summoning room. The golem accepts my prompt, and just like that, the empty street of Chiangmai opens up before my eyes, with its blazing sun hovering above my head.

Then I start running.  

ʜᴜꜰꜰ. It’s nice to stay in one form like this. No flashy magic, just nature (well, conjured nature) and a human body. How wonderful, the feeling of sweat naturally dripping down my body without any fleshweaving stimulants.

ʜᴜꜰꜰ. But I dread the moment I have to say goodbye to Antoine here. I hate changing forms constantly. It’s exhausting and makes me feel dizzy.

ʜᴜꜰꜰ. To think that there’s 8 more pairs of trainers left to be processed – 8 more records to be fixed – I can’t help but let the hatred for my job boil up inside me.

After this gig I’ll ask for a raise.

And maybe spend my vacation in Vanaheim as a double-dicked Latino centaur.

[ken-dom]

NSFW Ken Headcanons

Warnings/content: It’s pure smut, Ken definitely has a penis in this, hand job, oral, praise kink, begging, aftercare, gn!reader

I originally posted this to my main blog but I'm re-posting all my work here to have everything in one place due to an unresolved tagging issue on my main

Sometimes cries out a strangled ‘Sublime!’ when he cums

Speaking of cum, it’s glittery ✨

Usually announces when he’s close because he’s so excited about it

Would be happy to dry hump as long as it’s with you, but give him a handjob and it changes his life forever

Takes him a few times to get over how good it feels when you bring him off to begin with, but after he’s calmed down a bit he’s laser focussed on your pleasure

Learns your body really quickly

Literally cannot keep his hands off you once he’s had a taste and he wants you to touch him all the time, too

The first time you suck him off he’s pretty sure he died of pleasure and came back to life while you were kissing him after

Total horn dog once you open up his eyes to all the different ways you can make him feel good

When you first got together he would cum in his pants just from making out if you were pressed against him just right

On that note, he really likes it when you press your thigh between his legs while you make out

Such a needy, whiny mess

Every moan and gasp he elicits from you is the sweetest praise he’s a ever heard, so he memorises every little touch and every reaction they get

He is SO loud, and at the slightest touch. You have to kiss him to swallow his moans if you’re trying to be quiet, or, if he’s feeling ✨kinky✨ he’ll let you put a hand over his mouth

Huge kink for begging, he discovers. You moan out a, ‘Please!’ one time and that’s it, he’s obsessed

Really good with his hands. Like. It’s unreal how skilled those elegant fingers are

His gaze is so intense when you’re making out and pull away to catch your breath or tell him what you want to do to him

Likes to see your face when you cum. And if you make eye contact too, he’s done for

Loves you to tangle your fingers in his hair when he goes down on you

Feels so safe when he’s with you and it’s slow and intimate and he can bury his beautiful face against your neck, gasping against your skin

Whimpers so needily when you praise him. During or after

Praise him too much too soon and he won’t last

But it doesn’t matter because he’s eager, and he will happily start all over again and take his time on you while he regains his strength

Doesn’t actually take him long at all to get hard again so you’re not left waiting if you want him to fuck you

Doesn’t matter how many times you get together, he cheeks always flush when you start kissing him

If you mess his hair up he tries to keep it that way so he can show off to the other Kens’

Always really excited to try new things with you, surprising you with ideas for positions he’d like to try, and later new sex toys when he discovers them

Almost feints when you explain what 69ing is

The BIGGEST cuddler after sex

And sometimes takes the opportunity to show off his muscular arms with a cheeky smirk

Melts when you squeeze his big muscles or caress his chest

His aftercare with you is brushing each others hair and putting matching pyjamas on to cuddle while he tells you how amazing he thinks you are for being turned on by him and satisfying him so thoroughly

[leiascully]

X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 10: Aurora Borealis

They climb out the window to sit on the roof like teenagers, Scully in the vee of Mulder’s legs with his arms around her. She leans back against his chest. The actual young people are in the back pasture, having a bonfire. Mulder and Jack spent the afternoon watering a wide circle around the fire pit, just in case. Neither of them are under any illusions that the younguns will be on their best behavior. Jack’s a bit of a wild child, for starters, and he’s their child, so he’s too smart for his own good. But they’re both proud of how far he’s come.

Grace is with her Uncle Charlie and her cousins at Maggie’s house. It seemed like the best solution; Jack and his friends are rowdy, and Grace never goes to bed when her brother’s out of the house. She wants to be with him all the time. He tolerates it pretty well, but still, bonfire night isn’t for littles.

“Like old times,” Mulder says in her ear.

“Mm,” she says. “Playing hooky, just the two of us.”

“Better, though,” he says. “Look at what we get to come home to.”

She rubs her hand up and down his thigh. It’s still firm under his jeans. “Too happily ever after for you?”

“Au contraire, mama bear,” he growls softly. “It’s just right.”

She smiles to herself and lets her head loll on his shoulder.

“Do you think it’s going to happen?” he asks.

“If it doesn’t, it’s still nice up here.”

He kisses the side of her head. “It is.”

They sit and wait, watching the sky. It is like old times, in some ways. They used to stargaze like this. She remembers the dancing lights in Idaho. She still can’t explain them, although she has some hypotheses. She flinches sometimes if she sees a satellite—she’s seen Mulder do it too—but tonight she feels entirely safe and utterly content.

“Look.” His voice is hushed. “Oh, Scully, look.”

In the dark sky, a sudden sifting of color: red, purple, pink, green. Sheets of shimmering pigment ripple against the velvet backdrop of the night. It’s gorgeous. It’s unreal. Tears rise in her eyes. She can hear whooping from the back pasture as Jackson and his friends catch sight of the lights.

“I never imagined it would look like this,” Mulder says, awed.

“The radiation from the solar wind excites particles in the plasma of the magnetosphere,” she says. "Those particles precipitate into our atmosphere. Borealis pertains to the wind, but it's really more of a rain, in a way."

“It’s magic,” Mulder says.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” She cuddles against him. “When you think about it, the odds are astronomical, Mulder. Here we are, on the roof of our house, after decades of a life where that wasn't even a possibility, on a planet that’s just the right distance from the sun to enjoy the benefits of the radiation, and we evolved such that these lights, this phenomenon, occurs in the visible spectrum of wavelengths that our eyes can see. And we have specialized cells in our eyes that allow us to perceive these specific wavelengths as colors, and a brain that can fill in the shades between.” She tilted her face to kiss the broad sweep of his jaw. “I can call that magic, or even a miracle.”

“I think all of this is a miracle,” he murmurs, wrapping her up in his arms.

She’ll kiss him later, when the lights fade, the two of them mellow with the poignant contentment of middle-age. They’ve earned their peace. For now, they watch the aurora dance, and the stars hold no malice.

