#towards the end of this fic

[rookinthecrownest]

Woe, fanfic preview be upon ye

[strangersteddierthings]

Eddie blinks. Once. Twice. And a third time for good measure. The scene before him doesn't change. Steve Harrington stands off to the side of the lunch table, behind Jeff and Frankie who have both gone still as statues like they think if they don't move, King Steve won't see them.

"Uh, what?" Eddie finds himself saying, against his own will. He heard Harrington the first time, doesn't need or want him to repeat himself, but his disbelief seems to have won out against his grudge for all jocks and his indifference to Steve Harrington in particular.

Harrington's face pinches, like he's three seconds away from rolling his eyes. He doesn't do that, though, which Eddie will give him one brownie point for. "I asked if you had a minute to talk." Eddie's taking away his brownie point because Steve 'asks' in a way that sounds more like a demand.

Hearing the question and or demand a second time doesn't lower Eddie's hackles, but it does pique his curiosity. He drums his fingers atop his lunchbox, thinking it over. He wishes he could say he's pretending to think about it before he tells Harrington to fuck off, but the truth is he actually is thinking about it.

What could Harrington possibly have to say to him? They very much do not run in the same circles. Eddie only talks business at the picnic table past the edge of the woods out back and everyone who buys from him knows that. They share several classes, since they're both seniors, but everyone knows Eddie's on a track to not graduate (again) so he can't possibly be coming to discuss Mrs. Click's homework assignment.

"Sure. Should we go elsewhere or...?" Eddie trails off, lifting a hand to wave in a circle in Steve's direction, questioning.

Steve looks over his shoulder, back towards the side of the cafeteria taken up by the 'popular' crowd. When Steve turns his face back, he looks- well, kind of sad for a moment before it's smoothed over with indifference.

Interesting.

"No. It's probably good that the rest of your friends hear it anyway," Steve answers.

Jeff's eyebrows rise to his hairline, and Frankie frowns as his eyebrows raise at the same time, showing an expression of interest. Eddie's got no idea what Gareth's face is doing because Eddie can't see him unless he wants to turn his face away, but he's certain it's probably a glare of some sort.

Eddie leans back in his chair, wiggling like he's getting extra comfortable before he says, "Well, alright Harrington. Shoot."

"I'm graduating this year, so I just wanted to give you a heads up for next year. I tried to curb the bullying, but I know it still happened. So, since I'm not going to be here to watch out for that, you're gonna wanna up your," Steve gestures to all of Eddie, "everything."

He knew Steve curbed the bullying a bit, heard the confirmation of that last year from Jason Carver and Tommy Hagan, when he'd stepped in to save Gareth. Or rather, Gareth had come flying in to save him and then Eddie had to save Gareth- well, the details don't matter really.

"My everything?" Eddie asks, more confused than angry. He thinks he should be angry. Harrington has all but outright said he doesn't think Eddie's going to graduate with him, after all. But no. The main emotion now is confusion.

"Yeah. Your, y'know, freakinesss or whatever. Be more of it."

"Be more of a freak?" It's fascinating, that Harrington just keeps talking like he thinks anyone at this table care for his opinion.

"Yeah!" Harrington says, cheery like he thinks that Eddie's agreed with him somehow, complete with a stupid snap of his fingers that turns into a finger gun pointed at Eddie. "You've already got this like unapproachable mad dog kind of look about you, most of the JV team is already scared of you. Just like, up that a bit more and they'll probably steer clear of you and your friends." Then Harrington frowns deep, looking around the table of nerds and dorks before looking down at the top of Gareth's head to add, "well. Except probably curly here. No offense, but you seem an easy target."

"Fuck off," Gareth growls, because of everyone at the table, Gareth does have the most bite. (Most bark goes to Eddie himself). Eddie's more prone to run from a problem than engage in it, unlike Gareth, who he's had to pull off of a few people this year.

"Or not," Harrington retracts his previous statement and Eddie will grant the man another brownie point, which brings the total up to one.

"Good to know my reputation precedes me," Eddie grins, wild and a bit manic.

Harrington is unphased. "Yeah! Do that more. I think it really freaks Jason out and he's most likely to take the captain slot next year, so if you get him afraid of you, the rest of the team'll fall in line and leave you alone too. I think he's super religious, so like, lean into the satanic panic thing people are up in arms about and next year will be a breeze. And-"

Eddie lifts a hand, a motion for Harrington to stop talking. It surprised him a little that Harrington does. Even more interesting. "Stop me if I'm wrong here, Harrington, but are you suggesting that I become the bully?"

Harrington's mouth opens and closes a few times before his face pinches again. Instead of looking like he's going to roll his eyes and be bitchy, Harrington looks confused and then like he's deep in thought. An uncomfortable amount of awkward silence falls over there table, but it's just when Eddie's about to break that silence that Harrington finally speaks. "No. I'm saying just like, be you but bigger. Like, you don't even gotta look in the team's direction. If you're just more of a freak than you usually are, they'll steer clear without the bullying."

"You sure know how to compliment a guy," Eddie deadpans. He's not even upset that Steve's called him a freak. He's spent the majority of his high school career cultivating that outlook. He wasn't just a freak, he was The Freak.

Now a look crosses Harrington's face. One Eddie's not sure he's interpreting correctly. If he had to take a guess, he'd say the look was calculating, knowing, in a way that Eddie doesn't think Harrington could actually achieve. Then it's gone, replaced with the bitchy, eye-rolling look Eddie's used to seeing, and Harrington says, "I haven't said anything untrue."

Hmm. The most interesting thing yet. Eddie might not be graduating (again) but he's not dumb. He didn't survive this far in his life, with a father like his, without learning to read people. He wasn't as good as he wanted to be at reading people last year, but he's definitely good enough know to think that, maybe, just maybe, Harrington also knows a thing or two about cultivating a public perception. Making sure people only see a certain side of you.

"Alright," is what Eddie answers, "I'll take what you've said under advisement."

"Uh. Okay," Harrington says before he just walks away. Conversation over.

"Well," Jeff says, "that was strange."

"Very," Eddie agrees as he watches Harrington walk away, tracking him until the cafeteria door slams shut behind him when he exits.

Eddie has always wanted to up the ante, so to speak. Jump on a cafeteria table and rant about capitalism and organized sports. He never has before but next year seems like a great time to try.

[talaok]

The sweetest remedy

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!pregnant!reader

summary: Joel has a bad day at work, but you know how to make him forget all about it

warnings: Joel is very much in love with his pregnant wife, a bunch of fluff, smut| oral sex (f receiving), Joel takes care of himself but you still swallow, fluffy smut, Joel being the pussy eating king that he is

"what's wrong?"

He'd taken one step into the house and you could already tell something was off

His forehead was creased with lines of annoyance and exhaustion, and by the way he was discarding his boots and jacket you knew he was pissed.

You were on the couch, your body turned towards the entrance, towards him, the tv muted behind you

"nothin'" he grumbled, setting his keys on the counter

"baby" you cooed, pouting softly "c'mere"

And of course, he did

Seeing you was all that made him survive these types of shitty days at work

Especially when he knew you'd be waiting for him in those flimsy summer dresses you loved to wear in the summer,

and especially since he'd gotten your belly to swell with the gift of a child.

You were five months in, and he fell in love with you all over again every time he looked at you

He had you straddling his lap the moment he sat down, his hands on your waist and his eyes all over you.

"tell me what's wrong," you asked again

You hated seeing him all troubled, he deserved nothing but happiness this man of yours, 

because that's what he brought to you every single day

He sighed, before nodding slowly

"it's jus' the guys at work babygirl," he said "nothin' you gotta worry about"

you didn't pay attention to the last part

"What did they do this time?" you asked, softly caressing his chest to try and soothe him

"one of 'em didn't show" he grunted, the palms of his rough hands starting their journey from your pregnant belly to your butt and thighs

"Again?" you raised your eyebrows, annoyed too now "I don't understand why you don't just fire them and get new guys"

The first little smile since he first came home tugged at his lips

"what a coldhearted little boss you'd make" he joked, smirking softly.

