#who the fuck tags a post with sabbatical

[agender-witchery]

"The settlement requires Tumblr to revise its user appeals process and train its human moderators on diversity and inclusion issues, as well as review thousands of old cases and hire an expert to look for potential bias in its moderation algorithms."

"As far as I'm aware improving moderation tools both for staff and regular users wasn't on Tumblr's roadmap when I left"

"if you have data that indicates weakly or strongly that that has not happened it is somewhat your civic duty* to send that data to @NYCLU by whatever method is most convenient to you. that @ is a convenient link to their twitter"

[antigone-ks]

Lantern of Evil

It's been almost 5 years since I posted this on AO3, so I thought it was time to clean up some typos and put it onto Tumblr.

MASTERLIST

Summary:

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

***

Or, Steve gets de-serumed and falls in love over art, old movies, and taxi dances.

Rating: E for Explicity, Eventually

Tags: Steve Rogers/Reader; Plus Size Reader; Natasha Romanov (Marvel); Tony Stark; Sam Wilson (Marvel); James "Bucky" Barnes; background Bucky/Nat - Freeform; Skinny Steve Rogers; Pre-Serum Steve Rogers; Post-Serum Steve Rogers; De-Serumed Steve Rogers; all of the combinations of serums and Steves; Slow Burn; Awkward Flirting; Awkward reader; Awkward Steve Rogers; neither of these goobers know what they're doing; shameless Letterkenny reference; False Identity; horrible misunderstandings; love in art galleries; love on bridges; love on front porches; will earn rating in later chapters; I hope; inappropriate use of a history degree; Short Reader; Profanity; Fluff; Angst; Fluff and Angst; Smut; Oral Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Making Out; definitely third base; not all-the-way parking but pretty close; Biting; Cunnilingus; Fellatio; Vaginal Sex; Steve wants to be clear that this isn't fucking; Making Love

Chapter One: The Greens of June

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

____________________

You settled onto the bench, bag on the floor. The museum had barely opened – a bad sign; it meant you were either blocked or stir-crazy. Or both. Both was bad. You’d had the museum on your list of things-to-do-if-you-had-time, but when you’d first come to town you’d expected that there would never be time. You were getting the change of scenery and relief from responsibilities that you’d always wanted, so of course you never imagined that the same old problems would plague you.

Namely, writer’s block. Imposter Syndrome. “Every word I write is trash and I should sleep in the dumpster”-itis.

You’d gotten this amazing opportunity to take a sabbatical, move half a continent away, and just research the hell out of your magnum opus, a stroke of historical genius. Or what would be your magnum opus, if you could get the damn thing off the ground. Right now it was stuck at brevi opus.

Opus minimis.

You had piles of research, and a good starting point, but you either got stuck on the writing of it or spent days on end organizing the data until the sun coming in the curtains made you feel like a Morlock crawling out of its hole.

So you’d hit the museum.

It’d actually been working pretty well for you, the last few weeks, and you’d started making it part of your routine. Rather than wait for the Bad Times to force you out of the house, you’d come down every two or three days and just . . . pick something. A painting, a sculpture, whatever caught your eye, and you’d study it until your mind felt clear. Sometimes your mind would wander far enough afield that it circled back to your work, and you’d excitedly jot down a new avenue to explore or a turn of phrase you liked. Sometimes you got nothing but a peaceful feeling. Either way, it was good for you, and the initial guilt you’d felt at not being Productive At All Times had faded.

It sort of was productive, anyway. You told yourself so.

For the last couple of visits, you’d sat with Hamilton’s Joan of Arc and the Furies. It was Shakespeare’s Joan, about to be captured by the English and burned for heresy. It’s not . . . good . . . you think, you don’t like it, but there’s something about it. It’s like two different paintings in one, dark and bright, overbearing and reticent.

There aren’t many people around yet, no kiddie camp visits today, so you’re alone in this part of the gallery. The docents are used to you by now, and don’t bother eagle-eyeing you. You lean your chin on your hand and stare hard at Joan, at her Merveilleuse gown, which, like, didn’t Hamilton know she wore pants? Like, famously? But anyway.

“You know,” a deep voice said, “I’ve always wondered what’s going on with the light down by that first fury. What does it symbolize?”

