#we did it folks!! 31 fics in 31 days!!

[bijouxcarys]

Allure (Brian May x fem!Reader)

Masterlist

This has been on my Ao3 since June, but I thought I’d put it on here properly. This is probably the filthiest Bri fic I’ve ever written… I’m proud of it🥲

NSFW, minors dni

Summary: You slip up at work. Luckily for you, Brian May can get anyone out of anything…

Tags: @whothefuckisanja @celestial-dragoness you don’t have to read this, but I thought I’d tag you just in case 🥹

It started off as any other day. Up at 7am, shower by 7:30am, breakfast by 8am, out the door by 8:30am.

Except, this wasn't an ordinary day. Not by a long shot.

I guess I should have been more prepared for the fact that my job as a journalist meant I'd have to speak to some pretty well-known folk here and there. Granted, I was only an apprentice journalist, but I should have known it wouldn't be so easy.

There I was, stood by my front door, at 8:31, debating whether or not I was right for this career. And I was tempted to turn, disrobe, and bury myself in the covers of my bed until the apocalypse came.

My mentor, Candice, had thirty years on me, and twenty years of experience in the field, so I trusted that she would be blunt and honest with me about what I should expect when interviewing somebody of high status. She just didn't warn me about how important this experience would be for me.

But then again, I'm not sure anybody could have prepared me for what was to come.

I managed to make it to the car park, however, of where Candice and I had set to meet, just shy of ten o'clock. I still wasn't 100% sure where abouts in London we were heading that day, as I was just told to bring an overnight bag due to the possibility of having to stay at a hotel, depending on how long we would be. Turns out, we were going to Germany by the Eurotunnel.

But, man, did I know who I'd be in the presence of that day. I'd thought about nothing else for weeks.

It was June 14th, 1998 – Brian May had just released his second solo album 'Another World' two weeks earlier, and it was my job to assist on the interview he was set to do with Isabelle Brinkman. She wasn't that much older than me, but definitely had more experience. I wasn't at that point in my career yet where I could conduct interviews myself. I just had to sit on the side and naively watch as somebody who could do the job better did it instead. To top it all off, I was merely there to take notes from a translator, as I did not understand a single word of German. That made it all the more terrifying for me. Perhaps they just wanted to see how I would adapt to a foreign setting.

As Candice and I stepped foot into the studio in which TMF conducted their interviews, a sense of anticipation permeated the air. Our rendezvous with Isabelle awaited us, serving as a prelude to the highly anticipated interview. While the interview itself was schedules for later that afternoon, the studio surroundings provided me with ample opportunity to acclimate myself to the dynamic atmosphere that awaited me. It was a chance to familiarise myself with the intricacies of the environment I was about to enter—a world where words held immense power and where every question had the potential to unravel hidden truths.

As the minutes ticked away, my mind oscillated between nervous excitement and a profound realisation. I would soon find myself in the presence of none other than Brian May himself—a legendary figure whose musical contributions had resonated with generations. The magnitude of this encounter began to sink in, and with it came a mix of awe and trepidation. Thoughts swirled in my mind as I pondered the upcoming exchange—how would I react in his presence? Would I have able to articulate myself with the clarity and precision they deserved? Hopefully I wouldn't have to actually speak to him... Just being in his presence was privilege in itself.

Yet, amidst these swirling thoughts, a flicker of determination emerged. I reminded myself that this was an extraordinary opportunity—an invitation to engage with a living legend, to witness him delve into the depths of his creative process, and to extract insights that would captivate audiences around the world. With each passing moment, I sought solace in the knowledge that, despite any apprehension, this experience was a testament to the trust placed in me by my more-established peers. I was being given a chance to contribute, even if it was from the side, to the legacy of Brian May—and artist who, I believed, had shaped the very fabric of music.

As the hours stretched before me, I endeavoured to channel my nervous energy into thorough preparation. I immersed myself in research, diving into Brian May's two albums, and reading through archived interviews he had done before, mostly so I could strike out any repetitious questions Isabelle may have had prepared for him. But I also was just intrigued by him, and I wanted to know what I was going to be in the presence of. Through my research, every lyric, every note, every word, became a mosaic of inspiration.

The late 80s proved to be quite a tumultuous period for him regarding his relationship with the media, and his relationships in general. An intricate dance between his public persona and the unyielding scrutiny of the media.

I wasn't totally naïve. I was acutely aware of the parasitic nature that permeated our realm—a cesspool of opportunistic souls who revelled in tearing down the very individuals they claimed to admire. Yet, I steadfastly refused to succumb to that dark allure. My fascination lay in unravelling the enigmatic tapestry of these extraordinary beings, basking in the brilliance of their craft, rather than dismantling their lives for the mere pleasure of it.

To me, celebrities were not objects to be consumed, but multifaceted individuals with their own joys, struggles, and insecurities. Their private lives, as tempestuous or serene as they might be, had no bearing on the rest of the world. Behind the glamour of their fame, they were simply human beings, not so dissimilar from you and me, navigating the labyrinthine paths of existence.

I approached my work with an unwavering respect, seeking to bridge the gap between the public and these luminaries, offering glimpses into their creative realms rather than prying open their vulnerabilities. I yearned to understand the essence of their artistry, to unearth the inspiration that fuelled their endeavours, and to convey their stories with the reverence they deserved. It was a mission guided by empathy, driven by an insatiable hunger to celebrate and preserve the legacies these individuals were shaping. Not destroy them.

While others revelled in salacious scandals and gossip-laden headlines, I found solace in the sacredness of their artistic endeavours. I revelled in the melodies that stirred souls, the words that painted vivid landscapes, and the performances that transported audiences to ethereal realms. It was this inherent love for the craft, this yearning to explore the inner workings of these extraordinary talents, that propelled me forward amidst the chaos.

So, the public image of Brian May that derived from the late 80s and the scandal involving his affair with his current partner, Anita Dobson—the scandal that whipped the media landscape into a frenzy wasn't of interest to me. I clung to my convictions, navigating the treacherous terrain with a blend of naivety and determination. I understood that the world I inhabited was stained by the shadows of exploitation, but I remained resolute in my pursuit of genuine connection—the kind that transcended gossip and scandal, diving deep into the heart of creativity, and fostering a genuine appreciation for the luminous souls who graced our stages and screens.

However, that changed slightly once I actually saw the man.

As I found myself standing in the formidable presence of Brian May, a wave of energy cascaded over me, leaving me utterly entranced. It was as if the very air crackled with a magnetic force that defied description. In that moment, any semblance of composure or rational thought disintegrated before my eyes. Within the first fifteen minutes of his arrival at TMF, Brian May effortlessly shattered my preconceived notions, transforming into an awe-inspiring figure who commanded attention and reverence.

The sight of him was nothing short of breathtaking—an embodiment of perfection that seemed plucked from the realms of mythology. His chiselled features bore the unmistakable mark of divinity, as if the gods themselves had sculpted his visage with meticulous care. The symphony of his presence reverberated through the room, overpowering every other sensory experience. It was impossible to avert my gaze as he greeted everyone on set; I witnessed the personification of physical beauty in its purest form.

I didn't approach the welcome committee. I stood as far away from them as I could, trying to act inconspicuous and making myself as invisible as possible as I observed.

A cascade of dark curls framed his face and sat, slightly draping, over his shoulders, their lustrous strands captivating the light and casting an ethereal glow around him. His eyes, a mesmerising kaleidoscope of celestial depth and hazel intensity, even from this distance, seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. They were windows into the realm of profound emotion, reflecting a captivating blend of passion, intellect, and sensitivity.

Every contour of his face, every sculpted angle, exuded an aura of strength and grace—a testament to the artistic precision with which he was formed. His strong jawline bespoke of resilience and determination, while his lips, seemingly touched by the same gods that created his being, were etched with a subtle hint of enigmatic allure. And when he smiled, it was as if the sun had emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating the room with an effervescent radiance.

I instinctively lowered my head, trying to blend into the background as he navigated his way through the crowd in the studio, a sea of eager faces vying for his attention. Perched on a small stood, clutching a notebook and pen tightly in my hands, I silently prayed that I would go unnoticed. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself in front of him. It was safer to keep my distance and retreat into the safe haven of my own fantasies.

"Didn't fancy joining the rest of them?"

His voice, soft and melodious, pierced through the clamour of the room, sending a shiver down my spine. My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach, leaving me momentarily breathless. Summoning every ounce of courage, I swallowed hard and took a deep, steadying breath, lifting my gaze to meet the man who had taken my breath away mere moments ago. From my seated position, his commanding presence loomed above me, radiating an aura of undeniable power. I had to tilt my head upwards, straining my neck to meet his piercing gaze.

"I'm Brian," he introduced himself, extending his hand towards me. My throat felt dry and raspy, a nervous rasp that I quickly cleared before attempting to speak. I timidly reached out, expecting a perfunctory handshake, but instead, my smaller hand was enveloped firmly within his, a testament to his unyielding determination.

"I know who you are, Mr. May," I managed to murmur, hoping he would perceive my passive greeting, one that he had received from everyone else, as a signal to proceed with the scheduled interview alongside Isabelle, who was comfortably seated on the cream-coloured sofa amidst the orangey décor of the set.

"Don't you have a name?" His low chuckle reverberated through the air, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the encounter. I could feel his gaze penetrating through me, raising an inferno of sensations within. It was both exhilarating an unnerving.

"What?" I stammered, my voice betraying my awe, caught off guard by his presence.

"What's your name, love?" he inquired, his words laced with a mixture of warmth and intrigue.

"Y/N," I replied, my voice barely audible, resembling a small squeak that escaped from my lips.

He didn't respond immediately, but a final squeeze of my hand conveyed more than words ever could. A smile graced his lips, a smile that could rival the radiance of the sun before he turned to continue his path towards Isabelle.

I quickly realised that resistance was futile. The power he held over me was undeniable, a force that stripped away my inhibitions and left me vulnerable, willingly surrendering to his captivating energy. The sheer magnetism and allure he emanated transcended mortal boundaries, weaving a spell that ensnared me completely. Every facet of his being—the physical, the intellectual, the artistic—melded seamlessly, forging an embodiment of perfection that surpassed the realm of ordinary mortals.

From that moment on, I understood that my perception of beauty had irrevocably changed. Before me stood a true titan, a modern-day manifestation of the gods themselves.

During the course of the interview, Brian effortlessly settled to the plushness of the sofa, exuding an air of both confidence and ease. His body language commanded attention, with one arm casually draped across the backrest, and his other leg bent upon the cushions, positioning himself towards Isabelle with captivating allure. However, my attempts to absorb the content of their conversation proved futile as my gaze became entranced by his mesmerising presence.

From my vantage point, I relished the opportunity to observe him from a distance, allowing my eyes to linger appreciatively on his impeccable attire. A navy-blue two-piece suit enveloped his frame with sartorial perfection, accentuating his refined taste and sense of style. Beneath the well-tailored blazer, a crisp white shirt peeked through, its top buttons undone, revealing a tantalising glimpse of his sun-kissed upper chest. The subtle contrast of his slightly tanned skin against the pure white fabric was a testament to his natural allure and radiance.

Adorning his neck were two carefully chosen necklaces, their delicate details harmonising flawlessly with his complexion. Each pendant seemed to dance in unison, subtly emphasising his features and drawing attention to his undeniable charm. The interplay between these intricate accessories and the warm tones of his skin created a symphony of visual aesthetics, highlighting his magnetic presence.

Amidst the flurry of the interview, my eyes were irresistibly drawn to his captivating appearance. Every intricate detail of his attire beckoned for closer inspection, each aspect a testament to his impeccable style and timeless elegance. The room faded into the background as my gaze became fixated on the contours of his form, the way his clothing accentuated his stature, and the natural grace with which he carried himself. It was a visual feast, an opportunity to savour the beauty that surrounded him, and I couldn't help but be captivated by his magnetic charm.

Fortuitously, a small earpiece nestled in my ear, providing a direct channel to the translation of Isabelle's introduction and any other German dialogue that followed. But more significantly, it granted me an intimate connection to the melodic cadence of Brian May's voice. The mere thought of his voice coursing through that earpiece ignited a surge of anticipation within me. Little did I know that the experience that awaited me would transcend all expectations.

As Isabelle initiated the conversation, a symphony of words flowed through the airwaves and gently caressed my eardrums. And then, there it was—Brian May's voice, like warm butter gliding smoothly across my senses. The velvety timbre carried a magnetic quality that effortlessly captivated the listener. Each word resonated with a seductive charm, a richness that wove a tapestry of emotions within me.

The power of his voice was unparalleled, evoking a multitude of sensations that transcended the realm of rationality. It wrapped around my consciousness, enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth and enchantment. Every syllable held a certain allure, drawing me deeper into his world, where time seemed to stand still.

The boundaries of reason crumbled, leaving only the ethereal essence of his voice, a sonic embrace that caressed the very core of my being. It was a voice that defied age, carrying the wisdom and maturity of a man who had traversed five decades of life. Each information exuded a richness and depth, a testament to a life well-lived and experiences etched into the fibres of his being.

As his words reached my ears, I found myself spellbound, unable to resist the intoxicating allure that emanated from his every utterance. It was as though his voice held the power to awaken desires and emotions that lay dormant until that very moment. The experience was nothing short of transformative.

In that fleeting moment, I could have sworn that Brian's hazel eyes, though perhaps coincidental, locked onto mine from a distance. It could have been a passing thought, a random gaze that happened to intersect with mine, but the impact was undeniable. The weight of his attention, even if momentary, unleashed a surge of emotions within me.

Under the piercing intensity of his hazel gaze, a tempest of sensations coursed through my body, sparking an unfamiliar and overwhelming response. A wave of desire washed over me, as if an invisible force had taken hold of my very core. Unbeknownst to him, his mere presence had ignited a primal longing that rendered me powerless, leaving me trembling in its wake.

In that profound instant, my purpose became blurred, and the world around me faded into insignificance. The boundaries of my job seemed trivial, overshadowed by an insatiable craving to bask in Brian May's dominance and surrender myself to his every whim. The realisation struck me with an intensity that was as terrifying as it was intoxicating.

The clenching of my thighs, an involuntary response to the overwhelming desire that surged within me, was a physical manifestation of the inner turmoil I grappled with. It was a battle between reason and raw passion, where reason ultimately stood no chance against the allure of Brian's commanding presence.

Throughout the unfolding interview, a subtle dance of power and desire materialised between Brian and I. With each passing moment, I became increasingly aware that that gaze that I had noticed before was in fact for me.

It was a captivating display of dominance, a silent declaration that sent a shiver down my spine.

As the questions flowed, Brian's eyes kept meeting mine with a compelling force, even with myself being well-hidden behind the camera set-up. His presence enveloped me, it was a game of seduction, a battle for control, as his penetrating eyes sought to unravel the depths of my desires.

With each subtle shift of his body, a wave of power emanated from him, asserting his dominance over the room. His confident posture and deliberate movements spoke volumes, conveying an unspoken command that ignited a fire within me. I found myself willingly succumbing to his overwhelming presence, yearning to explore the unspoken desires that lingered in the air.

Through the veil of professionalism, his eyes whispered secrets that stirred a primal response within me. In their depths, I glimpsed a hunger, a hunger that mirrored my own, as if he were daring me to embrace the intoxicating allure of submission. It was a dance of power and surrender, an unspoken invitation to explore the depths of passion under his watchful gaze.

He spoke with Isabelle, showing her the album cover, his fingers grazing over parts that he detailed. But the electricity that crackled between us grew more potent with each passing second. His dominant presence commanded my attention, drawing me further into a world where his desires and mine entwined. In the recesses of his eyes, I discovered a realm where control was relinquished, and the boundaries of pleasure were pushed to their limits.

But as the interview continued, I was left with a lingering uncertainty. Was it merely a game of dominance, a tantalising tease to stoke the flames of desire? Or did his eyes convey a deeper truth, an unspoken invitation to submit to his commanding presence? Or, perhaps, I had been utterly spellbound by that man's presence that every little thing he did translated as sexual and intoxicating seduction. The questions lingered, suspended in the air, as the energy between us remained tantalisingly unresolved.

As the interview drew to a close, a lingering sense of anticipation remained. He had created uncharted territory, without him even knowing—unless he did know... I'm still not sure.

Suddenly, the world around me seemed to fade into the background as Brian's presence intensified. Time slowed to a crawl, and every detail of his captivating demeanour etched itself into my memory. Isabelle's closing remarks echoes in the room, yet my attention remained fixated on the enigmatic figure before me.

A mischievous smirk played upon Brian's lips, radiating confidence and a hint of playful intrigue. His eyes, like pools of intensity, surveyed the room with a subtle air of dominance. A glass of water rested in his hands, his long, slender fingers tracing a mesmerising path along the rim, leaving a trail of anticipation in their wake.

It was then that a startling realisation washed over me. Throughout the entire interview, my hand had unconsciously clung tightly to the pencil, rendering it immobile. As I reluctantly tore my gaze away from Brian's captivating presence, I glanced down at my neglected notebook, only to discover its pristine pages untouched by a single word.

A mix of awe and bewilderment coursed through my veins. How had I become so utterly transfixed by his presence that I had neglected my professional duties? It was as if time had suspended itself, and my sole purpose had shifted from capturing his words to capturing the essence of his being.

The blank pages of my notebook served as a stark reminder of the power he had over me, and in that moment, I understood the depth of his allure and the undeniable impact he had on those in his orbit. As the weight of the realisation settled upon me, a mixture of embarrassment and fascination flooded my senses.

An overwhelming wave of panic washed over me as I sat there, paralysed by the realisation of my negligence. The enchantment that had held me captive for the past twenty minutes shattered, leaving me vulnerable to the harsh reality that awaited. Candice, my ever-watchful colleague, would undoubtedly discover my failure, and her disapproval would be swift and scathing.

My heart pounded against my ribcage like a drum, its frantic beats mirroring the chaotic thoughts racing through my mind. How could I have allowed this to happen? The dream of advancing my career, of one day becoming a renowned journalist, now seemed like an elusive mirage, fading away before my very eyes.

Self-recrimination echoes through my thoughts like a relentless chorus. The weight of my own stupidity bore down upon me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I berated myself for succumbing to the allure of Brian's presence, for allowing it to eclipse my responsibilities. The consequences of my foolishness loomed over me, casting a shadow of doubt and regret.

The sound of Candice's voice calling my name snapped me back to the present. Her stern tone pierced through the haze of my thoughts, jolting me to action. It was time to face the consequences, to confront my failure head-on, and accept the repercussions of my actions.

I watched as Candice approached with an expectant expression. Dread coiled in the pit of my stomach, knowing all too well what awaited me. With every step she took, my heart sank deeper into the depths of remorse.

Candice's sharp eyes scanned the notebook in front of me, her gaze narrowing in disbelief. The realisation hit her like a tidal wave as she noticed the pages, void of any lead reflections from the interview. A mix of disappointment and fury twisted her features, and I braced myself for the inevitable scolding.

The room seemed to hush, the air thick with uncomfortable tension, as Candice's voice boomed through an angry whisper. "What on Earth is this, Y/N?" A collective murmur rippled through the small bunches of people that surrounded us as curious eyes turned toward our direction.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, my gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet the accusing eyes of my colleagues. Shame wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, tightening with every word that spilled from Candice's lips. Her reprimand echoed in the silence, a blistering reminder of my failure, and I swallowed hard, my throat constricted by a mixture of guilt and embarrassment.

"I-I'm sorry, Candice. I got caught up in the moment, and I just... completely forgot to write anything down, I promise it won't happen agai—"

"You were given a responsibility, and you let it slip away because you were too mesmerised by the answers? This is not acceptable, do you understand how poorly this reflects on our team?" Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was laced with irritation.

"I know, I'm truly sorry. It was a lapse of judgement."

Candice's scolding continued, her words filled with a mixture of reprimand and concern for my professional growth. The weight of her disappointment pressed upon me, intensifying my remorse.

A peculiar sensation tingled at the back of my neck whilst my supervisor continued to reprimand me in the corner of this studio, drawing my gaze elsewhere and hoping she would stop soon so I could just go home and bury myself in the covers of my bed. I met the intense gaze of Brian May, who hadn't left yet, much to my demise, and watched the scene unfold from a distance. His eyes held a mix of curiosity and intrigue, remaining an observer, captivated by the drama playing out before him.

It was a moment of profound humiliation, and yet, there was something strangely captivating about the way Brian watched. His silent presence added an extra layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere. It was as if he recognised the vulnerability within me, the weight of my mistake, and found a fascination in the spectacle.

As Candice walked away, her words lingered in the air, mingling with a mix of determination and self-reflection. I felt the stinging of tears in my eyes from the sheer embarrassment of my lack of competence. I rested my elbows on my knees, bringing the notebook up to my face and burying my head in it in shame.

I stayed there for as long as I could, not wanting to meet the judgemental gazes from those around me, and it had cleared out somewhat by the time I decided to actually stand up and gather my things. The bottle of water I had with me had been completely dried out from the constant sips I had to take whilst watching Brian's interview. My mouth was dry from Candice's scolding, and I whined under my breath just from the thought of anything else going wrong today.

It can't have been that far after four in the afternoon when I was collecting myself in the hallway of the studio, preparing to get a taxi back to the Euro so I could fuck off home and never emerge from my bed ever again. But before I could make my hasty exit, a soft voice called out, interrupting my thoughts.

"Excuse me?" the voice said, drawing my attention. I looked up, my eyes still slightly watery from the threats of tears, only to lock gazes with the very person who had inadvertently disrupted my responsibilities. It was none other than Brian himself, standing a few paces away, holding out the empty notebook towards me. "Sorry to disturb you, but, uh, you left this in the studio."

Confusion mingled with surprise as I furrowed my eyebrows, my emotions still raw from the earlier events. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously reached out, accepting the notebook from him. My voice quivered slightly as I murmured my thanks, unable to meet his gaze for more than a fleeting moment.

Concern etched across his face, Brian leaned against the wall, hands tucked casually in his pockets. The audacity of his next words caught me off guard, a mixture of bluntness and subtle insult towards Candice.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. "I couldn't help but notice you being lectured by an old sow earlier."

My surprise turned into astonishment, my eyes widening at his audacious remark. The unexpected camaraderie in his words momentarily eased the weight on my shoulders, and I met his gaze, finding solace in his directness.

"I... I'll be fine," I replied, my voice steadier now. "Just one of those days, you know?"

Brian's expression softened, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The air between us crackled with a silent understanding, as if he knew the struggled that came with navigating the industry.

"May I ask what happened?" Brian inquired, his gaze fixed on me. The mere sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, leaving me at a loss for words. How was I supposed to hold a conversation with him when his presence alone had already rendered me speechless? I felt the weight of inadequacy pressing on me, threatening to unravel any semblance of coherence I had left.

It's nothing," I managed to squeak out, my eyes involuntarily darting downwards to take in the details of his attire illuminated by the strip lights in the hallway. "Just some... technical issues," I lied, my voice betraying the fabricated story. I couldn't let him know that I had been so foolish as to let his allure overpower my ability to do my job.

"Oh," he responded, briefly averting his gaze. "So, why were you being told off? That's what it seemed like, anyway." He shrugged, shifting his weight on his feet.

A blush crept across my face, and I found myself unable to meet his eyes, instead fixating on the flawlessly polished surface of his shoes. "I... I never wrote down the notes I needed to..." I mumbled, embarrassment washing over me once more. "By this time tomorrow, I'll probably be back in assistant mode, fetching coffee for everyone..." My voice trailed off, the reality of my prediction causing it to waver with distress. I felt the sting of tears welling up again, and I averted my gaze, desperately seeking solace in a different direction.

The internal self-deprecating thoughts echoes within me. How unprofessional, crying in front of Brian May. I couldn't help but feel the weight of my own perceived inadequacy crushing my spirit.

"Hey... I'm sure that won't happen," he smoothly assured me, his voice like velvet. In that moment, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, sending a thrilling shockwave through my entire being. Turning my head, I found myself face to face with Brian, his hand extending toward me, offering a pristine handkerchief. His warm, non-judgemental eyes conveyed a silent reassurance as he lightly waved the handkerchief, inviting me to accept it. With a shaky hand, I reached out and took it from him, mustering a feeble thank you. Although my mind should have been consumed with thoughts of potential demotion, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of using Brian May's handkerchief, to dry the tears over something he had inadvertently caused.

A rueful laugh escaped my lips. "No, it probably will happen," I nodded, my gaze fixed straight ahead. "It's a joke."

Brian let out a slight huff, as if in agreement, clicking his tongue and crossing his arms. He allowed a pause to hang in the air before speaking again. "Where are you staying? You can't be that old, I don't want you to be wandering about on your own."

"I am twenty-two, thank you very much," I chuckled. "I was supposed to be at the hotel down the street, but... after everything that's happened today, I think it's best if I just get on the Euro and head home," I replied with a somewhat wistful smile. "I don't really want to be around everyone right now. I can already imagine the judgemental looks they'll be throwing my way all night." I let out a sigh of resignation.

"Is it really that bad?" Brian raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"You have no idea..." I trailed off, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and vulnerability.

"I don't know about that," he smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I toured the world with three other drama queens and had to spend nights in hotels with them," he said, giving me a pointed look.

I met his gaze with a shy yet genuine expression, a smile slowly spreading across my face. "You've got me there."

"What was it that you were supposed to take notes of, if you don't mind me asking?" he inquired curiously.

"My job was to note down your answers in shorthand," I replied, a hint of disappointment still lingering in my expression as I recalled the embarrassment of my failure. "For the British papers," I shrugged.