You rolled your eyes, biting down a grin of your own

"you know I'm right"

He pushed you even closer to him before responding, wanting to feel more of you, all of you

"I know you are babygirl" he nodded, his forehead to yours now "but you know how I am... I know these guy's stories and evrythin'- I jus' don't have it in me"

Ah that's right

Who could have ever expected such a rough and tough exterior to be hiding such a softie

"you're too nice for your own good, Miller" You couldn't help but smile, softly kissing his cheek

He only grunted in response, losing himself in the scent and feel of you

"'m gonna have a talk with him Monday, I'll see what he has to say for himself"

You nodded, watching him closely

"that's a good idea" you murmured as you let him guide your mouth to his, impatiently kissing you as he'd dreamed of doing since he took the first step out of the house this morning.

You let him taste you, his tongue in your mouth and his beard against your skin, until you both needed air and had to lean away

But something seemed still off, usually, he only needed to feel your lips on his to forget all about his day, but today... today that little shadow in his eyes was still lurking in his iris

"baby" you pouted, your hands reaching for his cheeks to gently take his face in your hands "what can I do to make you feel better?"

And in retrospect, you didn't even know why you asked,

Your husband might have been a gentleman and a hard worker and everything else in this entire world... but he still was just a man.

A man that happened to love the taste of his wife more than anything on this earth

Which is why he didn't waste a moment before murmuring

"y'know what I need babydoll"

God but the way his voice always dropped an octave and that sweet southern drawl got more noticeable every time he needed you was more than enough to impregnate you all over again

"you're insatiable, Miller" you shook your head, laughing that light laugh of yours that made him feel summer breeze and sunshine all over him even on the coldest day of winter

But he didn't laugh, oh no, Joel Miller didn't laugh, he only looked at you, admired you, as you made your decision

"alright" you smiled, getting off his lap with a low groan, before laying on the couch, propping a pillow on the armrest so you could set your head on it to not have your belly cover the best part of the show, which of course, was your husband between your thighs.

just like he was now.

Good Christ and heaven all tougher did he look fucking hot like that,

his eyes fixed on your clothed core, his pupils big and dark with lust, his hands gripping the outside of your legs, his breathing almost as quick as yours...

His eyes found yours as his nose plummeted to your core, his nostrils flaring as he did what would make any woman self-conscious,( that was of course, if they weren't married to such a depraved and pussy obsessed man), he smelled you, he smelled you like you would with a good meal before devouring it, the tip of his nose ever so gently rubbing against your clit in the process.

You whimpered like you always did, and, like he always did, he only continued with his torture.

His tongue felt good even though the soaked material

"Joel" you whined now, as he licked slowly and thoroughly,

He resisted the urge to make you come like that, although he'd proved times and times before that he very well could,

he only stopped when there wasn't a spot on your underwear that wasn't drenched, and your chest was rising and falling faster than the speed of light

That, only that, was when his fingers reached for the fabric covering your core and pulled it to the side, his eyes falling to the work of art between your legs

he didn't say anything, he couldn't, he only groaned before he was devouring you whole

"oh my f-" you cried, your back arching from the couch as his hand seeped underneath your dress to get to your belly, his eyes finding yours again "f-fucking god baby"

He groaned again, his tongue drinking up everything you gave him, swirling over your clit over and over again, getting you utterly desperate just to tease you and fall to your hole, threatening to enter and forcing a gasp out of your mouth

your thighs squeezed around his head just like he liked it, robbing him of almost all oxygen as he buried his whole face into your weeping cunt.

"Joel- baby- p-please"

but he was back at sucking your clit, and all the words in your vocabulary got replaced by mindless, animalistic moans as one of your hands shot to his hair, gripping his hazel locks tightly as your hips started grinding onto his face, his nose, his mustache, his everything

And fuck if he didn't love it, if he didn't live to see you use him for your own pleasure, drenching his face and the couch beneath you with all your sweet juices as you whimpered and moaned what alternated between curses and his name with that irresistible desperate voice of yours.

Yeah, there was nothing that could ever beat this,

the feeling that he got every time you came apart like this was something that could have only been described as a glimpse of heaven, with the angels singing and everything too.

"f-fuck" he knew that high pitch cry, oh he knew it really fucking well "baby I-"

And you didn't even have to tell him, he already knew.

He continued feasting on your pussy, letting you chase your own high, and before you knew it, your head was thrown back and a wildfire of pleasure spread through your whole body, from your toes to the ends of your fucking hair.

You would have guessed you'd just run a marathon by how fast your heart was beating

"you're the most gorgeous woman on this planet" Joel murmured more to himself as he kissed the inside of your thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, before crawling up to ghost your lips "with the sweetest fuking pussy too"

You could only let out a silly laugh before he kissed you, letting you have a taste of that sweetness.

But when you didn't feel him grind what you knew must have been a rock hard erection underneath his jeans, on your core like he usually did, you frowned, as you watched him sit up instead

"baby?" your forehead creased even more in puzzlement once you watched him undo his zipper and pull out his aching cock, not looking even remotely interested in making a move to position himself at your entrance

"what are you doing?" you finally asked, sitting up too now

He wrapped a hand around his dick as he answered

"You're still sore from this mornin'"

What does that have to do with anything?

"but-"

He shook his head, watching you closely with that honest care that he only showed you "no but" he declared "I don't wanna hurt you babygirl"

And although you would have liked to argue, you knew that since you'd gotten pregnant, his protective side had somehow gotten even more hard-headed, and changing his mind was damn near impossible, which is why what you did instead, was change the tactic

"I still have hands... or a mouth, you know?" you cocked an eyebrow, eyeing his manhood

You didn't miss the way his member twitched ever so little at the proposal,

but then again, he had always refused you going down on him since the pregnancy, not because he didn't want to, fuck- god only knew the unspeakable things he'd do to let that pretty mouth of yours take care of him, no, the reason was he simply didn't want you to go through all that just for him, for his insignificant pleasure.

"All you gotta do is just sit there and look pretty, sugar" he murmured, finally starting to stroke himself, groaning lowly as he did

Your breathing faltered at the image, his large hands fisting his cock hard, stroking up and down in a way that looked incredibly natural and incredibly intimate at the same time.

And even if he'd ignored your proposal, you couldn't help but smile before pressing a kiss to his neck, right where his pulse was fighting against his skin.

And while you did that, now softly peking every inch of skin not covered by his shirt, you started undoing the straps of your dress, letting them fall down with the top of it once you were done

"like this?" you asked, biting down a smirk as Joel let out a desperate moan at the image before him.

God your tits looked even fucking better now, so full, so soft, so- so fucking perfect

"sweet Jesus" he groaned, his eyes panning between your mouth and your boobs as his strokes got faster, more desperate

You felt his hand sneak up your body and finding your tits, grabbing at them softly, gently caressing each one with all the care and amazement in the word, until he was whispering, begging "fucking-come here" and pulled your mouth to his, leaving a wet, filthy kiss on your lips as he continued palming your front.

the sound from his work on his dick was obscene, but neither of you cared, especially when the words coming out of your mouth happened to be even obscene.

"You're close?" you asked, feeling his heavy breath fanning over your mouth

"yeah doll"

You kissed him again quickly before speaking

"come inside my mouth baby"

Again, Joel Miller might have been as incredible as you wanted... but he still remained only a man,

a man who had to fight with everything he had in himself not to bust his load right there

"Good fucking Christ-" he groaned, closing his eyes as he threw his head back "fuck me"

"I would if you'd let me" you joked, placing another kiss beneath his ear

He laughed softly, opening his eyes to find yours "you want me to come in your mouth sugar?"