You look over your shoulder at the speaker, a slightly-built blond man with a sketchbook under his arm. He’d shown up a couple of times before, wandering around with more purpose than the average tourist, like he knew which pieces he liked and why. He had a delicate face and serious eyes with just ridiculous lashes. You smiled uncertainly.

“Like, where even is it coming from? Under her skirt?” you ask, and he looks down at you and whoa nelly those are very blue eyes and chuckles.

“Is it the lantern of justice?” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Probably not in Shakespeare. Maybe a lantern of evil.”

“She keeps a lantern of evil in her skirt?” He’s smiling openly at you now, and it’s a really nice smile, and that’s the only excuse you have for what comes out of your mouth next.

“Lantern of evil – in my pants!” you chirp, grinning.

His eyebrows shot up and he gave an incredulous hah.

“Like, like the game?” you say hurriedly. “Where you add ‘in my pants’ to a quote, or a movie title?” You can hear your voice rising nervously and fiddle with your glasses to avoid looking at him. “One ring to rule them . . . in my pants?”

He’s laughing now – probably more at you than at the joke – but it’s enough to relax you a little bit.

“I have never played that game,” he said, eyes dancing. “But I know just the person to try it with. I’ve seen you here before,” he went on, glancing back at the painting. The tips of his ears went very pink.

“Yeah, this is turning into my happy place when work’s not going so well.” You look at Joan again and clear your throat. “I think I saw you, too . . . maybe Sunday?” Not that I noticed you. I’m not a creeper. I notice nothing. I can barely see.

He nodded and shrugged. “Probably, yeah. I’ve been here a lot over the past week.”

“Work got you down, too?” you ask. He kind of purses his lips and nods. Taking a breath, you gesture to the empty half of the bench. “Want to share Joan with me? She’ll take your mind off it.”

His smile is a slow, gentle thing, and even though you say nothing more until it’s time to leave, you feel warmer for sitting near him.

***

“Because they’ll clog up the drain.” Tony’s voice is clipped.

“They get rid of odors,” Natasha points out.

“So it was you.”

“You think I drink that light roast nonsense?” She looks up as Steve enters, the light of battle in her eyes. Well, the light of annoying Tony. It’s not hard. “Weak.”

“Now you’re a coffee snob, Romanoff? You – “ Tony points a pair of tongs at Steve “ – do some reconnaissance, rally the troops, whatever it is you do, and catch this villain.”

Steve clucks his tongue and fails to hide a grin. “Coffee grounds again? You know, we could just get a Keurig and solve that problem easily.” He ducks as both Tony and Natasha turn on him, allied in outrage.

“Just for that,” Tony says, “you get whichever steak I overcook.”

Steve eyes the barstools at the island. He can get into them now, but it involves just enough scrambling that it hurts his dignity. No one said anything the first time he did it, not even Tony, and that was somehow worse than teasing would have been. He’s not broken, for God’s sake. He’s a man of temporarily reduced stature. It’ll be fixed in no time, Bruce and Tony and Helen have promised, but . . .

He’d read a book once that described a gnome as a person whose ‘belligerence was compressed into a body six-inches high and, like many things when they are compressed, had an inclination to explode.’[1] Steve didn’t consider himself belligerent – although he had the urge to cross himself in penance and hope that Bucky was in a different building when he thought it – but he did feel like every human emotion was currently packed into a body too small to hold it all. This body didn’t fit, except that it did, and Steve honestly wasn’t sure which feeling was worse.

He leaned against the counter with – he hoped – an insouciant air and nodded at Tony. “’s long as I can gnaw through it.”

“Are you impugning my grilling skills, Rogers?”

“Wait, you’re gonna grill those?” Sam and Bucky entered the kitchen, apparently fresh off a sparring match. Sam’s skin glistened with sweat, and Bucky wasn’t much better off. Sam might not have super serum in his veins, but he wasn’t a pushover in the ring.

“How else d’you cook ‘em?” Bucky asked, wrinkling his nose at Sam.

“You sear ‘em on the stovetop in a cast-iron skillet,” Sam said, holding up one finger, “finish ‘em in the oven,” two fingers, “serve with a garlic-herb butter.” Three fingers, waved in Bucky’s face.

Natasha leaned on the counter next to Steve and pointed her phone toward the argument. “Every time,” she whispered, hitting "record."

“Every time,” Steve answered.

“In the oven? Cook like a man, Sam!”