[emchante]

i’ve been thinking of soft core porn streamer max for too long but can you imagine edging him right before he has a scheduled stream and he’s like “ill cancel it” and she’s like “you can’t cancel on your fans, they’re waiting” and he is SUFFERING that entire time during the stream and it means that anytime he moves or anything the friction of his sweats against him mean he’s whimpering and moaning the entire time and the fans LOVE it

GOD FUCK?? HELLO?? THANK YOU FOR JOINING US IN THE WHOREHOUSE?? THIS IS SUCH AN ENTRANCE??

i’m actually. just like. 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 at this. because god, imagine edging him multiple times, you still haven’t let him cum and it’s 5 minutes before the stream. “guess we better wrap this up, maxy,” you whisper, taking your hand off him. max just thrusts his hips up, as if chasing after your hand, as a whine escapes him.

“fuck— no.. please, i’ll cancel the stream, i need—” he starts to ramble on, before you run your thumb over the slit of his cock, catching him off guard.

“you can’t disappoint your dear viewers, can you maxy? they’re waiting on you, be a good boy and put on a show for them,” you whisper, moving your thumb to your lips to lick whatever salty cum had coated it, before you stand up and walk into your own room.

max is left splayed out on his bed, panting heavily as he squeezes his thighs together to get something. and something he gets indeed, the pleasure of friction makes a needy whine erupt from him. he’s desperate to keep going, but.. but? he can’t. if he cums without your permission, then he’s in trouble.

so. he starts the stream like usual. he tries to put on his led lights to tint the room a reddish colour, to avoid the comments about his deeply flushed cheeks. but god. he’s so sensitive, still so hard. any time he moves on his chair, the leather against his clothed erection is amazing, and the moan he lets out is unreal. everyone loves the sounds, willing him to keep going.

but he can’t read those comments for too long, otherwise he’ll be convinced and he’ll be rutting against the leather of his chair like a damn fucking dog, chasing his pleasure.

[perpetuallyfive]

A million years ago back on livejournal, there was a yearly meme a few of us participated in where you'd look back at all your old fics and come up with a personal top ten. It was a nice way to reevaluate and look back at work you might have ignored for so long that you essentially forgot about it.

I don't write enough anymore to do this kind of thing yearly, but it's been a long time and I wanted to look back.

So here are my own top ten fics as of this minute in 2025 (in no particular order):

we never sleep, we never try RWBY, "Bar AU", Bumbleby

I'm the kind of person who loves the metaphor inherent to genre fiction, and I try to lean into that with my fanfic. I also love when I have the chance to make the end to my first chapter a bit of a surprise. This fic let me do both!

This fic is about using a trope as a means to explore identity and sense of self. It's also a total misdirect to call it "just an AU set in a bar" instead of what it actually is.

Which is wing fic, fallen angel style. This fic is about angels. There, I gave it away.

Her fingers pull at the sheets, her heels dig into the small of Yang’s back. One knee nearly collides with her jaw and they both laugh, real and raw, a little breathless and unsure. Even Blake, even she feels a loss of breath. She is not someone who should have to breathe, even now, even like this. Unless she is being made mortal, here and now. Is this what it takes to die? Is this pleasure why mortal lives are so brief? It’s too much, a heart could explode from a lifetime of such living. And still, she wants more.

Our Bruises Are Coming Fingersmith, Maud/Sue

I wanted to write a short post-canon fic that explores Maud's kinkiness and the associations she would have with those desires being so linked to her own trauma and abuse, and still hopefully make it hot.

Writing the alternating povs with their very distinctive character voices was extremely fun.

Sue doesn't know how wet her eyes can look when she's lost in her own wanting. She's like a doll at times, with eyes like glass and lips ever on the verge of parting. I watch her and think of words and clips of phrases I have seen etched thick and dark on pale pages or ones I have spoken aloud to a room of eager men. Their heavy breath would clog the air until the words all seemed slick and rounded at their edges. They nestled in the shell of my ear and there they stayed, only to return years later while my hand sits on the pulse in Sue's breast. It beats wildly and I think, eager bitch. I think wanton spreading of her thighs and incline of hips thrusting. I think blooming in purple like an angry red flower on her cheek and feel my own heart race to join hers. My head is filled with poison.

what a night to go dreaming Sleep No More

This is one of the most self-indulgent things I have ever written, and I'm so glad that I did. Inspired by am immersive theater show that the majority of humanity will never see, focused on two minor characters that the majority of the show's fans aren't that invested in, and told in a meandering and muddled style intended to replicate the experience of being lost at the show and the perpetual looping nightmare its characters are caught up in.

Sleep No More is like a half-remembered dream and the fifth floor woods and accompanying sanatorium — as well as all the women that would inhabit it over the years — were one of my very favorite things in my very favorite building for literally years of my life.

Now that it's closed little more than a month ago, I feel more fond of this selfish piece than ever. Re-reading it takes me right back there again.

There have been no wolves in these woods for many years. The last of them were hunted down and left scattered over the earth. They inspected the entrails and said it would be an early harvest. The women picked and pecked over every inch of flesh, squinting at the sky as though there might be rain. And then there was.

You Can't Become Unreal Again Pitch Perfect, Marvel AU Hurt/Comfort, Beca Stark/Chloe Barton

I think this fic gave me a reputation for being really mean to characters that lasted for some time. I love hurt/comfort, at least in theory, but it bothers me how often the slow process of clawing your way back to yourself after intense trauma gets skipped over in favor of the end game. For me, that misses the point. The pain alone isn't what appeals to me; it's the slow unsteady progress that comes after, and how impossibly human that feels. 

I wanted to try to capture that in a fic. This is one of those pieces that I'm so proud of but also can't help wondering how I would write it now, older and more experienced as a writer. Sometimes I think maybe I should try something like it again.

There are a lot of reasons the fire escape is a bad idea, but Beca hasn't got a key. So she settles for the pain -- burning up through her shoulders, aching in her wrist until she has to stifle a scream -- and collapses on the floor as soon as she's through the window. She lays there for a while, half-curled on her side, and tries to pinpoint the precise location of each throbbing ache. She might have tripped an alarm, but it's hard to concern herself with something like that when her entire back feels like it's fucking on fire. Worst case scenario: whoever S.H.I.E.L.D. sends over can help her stand again.

Bulletproof Use of Bullet Points Pitch Perfect, Aubrey POV, Beca/Chloe

My second most popular Pitch Perfect fic is Aubrey pov, which just got to be fun in a way that I almost never let myself write and should probably do more often.

Not that Beca has ever needed a reason to complain. She drags her heels walking over, and it's all Aubrey can do not to shout for her to straighten her back and stop making that face like she's sucking on a lemon. Is it really so hard to be nice? To smile? Aubrey smiles all the time, even when she hates people! She smiles at Beca, after all. (Does Beca have any idea how incredibly hard that is for her? No. Of course not. No thought probably ever crosses selfish Beca Mitchell's mind that isn't about downbeats or hipster bullshit.) "Okay then," Aubrey smiles (because she cares to), and pulls her ponytail just a little bit tighter. "Why don't you show me what you can do?"

when the night falls (loneliness calls) RWBY, Winter Schnee gen fic

Winter is one of my absolute favorite characters in RWBY and I wanted to write about her childhood so badly. She nails so many aspects of my favorite archetype, but without being entirely stereotypical.