"yes" you nodded without missing a beat "I need it" you cooed, stroking his beard as his breathing became more and more uneven, his cock on the verge of exploding

"I need you to fill me up baby, if not my pussy, my throat at least"

"fuck"

you always knew what to say to get him going

"fucking- damnit" he groaned, tugging hurriedly at his cock as he ordered you to "don't move- open your mouth" until he was kneeling beside you on the couch, grunting and moaning soft curses or that's it-good girl, looking down lovingly at you till his warm seed was filling your whole mouth.

It took him a moment to come back to life, to the real word, but before he knew it, you were kissing as he held you close to his chest.

"Feeling better?" you finally asked

"I don't even remember what I was mad about babydoll"

[fernisfreaky]

Why do I keep thinking that Optimus, Megatron, and Ratchet from Prime were in like a throuple before the war?

BECAUSE IT'S TRUE!!!

[whatdoyouseemartin]

sometimes it's VERY apparent that all the statements in tma were written by a singular person because there are these oddly specific words/phrases that keep cropping up so here are the highlights with the number of times they've appeared:

'suffice to say' - 7

'threadbare' - 7

'in no uncertain terms' - 6

'whatever was going on' - 6

'not to put too fine a point' - 4

'as such' - 8

'it wasn't like' - 15

'ever so slightly' - 26

flesh described as 'sloughing off' - 6

'bulbous' - 10 (usually accompanied by something bursting WHAT is your problem jonny)

'it was only then/when/after' - 25 (almost comical how often this occurs)

and, of course, the classic 'not really' tag at the end of a sentence - 31

bonus, not really within the statements but it amused me: 'is/was that a joke?' has appeared 5 whole times (apparently none of these characters can comprehend each others' sense of humour)

[venomvalley]

GOOD VIBRATIONS

leon kennedy x afab!reader // 3.4k+ words

summary: Resigned to the long-distance nature of your relationship, Leon gifts you an app-controlled vibrator to use during his time away.

warnings: 18+!!! vibrators used discreetly in public, exhibitionism (idk if it fully applies but. to be safe), edging/orgasm denial, humiliation kink, explicit mentions of consent, phone sex, oral sex (m receiving), ro takes a light-hearted concept and brings feelings into it yet again

notes: after a solid month, @glacierclear raised me from my writing grave with this post and i absolutely knew i had to write something for it hehe

Leon, retroactive man that he is, loves to solve problems. Act first, think later.

You both share in bone-rending loneliness during his weeks-long absences from home, and it’s one problem he’s never been able to fix with all the brute force and secret agent skill under his belt. Until he texts one day, says he’s finally found a solution to the problem (the problem being feelings and longing and all the visceral build-up that he’d rather scrape off with a filet knife, like carving out the innards of a rotted fish).

An app-controlled vibrator created specifically for long-distance couples. God fucking bless technology.

You open the link he sent to an adult toy website and are greeted with a professional looking page and a picture showcasing a u-shaped vibrator, perfect for g-spot and clitoral stimulation. We-Vibe: a very on-the-nose name for such a product.

It’s perfect.

In a sickly-sweet way, you’ll know he’s still alive when the humming begins. When the texts come in to play your little game.

It’s ordered then delivered within ten days. A cute little thing, soft as silk, fits snug inside you. After a bit of set-up, you try the thing out and gush to him about its deceptive power. Rules are laid out and a secret phrase is decided upon for when either of you are in the mood to use it: wanna play?

Excitement—yeah, that’s an understatement.

~

You take back everything you said. Leon is an asshole and you hate this fucking vibrator.

He knows your body well enough to anticipate when your orgasm nears, even halfway across the world, and the setting he refuses to change leaves you teetering between too much and not enough. Overwhelm against your g-spot, but too little stimulation against your clit to send you just that little bit over the edge. And when you do get close, so close your teeth grit and your belly tenses and an electric balm washes over you, the vibrator shuts off. Muscles relax, your breathing evens, but anger—hot white, blinding, not unlike the precipice he robbed you of—leaves you grimacing and teary-eyed.

Even worse: you can only cum from the vibrator. One of his little rules that you agreed to in starry-eyed excitement. You should’ve known. Leon loves his unfair, sadistic rules.

But it gets even worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it. Whether you prefer optimism or pessimism for the day.

What began as a nightly, at-home routine transitioned into wearing it outside the comfort of your bedroom (or couch, or bathtub, or dining table). Before your first visit to the store since owning the cursed thing, he texts you. Offers up a suggestion and the mere thought—wetting the seat of your underwear while strangers pass by unawares, while you try to complete a normally mundane task as he leads you across the razor-wire of pleasure—burns something hot and needy deep in the pit of your stomach. Makes you wish you could finish yourself off, start over with a clean slate, it’s only been a week and you’re already sharpened teeth and grinding nerves and stiff in the neck—

So you agree. Of course. Why wouldn’t you?

Another thing about Leon: he’s smug. Rubs his unbotheredness in your face, in his tone when he calls, the things he says through text.

He’s halfway across the world, dressed to the nines for some work meeting, and your chest might cave due to the rapid beat of your heart as you walk through the aisles. And he doesn’t care. Little more than a puppet master amused by his own creation.

You just hope he doesn’t decide to lift his teasing today. Couldn’t take the embarrassment because you tread over the line of exhibitionism yet an orgasm in public is not a boundary you wish to cross. But you know him. He cradles many things close to his chest, keeps private things private. You received the same treatment in the beginning, sustained yourself on breadcrumbs of basic information universally viewed as inconsequential. But not to him.

So why, then, would he risk sharing you with the world? With anyone else?

Besides, he promised you. Just a simple text (flashlight, you decided) and this stops.

The thought comforts you, and the anticipation of biting back noises and locking your knees and feigning your expressions to keep your secret gets to you a lot more than it should. It’s all about anticipation, you realize. That’s what the butterflies in your stomach represent:

When?

Thirty minutes into your trip and three ingredients marked off your list, while reading dates on the milk, your insides clench around the sudden start of vibration. The lowest setting that blisters your blood, that almost doubles you over and leaves you gripping the shelf. Not enough but still so fucking good, like scratching a week-long itch, a mosquito bite that you know will keep itching and itching until you soothe it with a cream (in this scenario, the cream is, well—).

A pricing label slides sideways beneath your palm, almost bending in half when the thrum increases in severity, and you inhale deep to steady your breathing. You turn to find the aisle barren of customers, and relief floods through you. So does something else, something heady and thick that pools then coils between your legs. Your insides clench around the toy, then the rhythmic pulse of a second heartbeat. The nape of your neck burns with heat, licking up the back of your skull.

This is humiliating. It’s humiliating and you fucking love it. Should you love it this much?

You receive your answer while searching for the brand of bread he prefers. A swell of vibration against your clit makes you bite back a gasp. Your eyes shut against the slick glide, body-warm silicone fitting perfect against swollen flesh between the cross of your legs.

Bread. Bread. What kind of bread does he like again? The bag is red, you think. Maybe blue?

Never mind that—the buzzing increases, leaves you lowering onto your haunches before the array of powdered donuts on the bottom shelf. Every atom in your body strains to keep you from reaching between your legs, shoving a hand in your underwear, and either ripping the vibrator out to stop the wonderful, soul-squeezing torture or finishing yourself off right in the goddamn bread aisle.

But you don’t. Instead, you squeeze your legs together and steady yourself with a hand on the cool metal of the shelf, face dug into the arm of your sweatshirt.

“Goddamn it, Leon.”

Then everything stops, and you wait one, five, ten minutes for the humming to return. It never does. You continue shopping in silence, peace, each step sparking static against the slick mess of your clit, swollen and sensitive.

The cashier smiles at you and you hate yourself a bit. Something fierce and toothy burns the nape of your neck:

Humiliation, yes, that’s the word.