He hummed, his gaze shifting as he pondered for a moment. I couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope as his eyes seemed to briefly sweep over me, but I dismissed it as mere wishful thinking.

"Well..." he began, his voice dropping slightly lower, his eyes still locked with mine, a mischievous glimmer dancing in their depths. "I have an idea that might just solve your predicament."

My heart skipped a beat as I waited, captivated by his words and the magnetic pull of his presence. There was an unmistakable air of authority and confidence about him, and allure that made it impossible to resist.

"Why don't you come back to my hotel with me?" he suggested, his voice laced with an irresistible charm. "We can sit down, go through the interview together, and you can take your notes directly from me. That way, you won't have to worry about losing your job over a simple technical glitch."

His proposition hung in the air, tantalising and daring. The thought of being alone with him, in the intimate setting of his hotel room, sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine, despite the lingering knowledge of the committed relationship that was awaiting him back in London. It was an offer I couldn't refuse, despite the lingering doubts and fears that swirled in my mind.

His gaze held mine, an unspoken challenge conveyed through the subtle arch of his eyebrow. He exuded a domineering aura, a man who was accustomed to taking charge and getting what he desired, when he desired. And in that moment, I couldn't deny the thrilling temptation of surrendering to his authority, even if it meant stepping into the unprofessional, and the unknown.

I took a deep breath, my voice barely a whisper as I mustered the courage to respond. "Alright," I acquiesced, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'll come with you."

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, a silent victory that revealed his satisfaction at having ensnared me in his web. With a gesture of his hand, he beckoned me to follow, his subtle dominance asserting itself even in this small act.

The ride to his hotel was a tense affair, filled with a mix of anticipation and self-doubt. I settled into the plush leather seat of the car, my palms slightly clammy as I clasped my notebook tightly, its empty pages a stark reminder of my shortcomings.

Brian sat beside me, radiating an air of casual elegance as he reclined comfortably, his gaze occasionally flickering towards me. The silence hung heavily in the air, pregnant with unspoken desires and uncharted territories. It was as if the car itself had transformed into a cocoon, isolating us from the outside world and intensifying the connection between us.

He broke the silence, his voice low and velvety, filled with a hint of weariness. "You know, these press dates can become quite tiresome after a while," he confessed, his tone tinged with a touch of frustration. "Having to repeat the same anecdotes, answer the same questions—it can feel like a never-ending cycle."

I listened intently, my heart aching with a mixture of sympathy and guilt. His dedication to his craft was evident, yet here he was, taking the time to accommodate my incompetence, going above and beyond to salvage my position.

The weight of his sacrifice settled on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility for the burden he had shouldered on my behalf. A subtle pang of remorse washed over me, mingling with the lingering excitement that coursed through my veins.

"You didn't have to do this," I murmured softly, my voice tinged with gratitude and regret. "I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused."

He turned his gaze towards me, his eyes filled with understanding and something deeper, something that hinted at a hidden power dynamic between us. "Sometimes, we all need a little help," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of command. "And besides, it gives me an opportunity to spend some time with someone who appreciates the nuances of my work."

His words hung in the air, charged with unspoken implications. The car journey continued, each passing moment bringing us closer to his hotel, to an encounter that held the potential to blur the boundaries between professional obligations and personal desires.

As the city lights streaked past us in a mesmerising blur, a wave of apprehension washed over me. The weight of potential consequences bore down heavily, my mind conjuring images of disapproving glares and lectures from Candice. The thought of her disapproval and the potential damage to my professional reputation loomed like a dark cloud over this impulsive decision. But also... there was something in the back of mind that found that danger enticing.

I glanced at Brian, his profile illuminated by the passing lights, a captivating blend of charisma and enigma. The subtle shift of his features hinted at the complexities that lay beneath the surface. Yes, he was a renowned musician, an idol to many, but he was also a man with his own commitments and responsibilities.

My thoughts veered towards Candice's hypothetical reprimands, reminding me of the line I was treading. I wrestled with the inner turmoil, questioning my judgement, and yet, the allure of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the chance to glean insights from the man himself, called to me like a siren's song. The boundaries of reason blurred, and the forbidden fruit of possibility dangled temptingly before me.

I couldn't deny the excitement that coursed through my veins, even if we were simply going to talk about the interview. But something told me that he wouldn't have invited me to his hotel room if he only wanted to repeat what he'd told Isabelle. But reality, too, had its grip on my conscience. Brian's relationship status, thought not conventional in the traditional sense, added another layer of complexity.

The conflict within me intensified, the battle between reason and desire waged in my mind. And as the car whisked us closer to the hotel, I knew that a pivotal moment awaited me on the other side of those doors. A moment that would test the limits of my self-control and challenge the very fabric of my professional identity.

As the car pulled up in front of the grand hotel entrance, I couldn't help but be awestruck by its opulence. Towering pillars adorned with intricate carvings framed the entrance, while a cascading waterfall nearby added a touch of serenity to the bustling city surroundings. The lobby, with its marble floors and sparkling chandeliers, exuded an air of sophistication and exclusivity.

Brian stepped to get out of the car, his presence commanding attention as he glanced back at me, his eyes inviting me to join him on this adventure. I took a deep breath, my heart fluttering in anticipation, and followed suit.

The moment our eyes met, a magnetic connection sparked between us. A subtle exchange of glances spoke volumes, conveying unspoken desires and hidden depths. It was in those stolen moments that the tension between us grew, the unspoken understanding that something powerful was unfolding.

As we stepped into the lavish lobby, the plush furnishings and hushed atmosphere enveloped us. Brian's hand brushed lightly against my lower back, a simple gesture that sent shivers down my spine. The touch was fleeting yet deliberate, a tantalising hint of the electricity crackling in the air.

We made our way to the elevator, managing to be inconspicuous to the very few people who were actually in the lobby, the soft chime signalled its arrival. The enclosed space became our private sanctuary, the air thick with anticipation. The mirrored walls reflected our proximity, capturing the unspoken intensity that hung in the air.

In the confined space, Brian's scent enveloped me, a heady combination of musky cologne and a hint of adventure. Every moment felt deliberate, every breath carried a weight of anticipation. Our eyes locked in the reflection, mirroring a depth of connection that defied words.

As the elevator ascended, our proximity grew, the space between us closing with each passing floor. Brian's voice, laced with a husky undertone, broke the silence. "I must say, the view from my room is quite breathtaking," he remarked, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down my spine.

I leaned in slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can only imagine," I replied, the innuendo hanging in the air, adding a subtle layer of flirtation to our conversation.

A playful smile tugged at the corners of Brian's lips, his eyes holding that same mischievous glint as earlier. His hand casually brushed against mine as the elevator came to a halt, the touch electrifying and tantalisingly brief. The doors slid open, revealing a corridor bathed in soft, warm lighting.

We walked side by side, the click of our footsteps echoing in the hushed ambiance. The anticipation between us was palpable, a dance of desire and restraint. The subtle glances exchanged spoke volumes, carrying a shared secret that only we understood.

Arriving at his room, Brian fumbled for the key, his hand brushing against mine once again as he unlocked the door. The room's interior exuded luxury, with plush furnishings and a panoramic view of the city skyline. The atmosphere was charged with an undeniable energy, as if the room itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Brian motioned for me to take a seat on the plush sofa, while he made his way to a side table adorned with crystal glasses and a sparkling bottle of water. His movements were controlled, each action carrying a subtle authority that commanded attention.

He poured a glass of water, the liquid cascading effortlessly into the glass. With an almost calculated grace, he handed it to me, his fingers grazing mine ever so slightly. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I found myself captivated by his commanding presence.

Settling into a nearby armchair, Brian's gaze fixed upon me with an intensity that made my heart race. He picked up my notebook, his fingers tracing the empty pages as he glanced back at me, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and dominance.

"Let's go over the interview, shall we?" he suggested, his voice laced with authority. I nodded, my voice momentarily escaping me in the face of his dominant aura.

As we delved into the conversation, his proximity grew, our arms occasionally brushing against each other's as we gestured or reached for the notebook. Each touch was a subtle reminder of his control and my vulnerability.

His gaze never wavered, his eyes piercing into mine with a sense of ownership. He dissected each question and response with precision, his tone firm yet enticing. The atmosphere crackled with an undeniable tension.

Brian's hand occasionally found its way to the small of my back, a subtle gesture of possession that left me breathless and wanting more.

As we concluded our review of the interview, an unspoken understanding passed between us. Brian's gaze held a hint of satisfaction, as if pleased with my progress under his guidance. I couldn't deny the thrilling allure of his dominance, the way he effortlessly took charge and led me down a path of unexplored sensuality, purely in the way he spoke and answered the questions.

Once we'd finished, a sense of relief washed over me. I placed my pencil down on the coffee table, grateful for the notes I now had to present to Candice. But little did I know that the night was far from over, and the dynamics between Brian and I were about to take a new turn.

As I sat back on the sofa, taking a sip of water from the glass Brian had graciously given me, he caught me off guard with an unexpected question.

"Why don't you ask me about my relationship?" His words hung in the air, laden with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

I nearly choked on my water, my eyes widening in surprise. His question was so sudden and unexpected that I struggled to find the right response. "W... What?" I stammered, my voice betraying my confusion as I carefully set the glass back on the coffee table.

"Everyone else does. Why don't you?" Brian rose from his seat, striding over to the armchair across the room. He reached up, gracefully removing his navy-blue blazer and draping it over the back of the chair. His movements were confident and self-assured, his hands casually returning to his pockets.

I watched him in awe, captivated by his every gesture. The way he carried himself, the slight tilt of his head, the way he rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms—each detail seemed to heighten his allure. His hair, with its enchanting allure, seemed to beckon to me, and I couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull toward him, yet again.

Feeling a heat rise in my cheeks, I cleared my throat, crossing my legs in an attempt to steady myself. I hoped he wouldn't notice the effect he had on me, even though the atmosphere had been charged with flirtation throughout our time together thus far. Deep down, a small voice whispered that it was all in my head, that Brian was simply being accommodating.

"I, uh..." I began, my voice slightly shaky as I took another sip of water, hoping to steady my nerves. "Well, I don't see why I should ask about your relationship," I replied, attempting to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the perplexed undertone in my voice. "It's really nobody's business, right?" I added, my brows furrowing.

Brian's lips curled into a partly playful, partly impressed, smile, and he moved closer to me, now stood right in front of me, like he was when we first met eyes earlier that afternoon. His eyes locked steadily onto mine. The air once again crackled with anticipation and unspoken feelings.

"That's true," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But sometimes, it's intriguing to delve into the depths of someone's personal life, don't you think? To understand their desires, their secrets..."

His words hung in the air, charged with an undeniable seductive energy.

"So, I'm going to ask you, Y/N..." Brian's voice drew me in, his words laced with a magnetic allure. He moved away slightly, only to settle beside me on the sofa, his body angled toward mine. I couldn't help but feel a surge of prospect as I realised that he had remembered my name, speaking it for the first time since he'd met me.

"What about you?" his voice was a seductive whisper, gently coaxing me to reveal the depths of my own desires. My breath caught in my throat, the intensity of his presence almost overwhelming.

"What about me?" I managed to whisper, my voice betraying a mix of nervousness and curiosity.

Brian let out a low chuckle, a sound that sent a rush of heat coursing through me. As he shifted his position, resting his arm casually across the back of the sofa, he mirrored the way he had sat with Isabelle during the interview. But this time, his proximity to me was closer, his energy more focused. It was as if the space between us had become charged with an unspoken understanding.

His hand reached out, deliberately smoothing over the slight ruffle in my black skirt. The touch was gentle, but its intention was unmistakable. I couldn't help but feel the electricity that surged through me as his fingertips lingered on my knee. A wave of desire washed over me, causing my thighs to clench and a quiver to run through the depths of my being. I briefly closed my eyes, my senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating tension that enveloped us.

But my eyes snapped back open, meeting his gaze when he finally responded. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, and I hung onto his every word, eager to unravel the depths of this enigmatic man before me.

Brian's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he locked his gaze with mine. He had seen through my feeble attempt to divert the conversation and now he was toying with me, like a skilled predator playing with its prey.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice dripping with subtle amusement, "I can't help but wonder if those technical difficulties were just an excuse. Perhaps there's something else that prevented you from taking those notes." His words hung in the air, laden with implication.

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and fascination. How did he manage to see through my façade so effortlessly? It was as if he possessed an uncanny ability to unravel the truths hidden beneath the layers of my carefully constructed lies.

"You're quite perceptive," I admitted, my voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "There might have been... other distractions that prevented me from fulfilling my duties."

Brian's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His hand, still resting on my knee, exerted a subtle pressure, a silent reminder of the power dynamics at play. It was a gesture that sent a jolt coursing through me, making me acutely aware of his commanding presence.

"Well, Y/N," he murmured, his voice lowering again, "if you were indeed distracted, perhaps its time we address that distraction head-on."

I swallowed hard, my heart once again pounding in my chest. It was as if the world around us had faded into the background, leaving the two of us locked in this exhilarating dance of desire and power. I was drawn to him, unable to resist him, and he knew it.

"What do you suggest, Brian?" I exhaled, my voice a velvet whisper that teased the air. I teetered on the precipice of desire, my every fibre ready to succumb to his captivating dominance, yearning to explore the uncharted depths of passion that enticed us both.

His piercing gaze intensified, a searing ember of authority glowing in his eyes, beckoning me further into his world. "Y/N," he purred, his voice a sultry blend of command and invitation, "Perhaps it's time we plunge into the depths of these tantalising distractions. It would be such a waste to let them slip through our fingers, wouldn't it?"

He meticulously grazed his teeth against his plump lower lip, his predatory eyes descending upon my body with a swift hunger. "Are you seeing somebody?"

I took a deep breath, my eyes locked on his hand resting on my knee. It felt like an anchor, grounding me in the midst of the swirling emotions that Brian had effortlessly stirred within me. I shook my head slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "No..."

His grip on my knee tightened ever so slightly, a subtle display of dominance that that sent a jolt of excitement coursing through me. Tense, the weight of his question hanging in the silence. Brian's gaze continued to bore into mine, his eyes filled with an intensity that made it hard to look away.

"But I'm assuming you have," he prodded gently, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and desire. As he spoke, his hand shifted, his fingers tracing a path of electrifying warmth up my thigh. Every inch of my skin burned under his touch, igniting a fire deep within me that I struggled to contain.

My thoughts became hazy, a cocktail of longing and forbidden fantasies swirling in my mind. The allure of Brian's commanding presence was overwhelming, captivating me in ways I couldn't resist. Rationality wavered as I found myself yearning for his dominance, for him to physically take control and guide me into uncharted territory.

I mustered the strength to respond, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of apprehension and desire. "Yes," I finally confessed, my admission punctuated by a shuddering breath. The confession hung in the air, a tangible invitation for Brian to delve deeper into the depths of my past and desires.

"Of course, that was a silly question for me to ask you." Brian's laughter, a melodic symphony, echoed in the room, mingling with the charged atmosphere that enveloped us. That mischievous glint in his eyes danced with a hint of desire as he playfully taunted me.

"A pretty thing like you... No way a man hasn't approached you. No way you can't have experienced such things that come with it." His words, dripping with seductive confidence, sent shivers down my spine, awakening a dormant fire within me. As he continued, his hand embarked on a daring expedition, traversing the landscape of my thigh with deliberate intent. The tantalising proximity of his touch ignited a flame of exhilaration, intensifying his charm.

"Is this okay?"

Caught in the magnetic field of his presence, my breath hitched. His audacity, his audacious exploration of my boundaries, both thrilled and unnerved me. His question, whispered like a forbidden secret, hung in the air, enticing and provocative.

My gaze met his, locked in a fierce battle of desire and restraint. His head tilted ever so slightly, offering a glimpse into a world of untamed passion that lay just beyond my peripheral vision. It was a challenge, a temptation I couldn't ignore.

"Yes..." I gasped, a delicate confession of my yearning. The room seemed to pulse with the rhythm of our shared anticipation, each heartbeat echoing the unspoken desire that had been crackling above us since he asked me if I had a name back at the studio.

With every fibre of my being attuned to his touch, I met his piercing gaze, a hunger ignited within myself. The anticipation hung thick and heady in the air, as my body responded to his unspoken desires, yearning for the raw intensity that lay just beyond our fingertips.

His hand, once resting on the back of the sofa, now ventured into the depths of my hair, fingers dancing through the strands with an almost possessive tenderness. My breath hitched, a mixture of excitement and anxiety coursing through me veins.

His voice, a velvety caress, laced with his characteristic authority, penetrated the atmosphere. "You said you were twenty-two?" he asked, his touch a sensory symphony that sent shivers cascading down my spine to the fullest. I nodded, my lips instinctively finding refuge between my teeth, an unconscious response to the mounting tension that enveloped us.

"So young and full of life," he mused, his words a tantalising invitation into a world of hidden desires. The weight of his statement settled upon us, passing through us like a current. "You do understand what I'm trying to do right now, don't you?"

I knew exactly what he was attempting to do, and the thought alone could have caused me to climax on his sofa right then and there.

A barely contained breath escaped my lips, as I chuckled and shifted my body to face him fully as an answer. The crossing of my legs changed, creating an open pathway to explore our proximity. As if attuned to my movements, Brian's hand left my leg momentarily, only to reclaim its rightful place on my thigh, a possessive declaration of his intent.

Curiosity burned within me, emboldened by his unabashed dominance. "Do you do this a lot?" I ventured, resting my arm on the back of the sofa, a subtle invitation for him to delve deeper into the intricacies of his world. The revelation of his true intentions liberated me, allowing me to respond in kind, the allure of the forbidden dance consuming my thoughts.

Brian seemed a little taken aback by my question, but his initial surprise quickly dissolved into a low chuckle, a hint of intrigue glinting in his eyes. His gaze momentarily shifted to his hand, which had settled on the back of my thigh, his thumb tracing tantalising circles against the soft skin, exerting a gentle tug.

"I wouldn't say a lot... but every now and then, I stumble upon someone I really, really like," he confessed, his voice descending to a husky whisper as his eyes flickered up to meet mine. "Someone I simply can't resist," he added, his words resonating with an intensity that left no room for doubt. "And you, my dear, are the most captivating creature I've encountered thus far."

His compliments reverberated within me, causing me to sink deeper into the plush embrace of the sofa, my face suffused with a bright crimson blush. "Am I?" A small smirk danced on my lips as I raised an eyebrow, my inquiry carrying a weight that went beyond the surface. Unintentionally, I had invoked the presence of Anita, his partner, and now the unspoken tension lingered between us.

His eyes narrowed, the spark of recognition igniting in his gaze. But instead of letting the unspoken words bloom, he chuckled once again, his grip on my thigh tightening with a tantalising force. In one swift motion, he pulled me forward, until I found myself ensconced upon his lap. The unexpectedness of the action electrified the air, sending waves of desire coursing through me, my core pulsating in eager anticipation, yearning for the layers of clothing to vanish, to feel the raw heat of his skin against mine.

"You're asking too many questions, darling," he mused, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and desire. His hands boldly found their place at my hips, sliding beneath the thin fabric of my blazer, their touch sending a jolt of electricity through my entire being.

A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I playfully retorted, "I thought that was my job," my lashes fluttering in a seductive display. Yet, my attempt at teasing seemed to have an unexpected effect on Brian. His hands clamped around me with a vice-like grip, the sensation of his fingers pressing through the fabric of my skirt sending a thrilling jolt through my body.

A low, almost predatory growl rumbled from his throat as he spoke, his voice a dangerous blend of desire and authority. "You're a bit mouthy, aren't you?" he murmured, his words laced with a hint of reprimand. "Just as I thought you were so innocent... sitting there on that stool with this little skirt almost exposing you to the whole world, not knowing a thing about it..." With each word, he pulled me down onto him, the force of his action making it clear that he was taking control. "Thinking I didn't notice that you were staring at me the whole time," he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "And here you are, now sat on my lap, all shaky and needy."

His gaze roamed over my face, observing my every reaction to his sudden shift in demeanour. This was precisely the dynamic I had been seeking, a captivating dance between dominance and submission. The air hummed with an electrifying tension as I found myself entranced by him, surrendering to the intoxicating mix of vulnerability and desire that pulsed between us.

Brian's subtle manoeuvre in his lap caused me to instinctively cling onto his shoulders, seeking stability in the midst of escalating desire. His self-satisfied smirk revealed his pleasure at my reaction, fuelling the fire that raged between us. "There's a few things I want to go through with you before we go any further, sweetheart," he hummed, his hand firmly grasping the back of my neck, drawing me tantalisingly close to his face, our lips hovering inches apart. The anticipation was palpable, my breath hitching in anticipating of his next words. "Have you every been with anyone older before?"

I exhaled softly against his mouth, my eyes half-lidded with a mixture of nervousness and longing. I shook my head slightly, my hands finding solace in the firmness of his shoulders. "Maybe, like, a thirty-year-old, but..." My voice trailed off, the unspoken admission hanging in the air.

"Nobody as old as I am?" he finished my sentence with a knowing smile, fully aware of my unspoken answer. I nodded, my teeth earnestly biting down on my bottom lip, a nervous habit that betrayed my inner turmoil.

"Well, Y/N, I should warn you," he began, his hips abruptly surging against mine, stealing the air from my lungs. The intensity of his touch sent chills coursing through my body. "As an almost-fifty-one-year-old who knows what he's doing, I can guarantee that you will cum at least five times tonight," he purred, his fingers encircling my throat in a gentle yet possessive grip. "And with any luck, you'll struggle to walk out of that door in the morning."

With a swift, decisive movement, our lips finally connected, a torrent of pent-up desire exploding within me. The metaphorical fireworks ignited, their radiant bursts cascading through my body, kindling a symphony of tingles and shivers that coursed from my stomach to my throbbing core. The long-awaited contact between our lips unleashed a tempestuous passion that left me yearning for more.

"Stand up for Daddy," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness. The unexpected pet name he bestowed upon himself sent a surge of excitement through me. It was a name I had imagined slipping from my own lips, and now that he had uttered it, I felt an intoxicating thrill. His eyes fluttered open, meeting mine for a brief moment. "You don't mind that, do you?" he asked, his grip on my throat loosening. Even in the midst of our escalating passion, Brian remained considerate and a gentleman.

"I'm more than okay with it," I replied, my voice laced with eagerness. I nodded, a spark of anticipation igniting within me. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he bit down on the lower one, an expression that hinted at the wild desires swirling in his mind.

"I knew you would be perfect for me, you naughty little thing..." he growled, his words laced with a primal hunger. He pressed his lips against mine one last time, a fierce and demanding kiss that left me breathless. With deliberate yet cautious movements, he guided me to stand in front of him. His legs were spread out, and his hands firmly settled on my waist, grounding me in his commanding presence.

"Let's get those clothes off of you," he breathed, his voice husky with anticipation. Sitting up, he leaned back slightly, creating a space for me to step between his legs. His hands roamed my waist, teasing an exploring, as he revelled in the sight before him. "I bet you look mesmerising, you sweet thing," he murmured, his words stirring a fire deep within me.

With Brian's guidance, I slipped off my blazer, letting it fall carelessly beside him on the sofa. My attire consisted of a form-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt, neatly tucked into a sleek black skirt. The fabric of the shirt clung to my body, accentuating every curve and contour, and I could sense Brian's gaze lingering on the enticing view before him.

"Keep going, love," he smoothly instructed, his voice laced with command. With his arm casually draped over the back of the sofa and his other hand resting suggestively over his own clothed arousal, he watched intently as I continued to undress, gradually revealing more of myself.

I slowly unbuttoned the top few buttons of my shirt, exposing a teasing glimpse of the soft skin nestled between my breasts. The fabric parted, revealing a tantalising V-neckline that halted just at the beginning of my cleavage, leaving much to the imagination. Brian's eyes darkened with desire, his focus fixed on the seductive reveal.

Encouraged by his unwavering gaze, I continued to undress, peeling the shirt from my body with deliberate grace. Each movement involved in unzipping and shimmying down my skirt was accompanied a subtle sway of my hips, a deliberate invitation to indulge in the forbidden desires that simmered between us. The shirt slipped off of my shoulders, pooling at my feet, leaving me standing before him in nothing but my underwear, vulnerable and exposed.

Brian's hungry eyes drank in the sight, savouring the contours of my body outlined by the delicate lingerie that adorned it. His breath hitched, and a primal hunger flashed across his face.

"My, my, my..." he mused, his voice a low, throaty rumble. Leaning forward, he focused his gaze on my chest, his eyes lingering on the delicate white lace bra that adorned me, before trailing down to the matching pair of underwear that concealed the very essence of my being—a part of me yearning to be devoured by Brian's primal desire.

A subtle flush of embarrassment tinged my skin, blending with a tingling sense of prospect as I stood before Brian, acutely aware of his gaze that stripped me with its intensity. It was a an undeniable turn-on, this vulnerable exposure, yet I couldn't help but wonder if he desired something more from me.

"Turn around," he commanded, his tone blunt, his finger tracing an authoritative arc in the air. Without hesitation, I obeyed, pivoting silently on my heel until my back was completely exposed to him. And then, in a split second, a fierce sting erupted across my backside, the resounding slap from Brian's hand reverberating through the room. A gasp escaped my lips, mingling with a mixture of surprise, excitement, and a hint of pain.

Brian rose from the sofa, his presence expanding behind me like a towering shadow, and with a firm grip on the band of my underwear, he yanked me back against him. I could feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing forcefully against my backside, the bulge in his trousers growing with each passing moment. Lowering his head, he released a low growl that sent a shiver up through my core, while his other hand firmly grasped my head, tilting it to the side, exposing my vulnerability.