Obviously the standard warnings would apply for parental abuse from Jacques Schnee, though it's not described in detail.

Her mother’s voice is right behind her, saying, “This one is special. This one is two things, actually, though it only looks like one.” Her hand is light on Winter’s shoulder. “It’s like you, isn’t it? More than what it seems.” “Can I touch it?” Winter doesn’t know what she’ll do if her mother says no. Her throat is so dry and her palms almost itch. Even the sword itself seems to vibrate with a desire to be touched, to be held, to belong. Maybe it is like her after all.

much sweeter than it ought to be RWBY, Dishonored AU, Bumbleby

This one is a sprawling beast, currently unfinished, but I'm including it because I still intend to return. I love this fic in all its messy self-indulgent glory. Committing myself to alternating POVs in every single chapter means some of the chapters are comically long; I know I'm not doing a great job to sell it.

But this is the longest thing I've ever written (by a lot) and surely that much commitment to it says something.

Blake has never dreamed of anything like this happening before. She’s never allowed herself to really consider or want this for herself, to want much of anything just for her in a way that’s entirely selfish. The entire realm will one day be hers, but none of it is meant for her and her alone, not really. It’s all for the Empire, isn’t it, and anything she claims for herself is something she’s going to have to let go of one day. After Adam and everything that she saw, daydreaming felt selfish, like the ambitions of a child. Instead she tried to focus on the future of the Empire. It was the mature response, wasn’t it, to set her own wants and ambitions aside. All of that cold and calm resolve just slips away so fast, pulled out with the momentum that Yang carries with her, like a swelling tide. Doesn’t Blake deserve to want something, if only for a little while?

Manuscripts and Mistakes Gilmore Girls, Post Miniseries, Rory/Paris

Despite loving this ship since the show first aired, I never actually wrote it until this attempt to make something out of the Rory we end up with after A Year in the Life.

This one has a major (pregnancy related) trigger warning, noted in the end notes.

Like the first day Paris saw Rory and knew this girl was going to ruin her life. She couldn't guess at the time, of course, the kind of impact the woman would have fully grown. Even then she wondered sometimes, occasionally -- lying in bed and dreaming of Tristan's strong hands and pouty lips -- about what Rory's chapstick would feel like on her mouth. Once they kissed (once only, briefly), she'd finally known. Rory tastes like raspberry and regret. Like the most trite poem in existence. Like expectations and hopes never met. Something more.

the smell of blood on concrete Arcane, Vampire/Werewolf AU, Caitlyn/Vi

I know this one isn't finished either; but I'm currently writing it, absolutely obsessed with this version of them, and I've been keeping to a consistent enough schedule that it feels genuinely less mean than the inclusion of Dishonored AU.

In a lot of ways this fic has been a convergence of several things I've loved for years all into one work.

Her eyes lock on bright blue — river blue — eyes on the other side, the faintest hint of a smile. “Look at me, Hound.” This time the name doesn’t make Vi bristle. “You’re going to be fine.” The beast inside is glad to be seen. Vi smiles, too many teeth. Everything starts to unspool. Her jaw shatters. Fragments of bone ripple and chip — digging into her flesh at odd angles — outsides reversed with insides. Vertebrae rapidly shift and clatter, like dominoes turned upside down, as she drops to all fours. The vibrating inside her head has turned into a loud keening song. She snarls and a new voice comes out, guttural and low. The pain is like anything else. It doesn’t come all at once. It blossoms, it shifts, it moves like the tide. Her claws dig into the fabric, ripping with a loud shriek of something given way. She pants and takes a running lunge at the bars, pounding into it with her full force. On the other side, she sees Caitlyn smile. “That’s it,” she says. “You’re beautiful.”

Self-Diagnoses for the Consistently Disengaged UnREAL, Rachel Goldberg gen with hints of Rachel/Quinn

I realize that UnREAL barely counts as a fandom and I deeply regret never finishing the actual Rachel/Quinn thing I started — though I genuinely think sometimes I want to circle back to it — but I still think this piece holds up really well as its own little thing.

It had been nice while it lasted. Not to be the crazy girl, the little weirdo, except in the ways she chose to be. She'd felt happy. She thinks so, at least. Not that it matters now. Happiness is like some foreign country she's mostly read about in books. Nice to visit, but who can afford the rent? The food even tasted weird. She's a stale beer and pizza kind of girl.

[sadhours]

Part two my queen my love my beautiful

Gotta do shower sex after basketball practice like… just need that tension and and Billy calling Steve a bitch idk need it badly

The longing… the vulnerability between the both of them…. Billy wondering how many of Steve’s buttons he can push because *surely* he’s not that easy???

Also

*slides 2 dollars over* *whispers* billy spitting on Steve’s face/mouth please….

I can’t say no to you 😩

part one

The next morning at school, Billy is kind of looking for Harrington. Not outright. He knows he’ll see him at practice but still, he finds himself craning his next over the crowds in the hallways in hopes that he’ll see some floppy brown hair. He’s actually in like, shock that it even happened last night. But Billy’s kind of obtained this skill, and maybe it’s not a morally good skill but he can pick up on vulnerabilities and use them to his advantage. He still thinks it was mostly fate that Wheeler decided to dump Steve at that exact moment. Because of Tommy, Billy was aware that they kind of had a rocky relationship anyways but he was anticipating playing the long run. Prod and poke at Harrington until he snapped. And then there he was, trying to rip that bottle of whiskey from Billy’s hands and his big, brown eyes just looked so sad. A kind of sad that lit a fire in Billy’s gut. It wasn’t news to him that he had a bit of kink for tears, he’d made girls cry before and he used to feel a bit of shame when it excited his dick. He hadn’t ever made a guy cry before. And he preferred them. So seeing those puppy dog eyes trying to convey dominance had him acting on impulse. It was really, so unreal that the events rolled out how they did.

As anticipated, he doesn’t see Harrington until he’s at practice. The lanky dude barrels through to his locker, which thanks to their last names, neighbors Billy’s. He pretty much expects Steve to avert his eyes, ignore him. Billy’s under the impression that Steve’s never even considered being with another guy. He’s not close enough to Tommy to ask if they’d done anything remotely gay in their deceased friendship. But those brown eyes look at him, look almost needy. His plush pink lips part and he’s about to say something, Billy’s leaning into it, so intrigued and desperate to know what he’s thinking but it’s interrupted. Hagan slaps the corner of their locker row and laughs, looking to Harrington who jumps and turns at the sound.