“Grill makes ‘em too dry,” Sam insisted.

“Hey!” Tony snapped his tongs at Bucky. “My meat. My rules.” He straightened his shoulders under Sam’s withering look. “On the grill, flip once a minute for the good grill marks.”

“That’s overhandling.” Sam’s tone suggested he was heading straight to church to light all of the candles for Tony’s soul.

“Wait – everyone, wait,” Steve broke in. Natasha quirked her lip at him, annoyed that he was ruining the show. He winked at her. “The real issue here is, aren’t you gonna season those things?”

“Yeah, where’s the salt and pepper, bud?” Bucky asked.

“Don’t start with me,” Tony warned.

“Where’s the steak spice,” Sam asked, rummaging through the cupboards. “I made you a steak spice months ago. My own blend, Tony. I gifted it to you. I’m not eating one of your bland-ass steaks again.” Tony abandoned the meat in favor of bodily hauling Sam away from the cupboards, giving Bucky time to grind at least a little peppercorn on each of the steaks.

“ – my steaks alone!” “ – killing the flavor, man. Killing the flavor!” “ – oversalting!” “ – can’t cook ‘em right, you leave it to someone who can!”

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you already seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

Steve’s eyes were wide with injured innocence. “Snuck? Back in? I –“

“Can it. I don’t care – probably no one will recognize you – but if Tony finds out he’s going to turn into Chicken Little about security.”

“Tony can go lay an egg,” Steve said firmly, making Natasha snort with real laughter.

She sighed. “As hilarious as this is, I’m getting hungry." her voice carried across the kitchen. "Knock it off of or I’m calling Rhodey in.”

Tony straightened, Sam’s arm still around his neck. “Betrayal, Romanoff. I feel betrayed.”

“Yeah, no calling in the brass,” Sam complained. “We can settle this on our own.”

“Better settle that meat on the grill before the others get here,” Steve said. “Want help?”

“Excuse me,” Tony said, affronted. “I can handle the meat.”

The words left Steve’s mouth before he could stop them “ – in my pants?”

Natasha dropped the phone.

____________________

[1] Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant

case/lang/viers – “Greens of June”

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

Read Chapter Two

[azenorie]

morston ficrec

some (goddamned) faith by manic_intent

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: that AU where arthur goes with john on his sabbatical / alternate universe - canon divergence / first time / christmas prompts/ pre-canon.

summary:

“You didn’t have to follow me,” John said, after half a day of Arthur saying not a goddamned word.

a haunting of men by ididnotmakethemoon

rating: teen & up audiences. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: vampire.

summary:

"If Arthur didn't live, at least he didn't die, either."

stangers in the night by manic_intent

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: that AU where john and arthur belong to different gangs / alternate universe / alternate universe - canon divergence / first time.

summary:

John’s hand closed on the holster of his pistol. Before he could draw, someone hauled the stranger back. Big, handsome man with a red bandana and a blue flannel shirt. He smiled at the stranger with very white teeth. “Jameson, why’re you bothering a kid for?” Jameson scowled. “Ain’t none of your business, Morgan. Fuck off.” “It’s the middle of the day and I’m angling for a quiet drink. You starting a fight ain’t gonna be so quiet,” Morgan said.

new blood by manic_intent

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: that omegaverse AU where alphas and omegas are a different species of people / omegaverse / alpha/beta/omega dynamics / non-traditional alpha/beta/omega dynamics / alternate universe / first time.

summary:

“You trying to get me in trouble, kid?” Arthur said as he slowed Boadicea to a walk. The skinny kid who Hosea and Dutch had fished out of some nowhere town out west scowled and straightened up in the saddle. He wasn’t much of a horseman—his ‘borrowed’ horse, the usually docile Lady May, snorted and chewed at the bit. If he’d stolen Lady May out from under the noses of everyone in camp though, he was in trouble. “Not a kid,” said the kid, sticking out his lower lip. “Name’s John.” “And how old are you, John?” Arthur gave John a pointed once-over.

rearrange me by dandywarholic

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M, F/M. relationships: john marston/arthur morgan, mary gillis linton/arthur morgan. additional tags: growing up story kinda / crushing real bad but youre a rat man / and the person youre crushing on is a large Rat man / id tag low honor morgan but this is just kinda how i hc him when he was in his twenties / A BITCH / First Time / they dont have great sex education in the west / nothing happens while john is underrage / arthurs a fuckhead but hes not THAT big of a fuckhead / dubcon / sorry to anyone who read before I tagged that / I had one job

summary:

Ever since John was young, Arthur had always been incredibly mean to him. This wouldn't matter to him if it were anybody else. And he really wished Arthur Morgan were anybody else.

eye of the beholder by Yuu_chi

rating: explicit. archive warning: creator chose not to use archive warnings. categories: M/M. additional tags: hurt/comfort / post injury / pining / chapter three spoilers / Arthur's Journals.

summary:

He thinks of John last night, on his back flicking through the pages with the faintest look of wonder on his face. Of the way he’d clutched it close when Arthur had tried to pull it away. It’s enough to make his sore heart ache, and he wonders why he does this every time.

two fools west of chicago by atqi

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: fluff and smut.

summary:

"You're acting strange." John said warily, his voice soft, slow, careful. It was like staring down his rifle scope at a herd of deer. One false move and he could find himself in the middle of a stampede he couldn't escape. Arthur held his jaw tight. He moved to sit up and turned, looming over him. - A younger Arthur Morgan and John Marston take a job to track down a businessman's mistress and discover an affection for each other on the road that ends up giving them both what they need. All sexual content is 100% consensual and everyone has a good time except for the one guy who gets shot, but that's not during sex.

hear the river say your name by midnights

rating: not rated. archive warning: creator chose not to use archive warnings. categories: M/M. additional tags: pre-canon / angst / fluff and angst / angst with a happy ending / major character injury / (everyone ends up ok tho) / recovery / injury recovery / kissing / smoking / anal fingering / oral sex / anal sex / getting together / hurt/comfort / they're dumb / blow jobs / outdoor sex.

summary:

figures, it would take a bullet to the gut for john to get his shit together. ft. aggressive smoking, pining, and cowboy fools

samaritan by fallen_arazil

rating: explicit. archive warning: graphic depictions of violence / major character death. categories: M/M, F/M. relationships: john marston/arthur morgan, eliza/arthur morgan. additional tags: child death / alternate universe - canon divergence / angst / relationship(s) / protective john marston / families of choice / alternate universe - bounty hunters / POV third person limited / divided loyalties / hurt/comfort / dysfunctional relationships.

summary:

Second epilogue added   Arthur Morgan followed his own advice and left the gang when he had a child (the canonical Eliza and Isaac), taking up as a bounty hunter. Along the way he picked up a young John Marston, who thus never runs with Dutch. Despite leaving, Arthur never truly left his connections behind him, and when Dutch asked for help, he always answered. In 1899, during the event of the game, this arrangement might eventually force Arthur to choose to whom he truly owes his loyalty. John sneered. "You think I'd protect Dutch Van der Linde? Believe me, if I knew where he was, I'd tell you. Hell, I'd go get him myself. He's worth 10 large right now." Milton sneered right back. "I am not a fool, Mister Marston, kindly do not treat me as one. You would do nothing without Arthur Morgan's say-so, and that will be what puts you on the gallows right beside him."

we are lost men by drow

rating: teen & up audiences. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: the classic sharing a room scene.

summary:

He wonders what John is thinking right now, with his hand raised as if to stroke his cheek. He wants to say, 'what are you doing, you damned fool' but instead. Instead, he closes his eyes.

white december by WhyWouldIEver

rating: teen & up audiences. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: alternate universe - canon divergence / pining / oblivious pining / kissing / john and abigail are bff / soft boys because it's christmas / arthur angry arthur sad arthur is confusion / now they’re treeeeee tree fallin’ / i love myself for that pun / legend of the east satchel logic / blizzards & snowstorms.

summary:

John's been avoiding Arthur for years, much to Arthur's confusion. A blizzard rolls in when they're riding back to the gang after a job and now they gotta find a way to keep warm while cooped up in a tiny shack to wait out the storm. Naturally, some secrets are revealed.