"Good little girls answer their Daddy," he whispered, his voice a seductive blend of dominance of desire. His hand slid around my lower stomach, applying pressure that coerced me to press my backside more firmly into him. "Don't they?"

A gasp hitched in my throat, a mixture of shock and exhilaration coursing through my veins as Brian spoke to me in such a degrading yet intoxicating manner. "Y-yes..."

"Yes, what?" he demanded, his fingers intertwining with my hair, his fists closing with a possessive grip as his lips brushed against the sensitive shell of my ear. "If you want even the slightest taste of the sweet release you crave, you must address me accordingly, little one."

A quivering smile danced upon my lips, an eagerness to comply swirling within me. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," he praised, his words hot against my ear, his breath fanning the flames of my desire. Resting the side of his head against mine, he directed his gaze downward, his hand venturing lower, ghosting over my core, teasing and tantalising. "I can't wait to feel your cunt wrap around my cock... I bet you're so tight and warm for me," he murmured, a promise that elicited a suppressed whimper from my lips. "Oh, the thought of that excites you, doesn't it?" he tested, his voice wicked.

"Yes, Daddy," I replied, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of obedience and unquenchable longing.

He chuckled, a sound tinged with satisfaction and amusement at my swift adaptation to our dynamic. "That's a good girl," he breathed against the sensitive skin of my neck, his lips claiming me with a fervent, sloppy kiss before abruptly releasing me, leaving me yearning for his touch and craving more.

"Stand back a little," Brian's voice commanded, an authoritative tone that brooked no resistance. I complied, taking a step back, my anticipation mounting as he took control. With a swift movement, he spun me around, his hands asserting their presence on my body, yet withholding any intimate touch. The air crackled with an electric charge, heavy with unspoken desire.

"No touching until I say," he declared, his voice laced with a mixture of authority and anticipation. Stepping back himself, he lowered his hands to his belt, his gaze never wavering from mine as he skilfully unbuckled and unzipped his trousers. The sound of the metal against metal reverberated in the room, heightening the intensity of the moment. His trousers cascaded down to his knees, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his bare flesh, while his shirt billowed around him, hinting at the hidden secrets it concealed. He stepped out of the confines of his restrictive clothes, gracefully kicking them aside, leaving him standing before me in only his partially unbuttoned shirt.

My eyes couldn't help but be drawn downward, magnetically pulled to the sight of his own underwear. His bulge, sizable and still growing, strained against the fabric, a visual testament to the desire that consumed him. Heat flushed through my veins, a mixture of nervous anticipation and a primal hunger to taste him.

"I'm assuming you've given somebody a blowjob before, yes?" Brian's voice cut through the charged silence, his head tilted in a patronizing yet knowing manner. His words hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation entwined. He awaited my response, his eyes burning with a mixture of curiosity and desire, never once breaking our unyielding eye contact.

A tremor of excitement coursed through me, mingling with a tinge of apprehension. I nodded, my voice momentarily stolen by the intensity of the moment, my desire to please him amplifying with each passing second.

"Yes, Daddy," I finally managed to respond, the breathless admission hanging in the air, a testament to the intimate encounters of my past.

A predatory smile tugged at the corners of Brian's lips, a gleam of satisfaction illuminating his gaze. The flicker of dominance danced in his eyes as he took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us. The bulge in his underwear pressed against my senses, a physical manifestation of his hunger and anticipation.

"Good," he murmured, his voice husky and thick with desire.

I could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me, and I couldn't help but shuffle side to side to deal with the intense desire to get my hands or my mouth on Brian's arousal, especially when he moved to sit back against the sofa.

"Please can I taste you, Daddy?" I whispered, glancing up at him with an innocent expression.

He hummed, his hand coming down to move some of my hair out of my face. "So good, asking for permission," he praised, lowering his head and biting a little into my shoulder before turning his head and growling back into my ear. "I want you on all-fours, looking up at me with those pretty fucking eyes."

"Yes, Daddy," I moaned just at his response, but was quick to do as I was told, moving back to give myself space to do as I was told, whilst he got to work in removing his underwear from his body. I arched my back, showing off the round of my curves for him like I noticed he enjoyed so much. He took his length his hand, giving it a few strokes before shuffling forward a few inches. I couldn't stop staring at its appearance, pulsating, red, veiny, and everything I dreamed it would be. I took the hint and propped myself up on one hand, using the other to move my hair from my face, before finally leaning forward and licking from the base, right up the pronounced vain on his shaft, and up to the tip. I teased him, glancing up at him as I slowly flicked my tongue over the redness. I could taste the saltiness of his pre-cum already, which only encouraged me to keep going. But apparently, the teasing wasn't enough.

"Oh, you don't want to tease Daddy, little one," he drawled, one hand coming behind my head to tangle his fingers once again in my hair. "I have to feel your mouth all over my cock, alright?" His natural dominance was toned back, and I could tell that he was testing where my comfort level was. But I was too far in my comfort zone here. So, I pushed him.

With a mischievous smirk, I only wrapped my lips around his tip, sucking ever so slightly.

"You really want to play games?" He asked with an amused tinge to his voice. He chuckled, right before he pushed my head further down, causing his cock to slide into my mouth and to my throat as far as it could go, a gag automatically sounding from my throat. It made my core throb yet again.

His grip loosened briefly, in order to breathily ask me if this was okay. I hummed around his cock in confirmation, my eyes peering up at him the best they could. Just like that, he knew where my head was at, and his grip resumed, and his hips drew back, just to thrust back again. He showed me – demonstrated – the pace he wanted, and I was obliged to deliver.

Once I had my head bobbing along his shaft how he wanted, my hand wrapped firmly around the base, my gag reflex had been temporarily diverted, but not completely eradicated. Brian, however, smacked my hand away from him, making me keep my hands down on my knees and allow him to force himself however far into my mouth as he wanted.

As my mouth encased the warm length, my own arousal picked back up, feeling myself clenching around nothing and wishing his cock was balls deep inside me. But that only encouraged me to do a better job on him. I found myself moaning as his taste, the way he grunted and breathed above me. I'd never heard anyone sound so fucking beautiful.

"That's it, baby... Fuck," he groaned, his jaw clenched in sheer ecstasy. "Let me see that pretty face, Y/N." His request fuelled my desperation and desire to please him. With a whimper, I adjusted my position slightly, ensuring that my movements on his cock remained relentless, my lips tightly sealed around him.

As I complied with his command, my eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, aware of the redness that had undoubtedly consumed them. My lips, swollen from our passionate kisses and the way they enveloped him, added to the visual proof of our intense connection. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes, a mix of pleasure, vulnerability, and overwhelming sensations.

However, what truly pushed me to the brink of desperation was the sight of him. He looked like a god, an ethereal being of pleasure and dominance. His hair fell forward, framing his face as he gazed down at me. His mouth was slightly open, allowing soft moans and growls to escape. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, a testament to his state of euphoria. His heavy-lidded eyes exuded a mix of desire and satisfaction, capturing me in a moment of profound intensity.

"Such a beautiful little slut, aren't you?" He sighed, running his hand back through my hair to bunch it up at the back, helping me through my pace. "Yeah... such a good girl for Daddy..." He mumbled, mostly to himself as his eyes looked back at my backside. His free hand reached forward and felt over my curves until he reached his destination, grabbing a handful before lifting and landing his palm against the skin with a forceful smack. It sent me moaning and whimpering yet again, the small sting sending shocks to my arousal and shivers to my skin. He did it again, this time a lot harder. He must have been testing the waters beforehand. I flinched this time, my back arching more.

I whined, the hand that was propping me up gripping into the bedsheets as I tried my very best not to rub my thighs together for friction I so desperately needed. Brian took notice and let go of my hair, pulling his cock from my mouth. A string of saliva still connected us, and my face was completely fucked out.

"Look at you, darling," he purred, taking a hold of my face with one hand and pressing my cheeks together. "You enjoyed having my cock in your mouth, didn't you?" With a deliberate slowness, he traced his thumb over my swollen lower lip, savouring the aftermath of our intimate encounter. It was a silent question, a rhetorical inquiry that required no verbal response. Instead, I responded with a breathless nod, my eyes locked on his, conveying my pleasure and desire.

But in an unexpected twist, his hand swiftly left my lip, and a sharp, stinging sensation erupted on the side of my face. A decent slap, delivered with purpose, but cautiously landed, not giving his all in the event that I wasn't into that kind of treatment. Of course, I would let this man do anything to me.

The impact took me by surprise, integrating with the haze of pleasure. Yet, as quickly as the pain registered, he seized me once again, his grip possessive and firm. His actions were a reminder of his control, a reminder that I existed in this moment solely for his pleasure. It was a moment of sharp contrast, the pain mingling with desire, further fuelling the intensity of our connection. "What did I say about answering Daddy?"

"Yes, Daddy—sorry, Daddy," I breathed out, looking up at him with watery eyes. "Can I have more, Daddy?" I batted my eyelashes.

Releasing his hold on me, he sat forward, his shirt clinging to his body, evidence of the sweat that adorned his skin. With a purposeful motion, he discarded the garment, revealing the glistening contours of his middle-aged physique. Rising to his feet, he positioned himself near the edge of the sofa, his foot resting upon the plush surface for support. His hand encircled his throbbing cock, exerting a firm grip as he glided his fist along its length, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure.

"What are you waiting for? Show me what you're capable of," he commanded, his voice laced with a potent mixture of authority and desire. His invitation beckoned me forward, and without hesitation, I eagerly reattached my mouth to him, my lips enveloping his engorged length. Balancing myself on the edge of the sofa so I could reach him, I rested my hands on the sofa, surrendering to the primal rhythm that coursed through us.

Brian's hand gathered a handful of my hair at the back of my head, ensuring a firm grip as he began to thrust into my mouth with abandon. He paid no mind to the reddened hue of my eyes, nor the cascades of saliva that spilled from my lips, consumed by the raw pleasure that surged between us. Each forceful thrust of his hips sent a jolt of ecstasy through my being, a delicious combination of pleasure and submission. The intensity of our connection intensified, the boundaries of control blurring as we surrendered to our most primal desires.

"Do a good job, and then Daddy will make you cum all over his tongue, okay?" He moaned down at me, making me nod, and whine a muffled "Yes, Daddy," with his cock still shoved in my mouth.

I maintained my position, allowing him to forcefully thrust into my throat, my head held firmly in place by his unyielding grip. I looked up at him through teary eyes, my face glistening with a mixture of saliva and tears, a testament to the depths of pleasure and submission I was experiencing.

The sound of his hissing voice filled the air, blending with his deep groans of satisfaction. "Yes... So perfect," he gasped, overcome by the intense sensation of my mouth enveloping him. The mixture of pain and pleasure, dominance and surrender, fuelled the fiery connection between us, heightening the raw, primal energy of the moment.

I felt his thigh shake beside my head, and he pulled my head all the way down onto his cock, my nose pushing into the mass of pubic hair at the base of his arousal. I let out a heavy breath, closing my eyes and relaxing my throat to allow him to slide down it with ease. Then, without warning, he yanked me back, his cock completely slipping out of my mouth. It was glistening with a mixture of my thickening saliva and his pre-cum, matching with the way my lips sparkled with the same kind of adventure.

Gasping for breath, I found myself being pulled up to my feet by the firm grip of Brian's hand, entwined in my hair. The forceful manner in which he yanked me upright only heightened the intensity of our encounter. Our lips crashed together once again, igniting a wild and insatiable passion that consumed us both.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a raw display of desire, marked by urgency and need. Our mouths melded together in a feverish dance, tongues clashing and intertwining in a desperate battle for dominance. It was as if Brian couldn't get enough of the taste, eagerly seeking to reclaim a trace of himself on my lips.

Every swipe and flick of his tongue against mine sent electric jolts of pleasure surging through my body. The hunger in his kiss matched the fiery desire coursing through my veins, building an intoxicating tension that threatened to consume us both. Our lips and tongues moved in a frenzy, an unspoken declaration of our insatiable lust. It made me wonder what his lips and his tongue would feel like on my aching core.

With one hand wrapped around my throat, he pulled me back enough to speak to me. "Get on the bed for me, love," he demanded softly, letting me go and pushing me slightly in the direction of the bed.

"Yes, Daddy," I obeyed, swiftly turning and heading for the large king-sized bed. I lowered myself onto the sleek silk, my heart pounding in raging lust as my core continued to flutter and tighten at the pure thought of being devoured by Brian. "You sucked Daddy's cock so well, little one," he praised with a patronising flare, as he slowly made his way towards me, closing in on me like I was some sort of prey for the taking. He stopped right in front of me, leaning down so both of his hands were placed flat on the surface of the bed, and his face was mere inches from mine. "Do you think you deserve to have my face buried between your legs, baby?"

His question stirred a whirlwind of sensations within me, causing my entire body to tremble with a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. My thighs involuntarily clenched, and a breathy sigh escaped my quivering lips. Brian had a way of rendering me speechless, making it nearly impossible to form coherent words as I struggled to catch my breath against his intoxicating lips.

"So precious. I get you this hot, you can't even speak," he hummed, amusement dancing in his voice. One hand found its way back to my throat, asserting his dominance over me. His thumb grazed over my lower lip, teasing it down and allowing it to spring back against my teeth. Leaning closer, he guided me down onto my back, his presence looming over me like a commanding giant.

Once he fully hovered above me, his aura radiating power and desire, he whispered with a menacing grunt that sent shivers down my spine. His words held a primal hunger, a promise of untamed pleasure.

"Would you like Daddy to taste your sweet pussy, darling?"

The question enough made me writhe a little under him, and I whined a small "Yes please, Daddy" up at him, making him chuckle and shoot me that sexy smile of his.

"Stay there," he whispered, his voice laced with a commanding edge. With a swift motion, he pulled himself up to his feet, his strong hands gripping my ankles firmly. I felt myself being effortlessly dragged to the edge of the bed, my legs hanging over the edge. The anticipation prickled across my skin as he took a moment to appraise me, his eyes roaming hungrily over my half-naked form.

His fingers hooked into the band of my underwear, and in one fluid motion, he tugged them down my legs, leaving me completely bare from the waist down. The sudden exposure left me feeling vulnerable, every inch of my body open and ready for his intimate exploration. I could feel the cool air caress my heated skin, heightening my senses and intensifying the anticipation that pulsed through me.

His touch ignited a fiery sensation across my skin as he parted my legs, positioning my knees closer to my chest. The intimate vulnerability of my exposed core made my heart race. The throbbing of my clit intensified, yearning for the exquisite sensation of his lips wrapping around it, ready to be devoured by the force of his desire.

His fingertips trailed a tantalising path down the back of my thighs, leaving a trail of electric sparks in their wake. The pressure he applied against my legs urged me to instinctively open up for him, surrendering myself to his skilled ministrations.

As he lowered himself to his knees, his breath caressed my most sensitive flesh, sending shivers cascading through my body. The warmth of his breath teased and enveloped me, igniting a primal desire that caused my breathing to quicken in sync with the mounting tension.

The realisation struck me with a jolt. Few men I had been with had truly taken the time to explore the depths of my pleasure. But Brian was different. He possessed an insatiable hunger to please me, to delve into the realm of my desires. To show me he was capable, at his age, of making a young thing writhe and arch at his talents. This was not a mere obligation but a ravenous craving that consumed him, a thirst that he longed to quench with my pleasure as his ultimate reward.

I felt a surge of gratitude for Brian's genuine desire to please me. It was a rarity, a precious gift that I would savour with every fibre of my being. The weight of his intention settled over me, heightening the anticipation that coursed through my veins.

His hands moved with purpose, exploring the contours of my thighs, tracing delicate patterned that elicited soft moans from my lips. I felt my body responding to his touch, arching instinctively, seeking more of his caress. The intensity of his focus ignited a fire within me, fuelling the craving for his skilled tongue to explore me.

With a deliberate yet tender touch, Brian's fingers found their way to my most intimate core. His fingertips danced along the wetness that coated my folds, teasing and tantalising, as if he were an artist painting strokes of desire upon my canvas. Each stroke of his touch sent ripples of pleasure cascading through me, building the intensity with each passing second.

The room was filled with an intoxicating mix of our shared breaths and the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears. Every nerve in my body stood at attention, poised for the exquisite release that awaited me. I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to the sensations that enveloped me, allowing the anticipation to swell and consume me.

And then, with a flicker of his tongue, Brian made contact with my swollen, throbbing clit. The jolt of pleasure shot through me, causing my back to arch and a gasp of pleasure to escape my lips. His skilful tongue explored every crevice, every delicate fold, igniting an inferno of sensation that spiralled within me.

I lost myself in the maelstrom of pleasure, my fingers grasping the sheets beneath me as waves of ecstasy crashed over my body. Brian's rhythmic movements, a symphony of pleasure orchestrated by his expert tongue, bringing me closer to the brink of oblivion.

Brian, ever the master of control, sensed the depths of my pleasure and revelled in his power over me. He intensified his assault on my sensitive nub, his tongue swirling and flicking with unrelenting precision. Each stroke, each caress, pushed me closer to the edge of ecstasy.

As the intensity mounted, I could feel the coil of desire winding tighter within me. My body trembled with anticipation, my moans growing louder and louder, more and more urgent. Brian's grip on my thighs tightened, a silent command to surrender completely to the overwhelming pleasure he was orchestrating.

I was teetering on the precipice, my entire being consumed by the need for release. But just when I thought I couldn't bear it any longer, Brian pulled back, denying me that final plunge into ecstasy. The absence of his touch left me achingly empty, my body pulsating with unfulfilled desire.

With a predatory glint in his eyes, Brian rose to his full height, his dominance radiating from every pore. He seized my wrists and effortlessly pinned them above my head, his strength asserting his control over my quivering body. I was at his mercy, my desire reaching a fever pitch as I yearned for his next move.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a low, commanding growl. "You think I'm going to let you cum that easily, my little plaything?" he whispered, the words igniting a fierce ache deep within me. "No, my sweet, I'm going to make you beg for it."

His words sent a shockwave down my spine, my breath catching in my throat. I wanted to plead, to beg for release, but he silenced me with his dominance. He relished in the power he held over me, revelling in my desperation.

With a deliberate slowness that bordered on torturous, Brian trailed his fingers along the length of my body, tantalisingly close to where I craved his touch the most. Every nerve in my body screamed for his contact, my hips instinctively arching toward him, begging for his release.

But Brian was in control, and he dictated the pace. He continued his maddening exploration, his touch teasingly light as he traced circles on my inner thighs. The anticipation grew unbearable, my need for release becoming an all-consuming ache that threatened to overwhelm me.

Finally, just when I thought I could take no more, Brian yielded to my pleading body. His fingers found their way to my throbbing core, delving deep into my wetness. The penetration was swift and intense, a primal connection that shattered any remnants of self-control.

He moved with an effortless rhythm, his fingers expertly stroking every sensitive spot within me. "How tight you are, sweetheart... definitely need to warm you up a bit before I stretch you out," he moaned down at me, the pleasure coursing through my veins and my body convulsing beneath his touch. I writhed against his unyielding grip, lost in the sea of sensations that consumed me.

"D-Daddy..." I whined, my head pressing back into the silk sheets. "Feels so good..." Was all I could whimper out as his two fingers sloppily stroked inside me, generating the lewdest of noises. I was no longer an individual, but a vessel of desire, completely surrendered to his command. "Yes..." I hissed, my back arching.

"You almost there, angel?" He looked down at me, moving his head to meet my gaze and mirroring my whimpering breaths. "You gonna cum on my fingers like a good girl for Daddy?"

I nodded feverishly at him. "Yes, Daddy, I'm gonna cum so hard... Please, c-can I cum, Daddy?" I plead, looking up at him with innocent eyes. He bit on his lip hard, his gaze averting down to where his fingers connected with my body, enjoying the sight.

"I did promise you at lease five orgasms, didn't I?" He started, each question rhetorical. "I would be a pretty lousy daddy if I let you go without fulfilling those promises, wouldn't I?" He looked back up at me, his eyes as black as anything. "Cum around my fingers, sweetheart."

With a commanding nod from Brian, a surge of desire shot through my veins, compelling me to yield his dominance. My jaw slackened, and my back arched painfully as an intense pleasure coursed through my core, tightening, and pulsating around his lengthy middle fingers.

"God, you feel so good," Brian growled, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Squeeze around me, baby. Show Daddy how much you enjoy it."

A whimper escaped my lips as I obediently clenched around his fingers, my body quivering with mounting pleasure. My thighs instinctively clenched around Brian's wrist, attempting to hold on to the overwhelming sensations that threatened to consume me.

"Relax those pretty thighs, darling," Brian commanded, his voice dripping with authority. "I want you completely open for me. I want to see every tremor of pleasure."

I fought against the instinct to resist, forcing my thighs to loosen their grip, granting him unrestricted access to my pleasure. Waves of numbing ecstasy washed over me, rendering me breathless and lost in a state of euphoria.

I could hear the wet sounds of his fingers moving inside me, the slick friction only adding to the intensity of the moment. Each deliberate stroke pushed me closer to the edge, my body teetering on the precipice of release.

Brian's husky voice filled the air. "Cum for me, baby. Let yourself go."

The words echoed in my ears, igniting a surge of desire and surrender within me. The coil of tension within me tightened to its breaking point, until finally, I couldn't hold back any longer. My entire being convulsed with pleasure as a powerful climax consumed me, leaving me breathless and trembling in the wake of the intensity.

Brian forcefully withdrew his fingers from my throbbing core, causing me to gasp in both pleasure and loss. He didn't waste a second before shoving those glistening digits into my mouth, filling me up and silencing any protest with his dominance.

I moaned around his fingers, my eyes watering with a mix of desire and submission. The taste of my own arousal mingled with the salty tang of his skin, creating a sinful concoction that fuelled my insatiable hunger.

"Open wide, my obedient little slut," Brian growled. "Taste yourself. Show me how much you crave me."

I obediently parted my lips wider, taking my fingers deeper, feeling them brush against the back of my throat. The overwhelming sensations threatened me, my senses heightened by the knowledge that I was at his mercy.

I clung desperately to his wrist, my nails digging into his flesh, seeking an anchor in the midst of this dizzying pleasure. The taste, the submission, the raw power he exerted over me, it all blended into an intoxicating cocktail that pushed me further into the depths of desire.

Brian's eyes bore into mine, their intensity burning like a searing flame. He relished in the sight of my vulnerability, the surrender etched across my face. I could see the hunger in his gaze, the hunger to possess me completely, to claim me as his own.

As my body trembled with the aftershocks of my release, Brian's grip on me tightened, his dominance unwavering. He knew we were far from done, that the fire between us still raged, demanding to me stoked.

"You're mine tonight, and I'm not done with you," Brian growled, his voice laced with a primal hunger. "You belong to me, body and soul." He took his fingers from my mouth, moving some hair out my sweat-sheened face. "I need to be inside you, pretty thing," he breathed, kissing me sloppily before pulling himself up onto his knees. "Hands and knees," he once again did that thing with his finger, spinning it in a silent command that I acquiesced to without question. I weakly held myself up in an all-fours position, Brian stalking behind me.

Unable to see him, I could only imagine his gaze raking over my exposed form, his hunger growing with each passing moment. A low, primal grunt escaped his lips, a telltale sign of the torturous pleasure he was inflicting upon himself, stroking his hand along his length, relishing in the decadent excitement.

The air crackled with tension as he closed the distance, the bed shaking with his movements. I could sense his presence behind me, his heated breath caressing the nape of my neck as he leaned over me. The promise of his possession hung in the air, electrifying and intoxicating.

"You're so eager, my little temptress," he growled in a seductive rumble against my ear. "You've been aching for me, haven't you? Since you knew how to... They all ache for me like this, but you're so lucky to have me behind you, about to stretch all of you out with my cock."

My body trembled in response, craving the euphoria only he could provide. "Are you on the pill?" I promptly nodded back at him, just needing him to be inside of me already.

And then, without warning, I felt the tantalising pressure of his length at my entrance. He teased me, brushing against my slick folds, denying me the fullness I craved. It was a torment that pushed me to the edge of madness, but I knew it was all part of his exquisite control.

"Please, Daddy... I need to feel you," I practically cried out, my hips wiggling a little.

The moment stretched out, time suspended in a haze of desire. And then, in one swift, powerful thrust, he claimed me as his own. Pleasure and pain collided within me, a symphony of sensations that left me gasping for breath. The world dissolved into a symphony of moans and carnal pleasure as we became entwined for the first time.

"Jesus Christ..." he exhaled. "You surpass every fantasy, darling," he praised, his hands firmly gripping my hips, guiding me backwards to meet his initial thrust. "Does it hurt, love?"

A strained whimper escaped my lips as I lowered my head, my senses overwhelmed by the intense sensation of his cock filling me, stretching me with its commanding presence. "Just a bit..." I confessed, my words barely audible in a whisper. "But... I-I like it."

"Of course you do," he chuckled darkly, savouring the power he held over me. He withdrew, creating a fleeting void within me, only to reclaim it with a forceful thrust that elicited a gasp of pleasure. His movements grew rougher, a deliberate test to gauge my response. "You're such a dirty, naughty little girl, aren't you?"

He continued with a relentless rhythm, each thrust penetrating deeper, igniting a primal fire within me. My body quivered under his command, surrendering to the pleasure he bestowed upon me. The room filled with the sounds of our joining, a symphony of moans and the wet, rhythmic slapping of our bodies colliding.