“Princess dump you, again?” Tommy preens, self satisfied grin spreading against his freckled cheeks, “it’s almost like, Carol and I were onto something!”

Steve’s body noticeably stiffens and his fingers move to the dial on his locker. Billy has to hold back his eye roll. Wants to tell Hagan to fuck off because god damnit, he really wanted to know what Harrington was about to say.

“She changed you, man,” Hagan prods on, shaking his head as he changes into his practice clothes. Billy and Steve busy themselves with filing through their lockers and if Billy isn’t mistaken, it’s like they’re waiting for Tommy to go away so they can shamelessly get an eyeful of the each other. Well, at least that’s what Billy’s waiting for.

Luckily, he gets what he’s hoping for. Tommy snorts, slams his locker shut and struts away. Billy sits on the bench and starts getting his boots off. He keeps his eyes on Steve’s legs as he does so, can see the bulge of his cock in his jeans and it brings back some vivid flashbacks of having said cock in his mouth last night. Harrington kicks his nikes off and his hands go to the waist of his jeans, he unbuttons them slowly and Billy glances up to meet those beautiful brown eyes he can’t stop thinking about. That neediness still shining in them. Okay, so Harrington wants him to watch. That’s a good sign. Billy sets his boots next to him and shrugs off his denim jacket, letting his eyes drag back down Steve’s body to his crotch. Harrington pushes the jeans down his thighs and then kicks them off his ankles. It takes quite a lot out of Billy to not shove his face against those white briefs. God, he wants to mouth at that outline of Harrington’s sizable yet flaccid cock.

Next Harrington is shedding off his polo, exposing a bit of chest hair that Billy isn’t expecting. His fingers itch to run through it. And he realizes if any of their teammates walk by, this is gonna look suspicious so he stands and starts undressing himself. And then they’re both standing there in their whitey tighties, eyes shamelessly raking over each others bodies.

“What were you gonna say?” Billy finds himself asking, voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s face flushes and he curtly shakes his head, “Nothing. It’s… don’t worry about it.”

Like a switch, Steve’s quickly shucking his gym clothes on before shoving his feet in his Nikes. Closes his locker quietly and Billy watches as he trails away. Fuck. They were definitely just checking each other out. He’s not mistaken. What the hell was Steve gonna say?

First, they’ve got to run laps. It’s how every practice starts. Steve’s fast. He’s gained a lead on everyone with those long fucking legs of his. Running isn’t Billy’s strong suit. Actually, he absolutely hates cardio. Probably because he’s been smoking since he was twelve. But god damn, he’s determined to catch up to Harrington, even if it leaves his chest burning and his stomach churning. Once he does, Steve drops down to a jog and Billy does the same, turns so he’s jogging backwards and facing Harrington.

“I’m worried,” Billy informs him, frowning.

“About what?” Steve huffs, confusion clouding his puppy dog eyes.

“What you were gonna say.”

Steve smiles and goddamn those butterflies filling Billy’s gut have him extra worried. He was just trying to fuck the guy, not fall in love. Billy doesn’t do love. It’s not real. Sets you up for disappointment. People don’t stay so why the hell would you love them? But Jesus, that smile is pretty. Maybe even prettier than that pathetic sad look he had on his face last night.

“You really wanna know? It’s kinda stupid,” Steve is blushing. Whether it’s from Billy’s interest or the running, he can’t be sure.

“Yeah, well, you’re stupid,” Billy bites back, “But last night I…” he clears his throat, “What is it?”

Steve’s eyebrows bounce around and he purses his lip, chews on the insult thrown his way and tries to figure out how to feel about it. And god damnit he’s cute. Billy hates how cute this fucking dude is.

“It’s… I don’t know, man,” Steve sighs, “Just thanks, I guess.”

“Thanks?” Billy stops in his tracks, hands falling to his sides. “What?”

“Yeah! Thanks,” Steve pats his bicep and picks up his pace, sprinting around the corner of the track. It’s not often Billy’s surprised or left speechless. But here he is, dumbfounded as he watches his team catching up to them. Thanks? Thanks for what? Taking his ass virginity? Did… oh shit. Did Billy actually make Steve feel better? That’s a new feeling. He can’t decide how to process it. It’s alarming how badly he wants to kiss the asshole so it kind of forms into Billy wanting to punch the fuckers lights out and then transforms into him wanting to fuck Harrington again.

Once they make their way to the gym, the coach divides them up in teams. He gets picked first and subsequently Steve, to the other team. Which is gonna be fun. Gives Billy the excuse to crowd Steve on the court, get a bit of a feel without it being looked at sideways. Coach points to Billy’s team and announces, “Skins.”

Harrington’s eyes lock with his and he smirks, grabbing the hem of his grey Hawkins High gym shirt and pulls it over his head. He registers the way Harrington’s eyes fall to his chest as he chucks the shirt to the bench. God, it’s so obvious to him. And thanks? Steve wants more and Billy does too.

He wipes the court with the shirts, he’s competitive by nature and well, Steve’s his best competitor. He plays defense, crowds right against Steve’s back and the similarities of now and last night don’t fall short on him. Billy’s close to supporting a half chubbed cock right now. Especially the way Steve elbows him in the peck. Can’t help that his tits are sensitive. He grins, licks his lower lip and has to hold back from leaning forward and licking Steve’s cheek like he did the night before. He wants to consume Harrington in such an overwhelming way. But there’s unspoken rules to this shit.

They’d be lynched right here in this court if Billy did was he really wanted to do. His father would have a field day with the beating if he knew the thoughts he was thinking as he’s pressed against Steve. All he can do is steal the ball, dribble up the court and god damnit, try to impress Steve with this trick shot. He’s stunned himself he makes it and he turns, grinning wide as he looks to see Harrington bent over and panting, staring back at him.

“Steve?” Wheeler’s at the door of the gym and Billy’s blood boils at the way Harrington immediately follows her out.

What the hell does that Bitch want? Billy wishes he could follow the pair. Tell her what they’d done and that Steve didn’t need her anymore. But fuck, he’s got a game to play and who does he think he is? Steve’s boyfriend? Pathetic. Billy’s chasing after the ball before he can think to deeply about it.

Showers. Typically kind of a tough time for Billy because he digs looking at dicks, but he can’t. Still, he always feels eyes on his body in the showers and no one gets called out but he’s beyond worried he’ll get called out. And yeah, he’d heard the whispers about Harrington’s dick so it’s not a secret that the team is looking at each other. Harrington’s dick is kind of like an anomaly though. Like it’s okay to notice and talk about because of it’s size. But unlike the other dudes in this locker room, Billy’s had it in his mouth. Then again, he’s not sure anyone else here wants it in their mouth besides Tommy, though the guy won’t admit it. Billy can tell by the way he talks about him. Built Steve up like he was a literal King and not like the metaphorical one he is. Then, he saw Steve and well, he understood.