He messages you two hours later, once the groceries have been tucked away and you recline on the couch for a long-awaited nap:

Sorry. Had business to take care of.

You swear you see his grin through the screen.

~

So. You don’t wish to do that again.

No, that’s a lie. Something you tell yourself to feel better because you should not have liked it as much as you did. And you did. It’s all you can think about as you clean the house and go to work and shower and sit in your car on the way home.

Which is where you currently find yourself. Stuck in a line of cars miles long, something about an accident two hours out from re-opening your current route. On top of normal quick time work traffic, you’re set to be here a while.

It’s a stupid idea��you play with fire, bring the torture on yourself—but you pull out your phone despite the blaring inside your brain and send the text that seals your fate:

Wanna play?

He responds almost immediately, praises your perfect timing because today’s been horrible and he sits at the hotel all alone and… well, he doesn’t say it, but frustration is better shared with someone else. You, specifically.

He calls you this time, voice weak as snuffed-fire woodsmoke. Grumbly, muffled, face half-buried in his pillow. You’re quick to find your vibrator (stuffed to the very bottom of your bag), discreet in the way you slide it beneath pants and underwear. The silicone glides cool and soft inside you, flexible enough to curl against your g-spot.

“Okay—“ Before you finish your sentence, the vibration begins, leaves you crossing your legs at the knee, bumping into the steering wheel.

“How’s your day been?” he asks, fabric rustling in your ear.

“Awful,” you say, slightly breathless, head slumped against the seat.

If you close your eyes, you focus far too much on the wet warm wonderful sensations, so you stare ahead at the car before you, tail lights blaring stop-sign red as the sun begins to set. On your left, the lone occupant slouches in the driver’s seat, elbow balanced on the console (god, if only this stranger knew what you were doing just a few feet over). To your right sits a parking lot belonging to some new restaurant you can’t remember the name of.

“That makes two of us.”

Amidst the subsequent silence, he fiddles with the settings. Maxes out the vibration until your hips arch off the seat, until you hear the low thrum beneath two layers of clothing, until you gasp out in the muted silence of your car before he shuts it off completely. Over and over again, until you’re gripping the console and catching your breath.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He takes a moment to answer, exhales in a half-muffled laugh. “Playing.”

“You’re evil.”

“And you’re rude.” His voice lowers to an almost rumble within the cavernous depths of his chest. “Let me hear you.”

Fuck him.

You know that sigh he gives you, a little rickety at the edges, and the distant, wet sound of his hand on his cock.

Oh. Oh god.

“Fuck, are you… ?”

It’s something you’ve never done before. You’ve breached the topic on occasion because of course he masturbates while he’s gone and of course he thinks of you, but maybe this has all fucked him up, too. This newfound control of your orgasm—maybe the only thing he can control in his life.

Your forehead thumps against the steering wheel as your insides flutter around the toy. Too small, too inorganic, miss his heat his tongue the taste of his skin him him him—

If you think too hard, you can taste him at the back of your throat, salt-slick and musky. It makes you dizzy.

He hums his assent, sucks a breath through grit teeth as the noises grow louder. “Rules don’t apply to me, remember?”

If you could speak at this point, you would aim every insult in your arsenal at his head. But language transcends words right about now. Can’t think of much else besides the familiarity of his sounds, reminiscent of the slick sheath of your cunt, the rhythmic way he fucks into you.

You know—god, you know—that he envisions the brain-burned memory as well.

“I miss you,” said on the tail end of a whine, pitiful and tender, bone-deep longing a fresh bruise upon your skin. A re-opened wound.

“Me too,” he says, more breath than syllable, and you know what comes next. The expectation sets your teeth on edge.

He relieves the static coil of your muscles as you relax into the electric tingle against your clit, huffing out a low moan. You find yourself at a breaking point, all cragged edges and hairline fractures. In the car beside you, the driver sits slumped against the window, each slow breath fogging up the glass. Asleep.

Nothing stopping you now.

“More.” He falls silent on the other end of the line, maybe holding his breath as the sounds grow louder. “Please, Leon?”

That’s all it takes. He curses under his breath, sighs out your name, and you can see him plain as day: face and neck sweatslick, brows twisted into a furrow, lips parted. Cumming milky stripes over the trail of hair on his belly. God, he’ll make a mess of himself—something you ache to see in person again.

The vibrator shuts off. You almost sob in mourning.

“I’ll be home Saturday,” he says, a salve for licked-raw wounds.

Saturday. Four days from now.

You can wait. You have to.

The drive home is spent in silence.

~

He perches on the edge of the bed, phone in one hand (the app’s interface mocks you, glares bright from the corner of your vision) and the back of your head cradled in the other, your naked body seated between the inviting spread of his legs. He shudders against the licking kiss you press to the underside of his cock, lips framing the thick vein that thrums warm and heavy beneath your touch.

You missed him, a cavernous yearning as carnal and animalistic as instinct itself. The Leon that bleeds through messages could never compare to flesh and blood, to the lilt of his voice, to the witness of a sudden grin that stretches wide across his face. To eyes that crinkle at the edges, a gut-deep fire built from tinder and stone visible in the low-light blue of his irises.

Your mouth drops open as the unyielding vibration finally begins, simmers heat at the apex of your thighs. A roaring fire immune to snuffing, gasoline-fed, led to destruction by the app on Leon’s phone. Highest setting, no fucking doubt.

“I can be nice, you know,” he says, syllables lengthy and teasing.

All he knows to do is tease, you think. With words, touches, and even now, he has you on your knees with his dick in your mouth and that still isn’t enough to break him. You smooth tightened fingers over the flesh of his thighs, a brittle moan muffled around the salt-musk taste of him. A hand curls over the back of your head, threatens to press, coax, but he stops himself with a heavy sigh, massages blunt nails over your scalp. Begs, instead: deeper, more, please.

He never forces you, something bare-minimum in the way you love that about him. He takes as good as he gives, swallows his pride when required, and you think a large part of him loves the play. The cat and mouse, push-and-pull of your relationship.

You pull away with an open mouth, eyes squeezed shut, a string of spit roped between your bottom lip and the head of his cock. Thinking is difficult, one misfired synapse away from impossible, but you know that you can’t give him what he wants. Not after the month of teeth-gnashed edging he’s put you through.

He exhales through flared nostrils, a lick of frustration etching in the sharp knit of his brow. But he says nothing, spreads his legs a little wider when you rest a cheek upon his inner thigh, hair sparse and fuzzy against your skin.

Then an inevitability, an unstoppable force tightens full-body muscles before you cum hard and sudden from where you kneel on the floor. So powerful you sob on each exhale, speckled static popping across the expanse of blackhole vision. Faintly, he mutters nonsense, huffed-out words of praise (there you go, so good for me, look so pretty like this), and you watch the slick glide of a milking fist around his cock—yours, you realize.

Too much in an instant, atom-rending pleasure to knife-tipped pain, but just as your lips part to voice discomfort, everything stops. You sag against him as his phone drops to the comforter, jumps just enough to slide off the bed with a dull clatter. Neither of you move to fetch it, face down by your knee as it lay.

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” he says, leans forward, cups your cheeks to lift your face for a kiss. Almost bruising in his fervor, rough as he nicks your lower lip with the blunt edge of his front teeth, wet when you open your mouth for him and his tongue drools over yours.

You part from him long enough to gasp out a laugh, fist continuing its slick twist over the length of his cock. “You had a plan?”

He struggles to reply, choking on a breath, a laugh of his own, “More like an idea.”

He kisses you again, all languid heat and roaming hands, and your insides clench around the toy, slick pooling on the floor between your knees. Need him to fuck you, can already imagine the stretch, the fill, the sticky mess of his cum—

As if omnipotent, Leon takes you by the arms and hauls you to your feet, coaxing you to sit on his lap with large hands splayed around the back of your thighs, pressure insistent. Needy as you.