Brian's grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh, marking me as his. With each forceful thrust, I could feel his power and dominance asserting itself, claiming me completely. I was his vessel, a conduit for his pleasure and my own.

"You were made for this, my sweet." He placed a hand between my shoulder blades and pushed me down, causing me to collapse onto my upper body, my back arching deliciously, and making Brian's thrusts hit me deeper than ever, which made me practically scream out in ecstasy. "There you go... I was waiting for you to scream for me," he breathed through a smug grin. "Now, lets see if I can get you to cum like this, then..."

With an insatiable hunger, Brian embarked on a relentless rampage of lust, thrusting into me with an unbridled force that left me breathless. The sound of our bodies colliding echoed through the room, mingling with the symphony of my moans and the lewd expletives that escaped my lips.

My senses were overwhelmed as pleasure surged through every fibre of my being. I surrendered completely to the symphony of sensations, losing myself in the wild rhythm of Brian's hips. As the pleasure built within me, I could feel the familiar stirrings of my second release. The excitement swelled, my breathing grew heavy and shallow, and I instinctively laid my head to the side on the cool pillows. My entire body moved and jolted forward with every powerful thrust that Brian delivered. I clung to the sheets, my fingers gripping them tightly.

"Yes, yes... Fuck, right there, Daddy," I moaned, my mouth hanging open as he hit every right spot within me. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum again, Daddy, please—“

"That's right, baby, let me feel you cum on my cock," he encouraged with a breathless exalt. He sent a sharp slap to the side of my arse, which edged me even closure. "Come on," he coaxed me, railing into me with a more viscous vigour, his hands pulling me against him with each thrust.

With each passing moment, the intensity escalated, pushing me closer to the edge of another mind-shattering climax. Brian's expertise and unrelenting passion drove me closer and closer, his actions meticulously calculated to elicit the most profound response from my quivering body.

The world around us faded into insignificance as I teetered on the brink. I was lost in a whirlwind of sensation, my mind consumed by pleasure, and all that mattered was the overwhelming connection between us.

And then it happened. The dam within me burst, unleashing a torrent of ecstasy that washed over me like a tidal wave. I cried out, my voice a symphony of raw desire and fulfilment. My body convulsed in rapture, every nerve ending ignited in a frenzy of pleasure.

Brian's thrusts continued, prolonging the ecstasy, each movement pushing me further into the depths of euphoria.

However, he didn't allow me a moment to catch my breath. With an almost frantic urgency, Brian swiftly positioned himself beneath me, his face now nestled between my legs. His hands gripped onto me, pulling me upwards until I was straddling his face, fully exposed to his hungry mouth. His lips claimed me once more, his skilled tongue lapping at my folds, delving deep into my entrance.

I couldn't help but run my fingers through my hair, my head falling back as the overwhelming stimulation consumed me. Brian was relentless in his pursuit of my pleasure, determined to extract another orgasm from my quivering body. He disregarded the fact that I hadn't fully recovered from the last climax, his singular focus on pushing me to new heights of ecstasy.

There was no room for hesitations or reservations. It was a raw and primal exchange, a symphony of desire and surrender. Brian's hunger for my pleasure was insatiable, his actions an unspoken command for me to abandon myself completely to the sensations coursing through me.

As I shifted my hips, I felt the firm contour of his nose glide teasingly over my sensitive clit. A surge of pleasure shot through me, and I seized the opportunity to use it to my advantage. Brian recognised my intentions and eagerly encouraged my movements. His hands gripped my backside, guiding me to grind against his face, his nose and tongue working in perfect harmony to ignite the most exquisite sensations within me.

Every glide and stroke over my swollen and aroused nub sent waves of pleasure crashing through me. I surrendered to the primal rhythm, my hips undulating in sync with Brian's skilful ministrations. His tongue ventured deeper, exploring the depths of my core with a fervour that matched my own mounting desire.

The air was thick with the heady scent of arousal, mingling with the sounds of our shared passion. Moans and gasps filled the room, a testament to the intensity of the connection we shared. In this moment, there was no room for pretence or inhibition. It was an unadulterated celebration of pleasure.

Time lost all meaning as the sensations intensified. I was on the precipice once more, teetering on the edge of an impending release. The world narrowed down to the overwhelming pleasure radiating from my core, the delicious torment building within me.

"O-Oh, shit... Br—Daddy," I mewled, looking down and seeing Brian's eyes glaring up at me, with a knowing look. He growled against me, now moving his head against me to intensify the feeling of his nose against my clit. And just like that, another climax ripped through me like a stampede of hormones. But he didn't stop, like I thought he might have. He flipped us over, so that I was now laid with my head on the pillows, looking up at the ceiling with his head still firmly shoved between my legs.

"Oh, God..." I weakly stuttered, the pain from the sensitivity unfolding into another type of pleasure altogether. The baby hairs on my head clung to my forehead, my skin flushed light pink and starting to glimmer ever so slightly with a light sheen of sweat.

Brian grunted with determination, continuing his movements on me, his fingers slipping inside me and continuing with a heavy ministration. The free hand that wasn't holding me firmly in place, yanking me even closer to him, now travelled up to my chest, using every ounce of his strength to pull down my bra, not bothering with unhooking it beforehand. He seemed to hold onto it for leverage. My whines and moans were totally unfiltered by this point, but I didn't give a single fuck.

The small glance I made down at him showed his head moving along with the motions of his tongue, completely in a world of his own as he went down on me. It made me feel better knowing he enjoyed it seemingly as much as I did.

My thighs were starting to shake uncontrollably as well as the rest of my legs, the combination of the sensitivity and the brief visual I just got of him was edging me closer and closer to another release. Already.

"Holy fuck, Daddy, I'm gonna cum again..." I groaned out one of my arms laying out on the bed beside me. My eyes shut as I revelled in this feeling. Most of my body went completely numb, but I was able to feel my forbidden, scandalous, older lover's free hand slide into mine, intertwining our fingers together. It was such a small, subtle action, but it made my heart flutter and my core clench deliciously. I squeezed onto his hand, my nails digging into the back of his as I started to grind my hips against his face.

I didn't even anticipate my second release; it happened so fast and sudden.

My voice broke and cracked as I whined out, this climax much more intense than the last one. My back was not the only part of my body that arched off the bed this time; this time, my hips rose off the bed, seemingly having a mind of their own as Brian stayed attached to me. He let me ride out the cluster of orgasms he'd just given me before eventually lifting his head up from between my legs. I was still recovering, my head buzzing and my body still tingling. I didn't even realise that Brian was crawling up and over me, watching me try to recover from that mind-altering experience.

He granted me a brief respite, allowing me to descend from the dizzying heights of pleasure. But just as I began to regain a semblance of control, he swiftly reclaimed it, his grip tightening around the back of my neck. With a commanding tone, he ordered, "Open up, love..."

My body trembled with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability as I obediently parted my lips, ready to receive his intimate offering. Brian provocatively gathered saliva in his mouth, savouring the lewd act before releasing a single droplet into my waiting mouth. The taste of him mingled with my own essence, an intoxicating blend that sent shivers down my spine

"Do you have any idea how amazing you taste, sweetheart?" he purred, his voice laced with a breathless whine. The audaciousness of the act ignited a forbidden desire within me, a thrill that I had never experienced before. In this moment, with Brian, I revelled in the taboo nature of our encounter, embracing the depths of my desires without reservation.

His unyielding gaze never faltered, and as his hand descended to his throbbing shaft, a wicket smile played upon his lips. He dragged his slick length over my sensitive core, causing me to tremble with the onslaught of pleasure. The delicate touch against my clit sent electric shocks surging through my body, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

Without delay, Brian pressed forward, his cock sliding effortlessly into my eager depths. A guttural moan escaped my lips, merging with his deep growl of satisfaction. "One more, my perfect little thing," he whispered, his voice thick with desire and dominance. He increased the tempo of his thrusts, each one driving us closer to the edge of oblivion. Our bodies collided with a symphony of flesh, a crescendo of passion that echoed through the room, fuelling his insatiable hunger for release.

I locked eyes with him, our gazes merging in a dance of primal desire. His sculpted form glistened with a sheen of perspiration, his dishevelled hair framing his face in a wild halo, and his jaw clenched with unrelenting determination. He embodied raw masculinity, and untamed force that overwhelmed my senses.

As our bodies moved in perfect synchrony, the tension grew with each passing second. The room became a sanctuary of pleasure, filled with the cacophony of our moans and the intoxicating scent of our arousal. Every thrust brought us closer to the precipice, our shared climax shimmering on the horizon, a tantalising promise that held us captive.

"Oh God, Brian," I gasped, losing the pet name, the closer I got to what would be an other-worldly release.

He met my subtle plea with a wicked grin, his thrusts growing more forceful, driving us to the brink. "Hold on tight, darling," he rasped, his voice dripping with carnal hunger.

With each primal thrust, the crescendo rose, pleasure and ecstasy threatening to consume us. I clung to him, my nails digging into his flesh.

"Cum for me, one last time, baby, I know you can do it for Daddy," he reaffirmed one last time. And in the final crescendo, time stood still. Our bodies moved as one, a frenzy of need and desire. The air crackled with electricity, the room filled with the sound of our moans mingling, our rhythm reaching a fevered pitch.

And then, with a primal roar, we shattered. A surge of ecstasy coursed through me, radiating from the depths of my core to every sinch of my being. It was an earth-shattering climax, an explosion of pleasure that consumed us both, obliterating any thought or sense of self.

As waves washed over us, our bodies convulsed in tandem, locked in a euphoric embrace. My mouth hung open, and broken cries fell from it, as I experienced the most intense, harsh orgasm of my life.

"Fuuuck!" Brian's animalistic growl rang in the air, as he stilled inside me, shooting his thick load deep within me. Brian May's release. Inside of me. He clung to me, dropping his head down to bury his face in my neck as he slowed his thrusts. He let out whimpers of his come down, his arms wrapped tightly around me.

As our laboured breaths mingled in the air, a moment of surprise interrupted the post-coital haze. Sensing a different sensation, I glanced down, my tired eyes widening in disbelief. A pool of wetness glistened beneath me, evidence of an uncharted territory of pleasure.

"Oh, God..." I gasped, my face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and astonishment. I instinctively covered my face, overwhelmed by the unexpected release. Brian, still catching his breath, followed my gaze, his expression shifting from confusion to a knowing smile.

Chuckling softly, he gently removed my hands from my blushing face, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and amusement. With tender reassurance, he pressed a loving peck on my nose before capturing my lips in a lingering kiss.

"Darling," he murmured, his voice laced with affectionate amusement. "You've been with the wrong people if they've never made you squirt before."

With a smug smirk at his accomplishment, he swiftly stood up from the bed, momentarily disappearing into the bathroom and then returning a short while after with a small face cloth. He kneeled in front of me, placing one hand on my knee and gently guiding it to the side so he could have access to me. He was clearly experienced in this, and it made me blush as he cleaned me up; he did it as slow as ever, his eyes feasting upon my worn-out state. After all, he had just given me five mind-altering orgasms. Just as promised.

"There we go," he sighed, throwing the cloth to the side and leaning down above me. "All perfect," he gave me another heated kiss, his tongue rolling into my mouth sensually, making my eyes flutter shut. He broke the kiss and smirked down at me. "Happy you didn't get on the Euro?"

"Definitely," I breathed out with an airy laugh. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting this to happen today..." I bit my lip, for some reason finding it difficult to look him in the eyes.

"I'll be honest, I didn't either," he chuckled, moving beside me and pulling me into his side.

The only thing now was figuring out how to leave. Surely, there'd have to be that conversation. And surely, he didn't want me staying there. After all, he was a renowned rock star, in a committed relationship with someone much closer to his own age, on a press tour, eyes on him 24/7.

"What's going on up there, love?" He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at me. "I'm not throwing you out, if that's what you're wondering."

I looked at him, shocked. "Really?"

He laughed down at me smoothly, admiring my innocent state. "Of course not. Why would I get rid of something so perfect?" He purred down at me. My perplexity stayed, but I lacked the energy to question him further.

"We'll talk in the morning, sweet thing," he stroked over my hair. "Now, I think we should sleep."

Like a train conductor, he commanded our every act, and we did exactly that. Sleeping next to Brian May in a luxury hotel in Germany, after being pummelled into the mattress of his king-size bed, was so much better of an alternative to staying in a three-star hotel with colleagues that would reprimand me non-stop for my slip up at the studio. I hadn't even received a call from Candice to check up on me, or ask where I was, since I did disappear without notifying anybody.

I must have overslept, since by the time morning rolled around, the bed felt ominously cold and void of any other human presence. I fluttered my eyes open, stretching my arm out instinctively to find that Brian was no longer beside me. But as I came round, I noticed a piece of paper sat delicately on the bedside table. I tiredly sat up, crawling over to it and picking it up, letting my eyes gaze over the pristine cursive that adorned its surface.

Y/N,

Last night was incredible, and I found myself sat awake in the early hours of this morning, whilst you slept beside me. You looked so perfect and at ease. Anyway, I had to run out and get some stuff done this morning, but don't worry, my perfect Y/N, you stay right where you are, and I shall be back before midday. In the meantime, order room service, take a shower, do whatever you need to do. And maybe call that old sow from the studio and tell her you quit. I needed a new PR person, anyway. And you? You're perfect for me.

See you later, sweet girl.

Bri x

[ofmdrecaps]

07/31/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Con O'Neill; Kristian Nairn: WJW; Ruibo Qian; Madeleine Sami; Guz Khan; TellTaleTV Voting Results; OFMD Dress Month; Fan Spotlight; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika;

Hey crew, I'm several days behind so I'm gonna do things a bit different this time around-- I'm gonna split the last day of July up from Aug 1, and 2. Sorry I'm so delayed, been a lot going on at work and home. Hope everyone is staying healthy and safe out there.

== David Jenkins ==

Chaos Dad, David Jenkins seems to be keeping the OFMD memes shared! It's so nice to see him sharing so much art and fun in the fandom <3 This time around the art was from the incredibly talented @lumintsu!

Source: David's Twitter

== Rhys Darby ==

Reminder! Cryptid Factor is coming to London Aug 9th! Also what a sweet shot of Rhys on the plane over the ocean <3

Source: Rhys Darby's Instagram Stories

== Taika Waititi ==

More BTS Stills from Joblo's Article/Interview about Time Bandits!

Some sneaky pool Taika!

Source: VasJMorgan's Instagram Stories

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Etalk (@etalkctv)

Source: etalkctv Instagram

== Con O'Neill ==

New episode of Time Bandits is out and Con is on episode 3! Including some gifs below by @laceratedlamiaceae and @gydima to see some of the fun stuff he was up to!

== Kristian Nairn: WJW ==

July 31 was Wee John Wednesday! Where Kristian did a whole video on all the lovely gifts he's received over the years from fans! There are some absolutely adorable things in there! Apologies, normally I try to transcribe highlights, but I'm still catching up on all the things after this crazy work week, so here's some highlights from our friends over at @adoptourcrew!

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Kristian Nairn (@kristiannairn)

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram

== Ruibo Qian ==

Ruibo's getting ready for the opening night of Ms. Holmes & Ms. Watson! Unfortunately it looks like she got quite a bit of a bruise in prep!

Source: Ruibo's Instagram

== Madeleine Sami ==

Our dear Mads was out on @7daysnz a comedy news show in AoNZ!

Source: 7daysnz Instagram

== Guz Khan ==

Guz is out on U & Dave in the "Battle in the Box!"

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by U&Dave (@uanddave_)

Source: GuzKhan's Instagram

== Tell Tale TV Votes ==

Hey folks! Your hard work payed off! We managed to win the poll for most heartbreaking cancellation (as rough as that is). Sending so many hugs to the fans for Station 19, it's obvious yall have been missing the hell out of your show too. Here's hoping we'll both get to see our shows for another season!

Source: Tell Tale TV Twitter

== OFMD Dress Week ==

Another theme week is coming up September 9th-15th, this time hosted by our friend @libroseitm! You can follow OFMD Dress week on Twitter!

Source: OFMD Dress Week Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

More cast cards tonight from our resident cast expert-- @melvisik! First up is Jon A., and Dwayne G. These two are more of our magnificent action talents (according to ofmd-crew.com!) After them-- is Karla Spika, another one of our Casting Directors (NZ department)!

Source: @melvisik's Twitter

= OFMD Colouring Pages =

The fabulous @patchworkpiratebear is putting out some more great colouring pages-- this time illustrating one of @denizbevan's fics! There are lots of versions available, so please visit their tumblr for more!

Source: Patchwork Pirate Bear's Tumblr

== Love Notes ==

Okay lovelies, I had so much I wanted to say, but I am so behind as it is, so I'm gonna do another couple days of other folks love notes. Sending love and hug vibes your way.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Lauren Eliz Love | Your Self Healing Teacher (@laurenoflove)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Myndset Mastery™ (@myndsetmastery)

Source: LiveFreeLauraD Instagram

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Just these two doing some crazy stuff! Gifs courtesy of our fellow Rhys and Taika enthusiasts --@celluloidbroomcloset and @soundsofmyuniverse!

[actualbird]

Statistical Report of Marius/Luke Ao3 Literature (2024)

(aka, a pet project i've been working on behind the scenes for a while. if you'd rather read it as a PDF, you can check it out here, but i've copy pasted its entirety into this text post, beginning in 3...2...1...)

Introduction

Ahhh, Marius von Hagen and Luke Pearce…such wonderful characters from hit mobile otome game “未定事件簿 | Tears of Themis.” As love interests to Miss MC Rosa Qiangwei, they each are incredibly compelling characters with incredibly nuanced backstories, personalities, and dynamics with MC.

Also, there’s a small but dedicated community of shippers that want them to kiss and make out and be in love with each other. Hell yeah!

Welcome to the Statistical Report of Marius/Luke Ao3 Literature (2024), a report that aims to capture this community’s literary contribution to the MariLuke ship by crunching the data available to the public on Ao3! 

Before going into the data, there are some notes and caveats to this census that the author would like to make clear.

This report’s data was taken from the “未定事件簿 | Tears of Themis (Video Game)” fandom tag on Archive of Our Own. This means that all works outside of this tag or outside of this website (ex. Twitter thread fics or Tumblr drabbles not crossposted to Ao3, fanfiction only on other sites like FanFiction.net, Wattpad, Weibo, etc.) have not been included.

This report’s data is as of May 31, 2024 as a cutoff date. This was so that I wouldn’t have to endlessly update the data and go insane.

Works that did exist but have since been deleted as of May 31, 2024 are not included, as the author does not have an encyclopedic memory of fanfics that no longer exist on the site :( 

Now with all that said, let’s dive in.

---

Number Of Fics Posted and Surge Periods

Now, let’s begin with the number of fics posted. As of May 31, 2024, there are 166 fics in the “Lu Jinghe | Marius von Hagen/Xia Yan | Luke Pearce” tag on Ao3. This number (and subsequently, this report) counts fics as they are listed in AO3 as unique fics, meaning that if it takes up its own little box in the AO3 feed, that’s one fic in itself. This does unfortunately mean that fics that act as a collection (i.e. each chapter is a different story) are only counted as one fic. This number also excludes podfics, because that’s basically the same fic in a different format.

That being said, this number is still nothing to scoff at. And things get even more delightful when we track down the frequency of fics posted month by month in a timeline.

The earliest MariLuke fic posted on Ao3 was “You are King” by itshaku on August 8, 2021, a mere 10 days after ToT’s official global release. The folks who posted the very first few fics in August 2021 laid down the foundation and bedrock of the Ao3 tag, and as ToT’s existence to the global audience continued, more and more fic started to populate our hallowed halls.

However, while that’s the earliest MariLuke fic as is recorded by Ao3 now, I happen to know that there was a fic that was posted even earlier. A fic called “Don’t Let Me Go” by sakurei. Both the fic and the author’s account has since been delated, but I knew this fic existed because I originally started this report in 2022. When I had first put together the preliminary data, I noted “Don’t Let Me Go” as the first ever fic, and then was disheartened to learn that it was deleted. Like, no…the sacred texts… All hope seemed lost until my dear friend Z Lukevonhagen suggested I search the link on the Wayback Machine, and lo and behold, a copy of the True First Ever MariLuke Fanfic On Ao3 had been unearthed. Thanks, Z!

In the month of October 2021, the Marius/Luke tag experienced its first fic surge. For the purposes of this report, any month with 8 or more fics posted during their duration is counted as a surge. Why is 8 or more the qualifier? That number was picked solely off of vibes.

A total of 9 new fics were posted in October 2021, though the I can’t find any discernible reason for this fic. After some digging, I found no relevant fan events that occurred in October 2021 that linked to any of the MariLuke fics. In terms of in-game happenings, the only thing of note here is that this is when the Symphony Of The Night event was running, but it’s not like Marius and Luke made out on screen during that event’s storyline (oh, how I wished though…)

Our next surge happened in August 2022, with a whole 12 fics posted, when the tag suddenly and beautifully got a sizeable influx of CN fics. CN fics take up 6 of the 12 fics posted during this time period, which is half of the month’s total fic yield. Thank you for your service, CN MariLukers !

Our next surge period lasted for a whopping 3 consecutive months, ushering a Golden Age for MariLuke fics, so to speak. Month by month, what happened was:

In October 2022, another surge occurred with a total of 11 fics. During this month, Twitter account Thirst of Themis had run a ToT Kinktober fan event, and a number of new Marius/Luke fics were created and posted in accordance with the Kinktober prompts. 

In November 2022, a total of 9 fics were posted, and this was mostly because of two specific singular authors’ hard work, as they published several fics all on their own in rapid succession and contributed to the surge. Ao3 author Litchire posted a whopping 4 fics during this period, along with Ao3 author ynfzymokaihewo who posted 3 fics. 

In December 2022, a total of 9 fics were posted, though this is the month where I couldn’t find any discernible reason once again. Maybe the holiday season just made us all fic-happy? Who knows.

After that, it’s smooth sailing for a while with average MariLuke fic yields for a couple of months.

Then, the Recession came. Followed by a Revival. Followed by another Recession. 

In April, 2023, only one (1) MariLuke fic was posted. Authors recovered in the following month of May 2023, but right after in June 2023, we all died once again with a staggering zero (0) new MariLuke fics posted. I assume we all went into hibernation or something. But that’s fine, because the next month in July 2023, the crops started flowering once more and the MariLuke harvest began anew.

Our next surge happened a couple months later, in November 2023, with 8 new fics posted. The culprit here is Thirst of Themis once again, for they had run a November prompts event, and 7 out of 8 MariLuke fics posted this month were in fulfillment of the event.

Now, we arrive at our latest surge and also our biggest one. In may 2024, the MariLuke Ao3 tag saw a whopping 28 new fics posted. This is undoubtedly the result of the fan event MariLuke Week (May 2024) for 27 out of the 28 fics were posted in fulfillment of the event’s prompts. The following authors participated in MariLuke Week, with their fic counts for this event placed next to their name:

xXILoveMyFridgeXx (10 fics contributed)

wtfhoney (7 fics contributed)

quarterweeb / theobscenfraction (4 fics contributed)

reptilianraven (3 fics contributed)

lukevonhagen (2 fics contributed)

Litchire (1 fic contributed)

Congratulations and thank you to the writers who participated in the event! You all contributed to the biggest surge in MariLuke stocks THUS FAR, and you should all give yourselves a pat on the back.

That concludes the timeline of MariLuke works up til May 31, 2024! Hit the showers, everybody!

---

Full List of AO3 Users Who Have Written Marius/Luke Fanfiction

The Marius/Luke writer population is a small but mighty one, with a total of 45 unique authors who have posted a fic Marius/Luke fic on Ao3 as of May 31, 2024. Before going into the full list of authors, here are some important caveats to the list:

ON ANONYMOUS AUTHORS: As this report deals with how Ao3 lists data, all authors who have opted to post anonymously will be counted as one entity. I personally know that some anonymous authors are different users, but verifying this without making any fuckups would make my tiny pea brain cry. For this reason, anonymous authors are counted as one unique author, so if you’re one of these anonymous authors, congrats on being a part of a Marius/Luke hivemind!

ON AUTHORS WITH PSEUDS: An Ao3 user who has different posted fics within the Marius/Luke tag under different pseuds will be counted as one unique author. Despite saying in the last paragraph that the my personal knowledge will not be enacted to tweak how Ao3 lists data, I’m making one exception here because it literally only pertains to three Ao3 users in the ship tag, so this won’t make my tiny brain cry at all.

So without further ado and in alphabetical order, here our are heroes:

Authors listed under the Anonymous Label

ajing_1124

artistic_gemini

asukryo

autumnsparrxw

BlazingSunflowers

CandorArchives

chechevitsa

darkbreak

doridoripawaa

dxpiarchaive / keeyamii

Eden_of_Amour / suffering_meguca

EnnTea

floweringlight

friedchickenlord

Goryo_Wataru

i_o_u_e_a

itshaku

kombat_exe

ladyhaspran

layla_wp

Litchire

lukevonhagen

m3i_day

marcipancake

monocuri

osamurice

pvsiytemhaver

quarterweeb / theobscenefraction

reptilianraven

RikuMorimachisGirl

Rxzaliya

samandspam

snocchiato

Solaste

sondepoch

strayris

Szim

Tinowenn

ThirdLibraryOfYumenosaki

turnscote

wtfhoney

xeriacat

xXILoveMyFridgeXx

ynfzymokaihewo

---

A Brief Glimpse Into Ratings and Tags

Before I looked at the ratings, I had a hypothesis that Explicit fics would take the lead because in majority of the MariLuke fics I’ve read myself, Marius and Luke are written to have incredibly active libidos. Lo and behold, when I did chart down the fics by rating, is is revealed that…

…statistically, we are horny. 