He watches Tommy’s eyes, they fall to his cock and then to Harrington’s. There’s a look on his face Billy can’t exactly place, perhaps jealously or something more… gay? He hasn’t quite fingered Tommy yet. They’ve just met. And honestly when he made the move on Steve, he was taking a huge risk that he ended with an even better payout. Tommy’s eyes fall to his own junk and well, he’s probably comparing. He did offer Carol up to Billy the second the three of them were alone but Billy shrugged it off like a joke.

“Good practice,” Billy lamely offers, snatching Steve’s soap from the shelf. There’s a hint of a smile from Steve when he does it. Which is a win, probably.

“Yeah, that trick shot was fucking killer,” Tommy praises, teeth shining. And yeah, Billy thinks he’s cute but his eyes are drawn back to Harrington.

“Thanks,” Billy offers, soaping his dick up before he puts the bar back. Steve snatches it quick and then soaps his own dick up. It’s an offering, of some kind. He’s eager to have their teammates vanish. Wants to be alone with Harrington and quick.

The two of them linger a little too long, hopeful they’re not being obvious. Coach left long ago, they shower quietly until the chatter in the locker room disappears. Fingertips and toes gone pruny. And then Billy makes his move, steps into the stream of Steve’s shower and their eyes meet.

“What did your girlfriend want?” Billy asks, ignoring the way his cocks filling out by the close proximity of Steve’s cock.

Steve swallow hard, averts his eyes but answers, “She wanted to know why I didn’t pick her up this morning.”

“Why didn’t you?” Billy wonders, blinking slowly at Steve.

“She dumped me,” he huffs with disdain.

“And the thanks? What was that for?”

“Last night… I… it helped me take my mind off her,” Steve mumbles, eyes dropping.

Billy grins, licks against his teeth as he hooks his fingers under Steve’s chin, pulls the boys face toward his own, “Told you I would make you feel better than she could.”

“But—“ Steve swallows, “You just left and I…”

“What? Wanted cuddles?” Billy laughs, “it was fun. And that’s what it will be. If we ya know, keep doing it. I’m not a chick and either are you, last time I checked.”

He looks down, seeing Harrington’s cock is also standing like his. “I don’t do feelings, Harrington. And maybe you shouldn’t either. Since you’re such a bitch for some average looking tail.”

“I love her,” Steve argues, eyebrows knitting in a way that has Billy jealous beyond belief.

Billy frown, full of condescension when he says, “And where the hell did that get you?”

Steve looks a little taken aback. Like Billy said something wise and not something basked in bitterness.

“We can make each other feel good. Why would we fuck it up with feelings?” Billy asks, looking up at Steve under thick lashes.

“Yeah,” Harrington breathes out and Billy’s reaching down to grab his cock. The brunette elicits the sweetest, softest yelp and Billy can’t help but break a rule he’s set for himself, crashing his lips into Harrington’s.

Because Billy loves kissing. Likes it filthy and sloppy. Makes his head swim when they lick against each other’s tongues between heady moans. Sex is sex. They’re here for a means, regardless of sexuality, they both just wanna get off. Because fuck, his heads going empty ‘cause he can feel Harrington’s cock twitch in his hand and there’s a shared desperation here when their eyes meet again. If Billy can offer a distraction from Wheeler, he’ll take it. Anything to get Steve Harrington making these sweet sounds and bucking into his fist.

“Be quiet,” Billy warns before he’s stepping closer to press his cock against Steve’s, adjusting his hand so he’s got them both in his grip, “You don’t wanna get caught, do you?”

Steve shakes his head, reaching his hands up to grab Billy’s shoulders. Billy catches Steve’s lower lip in his teeth while he jerks them off in his hand. It’s a desperate yet lazy kiss. Steve keeps whimpering into it and Billy’s a bit lovestruck. And Christ, he loves the way their cocks slide together easily, precum drooling from their tips. It’s all slippery and so good and Billy can’t stop licking every crevice of Steve’s mouth as they thrust into his fist. It’s so delicious, so filthy. It’s… slippery from the shower. His minds hazy enough to tell Harrington, “Holy shit, you’re so fucking hot.”

And he’s whiny when he says it, desperation dripping off his words because truly, he means it. Harrington looks like a god damn dream, glassy brown eyes and fuck, his lips parted and so pink. Looking at Billy likes he’s a veteran porn star, and he could be with the heat he’s packing and that look on his face. He’s begging for it, just with his eyes. And Billy wants nothing more than to give it to him.

Billy wants to die for Harrington. It’s a sick thought he can’t let himself dwell on. Daddy up and moved them for a reason. Another boy with floppy chestnut hair and sad eyes.

“Fucking hate you,” Billy mumbles, not sure if it’s meant towards Steve or the memory. He squeezes their cocks when he says it though. ‘Cause he does hate him and he does hate the way he aches for this. Hates the way his heads all wrong and hates how he needs to act on it.

Steve kisses him then, bruising like it’s punishment for telling Steve he hates him. Or a test? Billy can’t let the kiss go further, it’s too delicious and dangerous. So he pushes Steve back and spits on his parted lips. An assault, but he’s stunned when Steve’s tongue darts out to gather the saliva and bucks his hips up at Billy’s fist. The slide of their cocks is incredible and it’s so good that heat is pooling in his stomach rapidly, so he closes his eyes tight and bares his teeth because if he looks down at their cocks or up at Harrington’s face he’s gonna blow his load.

And then Harrington’s making this pathetic fucking sound and it’s even more wet and Billy has to open his eyes, has to look down and sees Harrington’s spilled and it’s all over his fist and the tip of his cock and Billy grunts, body heaving as he shoots his spunk next. He rests his head on Harrington’s shoulder for a beat. Then he rinses himself off and reaches for his towel. He wraps it around his waist and he’s about to walk off.

The softest words from Harrington have him turning around and asking, “Huh?”

Big, downturned brown eyes look to him and Steve says louder, “I fucking hate you, too.”

It warms Billy’s chest for some god awful reason, so he smiles, maybe even blushes a little, “Hate you more, King Steve.”

Wishes he could stick around longer, but Max has got to be out waiting by his Camaro by now. He doesn’t wanna risk coming home too late. And he’ll see Harrington tomorrow. Looks forward to it.

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Oh my god okay I’m so fucking excited for literally any fic you write from this little prompt challenge.

My prompt for you: Slytherin!Harry getting Ravenclaw!Draco to tutor him on potions or the subject of your choice; lots of flirting and tension and dijwbdjdjdns.

(TOTALLY get it if this doesn’t inspire. Go with your muse. I’ll eat up anything that comes from your brain)

LOVE YOU!!!!!

(I LOVE IT I LOVE YOU)

Draco was completely mental to be doing this. The very idea was preposterous but to be actually proceeding with it?

I mean, it was Potter.

Draco stood outside the classroom they had agreed upon, clutching his books, practicing the script he'd spent three hours on, over and over in his head.