don't let it fool you by midnights

rating: not rated. archive warning: creator chose not to use archive warnings. categories: M/M. additional tags: pre-canon / first kiss / pining / angst / angst with a happy ending / hand jobs / bonfires / drinking / john has a crush / young arthur morgan / high honor arthur morgan / (obviously) / fluff and angst / brokeback mountain if it had a happy ending and was about arthur and john / and was also... totally different

summary:

dutch sends arthur and john to a ranch in big valley to tame a herd of wild horses. ft. horse tamin', star gazin', and pining

all of them wolves by thegoodreverend

rating: explicit. archive warning: creator chose not to use archive warnings. categories: M/M, multi. relationships: john marston/arthur morgan, abigail roberts marston/john marston. additional tags: SLOW BURN y'all / touch-starved arthur / the trapper au nobody asked for / AU / trapper!arthur morgan / bisexual arthur morgan / bisexual john marston / one good boy and one screaming raccoon trying to get out of that outlaw life / there's some abigail/john/arthur mostly just mentioned / rancher ot3 au is the fandom hill i will die on

summary:

Arthur Callahan has left a name and a lifetime behind him. He's content with a life of solitude in the foothills north of Big Valley. Things are simple, and safer than his time riding with Dutch van der Linde. Until one day, they aren't.

moving right along by devils_trap

rating: explicit. archive warning: underage*. categories: M/M. additional tags: pre-canon / john marston and his fight to prove himself / would it be weird to tag for home invasion bc that's...what this is / homestead robbery home invasion / bisexual john marston / bisexual arthur morgan / crossdressing / genderplay / not sure how to tag for that since it's all john and all kinda nebulous / period-typical homophobia / implied/referenced child abuse / period-typical sexism / though it's...arthur pigtail pulling more than anything / alcohol use / this became a super long character study sorry y'all / praise Kink / anal sex / anal fingering / rimming oral / sex / top arthur / bottom john

summary:

There’s nothing like it: the knowledge of a job well done, a plan carefully crafted, Arthur fucking Morgan's stamp of approval. Even though it hasn’t exactly happened yet, it’s going to go flawlessly, John can feel it. John made sure of it.

* john's age is not stated.

a problem shared by laetificat

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M.

summary:

Arthur knows John like he knows his own skin.

[thecouchsofa]

2023 ao3 wrapped / fic review / whatever else I'm putting here

@oflights, the human, the myth, the legend, has made me go look at my stats and now you have to look at them too. Tagging @jtimu @elskanellis @sillywives @sleepstxtic @maesterchill @peachydreamxx @hoko-onchi-writes @starquestingfordrarry @rainstormradish @apricitydays-lazynights @annanother-thing @uncannycerulean @drarrymyheart @mallstars so they can also feel this sweet, sweet pain (if they want).

First up, some stats!

Fics posted: 7 public, 1 currently hidden, 1 awaiting submission date + 3 tumblr microfics

Fics started (and maybe finished): 18 + 3 tumblr microfics

Word count of fics posted: 414,013

Total word count written: 513,953

Sorry, but what the actual fuck do you mean I've written over 500k words since April? Put me in restraints, truly.

My favourite fic I wrote this year: The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls

My most kudos'd fic of this year: Driving me crazy (but I'm into it)

I've also read, like, a fucking horrendous amount of fics this year. More than I think I read back when I was deep in the One Direction trenches as a teen. Getting back into writing has given me a fresh appreciation for everyone's work; it's so fucking hard to write well and everyone who puts themselves out there and does that gets an online hug from me.

After Erised reveals I'll be posting a ridiculously long list of my favourite fics that were posted in 2023. It is ... exhaustive. I should probably be embarrassed by how long it is.

But without further ado, a recap of my fics from this year.

May

Driving me crazy (but I'm into it) (8k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco’s fucked a lot of people. He’s fucked models, Quidditch players, members of the Wizengamot, even a Muggle actor, but none of them come quite as prettily as Harry Potter.

September

A Walk in the Woods (48k, E) (Draco/Harry)

After ending up in the Spell Damage Ward at St Mungo’s, Harry is put on mandatory holiday leave.

The catch: he has to spend it with Malfoy at his cottage deep in the woods. Harry has no idea why Malfoy agreed to host him, considering he avoided ever being alone in a room with Harry before he left for his sabbatical a year ago.

To complicate things, Harry’s enormous longstanding crush hasn’t waned at all in Malfoy’s absence.

For: HP Cottagecore Fest

The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls (256k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Harry doesn’t know how to cope after the War. The only things that make him feel even remotely normal again are taking risks while flying and fighting with Malfoy. It’s not likely to end well.