Not by a whole lot though! Fics that are rated Teen and Up comes in 2nd place by just a very small margin, so that’s a lot of fics that are accessible to those who don’t want to read Marius and Luke getting nasty.

In terms of Additional Tags, I checked out the Top 5 most frequented Additional Tags and charted them below.

The Top 5 most used Additional Tags are actually Fluff, Light Angst, Comedy, Humor, and Anal Sex. However, I reasoned that Comedy and Humor are the exact same thing, so I counted them as synonyms and added in the 6th most used Additional Tag: Established Relationship. 

Anyhoo, I think it’s really sweet to see that Fluff reigns supreme! And by a large margin, too. We love to write our boys having a wholesome lovely time. Of course, we also like just a smidge of narrative spice, which is where Light Angst comes in in 2nd place. That being said, I think it’s insanely funny that Anal Sex is in this chart. It is very out of place among the rest, LMAO.

---

A Brief Segue Into The Popularity of Marius/Luke In Relation to Other ToT BL Pairings

As of May 31, 2024, Marius/Luke is the 1st most popular M/M ship in the Ao3 tag, overall clocking in with a total of 166 works. 

In addition to that, I think it’s interesting to note that the 2nd most popular BL ship is Marius/Artem, with 130 fics, while the 3rd most popular BL ship is Marius/Vyn, with 66 fics. Tied for 4th place is Artem/Male or Gender Neutral Reader, and Vyn/Artem, both at 46 fics respectively.

The reason why I think the top 5 BL ships are interesting to look at is due to Marius’ participation in 3 out of the 5 most popular M/M ships in the ToT tag. Given this, we can veritably congratulate him for statistically beating the heterosexual allegations. Marius really gave off vibes that made many different shippers go “oh there’s no way in hell he’s completely straight.”

---

Accolades 

Longest Fic

As of May 31, 2024, the Longest Fic in the tag is [drumroll]...Losing Sight by pvsiytemhaver! This fic is actually primarily as ArtemRosa fic with MariLuke as an additional ship, and it currently clocks in at 90,109 words, taking the 1st spot as the longest MariLuke fic and the 18th longest fic overall in the general “未定事件簿 | Tears of Themis (Video Game)” fandom tag. Let’s take a look at the runner ups!

Here’s the list of the longest fics in the MariLuke tag:

Losing Sight by pvsiytemhaver (90,109 words)

the lips i used to call home (it was maroon) by xXILoveMyFridgeXx (58,185 words)

Five Points of a Star by xXILoveMyFridgeXx (25,494 words)

Risk of Pain by Solaste (25,157 words)

end of a decade (start of an age) by xXILoveMyFridgeXx (20,671 words)

Special shoutout to user xXILoveMyFridgeXx who consistently pumps out fics with gargantuan word counts.

Fic With Most Kudos

Next on the list is the Fic With The Most Kudos, and this title goes to [drumroll]... “standard operating procedure (x4 speedrun) by reptilianraven” which…oh, that’s me. 

This fic is not solely a MariLuke work, but an NXX Polycule work that has MariLuke within it. Weighing in with 827 kudos, it takes the spot as the 1st most kudos’d MariLuke work, while also weighing in as the 9th most kudos’d fic overall in the general “未定事件簿 | Tears of Themis (Video Game)” fandom tag. Let’s take a look at the runner ups!

Here’s the list of the Top 5 Fics With Most Kudos:

standard operating procedure (x4 speedrun) by reptilianraven (827 kudos)

every breath you take, every move you make, peanut will be watching you by reptilianraven (735 kudos)

how Puppy Pierce© conquered the world by reptilianraven (705 kudos)

the existence of a top student implies the existence of a bottom student by reptilianraven (575 kudos)

making out with your bro for fun and for profit by reptilianraven (567 kudos)

(Thank you for the kudos ;^;)

Author With Most MariLuke Works Written

And now, for our last accolade… the award for the author who currently has a large chunk of the MariLuke Ao3 tag coming from their own fics wrought by their own mind. 

This title goes to [drumroll]... oh goddamn it, it’s me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being insane about them. I don’t remember writing this much for them, I swear to god. Let’s look at the runner ups!

Here’s the list of authors with the most MariLuke works written:

reptilianraven (24 works)

quarterweeb / theobscenefraction (quarterweeb) (23 works)

Litchire (15 works) and ynfzymokaihewo (15 works) tied for 3rd place

xXILoveMyFridgeXx (13 works)

wtfhoney (11 works)

---

Conclusion

I love this ship. I love this ship so goddamn much, but if there’s one thing I love more, it’s the community of shippers who write for this ship. This pet project was started as a little love letter from me to the MariLuke writing community. So, thank you, MariLuke writers!! Thank you for putting your heart and soul into the works you create, thus fashioning a beautifully wide array of fics to enjoy and read, and thank you for showing your love for this rarepair!

Alright, this report is too damn long. I’m gonna go reread MariLuke fics now. Bye! Hope you enjoyed!

[codywanfirstkissbingo]

One, two, three, four-- cwfkb'ers oh we love you more with every week you lay more first kiss fills at our tumblr door.

You've done a feisty and phenomenal job of filling galaxies both near and really far, far away with first kisses of every feeling, flavor, and AU.

Did you know that the end of November through the end of January is a hard time of year for lots of folks?  It’s true– but there’s no bleak fan-winter this year, BECAUSE HOLY KRIFF IS THE CODYWAN FANDOM AMAZING. You have made such amazing art, and written so many fantastic fics, that you’ve made a hard time of year full of first kisses– chaste or sexy, angsty or fluffy– and your mods are amazed and grateful every day for all of your fills. 

As of this post, we have 101 kisses so far, and we’ve got until next Sunday, December 31, 12PM EST, to post the rest of your fills.  

Don’t forget to reblog and share this post to help spread the smooches, and take the time in the next few weeks to mark the fills in our AO3 collection for later– then you can catch up on the fills you missed and tell the authors and artists how much you want to peck them on the forehead in thanks!

The overall roundup post(s) tallying all the fills, the bingos, and the blackouts will be up within a week or two of the close of the event-- but in the mean time you can keep sharing the love and spreading all the great fills.

Art: 

@coline7373 (on AO3) gave us a dip kiss, continuing the trend of Cody getting dipped, and a forehead kiss.  

@dontbelasagnax (on AO3) gave us an inevitable kiss and a chaste kiss.

Fic: 

@babygirlbridger (LothCatThree on AO3) gave us a fill for a rough kiss. 

@biscuityskies (on AO3) treated us to several longer fills for the following kisses: (spicy) angry kiss, lipstick kiss, thirsty kiss, & morning breath kiss, an accidental kiss.

@eloquent-apollo (Icarus_Falls on AO3) gave us a fill for a kiss on the corner of the mouth. 

@foreverchangingfandomsao3 (foreverchangingfandoms on AO3) continued their kiss marathon, with fills for:  hopeful kiss, Keldabe kiss, kissing through smiles, a painful kiss (and ANOTHER BINGO), a gross kiss (AND ANOTHER ANOTHER BINGO), a kiss on the corner of the mouth (ANOTHER BINGO THIS WRITER’S UNSTOPPABLE), and a messy kiss (ugh, yawn, another bingo? j/k AMAZING INCREDIBLE SHOWSTOPPING).

@forloveofcodywan (MiaSirtnev on AO3) gave us a fill for kiss on the corner of the mouth.

@inkformyblood (QuickSilverFox3 on AO3) gave us a fill for an uncertain kiss, an absentminded kiss, a lipstick kiss, a hand kiss, and kissing through smiles. 

@insertmeaningfulusername (InsertSthMeaningful on AO3) gave us a fill for a kiss of life, and a painful kiss.

@lttrsfrmlnrrgby (thosenearandfarwars on AO3) gave us a fill for a bloodsoaked kiss and a Keldabe kiss.

@meebles (Firelord_Zutara on AO3) gave us a fill for a nervous kiss. 

@michaelaariadne (on AO3) gave us a fill for nervous kiss & celebratory kiss and a kiss on the cheek & tender kiss.

@random-letters-i-just-thought-of (on AO3) gave us a fill for a hopeful kiss and got a BINGO with that fill as well!

@tesdragon (Shadowmatic on AO3) gave us a fill for a forehead kiss 

@wrennette (on AO3) gave us a very steamy, spicy fill for rough kiss, forehead kiss, thirsty kiss, kiss with tongue, morning breath kiss. 

[beautifulterriblequeen]

2024 Writing Roundup

Thanks to @no-cinnamon-for-synonym for the tag! I'm typing this up from home instead of away because our Christmas travel plans have been put on indefinite hold.

This year I posted or added chapters to 21 fics (27 if we count the fics in the Prism event separately), totaling 62,413 words, as best I can gather. Some of these may be more a surprise to me than you, since I began 2024 with insanely bad memory issues. Let's see what I was up to, shall we?

JANUARY 🎊

How Far You've Fallen [T, 1600, The Dragon Prince]

Runaan is free from the dark magic hellcoin, but it's left its mark on him - he cannot heal from any of the injuries he had while inside it. And the amount of pain he's in every day is getting too heavy to carry alone. Fortunately for Runaan, he isn't alone. He has Ethari.

FEBRUARY 💚

Seeing The Light [M, 118k (not counted in total), The Dragon Prince]

I scared some folks who got an update on this one, thinking I was posting new chapters, but I was just splitting a massive chapter into two before starting to write some new stuff. I did get three new chapters written, but I told myself I wouldn't post any more of them and give people false hope until I had the whole thing finished - and then S6 dropped and I did indeed wander off again. Sorry. It's still in progress, but... so is everything else.

I'm only including it here because Ao3 included it on my 2024 list.

Mutual Pining [T, 1700, The Dragon Prince]

Tiadrin has started a book club in the Silvergrove, for her own secret reasons. Tonight, as they talk about a book about being turned into trees, she thinks she might finally accomplish her goals. ft. absolute disasters Runaan and Ethari

MARCH 🍀

TDP Prism Event [T, 11k, The Dragon Prince]

the first year for this extracanon event, which takes a look at what might have been, or what could never have been

Prompts: Twist (March 10) Chains (March 17) Dance (March 24) Strive (March 31) Resist (April 7) Reward (April 14) Tomorrow (April 21)

APRIL 🌧️

Make Me A Dagger [Gen, 1k, The Dragon Prince]

Runaan finds a way to propose to his beloved craftsman!

(crossposted from Tumblr)

Cracker of Sprites [Gen, 500, The Dragon Prince]

While Viren is busy swallowing his caterpillar and getting laser surgery, Claudia and Soren take a quick peek into a tiny corner of Xadia. When they find something new, Claudia decides she's gotta get her hands on it.

(crossposted from Tumblr)

MAY 🌻

Another Moonberry Surprise [Gen, 1900, The Dragon Prince]

Runaan has his first birthday after being freed from the coin, and Ethari has a gift (or two) for him.

JUNE 🌈

Wayflavor [Gen, 1800, The Dragon Prince]

After being released from the coin, Runaan settles away from the Silvergrove with Ethari and tries to find something to do with his hands. But he needs a little help.

JULY 🕶️

break for my birthday/travel/S6

AUGUST ☀️

A Second First Impression [Gen, 3400, The Dragon Prince]

Runaan is out of the coin and Ethari is on his way to him at the Moon Nexus! But Runaan needs a shirt before he's fit to meet his husband again. Luckily, he has some help deciding what to wear.

In Darkness and in Light [M, 8800, The Dragon Prince]

Ethari has miraculously gotten his husband back from the dead, but something stands in the way of their healing, and Runaan has refused to address it. Desperate to understand, Ethari sneaks deep into the bowels of the Katolis Castle ruins with only two words on his mind: Historia Viventem.

One of my very few Dead Dove fics, so mind the tags. I mean them.

SEPTEMBER 🍂

Rising Moon [Gen, 3k, The Dragon Prince]

Ethari is used to his new birthday routine after three years without Runaan. It is what it is, and that's okay. But when he gets a surprise visit on his birthday, he begins to realize that maybe things can be better than okay. And that's okay too.

A Hand in Peace [T, 9300, The Dragon Prince]

Runaan's guilt and Ezran's anger clash, and the Cycle threatens to begin anew.

OCTOBER 🎃

Waning Moon [M, 5400, The Dragon Prince], coauthored with @furiouslatte

Trapped and alone, Runaan's moon begins to wane inside Viren's dark magic coin prison. When the shadows come and the whispers call, who will the Master of Blades become?

War is Easy, Peace is Hard [T, 2600, The Dragon Prince]

When Commander Gren sees Rayla so worried over Runaan's arrest that day, he offers to help them both, and reunites with his old dungeon buddy.

NOVEMBER 🍞

Hurt [T, 700, The Dragon Prince]

Lira plays a little trick on Ethari to cheer him up, but it goes awry when she's not looking.

The Lunaris Express [Gen, 1600, The Dragon Prince]

Rayla convinces her freshly decoined dad to eat up.

Filthy [E, 100, The Dragon Prince]

Runaan comes home from a rainy day of training in the forest and finds his weaponsmith husband hot and dirty.

DECEMBER ❄️

how am I gonna be an optimist about this? [T, 2200, The Dragon Prince]

The Silvergrove Council has paired up-and-coming assassin Runaan with a helpmeet who will bolster his tactical uses with smithing skills. Unfortunately for everyone, the arranged marriage is already tainted - by feelings.

(crossposted from Tumblr)

i'd block the sun, if you want it done [M, 2800, The Dragon Prince]

Ethari has married the man of his dreams, but Runaan insists he doesn't love him back. Together they must negotiate their first night in the tree house, knowing Runaan's assassin friends are keeping watch.

(crossposted from Tumblr)

in your eyes [T, 2100, The Dragon Prince]

Runaan overdoes a Public Kiss and Ethari gets hurt.

(crossposted from Tumblr)

time [M, 700, The Dragon Prince]

"The day you lose someone isn't the worst. It's all the days they stay dead." - Twelve

Wow, I guess I must've done all that, if Ao3 says I did! Leaving the tags wide open to anyone who wants to do it!

[sitp-recs]

HP Rec Fest, Day 31

Last day of @hprecfest and I AM NOT READY to say goodbye 😭 so sad to see this incredible coming to an end but also thrilled that I’ve had the chance to participate and found my reccing mojo again. Thank you @givereadersahug for this incredible initiative and to all the mods for for your hard work!!! Of course the last prompt is a banger, it was so hard to pick a fav amongst favs but to honour my commitment to rec fics that deserve more visibility I’m sharing two stunning works that showcase the beauty of short (3k) and medium (31k) form. No better way to close it out than reccing two stories that have been so very special for me ever since I first read them, and informed the way I see the ships and my respect for short-medium length. I can only hope this post will inspire more folks to check and experience these beauties by themselves. I hope you’ve had as much fun with the Rec Fest as I did! Wishing everyone a happy NYE and an amazing start to 2024 🥂

Day 31) a fav amongst favs:

Drarry

Still Life (orphaned, M, 3k)

No summary provided so I’ll quote:

if you’ve ever wondered if it’s possible to create a perfect short fic the answer is yes and the proof is right here. what a masterclass in short form! the gorgeous prose, the introspective tone, the slice-of-life atmosphere, the perfect pacing and unexpected ending - everything comes together so seamlessly it might feel casual at first but I promise it’s actually quite profound in meaning. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read Still Life and it still hits me in the solar plexus. every. fucking. time. Harry’s pov is a triumph, nuanced, hilariously oblivious and so charming as he navigates conflicting feelings about his growing attraction to Draco. it’s as if we are right there by his side, watching as he overanalyzes their casual-not-so-casual relationship and Draco’s not helping by being infuriatingly hot, tender and quirky (god what a compelling combo, and he has such brilliant lines too!). I am obsessed with their voices and with Harry’s mental gymnastics from horny denial to stunned resignation. this was such a transformative read for me because it’s one of the few fics that made my jaw drop with every paragraph, masterfully crafted to hit me right in the feels. by now I know by heart the lines that give me the “heartkick” - a physical reaction that makes my heart contract and expand with warmth at reading something that changes me in a permanent way. there’s nothing I could say to do this fic justice so I rest my case by stating that it’s a privilege to have the chance to read seefin’s works! what a legend.

Rare pair

A Fine Foray into Fashionable Fellatio by @wellhalesbells (Draco/Ron, E, 31.5k)

First comes tolerating, then comes shagging, then comes unintended consequences.

this is the fic that effectively and irreversibly pulled me into Dron 🪦 I remember being so completely mindblown and obsessed with this story that I immediately found 1824947 ways to mention and rec it every chance I got. holy shit, what a journey! before reading this fic I didn’t know it was possible to love them together and not even think about Harry. but here Ron and Draco are so fully realized, so well-matched in wit, charisma and personality I was promptly sold on the ship without ever comparing their dynamics to Drarry, after all Ron is so very different from Harry. this is quite the emotional rollercoaster, as chaotic, impulsive and intense as both characters; their chemistry and sexual tension are off the charts (the bathroom sex and smoke kink, my god!!!! 🥵) and the Mpreg plot works surprisingly well and in a very Dron way: jump head first, talk feelings later. love the mix of playful banter, horny smut and tentative sweet romance with a long-standing friendship in the background. this is such a FUN read and I really appreciate that the author took their time to develop both the plot and the characters, it certainly felt refreshing to me as I’m used to short rare pair fics. definitely a Dron classic that deserves to be read and reread many times!

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Wednesday, January 31

JOYCE: Well, there are some things I'd be happy to see you share. Like the slaying. I mean, two of you fighting is safer than one, right? BUFFY: I guess. JOYCE: Unless, I mean, you heard her. She loves the slaying. Couldn't she take over for you? BUFFY: Mom, no one can take over for me. JOYCE: But you're going to college next year. I think it would be... BUFFY: Mom, the only way you get a new Slayer is when the old Slayer dies. JOYCE: Then that means you... When did you die? You never told me you died! BUFFY: It was just for a few minutes.

~~BtVS 3x03 “Faith, Hope, & Trick”~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Heartless (Buffy, Angel, PG) by badly_knitted

Healing Touch (Buffy/Giles, not rated) by ShyRomantic

This Is My Apocalypse (Willow/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter xover, E) by SnarkyGranger1

It’s always going to be you (Gilex/reader, not rated) by specialagentlokitty

The Burden of Fathers and Sons (Angel, Wesley, not rated) by naoa-ao3

Walking With Ghosts (Buffy/Spike, G) by violettathepiratequeen

Walking With Ghosts (Buffy/Spike, G) by violettathepiratequeen

[Chaptered Fiction]

Blasphemy, Chapter 3/? (Buffy/Spike, T) by wickedrum

One Big Happy-ish Family, Chapter 4/? (Connor, Angel, Queer as Folk xover, T) by LolaRD

Staying Afloat, Chapter 3/? (Willow/Oz, T) by dwinchester

The Master and her Court, Chapter 2/? (Buffy/Angel/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, Explicit) by TheClowniestLivInExistence

Comic - In Your Shadow, Chapters 5-6 Complete! (Spike/Xander, T) by genericaces

[French language] Les deux Phénix, Chapter 9/? (Buffy/Faith, M) by FridayQueen

Spike's Price, Chapter 4/? (Buffy/Spike, G) by Jdharblood

Her Old Fashioned Boy, Chapter 21/? (Giles/Jenny, T) by Bobbie23

Worship the Rain, Chapter 1 (Angel/Cordelia, T) by Cosmic Alice

Burden of Time, Chapter 59 (Xander, M) by Jennifer Schumacher

Unborn, Chapter 2 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Lizzie Queen of Meigas

Early One Morning, Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by all choseny

Love Lives Here, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Passion4Spike

Old Fashioned Romance, Chapter 6 (Xander/Steve Rogers, Marvel xover, FR21) by calikocat

Back to the Light, Chapter 6 (Buffy, Torchwood/Doctor Who xover, FR18) by MountainKing

Healing After Heaven, Chapter 19 (Buffy, Highlander xover, FR13) by Kate

A Breath is But a Soundless Whisper, Chapter 18 (Buffy/Spike, 18+) by Blackoberst

Coming Through, Chapter 10 (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only) by hulettwyo

It's Easy Time, Until It's Not, Chapter 21 (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only) by hulettwyo

Massacre at Carabon Hill, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, M) by myrabeth

Stomping on butterflies, Chapters 8-9 (Buffy/Spike, T) by Blackoberst

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: they saw you from across the bar and liked your vibe (Spike/Drusilla, worksafe) by genericaces

Artwork: buffy the vampire slayer my little pony au (worksafe) by wiltinn

Artwork: “You better not tell anyone about this Spike!” (Buffy/Spike, worksafe) by ice-fire-art

Artwork: Owen and Buffy at The Bronze, painted for Previously On… Buffy the Vampire Slayer. (worksafe) by ghostrabbit87

Artwork: I mean we all saw this coming right (Spike, worksafe) by doctormage

Artwork: [Spike] (worksafe) by alessandra-estrella

Artwork: Spike But A Butch (worksafe) by transmasc-taub

Artwork: Willow Moment (worksafe) by squibkin

Artwork: Sarah Michelle Gellar (worksafe) by sofya-creations

Meme: sprusilla + textposts (worksafe) by lunar-beauty

Meme: Spuffy + these tiktok comments (worksafe) by mcgnagallsarmy

Icons: Angel — S01E01, S01E02, S01E03 (1999) (worksafe) by slashericons

Moodboard: buffy x willow (worksafe) by purgeshubble

Lockscreens: Faith Lehane Lockscreens (worksafe) by myriaeden

[Reviews & Recaps]

Day 30: Favorite Season Finale: Season 2, Episodes 21 & 22: “Becoming” by k0nstantly-tragic

[Recs & In Search Of]

Smutty Sunday: Angel x Drusilla x Spike fic rec recced by februaryfangfest

The Hunter and the Slayer by pherryt [Buffy, Dean Winchester, Supernatural xover, T] recced by genuaryficrecs

[Fandom Discussions]

Angel/Spike for the shipping game by raelis1

The way people will hop into my mentions to attack Spuffy fans with reminders of Seeing Red tell me two things... by elysianholly

Re: BtVS “The Replacement” S5E03 aka the Toth episode by lierdumoa

I think a lot of people don’t know how to handle a show growing up along with them. by all-hail-the-water-god

Trigger Warning - Rewatching season 4 of Buffy and I’m at the arc where Buffy and Faith switch bodies... by kat–writes

Buffyverse Ship Tag Game by spangelmybeloved

Having thoughts about Jesse. by ammoniteflesh

Spuffy [for the shipping game] by raelis1

i love buffy the vampire slayer aus, but when authors make the slayer male, its kinda not lit by magneto-manifesto

Everyone in season 6 is making bad choices except for Anya, and I love it by marilyn-not-monroe

[Meta about BtVS, characters, and ships] by littleredruns

[Tribute to actor Hinton Battle and his performance as Sweet in OMWF] by xxgothchatonxx

riley leaving the decision about spike’s chip in buffy’s hands is so important to me by arthursdent

Could Buffy maybe have possibly died a third time including when she was shot by Warren? by Kristine, multiple posters

Sweet actor Hinton Battle dies by nightshade, multiple posters

What If: Billy's gift did work on Angel? by nightshade, multiple posters

I think Faith is partly well loved because of her relationships to others by Novel_Comparison7735

Sounds silly but does anyone get nightmares after watching? by cozyforestfairy

The most unrealistic thing in all of Buffy. by Reviewingremy, multiple posters

What are some small gripes/funny things you've noticed that don't ruin the shows for you? by jumpingjellyf1sh

Anything in Buffy: The Buffy Vampire Slayer and/or Angel You Think Could've Been Utilized More? by Big-Restaurant-2766, multiple posters

If you had to choose one, which of these major episodes from S2 deserves the most praise? Innocence, Passion, or Becoming, part two by InfiniteMehdiLove

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[sugareey-makes-stuff]

20 questions for fic writers!

Ooo, this look fun! Thanks for the tags, @lumosatnight (x) and @anaxandria-writes (x) ! This is going to be interesting since I've only started writing again a few years ago, so I'll do what I can to make this writing-centric. This is also probably going to be rambly AF, so you've been warned. And onwards!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

118 (39 are fics, and the rest is all art). That number will change because it's spooky season, and there are definitely some fun things being posted for that very soon.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

91,266, but if you exclude a couple of collabs where I only provided art, then it's down to 68,276. I have a few works that are hidden and haven't been "officially" released yet because these are the WIP text fics I've talked about before, and they need more TLC!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Harry Potter (31)

Teen Wolf (8)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Little did I know [HP: Perciver, T, 2.5k]

There's a guiding light [HP: Perciver, G, 1.5k]

Love me like that [HP: Perciver, T, 2.5k]

Help Me Out [TW: Sterek, E, 3.3k]

It's Enough For Now [TW: Sterek, G, 300 words w/ art]

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

You know what's funny? I had to take a break from answering for quite a while, and I just started replying back to comments to most recent works yesterday. So, progress! I really do want to show some appreciation to folks who have read and viewed my work, especially across multiple fandoms and ships over the last couple of months. The multi-fandom life is a tricky one to balance, but I'm hoping I can reply to a batch here or there when I have a chance to eventually get caught up with the backlog. If I haven't replied back yet, please note that I have read your lovely comment, but I just haven't had a chance to string together some words to say thank you! I cherish each and every comment I get, especially if I've made someone smile or their day a little brighter with my creations.