'"There you are, Potter",' he murmured on repeat. 'It's "There you are, Potter", not "There you are, Potter". Spit out the "Potter", you sound positively giddy with happiness otherwise. And for heaven's sake don't let him kiss you this time. What a menace, honestly. "There you are, Potter. There you are, Potter"...'

He stepped into the classroom. It was nearly dusk and the room shone violently orange which was rapidly darkening. Potter hadn't lit the torches. He was sitting - no, lounging - on a seat in the first row with his feet propped up on the table, arms crossed, wand tucked behind his ear.

He smirked when he saw Draco, an indecent twist of the lips made even more worrying by the promise that gleamed in his eyes.

'Here I am, Potter!' said Draco shrilly and dropped his books.

Potter let his chair fall forward with a thud, the tips of his hair gleaming orange in the sun. He got to his feet and made his way over to Draco, who just stood there.

Potter stopped, waved his hand, caught Draco's books as they floated up.

'Here you are, Malfoy,' he said sweetly.

Only twenty minutes later, Draco was sure he was about to be violently sick.

Potter smelled incredible. He was also extremely warm which was definitely why Draco was so warm and also sweating everywhere and it felt unreal to even be sitting next to Potter, tutoring him for their Potions N.E.W.T.

'So, before we add the hellabore,' Potter frowned down at the bird-scratchings that were his notes, 'we need to simmer for eighteen minutes because otherwise the scorpion venom will curdle?'

'That can't be what you've written down,' Draco said, aghast. 'Why in heaven's name would a venom even curdle in the first place?! It's a venom! Class 7 substance! Non-reactive until it touches blood! This was covered in fourth year!'

His voice had gotten higher and louder with each word and by the end of it, Potter was grinning at him.

'Show me that,' snapped Draco, wrenching Potter's notes to himself and shoving on his glasses.

He squinted down at word shaped scribble. He could read five languages but this wasn't in any one of those. On the top right corner of the page, Potter had drawn a plump heart.

Inside the heart was written "DM".

Draco's face suddenly felt hotter than the setting sun. He pushed the sheaf of parchment back at Potter.

'I can't even decipher that atrocious rubbish,' he muttered, his glasses slipping down his sweaty nose. 'Venom can't curdle. We simmer to let the fairy wings dissolve completely. Next.'

Potter cleared his throat delicately, hunching over his notes again.

'So, once we've added the hellabore,' he said, voice full of something that made Draco's face grow even hotter, 'we stir clockwise--'

'Counter clockwise.'

'Right, counter clockwise, and then we add the moon salt and the Ogden's?'

Draco nodded along as Potter read, his knee bouncing uncontrollably next to Potter's solid thigh, his mind filled with absolute chaos.

'Yes, yes, right,' he said. 'Moon salt and two measures of Og-- Wait, what?! Ogden's?!

He ripped the notes out of Potter's hands but Potter was already laughing. Draco shoved the sheaf back at him, glowering.

'Look, Potter, I told you,' he shouted. 'I warned you that I don't have the time nor the inclination to put up with any of your nonsense! I knew you--'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' Potter laughed, holding up his hands in surrender.

'--only to mess around with me but I agreed because everyone knows you're a giant dunderhead who can't even brew a simple Sleeping Draught if his life depended on it--'

'Now now, is that fair?' Potter said calmly.

'--told Hermione that you would faff about, I don't even know why she's friends with you, I've tried to understand why for seven years--'

'We're friends because she actually gave me a chance?' drawled Potter.

'--but I am done. I tried to do the right thing, the good thing, but you're just absolutely beyond incorrigible with your abominable hair and your untucked shirts and your revolting fan club--'

Draco had years worth of spewing left to do but suddenly he just couldn't.

Because Potter had dragged him in by the tie and kissed him, this time square on the mouth. Harry Potter was kissing him, Draco Malfoy, right on the mouth.

There he was. Potter.

(Part 1)

[nerdlvr]

mwah 😁❤️

also did u see jeno jaemin gym jong kook video dude i cannot tell u the number of nuts i busted tf (this is a joke. Uh i think…like i dont even have a dick. BUT YOU GET THE POINT) LIKE jeno’s body is so cut and beautiful and gorgeous and attractive and alluring i could go on and on and on about this man like i have a phd in jenoism at this point 🥳 also jaemin oh lord he was so attractive in that video a few TEARS ran down my thighs 😂 how could they put 2 of my favourite men in one video and expect me not to scream (with/without the s)

also i just know jeno is getting that good pussy…the scratch marks on his back yeah sorry to say that was from me ☺️ but in all honesty i hope he is bc hes too fine to not get pussy

- 🥟 anon

i’m not gonna rant because that youtube video actually pissed me off. like bye get naked and get into my bed before i literally go find you

like this is unreal like why do those gym bros get to touch up on jeno and jaemin like THAT SHOULD BE ME FR FR

literally choked when i saw that video on youtube like the thumbnail alone ouuuuuu jeno in a sleeveless top flexing like give it to me now

[remyfire]

hi remy!! another 🎲 for beejhawk perhaps? lol :-)

(FINALLY GETTING BACK TO THESE a little at a time, please forgive me for the wait!

You get! A kiss on the nose! Have some post-war established forties-something men because I keep putting BJ through the blender in everything else. They deserve this)

Hawkeye is dabbing away the last of the shaving cream that got pushed to his neck when something about how he shifts makes the bathroom light hit him at an odd angle, and like a moth to a flame, his gaze skitters right to...it. To be fair, it's almost impossible not to see it, what with it being right there on his face, taking up an unfair amount of real estate, but...it. There it is. Unavoidable.

Nose.

Every day, he seems to be noticing something else about how his body is changing that gives him pause, but there's still a wide array of options that can take his mind off it—maybe even prove that however he's seeing himself in the mirror is completely untrue. Admittedly, a lot of it has to do with the doting attentions of one extremely enthusiastic lover who, once he's told what the trouble is, will go out of his way to demolish Hawkeye's uncertainty with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

Part of that tremendous ease BJ has with Hawk's worries probably has something to do with the decade and a half of experience they have with each other, truth be told. Still feels unreal, when he really considers it. From the minute Rudyard Kipling slithered through the air between them, it felt as if Hawkeye had known BJ Hunnicutt for his whole life. But just like anybody else, they had to fight and claw their way through bickering and misunderstandings and double speak and just downright assholery before they could finally get here, to a charming house in California where, against all odds, they appear to be able to spend the rest of their lives side by side.

They get to be together. They no longer hesitate about sharing the most minute thoughts of affection. God, with the ever shifting landscape around them of free love, how it's permeated down to Castro Street, they're able to even have public dates in a way that Hawkeye had never truly thought would become real. Dates surrounded by people just like them, everybody looking out for each other, smiling as they wander down the sidewalk or into a restaurant by the sheer power of the fact that they can just...hold hands. Kiss. Wrap their arms around each other's waists and claim and know down to their very depths that everyone around them is doing the same.