Good. Good.

You smile. “What, you think it’s gonna be that easy?”

Against your own hunger, your baser instincts, you stay put. The gaze once focused on the glistening skin between your thighs, framing the soft curve of the vibrator still inside you, now darts up to your face. Surprise foundational to reverence, a cliff-edged gleam in his eyes, and his fingers dimple your skin.

You card a hand through dark blond hair, soft as silk, freshly washed. He leans into your touch, eyes closing, and something swells against your ribs. Hurts in the best way.

Love. It’s love, all-consuming, infinite, painful at its most potent. What a beautiful thing, to love so deeply your brain short-circuits, your breath struggles to empty, your bones creak and ache beneath the weight of it.

You aren’t sure why or when you begin to cry, but your body sags beneath the weight of it, and he’s there—always, always there—to keep you upright, hands tight around your waist. It feels like home, everything: the salt of his skin, the remnant smell of his body wash, the callouses stamped into his fingertips.

It’s love. Unfair, indecipherable, hard-wired into each insignificant atom of the universe. He’s real, tangible, here. Someone for you to sink your teeth into, to flay open (leave him as raw as he makes you feel), to worship.

When you were younger, you craved this kind of love. The transcendence of universes, lifetimes, death itself. A silly thing to wish for, catalyzed by one too many romance novels read same-day in middle school.

But you think you’ve found it.

“Gonna take this out now,” he whispers, breath a warm puff against your cheek, and the ghost of his fingers against your labia leaves you sighing into his neck.

He’s gentle, so gentle as he slides the toy out, as he pulls you into his lap and you steady yourself with a hand on each of his bare shoulders. A new spatter of freckles dust the skin, a new mole kissing his collarbone. He’s been somewhere with a bright sun, hopefully a beautiful ocean to swim in. Maybe you stared up at the same moon, found connection through the pull of the tides.

The whiskers of his beard rasp against the curve of your neck as you sink down onto him in one smooth glide, insides tender and gummy and impossibly wet. He laves sucking kisses down the thrum of your pulse, pulls you close with a hand at the base of your spine. If possible, you would’ve melded together long ago, lived within each other, shared heartbeat and breath and blood.

The teasing, the phone sex, the messages at three in the morning—they’re all great. An unfortunate requirement of long distance that you survive on. But nothing will ever, can never be better than this. The real thing.

For the next two weeks, the We-Vibe is repackaged then left at the bottom of your underwear drawer.

A few nights after he leaves, around two-thirty in the morning, your phone dings with a text message:

Wanna play?

[rendnotmyheart]

God, if you told me a month ago I would be knee-deep in a Grantaire and subsequently Grantaire/Enjolras and subsequently Enjolras obsession.....

[al3zthecat-blog]

I've read fics about SQH worrying about becoming second husband/wife, about MBJ proposing and SQH not realizing and thinking he is going to marry someone else, about MBJ promoting him without telling him until MBJ gives him the ultimate promotion and declares SQH his "queen" (also without telling SQH 😂) and I also saw one fic (although only read the first chapter) in which MBJ is looking for a spouse (not SQH) after they tried and failed at being together and many at Court are upset is not SQH(?). The point is I've seen many marriage fics, and while on them it takes a while for them to get married because of misunderstandings/miscommunication, usually SQH is on board once the misunderstanding/miscommunication is cleared. I don't think I've seen one where instead of SQH worrying about whether MBJ will propose and being envious of SQQ/LBH, SQH is instead dismissive of marriage and not wanting to ever get married himself if asked about.

I've seen post making fun of MBJ being courting SQH by beating him three times a day and how actually in the demon realm his romance is THE Romance ™ and not LBH's, because from an outsider demonic perspective it seemed that SQH kept playing hard to get and MBJ was willing to keep in trying. But, what if the misunderstandings/miscommunication were cleared and SQH is NOT on board. Like, even if you write him as already aware that he is in love with MBJ (and I like it more if he either doesn't see MBJ in that light yet or he isn't aware his feelings have turned romantic) and being on board on becoming lovers, I would love for him to just for him to hem and haw and distracting MBJ or avoiding the subject, because he doesn't want to get married. Because marriage kills romance. Marriage is the death of love, AND THEY JUST FOUND OUT THEY ARE IN REQUITED LOVE, WHY RUINED BY GETTING MARRIED!? And him trying to convince MBJ that it is better that way, he already promised to follow MBJ for all his life, why do they need to get married?

And now MBJ actually has to try and convince SQH that marriage is good. Until either one of the is convinced they are fine with or without being married.

Or you know, maybe there is no marriage proposal and MBJ's council or CQM are the ones telling Moshang they should get married, because of politics, and both MBJ amd SQH don't have a good opinion of marriage.

[corviiids]

i get the lines blur but there IS a big difference between media which doesn't explicitly tell/show you precisely what happens in the end but does point pretty clearly down the intended road vs legitimate open endings where you're supposed to decide what happens completely on your own and multiple interpretations would be supported

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

angst? me? haha... 2.4k words of it actually c:

cw: slight sensory deprivation (blindfold/mention of going non-verbal)

you still remember the first time it happened. how could you forget? the sheer panic and rapid thoughts racing through your mind when the itch in your throat had produced a single, golden ginkgo leaf from your tongue.

in the stages of grief, it states there are five. you beg to differ since you spent so long staring at the yellow leaf in your palm for so long your eyes felt irritated from the lack of blinking. you couldn't just deny that something was so very wrong when the evidence had come out of you.

you didn't feel anger either. confusion, fear, the deepest pit you've ever experienced in your gut? that's what you felt, but not anger. this was something that was bound to happen one day if you lived long enough to see it, so it shouldn't anger you anyway. still, that doesn't mean that that stage was skipped.

no, jing yuan felt it for you.

jing yuan hated yaoshi, the adundance. he loathes them from the deepest, darkest and most tainted part of his soul. the loathing he felt no doubt could even be felt by the continuously passed on entity of his Lightning-Lord. it was a sick twist of fate that he had been with you when you coughed up that leaf, stood so closely within your personal proximity when your life started ticking away from him.

jing yuan was not a loud man when it came to his negative emotions. he- in fact- made a bad habit of keeping most of them internalized and kept solely to himself. may haps he would tell you or yanqing that which would plague him to the point of bursting- but those rare moments only happened well away from the public eye of the luofu residents. no, jing yuan is a man who radiates anger like a brewing lighting storm devoid of rain and thunder. it's quiet and heavy and skin crawling.

you were younger than him, you still had time to enjoy your long life before having to worry about the effects of mara. you should've still had time to enjoy your long life beside him.

"y/n," his voice calling you is breathless as he moves swiftly to stand in front of you. he takes your wrist gently- you can feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly- and he brushes that yellow leaf onto the ground under his boot. "let me see," he says. finally registering back into reality, you lift your chin and he's immediately searching your face and eyes for any signs of... just something.

maybe he was looking for something that was invisible. a way to prove that what just happened before his very eyes was a trick of some sort- maybe a sick prank you'd be begging him to forgive you for later. or maybe he had already reached a state of dreary understanding and was searching for a timeline of how much time you have left.

"jing yuan," you softly call, and he flinches when he hears the drag of your voice that indicates your painful coughs from a moment ago. "it..." you take a deep breath, "it's going to be fine. let's just go to lady bailu and-"

"no," he quickly shoots down before his brain could think otherwise. his outburst startled you both, and if it weren't for such a dire situation, his wide eyes that quickly scrunched closed may have been cute in a way. "no, just- nevermind." he lets out a deep sigh. "we should go see the dragon lady, you're right. and i-" should contact the ten-lords commission. but he doesn't want to. if he does, then you'll be taken from him and imprisoned with every other marastruck xianzhou native they've taken under his order.

his hands that were wrapped around your wrists grow slack and you easily slip free from his grasp. dropping one hand, the other raises to brush back the wild, white treses that always cover his right eye.