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

I've actually been in a whumpy phase lately, but I posted up The Walls Came Crashing Down (TW: Sterek, T, 4,242 words) maybe a couple of weeks ago because it's a Bloody Mary fic, and there was a near-death experience included. There's also so many terrible feels, crying and trauma after that happens. It's hopeful but yeah. I've been wanting make something like this for a long time, so I'm glad I finally did because it was such a fun and challenging fic to write (while keeping it at that exact word count :P).

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

Navy and Gold (HP: Perciver, G, 900 words) for Cruel Summer Fic fest, because I was given a song that had a lot of fluffy family vibes, and that's usually what I don't write? But I turned it into a wedding ficlet, and I think I surprised myself because it came out really well. Especially in such few words!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten some weird comments on both fic and art. More of the kind where someone wanted or expected a certain thing, or they were questioning that something was missing. Anyway, some friends have defended my honour or else tell me that those commenters weren't worth it, so I'm glad to have that kind of support!

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

Once upon a time I did not write PWPs. Ever since I came out of writing hibernation, PWPs have definitely slipped in. That's how I actually started writing more when I challenged myself to write drabbles for a smut workshop for Kinkuary. Now, I love writing sexy and kinky microfics and drabbles because they're short, quick and punchy. I've recently graduated to writing a couple of one shots (and heyyy, I'm actually working on a couple for Kinktober as we speak ;D). Kinkuary and Kinktober are usually my inspirations to get things written out anyway, but I'm open to other challenges too. There's a reason why A Study in Kink exists as an HP fic and art series. At this rate, I may need to make a new series for Sterek Sexy Stories. The amount of Sterek smut ideas I have kicking around in WIPs rn is kinda insane. But also, porn with feelings. <333

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

Not in the traditional sense. The most I've done is add in fandom references into a fic. So for Teen Wolf, I've been adding in little elements from Supernatural, especially if I want to bring a certain type of lore or big bad into the scene. But that's it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Thankfully, I haven't. Then again, I've only written short things these past few years (and I'm more concerned about art theft, considering how much of my art is out in the world).

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, I have not!

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

Yes, I have! @crazybutgood and I got to know each other when we were paired up last year for the Owlery Exchange: To Days to Come and wrote I Just Want You To Know (Drarry, T, 3.5k) together. Epistolary fics are awesome btw! My Harry had a lot of fun bantering and bonding with her Draco, and I love how we didn't even know we were writing to each other until partners were revealed, and it was time for betaing and editing. That's how we became fast friends, which was totally meant to be! :D

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

That's just...I like a lot of ships, okay? I'm a multi-shipper and a multi-fandomer, so that's a tough question!! Hang on tight...this is going to be a long ass explanation. I'm not going to rank them, but I'll list three ships that have impacted my life in a huge way. I'll start with Sterek, because I've only gotten to know them for a little over a year. But Sterek was a blessing to discover at such a shitty time. Literally one year ago, I felt burnt out, like I was losing my muse, and I was recovering from COVID. Everything in RL kind of sucked. But when I got curious and started reading Sterek fics late one night, I was sold. Sterek helped me pause and get to know myself again as a creator, reader and a human. I really needed that, so the timing couldn't have been any better. I latched on to Sterek quickly and tightly because I see some of Stiles' and Derek's traits in me. They're also complicated and deserve Nice Things, and I can relate so, so much. That's why it's been easy to make art and fic for them. Their potential is endless because Sterek made my love for supernatural and spooky things deeper. Every time I write or draw for them, I can do it with ease and clarity. Everything just comes together and works. And it's so satisfying! Perciver is a rare pair I owe so much to. They're the ship that gave me the confidence to write again and they changed the way I currently draw. I think drawing Percy and Oliver helped me understand them as characters, and that translated into writing because I already had visuals. I know them in and out, and I made the fic series, Where do we go from here? because I believed in them. I wanted to share stories that haven't been told yet, but I wanted them to be real. And the fact I've figured out how to bring Perciver to life through art and fic has an amazing journey. They've given me the practice I needed to improve my crafts. It's because of Perciver that I've become a better artist and writer because I finally found my groove. And gosh, it's nice to have a well-established style. I will love these boys forever because they may be opposites but gods, do they go so well together. They get each other, they're each other's rocks, and it's beautiful. Of course, Drarry was my first ship I fell in love with. I still love them to pieces, and it's because of these two that I learned how to write and draw in the first place. I've been able to make some amazing friendships with other folks because of these two, and I cherish that a lot. Also, Drarry was why I entered fandom and the fest scene, and why I've stuck around for so long. What the creators in this community have made year after year is immaculate. And all the fics I've binged over the years got me through some of the hardest times of my life, especially when I was dealing with family issues, school and just growing up. I cannot imagine what life would have been like without Drarry, tbh. I think of Drarry as two sides of the same coin, and their banter and their snark and their complexities make it so they learn to understand each other. It's inevitable why they're drawn and will always be drawn to each other.

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

I don't want to say never, but more like when. I've mentioned way back in other posts that there are 2 text fics WIPs that have been kicking around, but since I have sooo much I need to rewrite and recode for each one, I have no idea when I'll have time? One of them is slotted to be a 50k Sterek fic with texting, IG messages and a scrolling playlist and I have half of it written out. Let me tell ya, coding alone takes more time than the writing. The other fic is a sequel to the above fic and has holidays vibes, and it still has the same coding setup, so yeah. I'll figure it out one day, I guess.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue is my fav and something I write out first because it shapes how the fic will read. It's how I develop voices, snark, banter and whatever else, and then I'll fill in the gaps with narrative, description and all that jazz. That's also how I end up getting the best ideas. The dialogue ends being my prompt to move the story along. I'm also a thorough researcher and like to check my facts before writing in little details. Just so I can have some perspective and so I have an idea how I want to explain something from a character's PoV. Also, it's super helpful to drop in little Easter eggs to shape things up and give a scene some context. Facts are fun. And I'm a nerd, but we all knew that. XD I've definitely gotten way better at showing vs. telling once I started writing again. I try to go for smooth or punchy if I can. It comes down to a lot of things like dialogue, selecting certain verbs and descriptors to explain a person's narrative (like what's going on in their mind), how those thoughts are broken up in multiple sentences and how those are punctuated. Those are the things that create beats and rhythms that keep the story going. And since I'm creative who also loves music and dancing, I'm all for that. I actually think I'm wired to think this way, so that's not a bad thing!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Extensive world building and making big plots that need a lot of ends tied up. I used to write longer fics that had all of this, and while I still have copies of these (not published on AO3 for reasons), they're not strong. Rereading things now, these stories could use improvements. It's easy to try to jam everything in one go, but that needs to be done strategically. And you know, sometime less is more. I also don't have a lot of patience to go crazy with intricate outlines (since I'm more of a pantser than a planner), and I've found that writing something that's super detailed ends up boxing me into a corner or else it's like dragging teeth to finish the thing. I think this is definitely related to my writing style having changed over time, which is not a bad thing! I just can't write like that anymore.

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

Yessss. I've done that with Love me like that! I also happen to know Scottish Gaelic, so I was able to drop words in pretty easily. I love the cultural sense another language adds to a fic because it shows more dimensions than just describing what someone looks like, where they're from, etc. I also like using a few words vs a long sentence. Names, or little sayings that hint at traditions or history are just nice touches. So if I do know a language and I know I can add in some words in correctly, I most certainly will!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, specifically for Drarry (all of my older stuff is on LJ)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Probably Feel You Breathing [TW: Sterek, E, 8.4k] because it was my 3rd attempt in writing a text fic, which ended up being a success. It's 100% texting, something I totally made for myself, but I'm really proud of it because I had a chance to write from alternating PoVs. Also, this somehow turned into porn with plot and feelings and had some minor world building included based on texts alone. I didn't think I could accomplish that, but I did!

Tagging (no pressure, this is just for funsies): @danpuff-ao3, @phdmama, @outtoshatter, @thistlecatfics, @phoebe-delia, @nanneramma, @theheadgirl, @raisesomehale, @thotpuppy, @bleepbloopbotz, @quackquackcey and anyone who wants to do this!

[valdomarx]

Untouchable

Octoberfest day 31: cursed

“Fuck! Geralt! Help!”

Geralt rolls his eyes as Jaskier comes skidding to a halt in front of him. He dreads to imagine what trouble he’s gotten himself into now.

“Something terrible has happened! I had an, umm, unfortunate encounter with a sorcerer.” He blushes, pink creeping over his cheeks. “And he put some horrible curse on me and portaled away, the bastard.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

“And now I can’t touch anyone. Look!” Jaskier holds out a hand to stop a passerby. He goes to shake the confused man’s hand, but the moment their skin makes contact Jaskier gives a yelp of pain and leaps back.

That reaction isn’t feigned, Geralt is sure, even as the man gives them both an odd look and leaves.

“When you touch someone, does it hurt badly?”

Jaskier’s bottom lip wobbles. “It really does.”

He sighs. A lack of touch might be a mere annoyance for him, but he knows it’s more than that for Jaskier. “I’ve heard of a mage who specialises in lifting curses. But he’s all the way in Kovir, and that’s no small journey.”

Jaskier turns big, pleading eyes on him. “Please, Geralt, I’ll do anything. You have to help me.”

As if he could ever refuse him anything. “Alright,” he grumbles. “We’ll head to Kovir.”

-

At first, Jaskier appears as bright as ever. Yet as the days pass, more and more often he chews his lip in a nervous habit, and he rubs his fingers together when people come too close. He smells of anxiety and restlessness.

Each evening, once the dinner has been eaten and the sun has set, they lay out their bedrolls by the embers of the fire. The scent of anxiety is replaced by one of loneliness and Jaskier will curl in on himself, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. It’s sad, how much lesser Jaskier seems to feel without touch.

Geralt is used to being shunned, to going months without a friendly clap on the shoulder or shake of the hand. But Jaskier isn’t, and the curse is taking a toll on him. Geralt wishes he could help, that he could provide some comfort, but he knows right now all he can cause Jaskier is pain.

-

They need coin for their journey, so Geralt takes jobs along the way. He’s on a contract to clear a nest of nekkers and he has, for some unknown reason, allowed Jaskier to accompany him. Jaskier had wheedled and pleaded and in the end Geralt had found himself unable to say no.

It should be fine. A nekker nest is an easy job, and as agile and springy as the creatures are, they’ve no stamina and they’re easy to kill.

That must be why he allows his concentration to slip when he’s approaching the nest, his eyes darting to the side to check Jaskier is safe behind a rock. The momentary slip lets one of the foul little things bounce up to him and sink its teeth into his gauntlet, more of an annoyance than a real threat. He shakes it off with one hand and uses the other to cut more of the creatures down with his silver blade. His gauntlet goes flying, but no matter, he can collect that later.

He rounds on the last few of the creatures who are nickering angrily. As he circles them he sees Jaskier peeking his head over the rock and then creeping closer, trying to get a better look.

Fuck. He kills two of the nekkers quickly, but the last three have picked up on Jaskier’s scent and are eyeing him with interest. Geralt sees two leaning back on their hind legs, preparing to leap at Jaskier and cut him to shreds with their sharp claws.

He has a split second to make a decision: Grab Jaskier and risk hurting him himself, or leave him where he is and watch the creatures go for his chest. It’s no choice at all really, so Geralt sends up a quiet word of apology and grabs Jaskier firmly around the neck with his ungloved hand and shoves him out of the way.

The last two creatures leap into the air, but with their target gone they’re easy prey. Geralt cuts them down with minimal effort and turns, expecting to see Jaskier writhing on the ground in pain.

He’s not though. He’s sat in the mud with a puzzled expression on his face.

“That didn’t hurt,” he says, seemingly mystified. “Well, being thrown to the ground was not the most delightful experience, but when you touched me - it didn’t hurt.”

That is strange. Geralt had been sure he’d triggered the curse.

Jaskier gets to his feet and regards Geralt quizzically. Very carefully, he reaches out and touches his fingertip to Geralt’s bare hand. He doesn’t flinch back or gasp in pain. Instead, he takes Geralt’s entire hand in his own, and a beautiful smile blooms over his face.

“I can touch you! But how?”

Geralt stares down at their joined hands, unsure why he feels unsteady. “Witchers are immune to magic?” he guesses. “I suppose that could be -”

He’s interrupted by Jaskier throwing his arms around him and hugging him close, happy little sounds of joy and relief spilling from him. “Oh, Geralt, thank the gods, I was losing my mind.” He snuggles deeper against Geralt, rubbing his face into his neck and hanging on tight.

“Oh. Well.” It seems the only thing for Geralt to do is to hug him back, so he puts his arms around his shoulders and draws him in.

-

Jaskier keeps touching him all the rest of the day. Whenever he bumps their shoulders or grabs Geralt’s hand, he breaks out into a wide, goofy smile, like it’s novel and fun every time.

Perhaps the curse has worn off? The next traveller who passes them by, Jaskier finds an excuse to stop him and shake his hand. But the moment their hands touch, Jaskier yelps in pain.

He’s still cursed then. But he can touch Geralt. Strange.

And Geralt can’t help but indulge him, even though he knows Jaskier is touching him because he’s the only option, not because he really wants to. He reminds himself that Jaskier would surely rather be off with some pretty lady, not grasping at a crotchety witcher for comfort.

But still, every time Jaskier brushes their hands together and smiles, he feels a little wobbly inside.

-

That night, he watches as once again Jaskier curls in on himself, small and sad by the fire. The further north they travel, the colder the weather grows, and the more distressed Jaskier becomes.

“Hey.” He keeps his voice soft, and Jaskier turns to look at him with big, wide eyes. “Join me?” He lifts a corner of his bedroll and waves him over; an offer, not a command.

Jaskier immediately scurries over and burrows into him, all hands and hot breath and happy murmurs. He settles into Geralt’s chest with a contented sigh, and Geralt wraps his arms carefully around him.

This, at least, he can do. Jaskier will find someone else to warm him soon enough, but for now, he has Geralt.

-

Geralt is on his way back from a job when the sound of raised voices makes him quicken his step. Outside the inn where he’d left Jaskier, he spots a distinctive bright blue doublet in the midst of a gang of angry-looking locals. They’re poking at him and taunting, and Jaskier is gasping in pain.

“Look at this precious little thing,” one of them sneers. “So delicate he can’t even bear to be touched by us lowly folks.”

The man reaches out and grasps Jaskier firmly around the wrist, and Jaskier screams, raw and excruciating. The sound reaches into Geralt’s chest and twists painfully, and he breaks into a sprint.

The next thing he knows, the man is on the ground before him, sobbing as Geralt twists his arm to the point of breaking. The others have fallen back, trying to hide behind each other, and Jaskier stands off to one side cradling his wrist.

“You don’t touch him,” Geralt growls, and the man before him pales even further. “Understood?”

The man nods frantically, babbling apologies, and as much as he’s tempted to break a few bones to drive home his point, he knows Jaskier wouldn’t want that. He drops the man’s arm and snarls, “Go.” He and his friends beat a hasty retreat, leaving the street empty but for him and Jaskier.

“Jask,” he says, and it breaks his heart to see Jaskier so pale, a tear running down his cheek. “Are you alright?” He’s wracked with guilt - he should have been here to protect him.

Jaskier smiles sadly. “I’m fine. My own fault, really.” He reaches out as if to touch Geralt’s hand before faltering, unsure.

He’s clearly in need of comfort, so Geralt pushes his own uncertainties aside and steps closer. He brings up one hand to wipe away the tears from Jaskier’s cheek, and cradles his face as gently as he can. “It’s okay,” he says in the tone he uses to reassure Roach when she’s frightened. “I’ve got you.”

Jaskier blinks up at him with watery eyes, but his smile is more genuine now. “Yeah,” he sighs softly. “Yeah, you do.”

-

Jaskier still insists on performing as they travel, and as much as the thought of him among all those grasping hands sets Geralt’s teeth on edge, he does understand. For all the times that he’s been injured and insisting on continuing to work, it would be hypocritical of him to deny that to Jaskier.

He sways carefully around the tavern as he plays, and to a stranger he’d seem relaxed and at ease but Geralt knows him well enough to see the anxiety in his rigid movements. Each time a hand reaches out toward him he flinches, though normally he’d be luxuriating in the attention.

Each flinch has Geralt’s grasp on his mug of ale tightening, until the wood is groaning beneath his hand and he has to shake it loose lest he crack the mug and send ale flowing over the table.

Jaskier can take care of himself. He’ll be fine.

-

He certainly does seem fine, and by the end of the evening he’s caught the attention of a pretty girl with voluminous curls spilling out from the dainty handkerchief tied around her head. When Jaskier is done with his performance she buys him a drink, and she leans over the table to giggle as they speak in low voices.

Geralt watches from his corner table and scowls. He tells himself his foul mood comes from concern for Jaskier, from worry that this woman might hurt him unintentionally. He almost has himself convinced it’s true.

There’s no point skulking in the shadows all night, he knows, so he finishes his ale and heads upstairs to their room. As he lays down, the bed feels strangely empty without Jaskier’s bustle and scent and colour. Wondering when he became so damn soft, he slips into a meditation.

-

It’s not long before he’s revived by the sound of Jaskier creeping into the room and hurriedly undressing.

Geralt rubs his eyes, dispelling the lingering wooziness. “I thought you’d spend the night celebrating,” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “With that nice young lady.”

In the low light, he sees Jaskier shrug. “It got rather awkward when she kept trying to touch me and I kept having to run away.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” He settles into bed next to Geralt. “It’s just -” Geralt can smell the mixture of exhilaration, arousal, and frustration on him. “It’s frustrating. Wanting something and not being able to have it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt knows that feeling all too well.

“I’m -” Jaskier turns his head away a fraction, and Geralt can see a blush spreading over his cheeks. “I’m not used to going so long without… you know. It’s making me antsy.” He rubs the palm of one hand against his crotch, shifting awkwardly in the bed.

“Hmm.” He inhales again, and the scent of arousal is sharper, more prominent. He rolls onto his side, tentatively places a hand on Jaskier’s thigh. “I could help,” he offers. “If you want.”

He’s expecting to be told no. He’s expecting Jaskier might even push him away, disgusted. He’s not expecting the way Jaskier sucks in a breath, the way the scent of arousal blooms, the way Jaskier squims beneath his hand.

“You’d do that for me?” Jaskier’s voice is breathy.

I’d do anything for you, he thinks but doesn’t say. Instead he places his hand on top of Jaskier’s and guides it to the fastenings of his trousers. Jaskier unlaces himself in a clumsy rush which Geralt can’t help but find endearing, and then he’s working his cock free, rubbing gentle strokes with their two joined hands.

It’s nice like this, where Geralt can let Jaskier guide him, show him what he likes. His fingers tease along the soft skin on the underside of his cock, the delicious slick at the head. As he strokes, Jaskier shakes in his arms, gasping and writhing. When he comes, it’s with a soft, gentle sigh of contentment that Geralt wants to bottle and keep forever.

Jaskier makes a tokenistic effort to wipe himself down with a shirt and collapses back into bed. “Should I…” He chews his bottom lip. “Would you like me to return the favour?”

Geralt’s cock is pressing against his trousers like iron, and Jaskier must be able to feel it. But he didn’t do this with the expectation of recompense. He just wants Jaskier to feel good.

“No, it’s okay,” he says softly.

“Oh,” Jaskier sounds disappointed, almost. “Okay.”

They fall asleep like that, curled up close together, but a feeling of uncertainty hanging between them.

-

In the weeks after that, Jaskier takes to touching Geralt even more. They sleep close together every night, and they find pleasure in each other when they need to. Geralt makes his peace with this unspoken arrangement: he is a hand to Jaskier when he needs it, and Jaskier returns the favour as a politeness.

The first time Jaskier kisses him while they rut together, his heart is fit to burst out of his chest. Trading favours is one thing, but the surge of love and heat and affection that erupts in his chest when Jaskier brings their lips together can’t be denied. He could kiss Jaskier every single night and never tire of it, he thinks. Late at night, as they move together, Geralt feels himself falling.

It’s not everything he wants, but it’s enough.

It has to be enough, because soon they’ll make it to Kovir, and then they can lift the curse, and then Jaskier won’t need him at all any more.

Geralt catches himself wishing that the curse won’t be lifted, and then he’s disgusted at himself for being so selfish.

-

Kovir is beautiful. Sharp, snow-dusted mountains dart up into the sky, and great rivers flow with fresh water through green, lush lands. The city of Pont Vanis is breathtaking, with spire towers reaching up toward the heavens and rich mosaics of glasswork covering every surface. Each new corner seems to hold some elegant delight of artistry, and Jaskier grabs his hand to pull him along each new street to behold some fresh wonder.

But they are not here for gawping, Geralt tells himself, and he steers them toward the address of the mage he’s heard is an expert in curses.

Once inside, the Koviri mage stares at the pair of them.

“A curse, you say?” He raises an eyebrow.

Geralt stands protectively behind Jaskier, ready to leap to his defense should the mage prove troublesome.

“Yes. Whenever anyone touches me, I feel horrendous pain.” Jaskier grimaces. “Except for Geralt. For some reason, he can touch me and it’s fine.”

The mage nods. “I see. Did you perchance anger a magic user?”

“Ahh.” Jaskier looks at his feet. “Well. There was a mage whose acquaintance I made. He seemed… less than happy when I declined his offer of companionship.”

The Koviri mage shudders. “What monsters southerners can be. Cursing someone because they rejected you, what hideous behaviour.”

Geralt is warming up to this mage already.

“Let me see what I can do.” The mage closes his eyes and reaches out his hands, holding them a few inches from Jaskier’s chest.

He opens his eyes again and squints curiously. “Strange. I can’t feel any curse upon you.”

He reaches out, and pokes Jaskier in the chest. Geralt leaps forward, ready to defend his bard from this onslaught, but he’s stopped in his tracks by Jaskier’s voice.

“Huh.” He sounds perplexed, not pained. “That’s odd. That didn’t hurt at all.”

They reason perhaps it’s because the mage is a magic user too, so they bring in the mage’s servant. He touches Jaskier’s hand and again he’s fine. Then they try the washerwoman next door. That’s fine too.

The mage shrugs and smiles. “It seems that the curse has worn off. Some weaker enchantments only last a matter of days.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “You mean… all this time, I’ve been fine? I could have been touching anyone?”

The mage hums, eyes sparkling. “So it appears.” He looks at Geralt, and his gaze is penetrating. “Perhaps it has not been such a loss for you though, hmm? There are many paths to knowledge.”

-

They stagger out into the weak Koviri sunshine and Geralt is consumed with guilt and relief and worry. Surely Jaskier will hate him now. Hate him and leave him, now they’re no longer tied together.

“Jaskier-” he begins, just as Jaskier turns to him to say, “Geralt-”

They stare at each other a beat too long.

Geralt’s shoulders slump. Let the end come if it must. “Go on,” he says, bracing himself.

“Thank you.” Jaskier is giving him that soft, quiet smile that he loves. “For taking care of me.”

That doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I should have known better. I understand if you want to leave.”

Jaskier shakes his head and takes his hand. “Come on.” He leads Geralt toward one of Kovir’s elegant public parks. “Let’s walk.”

-

They stroll beneath a series of wooden archways, woven thick with roses. The sunlight peeks through in dappled spots on the springy grass.

“I don’t regret it,” Jaskier says. “These last weeks. I don’t blame you. You’ve done nothing but try to help me.”

“But you could have been with anyone.” Geralt’s stomach twists at the thought he’s been keeping Jaskier against his will. “You could have touched anyone. Kissed anyone. Found anyone else to bring you pleasure.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier stops and tenderly brushes a stray hair from Geralt’s face. “I didn’t want anyone else.”

Geralt barely dares to breath. Hope rages within him, frothing and exuberant. “You mean-”

“I didn’t want anyone else then, and I don’t want anyone else now.” He leans in and presses the softest kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I always just wanted you.”

His heart feels like it could beat out of his chest. “So you’ll stay with me? Even now?”

Jaskier strokes one finger down his cheek, and his entire world narrows to the joining of their bodies. “Always,” Jaskier promises. “There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

[lexosaurus]

Ectoberweek 2022

(Art credit to @q-gorgeous/@k-beckerart)

Tragedy struck Amity Park. The last week of the spooky season, seven one-word prompts are to be buried, and their obituaries printed and distributed across the city.

Each grave marks a story, a piece of art, a video, a poem, something that needs to be shown, needs to be told. And we ask you—writers, artists, and creatives alike—to be the ones to tell those stories.

For this year's Ectoberweek, you are provided a list of a one-word prompts and a list of two sentence horror stories. You can choose to base your creation off of one or both of these prompts each day.

All content directly related to the Danny Phantom cartoon is acceptable for this challenge. Ships, non-ships, crossovers, angst, fluff, classic art, digital art—so long as it relates to the show, how you choose to represent these prompts is entirely up to you.

Tag your work with #ectoberweek2022 so @ecto-american and I can see it. We are so excited to see the different art, fics, and other creative endeavors that people will take, and we sincerely hope you all have fun with the prompts this year!

Update: We now have a @ectoberweekofficial blog! Be sure to give it a follow!

Happy Halloween! 👻🎃

(prompts are listed out under the cut)

25. Forest He thinks about the corpse in the woods sometimes. Hard to forget where you are buried

26. Six Feet Maddie had to face the facts: one of her kids was dead, now—a ghost, a monster—and it was her duty to destroy it before it killed the rest of her family. But first, she needed to figure out which one of the kids was dead.

27. Soul Shredder He looked human. But then, most monsters do.

28. Scream “Pssst, you’re dead. Pass it on.”

29. Lobotomy Amorpho really liked her face. So he took it.

30. Shiver She traced her fingers along the forgotten metal table. Despite the revelations that had come to light, she’d do it all again.