In a way, it's funny. On nights like this, where Hawk's less concerned about how close he can stand to BJ in public without interlopers starting to whisper, it seems to open up his mind to notice, again, those strange aspects of living in a body that's changing right before his eyes. Love handles. Shiny stretch marks on his thighs. Silvery hair.

And the things that aren't changing, but just becoming more apparent every day. Like...nose.

"How's it coming?" BJ asks as he wanders in from the bedroom, fingers cleverly securing his tie.

Hawk turns his head this way and that, eyes not moving from his face in the mirror. He ponders. Frowns. "D'you think my parents should've named me Rudolph?"

"Like Valentino?"

"No, like..." Hawk blinks and finally turns his attention to Beej. "Really?"

BJ shrugs with a little smile. "Well, yeah, hello." He strolls in and tucks himself up close to Hawk's back, resting the side of head against his. "You seeing what I'm seeing?"

It's all but impossible to look away from BJ's handsome face through the glass, actually, the way his grays have brought out the elegance of his mustache, how deeply the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes sink in when he grins like this. He's so solid. Safe. Sexy as hell. "You know what it does to me when you wear that tie, right?"

As his eyes turn into smoldering diamonds, Beej's lips curve into a lethal smirk. "Sorry. Losing my memory in my old age. You'll have to remind me later."

"You'll be lucky if I let you get out of the car before I'm fucking reminding you," Hawk teases.

BJ keeps his gaze right on Hawkeye's as he leans forward and presses a hot kiss behind his ear, the kind that makes Hawk hum and go a little weak in the knees. "We have a reservation," BJ reminds him, as though he's not touching the small of Hawkeye's back to keep him steady and press him into the bathroom counter all at the same time.

"Fuck you," Hawk murmurs.

BJ laughs, winks, then steps away to let Hawkeye get a deep breath to settle himself. It would be a shame to miss out on some amazing cheesecake when he can just let BJ get through dinner unruffled and then blow him in the front seat, if Hawk's back'll let him.

Maybe it won't. But wouldn't it be fun to try?

Hawkeye hangs up the hand towel, but the moment he looks back at the mirror to check his hair, his stirring thoughts go dead silent. "Really, though." As he lifts his chin, a combination of the lightbulbs they use in the bathroom and his skin, warm from the California summer, makes the very tip of his nose seem even more bulbous and flushed than usual. "Look at this."

BJ hums in question. He settles his hand on his waist as he leans into the counter for a better angle. "At what?"

"This! Are you kidding?" Hawkeye gestures at his nose more grandly than he did that new bike he bought Beej for Christmas the year before last. "Look at it."

"What about it?"

"I swear it's getting redder. Bigger. I don't know." As Hawk screws up his face, his expression briefly reminds himself of a cat, disdainfully analyzing the food that was just set before it.

BJ chuckles. "I really have no idea what you're talking about. It looks exactly the same as it has since the first day I met you."

Somehow that's an even more horrifying thought, that Hawk's gone this long thinking he's some handsome, sexy ladykiller—mankiller? That one doesn't flow as well. Maybe neither of them do. He shakes his head to try and dispel the thoughts before they can go racing away from him. "Okay, sure. Forget it. It's fine." It's not. He's fixating, stuck, compulsively spinning his mind around it so that even when he looks down to grab his bottle of cologne, all he sees in his head is a bright red berry stuck at the end of a crooked hose.

Beej makes a quiet sound—one that Hawk instinctively understands to be his problem-solving hum—before he slides a hand into Hawkeye's back pocket, against all odds managing to get his thick fingers in no matter how form-fitting the trousers currently are. "I think I could pick just about any part of you out of a lineup."

Hawkeye snorts, the corners of his lips quirking despite himself. "Oh, yeah, kind of like weeding out the weird freaky misshapen apple from the bunch."

"Nope."

He cocks his head, considers another angle. "Because when Erin's not visiting, I'm allergic to anything that's not a bathrobe."

"Close," BJ murmurs, his tone shaking only slightly with a repressed laugh.

"Okay, okay, okay." Hawk waves through the air. "I'll bite. Why?"

"Because you ruined any other body for me."

Hawk pauses, still clutching the bottle of cologne, staring hard at the faucet.

"You're not gonna believe me. But try." BJ nuzzles Hawk's cheek, the words inescapable from so close. "When Erin and I swung by SF MoMA the last time she was here—when you were pulling that emergency shift, remember?—I kept having this feeling when I was walking past some of the paintings, the sculptures. I couldn't really figure it out. It's all gorgeous stuff. Erin kept pointing out some of the most incredible details I've ever seen. She's got an eye for it, I swear. But it took me until I got home and came into the bathroom and you were in the tub, and I just...I saw you, and I realized that every person depicted in those masterpieces, yeah, sure, they were objectively lovely, and also they stirred nothing in me. They were some of the most lifelike pieces I've had the pleasure to see, but they were so incredibly fake. They couldn't hold my attention because they weren't you."

All at once, Hawk can't bear to look at him, turns his head completely away. It's strange. It's so fucking weird how they've been together all this time, and yet there are moments where BJ will see him so vividly that Hawkeye half-wonders if he's been walking around in a blur up until then.

But Beej's palm finds his cheek then, and Hawk feels it all the way down to his toes. No, there's nothing fuzzy about life for him. He's been seeing in brilliant clarity since Kimpo.

Slowly, slowly, BJ guides Hawk back around, like a planet rotating toward the sun, and the moment they lock eyes, Hawkeye finds his face so gently cradled in both of BJ's massive hands. Suddenly there's no thoughts of noses, of stretch marks, of sore backs. There's just a silent invitation to look and be looked at in turn.

Hawk can't stop himself from resting his palms on BJ's softening waist as he drinks in the sight of him. It's incredible how impossible it is now to separate the potent reaction he has to the lines on his skin from the way his muscles melt in relief that he's here at all. As Hawk falls deep into his blue stare, his blood sings for him as though they're magnetized. There's so little distinction between the visceral physical attraction and the comfort that he can tell now has only come from time, time, and more time.

BJ thumbs over Hawkeye's skin. "You know what this face reminds me of?" he asks quietly.

Hawkeye considers. A single butterfly begins beating its wings right at the base of his stomach. As desperately as he's trying to flip through his mental rolodex to find a joke, a quip, the combination of BJ's touch and the longing in his gaze stops any playful comments stone dead. "No."