"we'll start with lady bailu, okay?" he just nods, not able to formulate words anymore. he had a letter sent to the alchemy commission announcing his visit along with you for the following day, giving him some time to compose himself. a single day would do you no harm after all.

"is there still nothing that can be done?" jing yuan knew the answer already. of course, there wasn't. there hadn't been for as long as he's been general- which was longer than most of his predecessors. the best 'solution' he had at this point was the small gourd gripped tightly in his fist. this had been his second time back to the alchemy commission, the first time had been with you but now he stands here alone.

"you know as well as i do," bailu's voice spoke as she stood in front of him with her hands on his hips, "this is the most advanced treatment i have. the alchemy commission is still no closer to finding a real cure, so please make do with this for now."

"i understand," there was no point in trying to converse longer. the longer he spent here the longer you waited for him back at home. he had contacted bailu with means on the downlow and had even attempted to keep who the afflicted person was if word did spread.

of course, that didn't work out like he wanted and just by his mannerisms alone, the young high elder knew it was you. she had never seen the luofu's general so disheveled before- normally able to keep a better lid on his emotions.

"you have my gratitude," he said before dismissing himself.

this small gourd could last a patient anywhere between a few days, a few weeks or at worst a few hours. your mara hasn't been active for long, just a day or two before jing yuan could get his hands on the elixir she uses for the marastruck soldiers she comes across.

"only administrator one ochoko of elixir a day! no matter how bad it gets, you cannot exceed that amount!" were bailu's specific instructions. he dares not go against them. at the very most he could stretch the treatment up to around 40 days if he was lucky.

and then there was the probability of you losing your mind quicker than he could treat you. so, he took another precaution.

when jing yuan returned back home, back to you, he had found you sitting on the wooden veranda surrounding the house. the breeze was something you always enjoyed. your head was angled up towards the sky, but you saw nothing behind the blindfold covering your eyes.

sensory deprivation. in cases of mara, cutting off senses of the body can slow the spread of it. surely with this and the dragon lady's elixir...

"y/n," he calls and you swivel your head towards his voice with a smile. one that was so innocent and warm he wished he could see your eyes.

"welcome back," you greet him as he pads softly over to you. running the pads of his finger across the skin just below your blindfold, his chest tightens. its not fair.

"i'm home." jing yuan is glad you cannot see his frown.

the time it took for the alchemy commission to finally find out jing yuan had been seeking bailu's guidance for a marastruck xianzhou native was more than his pessimism expected, but less than his desired yearned. he was cornered at the seat of divine foresight, surrounded by alchemy commission enforcers and yanqing who had been privy to the secret considering he lived with the general and you.

the general sat at his desk, his fingers weaved together and propped up by his elbows. his forehead lowered and resting on the backs of his hands with his scrunched-up expression hidden under his white mane of hair that had been tied up messier than usual- if one could believe it with the nest of hair he normally had.

hearing the underlings of bailu chew his ears off, he could only catch a glance of yanqing at his side. arms locked at his sides with his fists clenched- jing yuan could only imagine the face he was making.

"y/n must be apprehended and relocated to the shackling prison, general. you're aware of this."

"all too well," he whispers to himself, but with the heavy quiet everyone can hear him. "yanqing," he calls without lifting his head.

"general?" the general had never heard the boy so soft spoken before. all his bravado seems to have shrunk.

"i will be contacting the ten lords commission," he swallows. "please make preperation for it."

"yes, general." the painful swallow in the young boy's voice was enough to tell jing yuan that he understood.

'go spend time with y/n before they're gone.' that was what jing yuan really said.

soon, jing yuan's office was clear of all guests and he finally lifted his head and leaned himself back in his chair. letting out a breath, he knew it was coming. you had been coughing up more leaves than he had expected and despite everything he tried, the affliction was ruthless.

it wasn't fair.

the next day, jing yuan had decided to do one finally task. for himself and for you. instead of waiting for the ten lords commission to come knocking at his doorstep, he was going to take one last final measure. even if it changes nothing and you're still taken away from him- perhaps it could extend your sanity just a little while longer. that alone would give jing yuan the smallest peace of mind.

your body had been getting weaker, and patches of yellow gingko shaped markings had spotted all over your body. jing yuan had to practically carry you all the way to the divination commission to meet with fu xuan.

"general," fu xuan's soft voice speaks as he undoes your blindfold but softly instructs that you keep your eyes closed for him. "are you sure you want to do this?"

"i've made my decision."

replacing your blindfold, the general places his palm across the span of your eyes. your hand reaches up to gently rest on his wrist and he can see the cursed yellow blotting you under your sleeves meant to keep it hidden. he grimaces.

"you're taking my memories... aren't you?" your voice had gone scratchy and distorted a few days ago, so you had refrained from speaking. another pointless suppression tactic.

"yes, my dear," he brings you down to your knees beneath the matrix that was ever turning. he kneels with you, keeping his hand over your eyes. "i am."

"yanqing?"

"he knows. i... i asked him not to come." he didn't want you to look that boy in the face and not know who he was. "after this, you'll be taken to the shackling prison." jing yuan closes his eyes and lets out a heavy breath. "i'm so sorry."

"i know." your gentle grasp on his wrist tightened and he wishes you'd rip off his gauntlet and embed your nails into his skin just so he'd have something left of you after the day's end. "it'll all be okay."

"no," he refutes, "it wont."

"general," fu xuan wistfully calls. "the ten lords commission will be coming shortly. if you're sure about this, then we must act quickly." the general nods, lifting off his knee to lean and push his forehead against yours one last time. his bangs still tickle your face, and his skin is warm. the way he smells of tea and the elixir you had been taking envelops you and you feel oddly at peace.

the next and last time jing yuan see's your eyes, they're stripped of everything he ever memorized about them. and you didn't recognize him.

the buzz about the general losing you was all hush, like a ripple that kept coming into contact with him. you were gone, taken away from him and all he wanted to do was find a way to get past it. get over it. accept it. but all the outside noise just kept reminding him about how much it hurt.

the buzz turned into murmurs, turned into static and as the days past public life returned to normalcy on the luofu. now, as welt, march and the trailblazer all walk around the divination commission they pass by a small jade plaque that had been placed there several years ago. it looked well-kept and there was a name inscribed on it.

"so, was this y/n person important or something?" march asks, unaware of the intensity that question could hold for some. fu xuan looks at the plaque that used to sit comfortably at the seat of divine foresight before it was moved.

"they were. a very important person who meant a lot to all of us on the luofu."

"did they...?" march's voice was sad, and welt tries to keep her from asking anything more. the plaque was obviously a memorial.

"they were stricken with mara a long time ago." fu xuan takes a deep breath and turns to the curious girl. "i'll be happy to answer any questions you have about them, but you must not bring the subject up to the general under any circumstances."

"the general? but why not?"

fu xuan's face falls and his lips curl over her teeth in a small frown that was biting back too many things she need not disclose to outsides ears.

"it would be pointless." was all she replies.

fu xuan looks longingly at the matrix and can picture the face of the general who had completely recovered from the loss of his partner. the general who will gaze out over his desk at the large star chess board in his office. the general who still entertains his young retainer in both combat training and chess games. the general who still had a bad habit of dozing off and slipping away from his seat and paperwork.

the general who doesn't remember he was ever in love to begin with.

sometimes, the general of the xianziou luofu finds himself starting out into empty space. the words 'it isn't fair' repeating in his subconscious bring a pain to him. he doesn't know what they mean. what wasn't fair? all he can do to shake the feeling and words is resume meditating.

jing yuan didn't know why he meditated. but he did know that he didn't want to remember why it hurts.