31. Folk Tales They say there's no such thing as the monster under the bed, but are you sure? ...Did you check?

---

Be sure to check out the @ectoberhaunt Month Long Calendar if you want more spooky prompts this month!

If you'd like a nifty way to keep track of your completion of both Ectoberhaunt and Ectoberweek, here's a handy dandy spreadsheet made by @ajitated!

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2020 - Updated

Welcome to Whumptober 2020! We’re doing things a little differently this year so please make sure to read the Event Info carefully. We are also excited to announce the addition of an AO3 Collection, which can be found here.

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

No 1. LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY  "Pick Who Dies" | Collars | Kidnapped

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

No 6. PLEASE.... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"

No 7. I'VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? "Don't Say Goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD "Take Me Instead" | "Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

No 12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD... Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Alternate Prompt List

Alt 1. Punctured

Alt 2. Falling

Alt 3. Comfort

Alt 4. Stitches

Alt 5. Stoic Whumpees

Alt 6. Altered States

Alt 7. Found Family

Alt 8. Adverse Reactions

Alt 9. Memory Loss

Alt 10. Nightmares

Alt 11. Presumed Dead

Alt. 12. Water

Alt. 13 Accidents

Alt. 14 Shot

Alt. 15 Carry/Support

Event Info

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 Official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don't have to include the exact wording into your work). Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme.  These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, and photo/video/audio edits. Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2020 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruised, #stabbed,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfw, #nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober2020​ blog. They must be tagged in the order above.

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month.

Questions not addressed below can be directed to this blog as well.

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gif set or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Do I have to do all 31 Days? Can I post early/late?

Participate as much or little as you like, and post whenever! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.11, #psych101). Combining prompts into one piece of work is okay, and posting late is as well so as long as it’s in October.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help clarify. That said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. The archive can be accessed here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If it just conveniently checks the boxes, then please don’t. You can, however, add new chapters answering one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, whoever you like.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes,  but it only counts once

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day's prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

Yes, but please do not use a specific prompt twice. We have also created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from [here].

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s.?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you :)

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst focus ok?

Of course!

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What's whump?

See this post

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn't whumpy at all, does that count?

No, sorry, but keep in mind that whump [see definition] is something very nuanced and different for everyone and emotional whump/angst is just as much part of it, as is physical whump and torture. So before you dismiss your idea, think about this.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we posted the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time”.

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. emeto tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.  

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the whumptober2020 tag

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, just be sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies of whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, tags are your best friend.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

[fffinnagain]

10 Years of Sherlock (TV)  AO3 stats!

Sherlock fans, new and old, click below to read a long list of graphs and comments about our communities fanworks over the last 10 years. I scraped AO3 again and demonstrate that:

More creators are writing longer works in 2020

Readers engaged more as the fandom changed after S4

Top ten new tags per year for the last 10 years

And a lot more. 

PS the code to gather this data and analyse it can be found way over here. 

Activity over 10 years

The last 10 years in the BBC Sherlock fandom have been tumultuous, but this community persists, with engagement from new fans and continued creative output. To commemorate over a decade of squee, I’ve done another scrape of the fandom’s imprint on the Archive of Our Own and will share some insights from the numbers in these plots. A very late update on my post S4 snapshot from 2018.

Note: This analysis is of completed public fanworks only, about 101000 of the 122000 Sherlock (TV) works available at present. This is to remove the late WIP effect, which adds a bulge to the last few months, and out of respect to creators who wish to have their material reserved for other registered AO3 users.

The works are still coming

Counting the number of works posted per day, we can see the peaks associated with each series airing (in UK and US). After that, the number of works continues fairly evenly, 20-30 per day, plus seasonal peaks. This rate is continuing on without a hint of new canon in sight. So who is posting all this work?

Creator-waves, monthly output

Years ago I started plotting creator waves, basically I group fanwork producers by the year they first posted to the fandom and then count how many of this group are active in later time intervals. This lets us get a sense of how long people are contributing and whether new fans are getting the urge to create. 

This plot of the Sherlock (TV) fanworks on AO3 shows the standard shape of plump participation in the first year of any given set of creators, followed by a slowly thinning tail as they because less active over time. Turnover is natural in fandoms, with most only posting a work or two within a fairly limited amount of time, while a precious few persist for years.  The surprise for me here is that the ratio of new creators is higher in 2020 than it was in 2019. Maybe the excuse of lockdown encouraged more folks to take a turn at creating content. 

Another way to look at the output of fan creators on AO3 is to see the total amount of words being shared across all fanworks. The total has been pretty close to 300-400k words per month since 2018! To get a sense of what that means per work, I also plotted the median number of words per fanwork in these monthly sets. The median in higher in the last year than it had been staying for a while. 

Reader behaviour: Hits & Kudos & Comments

Fan creators are only part of the story. Stats on engagement are a bit trick to interpret, I’ve got some plots here that tell us something about how works have been engaged with over time. 

The obvious first to consider is Hits. Above is the total number of Hits given to works published each month. This is the current totals, not a historical snapshot, so we have a very strong bias  towards early works, what we might call the Classics Effect. Works that have been around longer have had the chance to be seen by more people, and in particular those works that become must-read classics in a fandom, extending their exposure through prominence in top ranked works and recommendations. 

To cut down on the advantage of the classics, we can also consider median hits per work for each month. As most works get a lot attention when they are first posted and then fade out of sight, the median number of hits reflects instead the ratio of readers to creators, basically how many eyeballs are around to look at the latest work, regardless of status. The median plot shows how the hyper-visibility of the few work available before 2012, and then a more steady curve once the fandom had gotten established on the platform after Series 2. Amazingly, the hit rate for the median work was steady through the big bumps in activity with later series, a 1000 hits for median works between 2013 and 2018, followed by a slow decline. I’d expect the 2020 works to continue gaining for a few months yet, but the median is probably 50-60% of what is was when the show was in production.

Kudos counts and medians show a similar story to hits, but there is a dip down around 2013 for kudos reflects the frenzy of productivity that saw the fandom grow during the Series 2 hiatus. Readers were getting spoiled! From the airing of Series 3 (2014) until a year following Series 4 (2018), the median work received an even 60ish kudos and 1000 hits, a niche audience that decreased to 50/750 through 2018-2019. The numbers of 2020 suggest a smaller community of readers again, though these numbers may still rise a bit in the next few months before the median works are forgotten. 

The statistic that tells a different story is Comments. Looking at the total comments counts, there isn’t a drop after Series 3 (2014). Instead, the fandom compensated for changing numbers with more feedback and discussion attached to works. This is reflected in the median comment rate as well, which shows seasonal variation but doesn’t really drop off until 2020.

It’s remarkable that without fresh canon we continue to have new creators contributing to the fandom, and while that may be outpacing the readership somewhat, the standard of engagement has been very high. One could say the fandom is chugging along quite nicely!

What about Tags

So, with all that turnover and shifting population, is there a change in the kinds of works being posted? We can look at tags, all tags and freeform tags, to see if there were any meaningful trends. 

First up, I did a creator-wave like analysis of works just for tags, to see how tags continue to be used after being introduced. Unlike the creators, tags clearly persist for years. After 2015, it looks like the core tag set has been established, with very few tags persisting in usage per  subsequent year.

This graph reports numbers over time that are not proportional to the number of works or creators active. Instead, works on AO3 have been getting more and more tags over the years, with the average steadily growing from 5 in 2011 to 15 in 2020, with freeform tags (not characters or ships) from 2 to 8.

To get a sense of fic and tagging culture changes over time, I counted the most popular NEW tags of each year (wave). Note: this analysis is using exact matches, not the networked associations of tag meanings wrangled into AO3 today, so some things that pop up aren’t new concepts but instead newly popular TAGs for whatever they represent. 

2011: 2752 (First year, so all solid stuff, tags that continue to be popular forever)

Angst                 323

Fluff                 232

Humor                 216

Hurt/Comfort          188

Romance               168

Friendship            168

Crossover             138

Crack                 121

Alternate Universe    119

First Time            106

2012: 11637 (still early, first references to Series 2)

Fluff and Angst                           145

Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall       97

Kid Sherlock                               54

Puppies                                    50

Sad                                        48

Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia     47

Mathematics                                42

Season 2 spoilers                          38

Omega Verse                                38

Feels                                      38

2013: 16176 (Omegaverse nomenclature is growing, Top/Bottom terminology, new challenges)

Alpha Sherlock                               65

Omega John                                   61

30 Day OTP Challenge                         59

Tumblr: letswritesherlock                    56

Top John                                     49

Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach    44

Bottom Sherlock                              40

Reichenbach Angst                            30

Don't copy work to another site              29

Age Regression/De-Aging                      27

2014: 19256 (Mostly Series 3 related

Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow         249

Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three    167

Post-His Last Vow                    149

His Last Vow Spoilers                142

Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers           128

2000 AU                              100

The Sign of Three Spoilers            74

Fatlock                               72

Post-The Sign of Three                66

Post-Season/Series 03                 57

2015: 14272 (New challenges, new prominent Sherlolly tags)

Chats                                      47

International Fanworks Day 2015            34

Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015    27

S3 referenced                              25

Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing       22

English Accent                             22

Sound cloud                                19

Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper      19

Protective John Watson                     18

but not that kind of graphic               17

2016: 13517 (New stylistic tagging, TAB references, a lot of epilepsy?)

Slowwww burn                         92

John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes    37

Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson    33

post-tab                             30

JME                                  27

Post TAB                             25

Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy          23

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016     19

epileptic                            19

fraternal love                       17

2017: 15067 (Series 4 tags and challenges)

Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective         133

Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers            93

Post TFP                                     73

Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers                   69

Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem            60

Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective     55

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017             50

Post S4                                      48

Sherstrade Month 2017                        44

31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017               41

2018: 10733 (Lost of new challenges, seasonal and weekly)

Towel Day 2018                       64

Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018    25

Kinktober 2018                       23

Pregnant Molly Hooper                23

Soft Smut Sunday                     23

Tom Robbins                          23

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2018     21

Inktober 2018                        20

established universe                 16

Always1895                           16

2019: 7785 (More prompts, and character attitudes)

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019    25

221B Autumn Challenge               21

A-Z Christmas Prompt                19

KatsJohnlockXmas2019                16

Whumptober                          11

Poor Greg Lestrade                  11

Kinktober 2019                      10

Dissonance                          10

John Watson is a Good Friend         9

Sleepy Sherlock Holmes               8

2020: 8074 (Not all COVID related, thank heavens)

Mystrade Monday                           59

COVID-19                                  48

Coronavirus                               46

Mystrade Monday Prompts                   40

Whumptober 2020                           36

warning for a covid-19 setting            33

Flufftober prompts 2020                   24

Do Not Translate                          24

they're all right they're just at home    23

Granada Sherlolly                         21

A little note from looking across all freeform tags, not just the new ones, we see a curious pattern with regards to two actions: First Kiss and Anal Sex. They appear amongst the most common tags as of 2014, neck in neck for two years, than Anal Sex drops off the top ten in 2016. From there out, First Kiss stays in the top 5 from that point on, while anal sex appears at rank 9 from 2017-2019 and is gone again in 2020. This probably says something about the fandom, somehow. 

Bravo for making it to the end and thank you for reading! 

Questions/comments welcome.

[st4rlabsforever]

post-episode 3 fix-it

words: 2.9k

notes: i started a long fic based on this post after watching ep 3. i cannibalized some snippets from another fic i wrote last week so if you see similar scenes, that’s why. i think this will end up being 12-15k words endgame sambucky by the end, but i refuse to post on ao3 until it’s complete. this is the first 3 scenes. feel free to comment and message me your thoughts since i’m still very much in the writing phase :)

summary: “It’s the kind of statement that should be screamed into Bucky’s face, but he’s learning that when Sam’s angry – when he’s truly angry – he’s just as soft-spoken as he is when he’s in one of his pensive moods. And he lets his anger build and build and build until it bursts in spectacular fashion.”

“I didn’t back Steve on the Sokovia Accords,” Sam says unprompted one day. They’re so close to apprehending the Flagsmashers and wrapping up this ridiculous saga.

“I don’t follow,” Bucky says.

“I was the one who refused to sign it first. Not Steve.”

Sam says it so softly that Bucky has to strain to hear him. Sam is loud and chatty and half the time he keeps up a constant stream of chatter just to get on Bucky’s nerves, but Bucky’s coming to realize that when he really wants to make himself heard, he’s soft spoken and mild. Bucky doesn’t entirely follow his train of thought, though.

The thing is, Sam is unreadable when it really matters. He offers words of comfort where needed – in Germany, after seeing Walker with the shield that wasn’t his, knowing that it had affected Bucky just as much as himself; in Madripoor, Bucky’s hand on the throat of some henchman or other, Sam’s hand on his when the Soldier’s memories threatened to overtake him; even in Riga, when Bucky’s guilt over releasing T’Chaka’s killer bubbled to the surface and Sam had checked in with him even though he couldn’t have possibly known about Bucky’s meeting with Ayo. Sam speaks with his eyes, always a searching look that leaves Bucky raw and feeling like he’s been x-rayed. I see you, is what those eyes say.

In contrast, Bucky’s words of comfort feel hollow. He knows that Isaiah is still a live wire for Sam, checks in with him after Madripoor when he can tell the conversation with Nagel weighs heavy on his mind. But he doesn’t see the way Sam does. He knows he’d missed something important because that conversation had ended in an argument and a threat from Sam to destroy the shield.

He never gets a chance to ask Sam what he’s getting at, because Torres signals to them that they’re at the drop point before all hell breaks loose.

***

In the end, after Karli and the Power Broker and whoever else decides to show their head from the emporium of supervillains are dealt with and they finally have a moment of peace, Bucky says, “The shield looks good on you.”

Sam freezes a few paces ahead of Bucky, the shield strapped loosely to his wrist.

“We make a good team,” Bucky says softly.

What he doesn’t expect is for Sam to whirl around suddenly. The look of barely restrained fury is enough to nearly knock Bucky off he’s feet. They fight without ever really fighting all the time, squabbles over who went left and who went right and who was supposed to lead and who was supposed to follow, but never has he seen Sam look like this before. The fury verges on hurt and it’s so fucking visceral that Bucky can barely breathe.

“You don’t get to say that,” Sam says quietly. His voice shakes and he closes his eyes like he’s steadying himself.

“I said I’d squash it until the mission was over, and I did. But you know what? I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Sam–”

“You don’t get to tell me what a good team is. Not after all the shit we just went through. You invited yourself to Munich, and I thought, ‘Fine. I could use the extra set of hands.’ We went through it together against Thanos and I respected that.”

Sam shakes his head. “But then you went off on some lone wolf woe-is-me bullshit, and look at where it got us. You broke Zemo out without even asking if I was down with that. You knew I wasn’t and you forced my hand. Now I’m an accomplice.”

“He was our only lead–”

“Bullshit. That field trip to Madripoor led us right back to Karli. Torres ended up tracking them to Riga anyway.”

“But the Power Broker–”

“–showed his ugly face in the end. All we got out of Madripoor was you digging up your trauma and us getting our faces plastered all over the internet. I promised Sharon one goddamn thing and I can’t even deliver on that now.”

“But I went along with it, fine,” Sam continues. “I knew it couldn’t have been easy reaching back into that headspace, doing what you did to Selby’s men.” The memory blindsides Bucky. “So I tabled it.” Sam taps out a tally with his fingers. 

“And back in Baltimore, you’d been too keyed up about Steve being wrong about you to even listen to what I had to say. Again, I tabled it.” Another tally. 

“I’ve been meeting you halfway this entire time, man, and I’ve gotten near nothing in return. You kept Isaiah a secret from me, and at first I thought you were just clueless about how damn significant it would’ve been for me to know about him.” Sam shakes his head. 

“But then we met him. You saw what they did to him. The one Black supersoldier – a fucking hero – and look what they did to him. You saw it with your own eyes and you still sat there and lectured me about what you thought I should’ve done with that goddamn shield.” 

“There’s precedent for it, you know,” Sam says. It takes Bucky a moment to realize Sam is expecting an answer.

Bucky doesn’t know, is the thing. He feels like he’s all of five years old again, put on the spot. He’s reminded of when Zemo just had to let him know about the African American experience; he’d felt chastised and embarrassed enough to pretend like he’d had any clue what themes lurked in Marvin Gaye’s work. Sam just searches him with those eyes, searches Bucky for something yet unfathomable and decides he hasn’t found it. That hurts more than anything else; Bucky wishes he could sink into the ground, make himself as small as possible. Sam doesn’t notice, or else doesn’t care, and just plows on with a scoff. 

“You don’t even know the true history of the country you’re living in. Figures.” He shakes his head. “You’re not ever going to be able to separate the shield from the history Black folks have endured at the hands of this country. Not now, not ever.”

Sam doesn’t even look angry anymore. Angry, Bucky can deal with. It would be a relief, even. 

Instead, Sam looks at him with a disappointment that somehow surpasses what Steve could have ever accomplished.

“Whatever. I tabled that, too,” Sam says. “And then after Madripoor, after we heard that doctor go on and on about Isaiah’s blood like he wasn’t even a real human-being? I said my piece and all you did was throw that shield bullshit back in my face.”

“Sam–” Bucky tries again. He’s mortified to hear the crack in his own voice.

“It’s honestly breathtaking,” Sam says with something that might be akin to genuine wonder, or maybe even morbid curiosity in his voice. “We saw the same things in Baltimore and Madripoor, but your head was so far up your own ass that you never once stopped to think all of it was just proof to me. That the shield in the hands of a Black man wouldn’t make any damn sense.”

It’s the kind of statement that should be screamed into Bucky’s face, but he’s learning that when Sam’s angry – when he’s truly angry – he’s just as soft-spoken as he is when he’s in one of his pensive moods. And he lets his anger build and build and build until it bursts in spectacular fashion.

Sam’s not even done yet. “And that’s another thing. Stealing the shield from Walker…” Sam rolls his eyes at the memory. “You want to run around with that giant frisbee, fine. That’s your business. But then you forced it on me–”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky says immediately. Desperately. “You didn’t have to accept it.”

“The whole damn country was watching,” Sam says hotly. “It was either accept it, or shit all over Steve fucking Rogers’s legacy and make myself into the villain half the country was already hoping I’d turn out to be.”

“You were dead wrong for that,” Sam says. “I stuck around until we took down Karli because it was the right thing to do. After Munich, though, this little adventure was all you. Zemo, Madripoor, the shield.”

Sam shoves the shield into Bucky’s arms, the impact so sudden that it forces him back a step.

“Since you’re so obsessed with this thing, it’s yours. Congrats,” Sam says sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ll do it proud.”

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“For what it’s worth,” Sam says, “Steve might not have understood everything about me. But in Vienna, when it came time to sign the accords? He was considering it. I put my foot down first and he listened.”

Sam shrugs. “Whatever you thought we were, it's not a team.”

Bucky knows where to drive the knife in to kill a man in as few twists of the wrist as possible – a brutal economy of movement and technique. But Sam...it pales in comparison to what Sam’s capable of. His weapons aren’t knives and his targets may not be made of flesh and blood, but he knows exactly where he needs to strike to rip Bucky open raw. Bucky feels like he’s been flayed alive.

“How about that long vacation?” Sam says, and claps Bucky on the shoulder. 

And we’ll never have to see each other ever again goes unsaid.

Fuck.

***

The thing about ignoring Sam’s texts was that Bucky responded if they were actually important. It just so happened that most of the nonsense Sam sent was inane prattling about his day, about his job, his sister, his nephews. Now that he’s on the receiving end of it, though, it feels awful.

3/25/21, 2:58 AM

I’m sorry.

Delivered

3/28/21, 1:51 AM

Can we talk?

Delivered

3/31/21, 3:05 AM

Let me know what to do and I’ll do it.

Read 3:34 AM

4/1/21, 12:42 AM

Or if there’s anything you need.

Read 1:05 AM

Yesterday, 1:00 AM

I’m available if you need another body for a mission.

Read 1:02 AM

A week into the admittedly one-sided exchange, Sam turns his damn read receipts on. It’s ridiculous and it’s fucking asinine and it gets under Bucky’s skin immediately. It’s a form of twenty-first century psychological warfare that he’s unfamiliar with and already can’t stand. Mainly, he hates that it makes him seem desperate (he’s not), needy (he might be, especially when he realizes with horror that he actually misses Sam’s rambling texts), and ridiculous (he definitely is, because he’s letting petty mind games get to him).

Normally, Sam would send him nearly daily updates on his comings and goings – whether he’d been in New York, D.C., or New Orleans. The radio silence is unsettling. Bucky wonders if Sam made good on his promise to take a long vacation. And then....

The thing about apologies is that Bucky isn’t sure he’s ever done a proper one in his entire life, at least nothing beyond a rote “I’m sorry” with the “let’s move on” part left unspoken. But it stands to reason, Bucky thinks, that a proper apology can’t be given if he’s not completely certain what he’s dealing with. That’s all well and good because he’s got the world at the tips of his fingers, is what Yori always said. And when he grows frustrated with reading on his tiny phone screen, the New York Public Library is only a train ride away.

Sam had mentioned precedent, so Bucky’s first search is for medical experimentation. He knows for a fact he was good at this once, a memory of Steve whining about him being too good at exams coming up unbidden. He reads voraciously. Anything and everything that might offer a clue on what he’d missed. And it doesn’t take long for him to find what he’s looking for. 

He reads with dawning horror. The Tuskegee syphilis experiments. Eugenics. God, the fucking Nazis had even modeled their race science on the American school of thought. The things that the history books left out. Some of it was even happening under his nose in the 30s, he’d just been blissfully unaware. He somehow ends up down a rabbit hole where words like `prison industrial complex’ and `school-to-prison pipeline’ make increasingly more persistent appearances. New Jim Crow. COINTELPRO. War on drugs. The way all of these horrors reached their long arms into the twenty-first century.

Bucky’s going to be sick. The memories come up one after another.

Just give him your ID so we can leave.

You think you can wake up one day and decide who you want to be? It doesn’t work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you.

So you’re telling me that there was a Black supersoldier decades ago and nobody knew about it.

This is what you’re not going to do. You’re not going to come here in your over-extended life and tell me about my rights.

The shield wasn’t yours to give away.

He spends the next week in his downtime reading. With the mission being over and his parole in jeopardy, his downtime mostly coincides with every day of the week.

Had Steve known?

No, he thinks. Steve was compassionate, but he wouldn’t have known because he’d taken one look at the problems of twenty-first century America and decided he’d had enough. Then he’d ran back to the 40s to live out some fantasy that simply didn’t – couldn’t – exist anymore. Had he eventually become aware of all the issues plaguing this country that they’d been able to ignore as starry-eyed kids in Brooklyn? Bucky hopes not, because that would mean he’d...no. 

A part of Bucky thinks he’s so surprised because he’d thought things – race relations, civil rights, not things, his brain amends – had been getting better in the 40s. Deep down, though, he knows that’s a lie. A 2 AM read through Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States confirms it. Shady politicians. Klansmen who went back to their day jobs as cops, judges, firefighters. Mass incarceration taking its place as the new king on the throne of segregation. Evidently, 

There had been plenty of folks – white folks – raising an uproar about these hidden horrors back then. The seeds of those movements had even been there in the 30s. Bucky tells himself that he’d been raised during the Great Depression, that his family had been too focused on putting food on the table to focus on social movements, but that, too, ends up being a lie. The poorest and working class whites – some, at least – in movement and solidarity with civil rights. Not him, though. Apparently he’d had his head up his ass back then, too.

Bucky can see the bigger picture a tiny bit more clearly, now. 

Fine. So he’s been disarmed of the little lies he’d used as shields, and he also owes Sam one hell of an apology.

Somehow, he doesn’t think “I’m sorry, I was ignorant then but I read some books and now I know better” is going to cut it. Maybe a commitment to do better would work? Perhaps after Baltimore, but not now. That ship had long since sailed. Some grand act of service, then? He’s sure he can think of something Sam needs in this post-Blip world that he can provide. He vaguely remembers Sarah mentioning something about a ship and bank loan. That could be a starting point.

It doesn’t take much time to find the public records on the Wilson family business and then the not-so-public records on the denied bank loan. It wouldn’t take much for him to pry a little, not when seedy bankers were astonishingly amenable to the threat of violence. But he’s reminded of Zemo and figures that he ought not to do anything so drastic that could jeopardize Sam’s family situation further.

He snorts. Did growth that came several months late still count?

In the end, he decides to rip the bandage off quickly, which is how he finds himself in the sticky Louisiana heat with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring back at an incredulous Sam through his open door.

“I did some reading recently,” Bucky says. 

“Hmm.”

It’s not outright refusal, so Bucky continues.

“About, um, the things you mentioned last time. Precedent.”

“Huh.”

For someone who’s normally so expressive with his language, Sam’s one-word answers as nerve-wracking as anything.

“I didn’t fully appreciate the situation that you were in. That you’re still in,” Bucky amends.

Sam shrugs. “It’s cool,” he says in a way that doesn’t sound like he really believes it. Bucky wonders if this is a test; he feels just as lost as he did on that plane a week ago.

“Let’s do this outside,” Sam says, closing the door behind him and ushering Bucky away from it. “Walk with me.” 

They head down to the pier mostly in silence until Bucky breaks it. “I’m sorry for making it all about me,” he says.

Sam stares at him. It’s true Bucky might stare a little too much on occasion, but Sam’s stares are utterly unnerving in the way he seems to see right through Bucky when he really wants to, like he’s already mapped out all there is to know.