"It reminds me that you're here. You're real. You're not some dream." Those stunning eyes wander palpably all over Hawk's expression, from his forehead to his cheeks to his chin, leaving no part of him unloved. When BJ's fingers brush along the creases at the edge of Hawk's eyes, Beej bites his bottom lip for a moment. "That we made it. That we're living. That no matter who was taken from us, we're still marching forward together. That every day, there's a part of you that changes—just a few dozens of billions of cells—" The casual nature of that number makes Hawkeye chuckle, makes BJ's grin widen. "—but that even when you change, you're asking me to come right along with you. Because you don't need me to stay the same. And neither do you. Because what matters is we're making the choice every day to love the man we see right there, right in that moment, and finding we never want to make another decision but to stay. To learn each other's minds and passions and bodies over and over again."

The fervency of Beej's words pick up the longer he talks, and Hawkeye leans into him, bumping their foreheads together with a shuddering exhale. "You're such a bastard," Hawk finally manages to whisper back, smiling so broadly that his cheeks hurt. "How do I follow up something like that? What am I gonna say, ditto? C'mon. It's not enough that you took all the stars in the sky and put them in your eyes, but you've gotta take all the perfect words too?"

"Look who's talking," BJ repeats in a voice that's so lush, so sweet that Hawk could never doubt it.

BJ cups Hawk's cheek more deliberately, and without another thought, Hawkeye closes his eyes and purses his lips, waiting for a millionth kiss from the man he gave up so little for and yet gained so fucking much from. But there's no gentle brush over his mouth. Instead, faint but intimate warmth presses right to the tip of his nose, and Hawk, already at the edge of emotional overwhelm, feels his legs buckle as he gasps and leans his weight into BJ.

Beej catches him, because of course he does, his arms wrapping around Hawkeye's waist in the exact space that was made for them. He busses their noses together, back and forth, and Hawk drags up fistfuls of BJ's shirt over his spine, pulling it out from under his belt, and lets out a whimper.

"I love your nose," BJ whispers, the heat of his words tickling Hawk's face. "I love your grays. I love your wrinkles. I love your figure, all the soft parts, all the knobby bits. I've never felt like this about anybody in my life. And every day, there's something new about you that lights me on fire. So hush. The next time you see something you don't feel like belongs on your body, you just come find me, and I'll make sure it feels plenty welcome, huh?"

Hawk barks out an unexpected laugh. "I love you so much. You asshole. We've got a reservation that you made. We don't have time for me to blubber up with the waterworks."

It's the silence between them that's always been a warning. Hawkeye risks a glance and finds BJ already smirking at him, toothy and dangerous, and just as Hawk's heart starts to flutter, he's already hopping away—but not before BJ finds his ticklish belly and grazes over it.

"No!" Hawk cackles without thought, leaping from one foot to the next in a shot of adrenaline that makes him feel like he's barely thirty again. "Don't you—don't you dare!"

"I'm just making you laugh," Beej taunts as he comes after him. He makes an impressive lunge, but Hawk manages to spin out through the bathroom door and scamper across the carpet. "Aw, c'mon, babe—"

"Menace! Dick! Ass!" When BJ makes another grab, Hawk somehow manages to duck under his arms. "Pri—no!"

As Beej catches his wrist at the last possible moment, he drags Hawkeye in and pins him gently up against the hallway wall with his broad form, kissing his nose, his cheek, his jawline. "Love you," he breathes.

Thoughts of cheesecake rapidly slipping away, Hawk tips his head back with a shivery laugh. "Love you too—" And then cuts off with a squirm the second his evil lover presses fingers into his waist. "Hate! HATE!"

[ken-dom]

Need fluffy tummy lars fic 😭

I know this says fluff but we’ve discussed it since, and it’s got some spice too, so… under the cut 😈

NSFW, gn!reader, making out, mentions of panicked and overwhelmed Lars, touch therapy, very light themes of body worship

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Lars flinched at the hand rucking up the front of his sweater, his three additional layers sliding up with it, leaving his lower belly exposed to the cool air.

He squeezed his eyes shut, worried what you’d think when you realised he didn’t have a six pack of rippling abs you could use as a washboard, but also bracing himself for the impending sensation of his trousers tightening around his waist as you unfastened the clip, and the sound of the zipper being lowered enough for you to free his length.

That’s what came next right — after a kiss like this one? Hungry and needy and desperate? When you’d been practising touch for so long and he’d practically begged you to take it up a notch?

But his trousers remained closed, too tight over his growing bulge, half relief and half disappointment settling uncomfortably in his gut, swirling with the butterflies he couldn’t control.

You moved so slowly, dragging your fingertips along his waistband, ghosting over his skin. He’d never been touched there by someone else. It felt surprisingly nice. Tingly. Warm. He waited for you to change your mind.

As you somehow deepened the kiss further, you eagerly grabbed a handful of his belly, the soft curve filling the hollow of your palm as your fingers tenderly kneaded his flesh.

He moaned, not expecting it to feel so good, but it was comforting as far as touch went, and it sent thrills shooting right to his throbbing core each time you squeezed. A strange combination, but one he felt he’d missed out on for far too long.

Was he supposed to enjoy it like that? Was it supposed to be… sexy as well as comforting? Was he supposed to enjoy that his lips felt swollen and his guts felt like they were churning? Was he supposed to want to c-

He startled as you pulled your lips away to trail hot, sloppy kisses over his stubbled jaw and down his neck, still grabbing at his stomach, and he breathed a choked out and incredulous, ‘Y-you like that?’

‘Mmhmm,’ you hummed against his throat, and he whimpered, swooning back against his pillow, thankful you’d laid down part way through the kiss or he might actually pass out.

‘Your body is incredible,’ you whispered, sliding your hand further up inside his sweater to explore his very grabbable pecs, too. ‘Strong. Soft. Safe. So sexy it’s unreal…’

‘My… body? You like my body?’ he whined, writhing under your touch now. Your arousal pressed against his thigh was doing nothing to steady him.

‘I would’ve thought it was obvious how handsome you are all round, Lars,’ you soothed, leaning down to gently press your lips to his once again.

Lars swallowed hard. Touch therapy was one thing, but boosting his confidence too? Worshipping his body? You were making him dizzy. His cheeks burned.

‘Now take this sweater off, hm?’

‘W-why?’

‘I wanna watch you chop wood with those deliciously strong arms of yours. Too many layers.’

‘Oh- uhm- oh-ok,’ he agreed, smiling, and you lifted yourself off him, stopping to leave a final, wet kiss on the happy trail of that gorgeously soft, exposed belly and a hint of a bite too; just a gentle scrape of your teeth and a light suck, feeling him shudder as your lips popped away before you stood from his bed.

‘I know you want more. One step at a time, though? Like we agreed?’

He nodded, furrowing his brow. You were right. He was so close to becoming overwhelmed and panicking, but he wasn’t sure if even wood chopping would burn off this feeling, or if he’d be able to calm his erection at all without… well…

You took his hand and led him to the door. There, you smoothed down his mussed hair and leaned in close. His breath caught in his chest.

‘When you’ve built us a fire, we can take the rest of your clothes off and try more touching if you want to, alright?’

Was it safe to chop wood when he thought he might pass out? He wasn’t sure he cared.