[padfootastic]

every time i read a fic where lily evans is upheld as a paragon of justice and the underdogs and the vulnerable, i die a little inside

bc,,,,are we talking ab the same gal who kept defending snape for atleast five years of hogwarts and however many before that? who overlooked his bigoted actions, even when others called it/her out on it?

ugh

(now james, on the other hand? we have such clear evidence that he fits this archetype but ofc that’s overlooked isn’t it. gonna shut up here but will take the rant into the tags)

[the-broken-pen]

Hey can you do one about a villain with teleporting powers

The hero woke up gasping, scrambling upright in bed as the back of their neck tingled in warning. Their eyes darted around the room, blurry, before settling on the far wall.

The villain watched them, idle and unimpressed.

The hero’s lungs, traitorously, forgot how to breathe. They wheezed slightly, one hand clenching onto the blanket, the other sliding underneath the pillow for their knife, where–

The villain hummed, and the hero’s attention snapped back to them at the same time they managed to draw in a painful, terror-addled breath. The villain’s gaze was unnerving as they flipped a knife over their knuckles.

The hero’s knife.

“You,” the hero managed, but they couldn’t think of anything to say, and they were so tired and their pulse was jackrabbiting in their ears.

The villain seemed to know this.

“I warned you,” they said. They didn’t even sound mean about it. Just a gentle reminder–hey, don’t forget to check the mail, hey, it’s your mom’s birthday, hey, can you feed the dog?

‘If you keep interfering, I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth and make you stop. There is nowhere I will not find you. Do you hear me? You cannot run from me, so don’t make me chase you.’

The hero swallowed.

“I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

The villain nodded like they had expected this. “You’ve learned from your mistakes, though, yeah?”

The hero knew the right answer. They knew that the proper response would be to slide off the bed onto their knees, to swear in every language they knew that they wouldn’t do it again. That the villain would be the only one allowed to splash blood onto the streets of their city, and the hero would choke on the pain of doing nothing and stay silent in it.

“You knew I wasn’t going to listen to you,” the hero said, and it was accusatory. The villain shifted slightly. “You had to have known I wouldn’t stop just because you threatened me.”

The villain shrugged one shoulder. 

“Of course I did. If you were the type of person who would have stopped, I would have killed you instead of giving you a warning.”

The hero’s grip tightened on the blanket. “That doesn’t make sense. If I was going to stop then why kill me–”

“I don’t believe in weakness,” the villain interrupted. Their gaze was searching and heavy on the hero’s face, knife still spinning over their knuckles. “Which is why you’re alive, because you have never been weak.”

The hero’s jaw tensed.

“You wanted this.”

The hint of a smile pulled at the villain’s mouth.

“Of course I did. You think I didn’t know you would try and run? You think I didn’t know exactly how you would react the moment I threatened anyone in that cursed city?”

“So you weren’t actually going to kill anyone?”

“Oh, no,” the villain corrected. “Of course I was going to. They don’t matter to me.”

The hero’s stomach turned. 

“Those are people–”

“They’re a drop in an ocean of humanity. You know better than to think I would care about something so trivial,” the villain said.

“They’re not trivial–”

The villain sighed, harsh in the darkness of the room.

“I bore of this. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

The hero jolted back.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The villain sighed again, as if they were dealing with an unruly child and getting a headache for their efforts. It sent the hero bristling like an angry cat.

“There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t find you. You know that, right? There is no end of the line for this. You can drive until you run out of gasoline, until your feet bleed, and you drain your accounts of money. And I will follow, and I will leave every person who helped you nothing more than a stain on the ground, until you decide the trail of bodies isn’t worth avoiding me. Is that really something you want?”

The hero set their jaw, rising to their feet. 

“You won’t find me,” they swore. And the villain–

The villain laughed.

“I know your face. Of course I can find you.”

The hero was missing something, and the lack of knowledge felt like a sword over their head. 

“I don’t–”

“There’s no way you would have known,” the villain said gently, like they knew how much it bothered the hero that they were missing something that was apparently vital. 

They probably did know.

The hero glared.

The villain looked on the verge of another laugh.

“Once I’ve seen a face, I can find a person anywhere in the world. No matter how far. That’s all I need. You could go to the other side of the planet, and I could teleport to you without a second thought.”

The hero gaped.

“Any face?”

The villain paused. “Yes.”

The hero’s throat went abruptly dry.

Any face–

“You could do so much good,” the hero said, and their voice broke slightly. “Do you know how many people you could save? Natural disasters and missing persons cases and–”

“You misunderstand me.”

“You could–”

“I don’t want to do good.”

The hero stopped.

“You don’t want to do good,” they said flatly.

“I am not a good person,” the villain said. “I don’t want to do good. I want power, and I want to do as I please, and I want you.”

The hero was going to be sick on the wooden flooring. They were barefoot, and weaponless, and that fear still ran up their spine.

“I am a person. You cannot have a person.”

“You are a glorious, powerful being,” the villain countered.

“That doesn’t make me less of a person.”

“No,” the villain agreed. “But it does make you something other than trivial. How could I do anything other than want to have that?”

The hero backed up a step.

“You can’t have me.”

The villain matched them, silent even as they stepped forward.

“You plan to run?”

They sounded amused.

The hero supposed that was better than anger.

“Stay over there,” the hero said shakily. The villain obliged, settling their hands into their pockets. Like this was a means to an end. They had flipped to the back of the book and read the ending, and were watching the hero catch up to the scenes they had already seen played out. The villain’s eyes burned into them.

And abruptly, skin going cold, the hero realized there truly wasn’t a way out of this for them.

The villain would never let them be. They could run, like the villain said, and the villain could kill every person who so much as looked their way. They could hide, and stumble through cities and down alleys and the villain would always be around the corner. 

They had little doubt that every other person in this shitty motel was already dead. 

The villain grinned like they could read every thought as it crossed the hero’s face.

“Where will you go,” the villain said. They stepped forward until they were close enough to touch. 

It wasn’t really the sort of question that wanted an answer.

“Everyone else in this building is dead, aren’t they?”

The villain cocked their head, as if to say, Come now, you know the answer to that.

The hero didn’t think they would ever be able to draw a full breath again.

“Where,” the villain said, soft like a secret. “Will you go, little hero?”

It felt like dying. It felt like reaching out to help someone a second too late. A second too slow to catch the building as it fell. The wrong side of a fire before it blew up.

“With you,” they whispered, and the villain smiled wider.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” the hero snapped, and thrust their hand out. The villain took it without hesitation.

They tugged the hero into them, leaning to slot their mouth next to the hero’s ear. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck stood up.

“You could do so much bad,” the villain whispered, and the hero ground their teeth hard enough to hurt.

Anger flared bright enough to drain every ounce of fear from their body. Because this was the worst case scenario, wasn’t it? What could be lost.

“Every step you make, every blow you deal and fire you start, I’ll be there. And I'll stop you. Again, and again, and again. You want me?” The hero bared their teeth. “Then have me.”

The villain tugged them closer, and laughed.

“I look forward to it,” the villain replied, and then darkness swallowed the both of them whole.

A week later, a team of agents entered the motel to find it coated in blood and the smell of death.

A month later, everyone knew there was a fight of immovable power and unstoppable force shattering its way across the world. 

A year later, the victor panted through a bloody grin, bruised and crackling with vicious unleashed power, and laughed. Because truly, the ending had been on the horizon since the moment the two of them had first met.

[nyoomerr]

Just months before the Immortal Alliance Conference, Luo Binghe discovers the cure to Without-a-Cure. With his own heritage still sealed and mostly unknown to him, there seems to be only one solution: Shen Qingqiu must receive the cure from the last known Heavenly Demon, Tianlang-Jun, even if it means that Luo Binghe has to grit his teeth and set his precious Shizun up with another man. Shen Qingqiu does not want to receive the cure from Tianlang-Jun. He doesn't particularly want to receive anything from Tianlang-Jun. Shen Qingqiu somehow ends up fake-dating Tianlang-Jun anyway, if only to swindle the System into delaying the Endless Abyss plot for as long as he can.