[anarchyduck]

I posted 3,796 times in 2022

89 posts created (2%)

3,707 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@hockpock

@karinaisloud

@folk-melody

@alynnl

@abc2411

I tagged 1,194 of my posts in 2022

#marvel - 490 posts

#spiderman - 441 posts

#peter parker - 110 posts

#dragon age - 98 posts

#tolkien - 97 posts

#petermj - 57 posts

#duckie answers - 54 posts

#fic rec - 42 posts

#spideychelle - 41 posts

#yugioh - 38 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#the mom berating him for behaving disgracefully yet she was about to throw stepdaughter's business out there amongst the turkey dressing

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

bitter truth

“You promised!” the words explode out of Ned without him realizing. He trembles with something beyond anger, something deeper than just grief and rage, that is full of nightmares and dreams of a faceless boy. Of hideous laughter and broken promises. “You promised that everything would be okay! And you would find us! Find me!” 

Peter refuses to look him in the eye but he frowns in a sudden familiar way. “I couldn’t risk you getting hurt. Either of you.” 

“But that’s our choice!” Ned fires back. “Did you even stop to consider what we might want?”

“You’re safer not knowing me! I don’t want to drag you into this shit again!” Peter vehemently insists, over and over, how much better Ned is without him. Yet, Peter still won’t look at him. 

“You were my best friend, Peter! I loved you and you made me forget!” Ned takes a ragged breath and it’s only now he realizes he’s crying. It’s only now Peter finally has the decency to look at him. 

They stand in silence, facing one another across the room of Peter’s sparsely decorated apartment. The distance between them is no more than the length of a couch and yet Ned feels as though Peter is miles away. 

A question burns in his mind, one that has been with him since the day he woke up in California remembering everything. The one that has tumbled around his head since he told MJ, since he got on that plane to New York, since he tracked down Peter Parker. Since he knew everything. 

“Were you ever going to find me?” 

Ned looks Peter in the eye and his heart breaks as Peter turns away.

“No.”

23 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

#4

Just to Be

Prompt: ‘I’m not ready to lose you yet’ from this list

Something a little artsy with immortal!Peter. 

========== “I’m not ready to lose you yet.” 

A quiet admission in the dark. Peter himself doesn’t realize he’s said it aloud until he feels her turn in his arms. By then it is too late to take them back. 

“What do you mean?” Michelle asks. She studies him, both puzzled and afraid. Or so he sees it. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“One day you will.” Peter says knowingly. He can see it already, the way time works on her. It moves through her, with her. For now, the river of time has brought them together, her to his lonely little rock stuck in a stream. One day, before he is ready, he knows those same waters will take her from him and he will be alone again. 

She touches his face. He looks at hers. 

“I’m not worried about the future.” she says. “We’re here together, now.” 

Now. 

Present. 

In his long life, Peter has forgotten what it is like to live in the now. In the present. To be alive and live and see the world for what it is, not for what it was or will be. To see Michelle as she is, not for what she will become. She is here now. He is here now. They are here now.

Peter kisses her and allows himself just to be.

31 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

#3

taste of copper

Haiku drabble (50-70-50) 

[read on ao3]

Michelle remembers her first kiss. She remembers a broken bridge. Smoke and fire. Rubble and twisted metal. Something heavy in her hand; a weapon, old and worn and sharp. Her heart pounds. Sirens go off in the distance and she knows it isn’t safe but she has to find… find…

Michelle remembers the taste of blood. Faint metallic taste that lingers on her lips. It isn’t hers. It belongs to someone else, to them. The one who she worries for, the one she traversed through wreckage and rubble to find. An ancient weapon in one hand; a delicate piece of glass in the other. It isn’t perfect but neither is this moment. First kisses shouldn’t taste like blood. Hers does.

Michelle remembers her last kiss. She remembers the dawn. The crackling sky. Rubble and twisted metal. Someone touches her face and she feels her heart breaking. Her heart pounds, hands tremble and eyes burn. She holds someone tight, afraid. A fierce kiss, full of unsaid things that taste of blood.

33 notes - Posted March 13, 2022

#2

craving for you love 

Rated M

[Read on AO3]

Peter has a plan in mind, a rarely perfect plan which all goes flying out the window the second he steps into the bedroom. 

Rather than changing, Michelle is laying on the foot of the bed, her heels planted on the ground.  

Her dress is pulled up just enough that Peter can see the hint of lace from her stockings. He loves that dress on her. He loves any dress on her, but this one hits him differently. The deep red one with a split that goes up to just above her knee and dips low in the back. He isn’t sure what it’s made of but he knows it makes her shine in the flashing camera lights and he knows it’s the same color as her lipstick.

Pretty red lips that he just wants to kiss and ruin.

41 notes - Posted April 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Little Hands

Haiku Challenge, 50-70-50

Prompt: tiny hands in big hands [hand holding prompts]

[Read on AO3]

It is late when Peter slips in through the window. Quietly closes it behind. Slips off the suit in the bathroom where he quickly showers. Hair still dripping, he pulls on an old shirt and joggers, more than ready to climb into bed next to MJ. He checks May instead. 

He finds her wide awake. Quiet, but awake. Peter smiles, “Waiting up for me?” he asks as he takes May from her crib. She coos, little hands grab his shirt and grip it tight. “You should be sleeping, you gremlin.” Peter holds back a groan as he sits in the nursery rocking chair. It creaks as he rocks, falling into a familiar and lulling pattern. May gurgles in his arms. 

Peter thinks he could stare at her face and never tire of it. His daughter, everything good from both him and MJ. She waves her fist around, grunting with excitement and he watches with wonder at the sight of her little hands in his. He never wants to let go.

45 notes - Posted January 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[a-storm-of-roses]

October Fics Day 31: Halloween

Pairing: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard

Rating: E

Words: 3,433

Summary: Atlantis' first Halloween in the Pegasus Galaxy - costume contests, pumpkin carving, robotic spiders, and a trick or treat redemption for Rodney McKay.

Or:

In the process of Halloween party planning, John falls in love.

A/N: We did it beebs! 31 days of Halloween! (Okay Day 28 is forthcoming and Day 29 will be out in the next couple of days, but wanted to get the Halloween fic out on the actual day!)

Read on AO3 or below!

It starts when Markham and his team come back from PX-874, with a large wooden cart, filled to the brim with ridged, round, yellow objects.

“Are those… pumpkins?” Elizabeth asks, her eyebrows raised.

“Yes, ma’am,” Markham confirms. “The villagers were so grateful to Simpson for fixing their drainage system, they gifted us some of their crop. You said we needed food, so…” Markham shrugs.

Elizabeth smiles, small and wry, and moves to the side.

“I did, didn’t I? Well done. Take one to botany for analysis, and then get the rest to the kitchen. I hope folks like squash.”

---

“I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m sick of pumpkin pie.” Rodney groans, even as he scrapes the remnants of filling from his plate, licks a tiny bit of cream from the back of his hand.

“I’m with you, doc. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, pumpkin ravioli, pumpkin bread. It’s getting a bit old.” Pushing his own plate away, pie left half eaten, Ford frowns as Rodney pulls the dish towards himself, tucks into the remnants of the slice.

“I admit I grow weary of so much melis , but it would be wasteful to not make use of them.” Teyla pointedly takes another small bite of her pie.

“How much more do we have?”

“At least two more crates,” John answers.

Ford groans. “There’s got to be something we can do with them.”

“Huh.” John’s eyes narrow.

“What’s that look? Sheppard? I don’t like that look!”

John ignores Rodney’s wagging finger and rises from the table. Bussing his tray, John strides from the mess, heading straight towards Elizabeth’s office.

---

“Really, John?” Elizabeth asks, not bothering to hide her amusement. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in this kind of thing.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.” John contemplates adding a wink there in the end, but he thinks that might be too far, even for this weird brother-sister-flirting thing they have going on.

“Are you sure you’re not just sick of pumpkin soup?”

“That too.”

Elizabeth laughs, hand scrubbing across her eyes.

She looks tired, John thinks, frayed around the edges. They all do, these days. The whole base is existing crisis to crisis, caught in a constant cycle of searching for their next food source, preparing for their next emergency, shoring up defenses for the next attack.

Maybe it isn’t such a hare-brained idea, after all, John thinks. They could all use a bit of a break.

“Alright, you have the go-ahead. With the new trade deal AR-5 just brokered, we should have plenty more fresh vegetables coming in. Major, go organize your pumpkin-carving contest.”

---

Rodney scoffs, Teyla is confused, but Ford takes to the task like a duck to water.

“What about a costume contest, too? Most folks have gotten really good with a needle and thread - we could give people the opportunity to do something fun, instead of just repairing shirts and socks.”

“Sure,” John shrugs, intent on his screen. Carefully, he drags the seven of hearts onto the eight of spades. “Go talk to Captain Dawson. He was collecting scrap fabric, before we got that woven stuff in from the planet with all the looms. See what he can spare.”

“And we could get some cider from the Athosians. Oh! And I had an idea for a haunted house - if we just take one of the labs we cleared in the west tower…”

“Ford?” John looks up from the screen.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m delegating Halloween to you. Go nuts.”

“Really, sir?” Ford’s eyes light up, and John takes a moment to pat himself on the back. He’d never planned to take command, never thought he’d be responsible for the safety and wellbeing of dozens of men and women. And it’s more than tactics, more than security protocols, more than artilleries and ammo and flying. It’s paperwork and supply rationing and mental health and morale - all the things John had sworn he’d never do.

But maybe, he thinks, looking at Ford, who’s already sketching out designs for what appears to be some sort of animatronic werewolf, he’s not so bad at this morale thing after all.

---

“Did you know Ford is building a funhouse?”

“What?” John looks up from his tablet, puts aside the reports from AR-7 and stares across the lab table at Rodney. “A funhouse? Like at a fair?”

“Some marines found the ancient equivalent of a beauty salon a couple weeks back, and he liberated a bunch of mirrors from there. Zelenka’s helping him distort them so they do the weird shapes thing - you know, making people taller, fatter, even weirder looking.”

John laughs. “Cool.”

“It’s a waste of resources. One of the only semi-competent scientists I have out here, and how is he spending his time? Is he working on our shields? Doing the drone analysis I asked for? No, he’s making a funhouse mirror.”

Rodney’s tone is disdainful, annoyed, but that just makes John smile wider.

He’s not sure how it started, these late night lab sessions, John perched on a lab stool, catching up on paperwork, as Rodney does, well, whatever Rodney does. It’s just easier to work in the lab, he tells himself, he’s always needed the hum of background noise and activity to get things done, and the near constant soundtrack of Rodney’s complaints and muttered ramblings is perfect. Sometimes, they even bunk off early, play that Ancient version of Civ that Rodney found on one of their computers.

He doesn’t think about the fact that the smell of burnt coffee elicits a near pavlovian sense of relaxation and comfort in him.

“I take it you’re not a big Halloween guy?”

“No, Major, I’m not five.” Rodney pauses for a moment. “Not that I was interested in the holiday even when I was five.”

“Too busy playing with Baby’s First Particle Accelerator?”

“Something like that.”

John gets up, takes a long stretch, cracks his shoulders, delighting in the way Rodney cringes. He pours himself a mug of lukewarm coffee, tops up Rodney’s own mug.

“I used to love Halloween. Dressed up every year. Our house… well, there weren’t a lot of other houses nearby. So my mom drove my brother and I to the other side of town, to go trick or treating. The houses were always covered in decorations - people really went all out, you know. And I loved it. Dave - that’s my brother - we’d get to run wild, and gorge on candy. It was one of my favorite nights of the year.”

Rodney’s looking at him now, eyebrows furrowed, the way he sometimes regards a difficult equation or a puzzling scan. John normally hates scrutiny, never wants to be the center of attention, but he finds he doesn’t mind when Rodney looks.

“I think my parents took me trick or treating once? When I was maybe six or seven. I was a cowboy.”

John grins at the image.

“Don’t laugh- wasn’t my idea. Other kids went with their friends, I guess, or siblings, but I didn’t have-. Well, my parents had to take me. And they argued the whole time - about the route, about how much candy I could have. I remember they just stopped talking to each other, midway through the night, no matter how much I tried to get them to start again.” Rodney’s mouth tugs down, his eyes bright and blinking. “Anyways, I didn’t go again. Not until I was older. I took my sister a few times, but no one really gave out candy to sullen teenagers, so it wasn’t exactly a great time for me.”

Rodney shakes his head, blinks rapidly, and returns his attention to his laptop, fingers hovering over keys, but not typing. John clears his throat.

“Well we won’t exactly have candy, but I’ll make sure to save you some apple pie.”

Rodney’s lips quirk up, just slightly, and his fingers begin to move.

---

Teyla spends an afternoon with Dr. Desour, the anthropologist, and an evening watching horror movies with the rest of the team, before she finally begins to grasp the holiday.

“It is a children’s holiday, is it not?” she asks, eyebrow raised pointedly at Ford, who’s busy stitching together some sort of red fabric.

“Well, yes, but-” John begins.

“So then it would be appropriate to bring the Athosian children. I’m sure they would also appreciate an opportunity to learn more about Earth customs, and enjoy themselves. The move from Athos has been hard for them.”

John knows when he’s beat. “Sure. Ford?”

“Hm?” Ford looks up, thread hanging from his lip, needle held tight in his hand. “I mean, yes, sir?”

“Could you see about getting some costumes for the Athosian kids?”

“Or perhaps,” Teyla interjects, “you could help them make their own costumes. Our children learn to mend from a very young age. I believe many of them may be more handy with a needle than the rest of the expedition.”

Which is how John somehow finds himself supervising a gaggle of Athosian children, as they sew, paint and craft costumes, most more terrifying than any he would find in a store back home.

“Do you like the blood?” Jinto asks, as he drips more paint down the leathery mask Halling has helped him create.

“Looks great, buddy,” John says with about as much sincerity as he can muster.

On the other side of the hall, he finds the scientists doing something complicated looking with motors and metal rods. And to his surprise, Rodney is right there with them, barking out directions and picking out problems, as if they were constructing a nuclear reactor, not some sort of horrible robotic monster.

John leans in close, smiles smug and satisfied when Rodney jumps. “I thought you weren’t a Halloween guy.”

“Yes, well someone had to stop them from butchering any of the important tech. And can you believe they wanted to use a wired controller?” There’s a screeching noise and the smell of burning rubber, and Rodney’s eyes snap to the side. “Kusanagi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

---

John has to admit, the kids really do make the party. He dodges as a little girl in a wraith mask chases after a boy wrapped in bright fabrics, smiles as Wex pulls his head from the metal bucket, mouth closed tight around an apple, wig dripping water on the floor.

John shifts his mask back, takes another long pull of his mulled cider and heads over to the corner, where Elizabeth is taking in the festivities. She looks lovely in a long black dress, dark makeup, and a small red line of blood running from her mouth.

“So… good idea, right?”

“Yes, Major, it was a good idea. Well done. Although I believe most of the credit should go to Ford?”

“A good leader knows how to delegate.”

Elizabeth raises her own glass to his, and clinks. “I’ll drink to that. Where is our Halloween master anyways?”

“Running the haunted lab.” It had been a triumph, really, a wending maze of mirrors and fog, strobe lights that Grodin had rigged up, small animatronic beasts popping out from the mist. The home sewn nature of their costumes, all ragged fabrics and haunting, crooked faces, had almost made it more horrifying. And the piece de resistance - the giant, robot spider, that Rodney and the rest of the engineering team had constructed, which folks had started lovingly calling Shelob.

The mess is decidedly more kid-friendly, decorated with the yellow pumpkins, some carved, and some still whole, as well as paper ghosts and bats. Stackhouse had combed through the entire expedition’s pooled musical resources, and John is bemused and oddly touched to see that someone had chosen to use a portion of their precious data allotments to bring The Monster Mash to another galaxy.

As the night wears on, and the cider gets spiked, the party turns more raucous. A zombie Carson leads a group of nurses in an extremely sloppy attempt at the Time Warp and the cider loosens John’s limbs enough to share a quick dance with Teyla, who’s dressed as some sort of princess, or maybe a witch.

But still, there’s no sign of Rodney - in fact, John thinks he hasn’t seen him since the start of the evening, when Zelenka had won the costume contest, dressed as a particularly hairy werewolf. John still hasn’t asked where the extra hair had come from.

As Thriller shuffles on to the playlist, John ducks out to the balcony to grab some air, and take a look at the pumpkins, lit in their full glory.

The pumpkin carving contest had been cutthroat in the end, and John had been surprised to find how many talented artists they had on Atlantis. Frankenstein’s monsters, ghouls, and delicate haunted houses are sprinkled in with more classic, toothy, grinning jack o’lanterns, and John marvels for a moment at the warm, yellow light, this glowing collection of spooky faces and forms, decorating the balcony of a 10,000 year old city. He wonders, if maybe, their light might be enough to scare away all the demons and monsters of Pegasus, at least for this one night.

It takes him a moment to spot Rodney in the corner, leaning out over the balcony, cast in the shadow of the lanterns. He’s wearing a woolen scarf, a hat, and John can see the faint outline of what he thinks is a screwdriver in his pocket.

“So,” John leans next to Rodney, closer than he normally allows himself, smiling at Rodney’s startled twitch, “where’d you park the TARDIS?”

“Ha. Ha. I already had the scarf and screwdriver, and I borrowed the hat from Carson - who knows why he has it.” John lets out a loud guffaw, and Rodney laughs in return. He doesn’t hear Rodney laugh nearly enough, he thinks.

“What are you supposed to be?” Rodney asks, and John tugs down his mask for a brief second, before shoving it back up again. “Ah, very original.”

“I drilled some holes in an old wooden dish Teyla had. Didn’t have time to do much else, between all the party prep, and you know, my actual job. It itches like crazy though.”

“You did well,” Rodney says after a moment. “I mean, people are having fun. It was a good idea.”

He’s close, so much closer to John than he ever really is, and his face is cast in the light and shadows of a hundred glowing jack o’lanterns, and John finds himself mesmerized, dazed by the light and the drink and Rodney. It’s always Rodney, he thinks, in this galaxy so far from everything he’s ever known.

“What about you? Are you having fun?” John asks, breathier than usual. He isn’t imagining it, he thinks, the way Rodney sways closer to him, the way his eyes drop down to John’s lips. John is aware, vaguely, that this is a moment, one of those instances of tension and that he has a decision to make, only it’s no decision at all, at least not anymore.

He angles his head, lets a hand drift up to Rodney’s shoulder, and leans in. Rodney’s leaning right back, only then he hears the unmistakable sound of the balcony door sliding open, the noise from the party spilling outside.

Rodney stiffens, and instinctively, John pulls away.

“Major? Doc? You out here? Zelenka’s just pulled out a limbo stick - want to see how low you can go?” Ford calls.

Before John can answer, Rodney’s brushing past him, back into the party, muttering something about the lab and simulations. He’s gone before John can even tug his mask back down.

---

It takes John nearly an hour to find Rodney, who has, of all places, hidden out in his own room.

“Trick or treat,” he drawls, as Rodney opens the door.

“If I say treat?” Rodney asks, his eyes skittering to the doorframe, the corner, anywhere but John.

“I brought you some pie.” John holds out the plate, inordinately pleased when Rodney’s eyes light up. “You left before they cut it.”

“And if I say trick?” Rodney asks, voice even more hesitant than before.

“Can I come in?”

“Is that a trick?”

“Rodney.”

“Fine, fine,” he mutters, moving aside to let John through. It’s the first time he’s actually been in Rodney’s quarters, and it strikes him as exactly what he would have expected. It’s cluttered, but there’s a clear system, piles of wires and tools adorning most available surfaces, two laptops stacked on the desk. There’s his degrees on the wall, framed, and more interestingly, a small photo of a cat at his bedside.

Rodney clears his throat and it’s John’s turn to startle, and he gives a sheepish grin at being caught staring.

Rodney opens his mouth to speak, and John can see him winding himself up and in a startling moment, John knows exactly how this will go. Rodney will give him an out - blame the alcohol or the light of the jack o’lanterns, or even the holiday spirit. And he wouldn’t be wrong, John thinks, but he wouldn’t be completely right either. Because John is trapped in a strange galaxy, he carries the weight and the guilt of hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths, and he is responsible for the lives of every member of this damned expedition. And Rodney? Rodney has given him the solar system, the sky, the universe, and more.

“Look, about-” John grabs the stupid knit scarf, tugs Rodney in close and kisses him. Runs his hands down the wrinkled fabric of his jacket, feels the solid expanse of Rodney’s body in his arms. He lets himself grip tight - tighter than might be comfortable - but Rodney gives it all back in return, pulls him closer with a force that just short months ago, John wouldn’t have expected.

Rodney kisses him, ravages him, really, biting and bruising, teeth tugging on his lower lip, tongue thrusting deep and forceful into his mouth. His hands are everywhere, sliding across the width of John's back, gripping in his hair, cupping his ass to grind against him. John's stupid mask clatters to the ground, and embarrassingly John tries to grope along Rodney's hard dick, only to discover it really is a screwdriver in his pocket.

Only then Rodney has him on the bed, pinned down, hips rolling against his own, and there's no doubt that Rodney's enjoying the friction too. John pulls back with a deep, panting breath, tugs frantically on clothes, stifles a laugh when Rodney trips on his own underwear, and stifles a groan when Rodney's hand finally wraps around him, firm and spit-slicked.

It doesn't take much to get John trembling, hips pistoning as he fucks up into Rodney's tightening fist. Rodney's tonguing his collarbone, scraping teeth down his neck, and John's nerves are frayed. He's wanted this - he can't believe how long he's wanted this, and Rodney is here and real and is a solid, heavy weight pressing down on his hips.

Pleasure crashes over him, spasms through his belly and thighs, and with a groan he comes, shooting warm and white across his own skin.

He wants to rest, pull Rodney down into the sheets, wrap them up in his blankets, shut away from the world until the moons sink low in the sky, but Rodney is still hard - cock red and leaking against his own stomach.

With a wicked grin, John leans down and whispers, "trick", before taking Rodney down deep, swallowing against his gag reflex. He bobs his head up and down, presses his tongue against the smooth, velvety head of Rodney's cock, sucks hard, and that's all it takes. Rodney moans, and gives a small warning tug on John's hair, before shooting down John's throat, salt-bitter and thick.

John flops back up beside him, rests a hand lightly on his shoulder, suddenly uncertain of where they stand. John's done this enough times to know that just because you swallow some come, doesn't mean you get to spend the night.

Only Rodney is snuffling into his chest, pressing a sleepy kiss to his heart, and pulling the covers up. He drapes a leg across John's hip, pinning him down and whispers a sleepy "Happy Halloween", his eyes drifting shut.

John's already warm, knows he'll be sweaty and sticky soon, knows that even in another galaxy, he can't be seen leaving another man's room in the morning, but he'll worry about it later. For now, he presses his nose into Rodney's soft hair, inhales the smell of candle smoke and apple cider, and lets himself drift to sleep.

[bexatomarama]

Hurt & Comfort {Whumptober O31}

We did it folks, 31 fics in 31 days!! 

Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with it! This is the first time in about six years since I’ve published my writing and I’m very glad to get it out there again! Enjoy <3

The Chosen One laments the loss of her child.

Prompts:  Disaster Zone | Trauma | Prisoner

They never found her.

The Chosen One watches the ocean burn, oil slick flame dancing above a wine dark sea. The rubble of the oil rig continued to fall, lapped up endlessly by the sea. Soon, it will be rubbed raw, a valuable to find on some unknown shore years from now. Or left rusting below the depths.

She’d cry, but there aren’t any more tears in her. The saltwater wind laps at her jacket, whipping the fabric around her knees. She’s too exhausted to cry.

Like a figurehead, alone she stood watching the water. Gaze steely, lip a thin line as she watched it burn. The flames licked across the surface, the reflection burning her eyes and warming her skin.

She was fury, an unstoppable force.

Like an omen.

She isn’t sure how many Enclave soldiers and scientists she’d interrogated. She’s less sure about the number she’s killed. No one knew what happened to her daughter. Those who had a vague idea just led her down too many dead ends and much more violence.

Who cared about one lost child?

She was spirited away from Arroyo when it was sacked and lost behind a fortress of steel and red tape. She didn’t exist, not officially anyway, who ever took her never reported her in.

No MIA, no AWOL, no other acronyms for nonsense militant diction. She spoke two languages, but to them she was just that dumb tribal who misplaced her daughter. They wouldn’t help her even if she approached diplomatically.

Typical.

It didn’t change anything in the end.

Her baby was gone, and no one knew where.

The adrenaline faded slowly, leaving her chest empty and her heart palpitating in tune with the Geiger counter at her wrist. Her red rimmed eyes, too tired to cry, twitched as she heaved. A deep ache in her chest, shaking her lithe frame to the core.

For the good of Arroyo, she needed to venture out. She’s trained for it her entire life. She was literally named to reflect her destiny.

Luz of Arroyo.

The Light of Arroyo.

She who will give her people salvation. She who was born De La Paz, of the peace. The Daughter of Marisol, the lady of sorrow, seer of Arroyo. She who eventually gave birth to Arroyo’s Little Queen.

Reina of Arroyo was gone.

And it was all her fault.

For the good of many, the one was sacrificed. She was an infant. She was stolen, and no one cared. Her companions left her after her quest, one by one, returning to the lives they lived outside her destiny.

On her knees in the damp sand, nails digging in deep for anything to ground her, the Light of Arroyo wailed. The radiation burned her face, but she couldn’t find the energy to move. Her skin peeled and scorched as she screamed.

The saltwater licked at her face and wept for her.

She’ll never know what happened to her daughter.