🌹 bingqiu 🌹 no-abyss AU, misunderstandings, light-hearted 🌹 lbh tries to get his shizun medicinally laid 🌹 65k, 5/5 chapters, complete!

the final bit of my Fandom Trumps Hate fic went up last night - i hope that it can provide a moment of distraction and buoyed spirits to those who need it.

as always, thank you to everyone who's been reading along, and an extra big thank you to the incredible @mock-speed for being the reason this fic exists :>

[bbina]

notes. smut practice for me basically so expect that this would be terrible. not proofread at all. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT cw. semi public(?) oral and hj (m. receiving)

wonbin found it cute and endearing that you found comfort in laying your head on his lap to rest a little bit after having a couple of drinks

as of the moment shotaro was driving everyone home after catching up with each other after a while. just your typical late night sessions with your friends

wonbin strokes your hair as you make yourself comfortable at the farthest seats in shotaro's suv.

at first, he initially thought of it as nothing. you did always sleep right after drinking with the guys so to him, this was just a typical aftermath of a night out

what he didn't expect was your hand to slowly creep up his pants, slowly palming him through the fabric. wonbin's breath hitches at the contact of your hand to his clothed crotch

you blindly try to find the waistband of his pants. you thanked whatever deity was watching over you when you realize that wonbin was in sweatpants

tugging on the waistband of his sweatpants, you dip your hand inside and free his cock out. as if on instinct, wonbin bucks his hips up the moment you wrapped your hands around the base of his cock.

he was lucky that shotaro's suv was heavily tinted. not much light can penetrate through the windows and illuminate whatever the fuck you two were doing at the back. his friends, shotaro most especially can't know that he's getting a handjob at the back of his suv. wonbin will never hear the end of it

still half asleep, you slowly pump his cock. it was practically second nature to you to skillfully collect his leaking precum just from the tip to spread it around his shaft.

wonbin, still unsure if you were really asleep or not, pats your head lightly. trying to make sure if you were even aware of your own actions

"y/n.. stop that" wonbin leans down, trying to stifle in his moan when you jerk his cock faster

instead of answering, you let out a hum, pretending to stir awake

"are we there yet, binnie?" you ask in a daze, loud enough so the others who were still awake could hear you

wonbin lets out a loud cough when shotaro suddenly looks at the rear view mirror to answer your question.

"not yet, y/n! we're dropping off seunghan first- woah, wonbin, you okay?" shotaro cuts himself off when his friend at the back was having a coughing fit

you halt your actions at the exact moment wonbin was questioned. again, wonbin bucks his hips up at the sudden stop. he feels a little annoyed that you'd actually play dirty with him, leaving him to fend for himself in this awkward situation

"y-yeah man, i'm g-good" wonbin stammers, his voice quivering when you resume jerking him off mid sentence

shotaro nods and diverts his eyes to the main road again. when wonbin notices that the attention wasn't on him, he suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair, slowly yanking your head up from his lap

"behave." wonbin quietly says through gritted teeth. now you got him all worked up. your response was simply tightening your grip on his dick. wonbin takes another sharp inhale when you let go and removed your hand from sweatpants

suddenly, you sit up from wonbin's lap. he stares at you with wide eyes, dumbfounded that you'd get up like you just didn't work him up back there

noticing that it was only shotaro and eunseok, who was on the passenger seat awake, you lie back down on wonbin's lap.

wonbin sighs when you lie back down. you're gonna finish what you started when you two get back home. what wonbin didn't expect was for you to tug on his sweatpants again.

you have once again freed his now hard cock out. wonbin was about to protest but he was met with you kissing the tip.

wonbin purses his lips shut as you do your magic on him. he honestly cannot believe that he's really getting head at the backseat of his best friend's car

he bites his lip to prevent any moan that could come out as you hollow your cheeks, slowly bobbing your head up and down on his cock, careful to not make any noise that could alert your awake friends.

wonbin squirms under you. he's not sure if he can take it much longer. his initial annoyance with you slowly turns to arousal at the mere fact that his friends can catch the two of you doing the dirty.

why was this so hot for him all of a sudden?

and as good things come to an end, you accidentally choke on your spit, causing you to gag on his cock.

wonbin closes his eyes shut as he waits for the reactions of his two friends. he's praying that nobody heard anything since there was still music playing on aux

you stay incredibly still, wonbin's cock still on your mouth as you wait for a moment til the coast was clear.

without warning, wonbin pushes your head back down, ushering you to finish what you started. you happily hum against him, sending vibrations through his body

you can feel wonbin slowly getting close with the way his cock was twitching inside your mouth. this gave you the green light to go faster and even wrapped your free hand around his shaft, simultaneously jerking and sucking him off

wonbin hisses, eyes rolling to the back of his head. just the mere sight alone of you taking all of him with just with your mouth is sending him to euphoria. he feels himself about to let loose til eunseok breaks the silence

"let's know our time and place, lovebirds. time and place"

eunseok speaks up, having enough of hearing wonbin's low grunts and groans.

"what?" shotaro asks, eyeing eunseok before looking at the rear view mirror again to look at wonbin

"your car is now the bang bus bro" eunseok erupts into laughter after catching you and wonbin in the act, "wonbin's getting head back there"

"what did you say?!" shotaro slams on the breaks, causing everyone to jolt forward.

"what the fuck shotaro hyung!" seunghan complains

"what happened?!" sungchan exclaims, in high alert

"ouch!" sohee rubs his temple

"are we home already?" anton asks quietly, rubbing his eyes

with all the commotion going on now that everyone is awake and shotaro and eunseok are fully aware of what you two just did, wonbin quite literally pulls you off of him.

"the fuck? who said i'm getting head back here when y/n's just fast asleep on my lap?" wonbin tries to defend himself but ultimately fails when eunseok points out his flushed cheeks

"your face speaks for itself, bin" eunseok cackles

"you're gonna have to turn this car inside out tomorrow morning" shotaro chimes in, only fueling eunseok's laughter.

the rest of the guys just give each other questionable looks but decides not to speak on it

you bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing. maybe it is fun to tease wonbin in front of the guys. the way wonbin was now too stunned and embarrassed beyond measure to even speak

thankfully though the rest of the guys drop it and continue on driving. you all were nearing the first apartment complex anyway. wonbin suddenly leans down and whispers something in your ear

"two can play this game"

[auspicioustidings]

As a reminder there is one long form 141 x FMC fic that exists on ao3 and not on Tumblr because when I wrote it I had not yet made this blog (I had in fact been out of fandom so long I didn't know we were doing fics on Tumblr and I had no idea x reader was the popular thing).

It's very cute if I do say so myself and I still reckon it may be my best fic.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is passion!

(197 words.)

Everyone expected Sirius Black to become an auror.

It seemed obvious from the moment he arrived at Hogwarts. He was scarily talented in the subjects needed for it, barely studying for his straight Os. Not only that, but his sense of justice was unparalleled. Growing up in the way Sirius had was more than enough to instil someone with the passion for it.

Remus saw it, though.

He noticed the curiosity that flickered across Sirius' face when he was in the hospital wing; his eyes fixing on a book in Madame Pomfrey's hand, or on a potion sitting on the bedside table. He saw the parchment Sirius kept, with spells to help Remus after particularly rough full moons. As much as Sirius tried to pretend he wasn't fascinated by it, Remus wasn't at all surprised the day Sirius pulled Madame Pomfrey aside and quietly asked about the steps to becoming a healer.

He was, however, completely and utterly stunned when Sirius mentioned his name.

"I'd quite like to be able to help Remus, once we leave school. Maybe even find a way to get lycanthropy treated properly in St. Mungos."

Oh.

Wow.

Fuck, Remus loved that boy.