Or,

Draco becomes obsessed with ‘Wonderwall’, reads Muggle books, and drives a campervan, while Harry slowly falls in love with Draco. A story about travelling around the British Isles in the late 90s while healing deep scars.

October

Capillaries (3.6k, M) (Draco/Harry)

Draco’s Sectumsempra scars have never fully healed. He says that it’s not Harry’s fault, that he doesn’t blame him for it. Harry hears him, but he’s not sure that he believes it.

Evergreen (23k, T) (Harry/George)

“You’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will have gone.” Fred leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly thinking that he’d now exceeded his allowance of brotherly wisdom for the day.

“Who are you going with then?” Harry asked suddenly. He looked between Fred and George, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Harry asks George to the Yule Ball because it’ll be a laugh and he’s in dire need of one of those. If George can continue to keep his crush under wraps it should all go swimmingly.

For: HP Rarepair Fest IV

Celestial (paint me like one of your starscapes) (30k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco needs a partner for an art project. The only catch is, they have to be magically compatible with him for the paints to work properly. He’s fairly certain that he knows who his partner will need to be, he’s just not sure that he wants to admit it.

For: H/D Sudsfest Lite 2023

November

November Flush (5k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco Malfoy might be an absolute raging arsehole, but he gives Harry exactly what he needs.

Microfics (all Draco/Harry)

From one to another, for the prompt 'follow': tumblr link

Til resentment do us part, for the prompt 'keep': tumblr link

Satiate, for the prompt 'indulge': tumblr link

Thoughts / feeling / goals for next year

Pride, slight embarrassment, love, appreciation.

For the coming year I'm excited to get stuck into writing even more. I've got so many ideas that I'm excited to work through and a fantastic community to do that with. I will need to be bullied into not signing up for more fests in the new year, so please give me a nudge if my blogging starts to look stressed. Also never be nervous to send me a message about random shit if you're on the fence!

If you have read this far, have read even a single sentence I've written this year, or have thought my Squirtle pic looks cool, I love you, I appreciate you, and I support you.

The motto for 2024? Bedcurtains. One word, not two.

Thanks for being here! ❤️

[problemnyatic]

Fuck it I’m making a Twitter to annoy any big newspapers into following the tumblr shit because fuck Matt. Why should we take any perceived threat or harassment seriously when he sets staff on us like rabid dogs to nuke any minorities who dare to speak about their harassment, why does staff go through donation and mutual aid tags to nuke people who need help, why do they suppress the Palestinians here and keep their tags from trending? Why should I give a fuck about a man who was supposed to be on sabbatical being, surprise surprise, on here to nuke and lie about and harass more people. I’m making a folder of evidence so if you could send ss or anything my way, that would be helpful.

Can't send anything to you if you're on anon. If you want your blog to remain anonymous, send me a link to that twitter so I can add it here. My tag "#cultivating fear" has a modest amount of stuff about this, and the notes of my posts in there are attracting people who've either seen this stuff or have evidence of their own.

I really want to encourage people to come together and pool their time and effort and knowledge on this. I don't think I have the wherewithall to run this whole show alone, but I can absolutely be the nexus of this energy. Y'all keep bringing me shit and I'll keep posting it, and we'll have media attention and a class-action lawsuit going in no time.

Consider me the hermes of this tumblr uprising, with a side of shot-calling for what seems to be the best lead of what we've found so far. I'll keep tagging everything relevant to this as "#cultivating fear," which is what I started tagging posts about tumblr removing marginalized folks and silencing dissenters.

[panelshowsource]

it would be a RIOT honestly i don't even think she has an outfit for being in the woods — kinda like roisin and her fucking flip flops 😭

i also wanna see victoria make david eat and do weird things like everyone else does on outsiders it's so hilarious that he's the host with all of the badge-giving authority but half the tasks they do are just taking the piss out of david lmaoooo

like what am i ever gonna do with this screenshot but i'm also so happy i have it

victoria is on sabbatical right now so i hope we'll start seeing her pop up again in the new year 🥹

this would be fun anon but she's not really in the panel show/britcom world! that said i'm doing a doctor who rewatch on my main so i can post some gifs of her over there soon hehe

omg LMAO but actually — literally me the day i saw him with a full beard and everything changed

he has one of the BEST beards too like alex horne will never have THE salt and pepper perfection richard osman does

but you know what you can see even with the beard he just has such a little boy face with those cheeks and that cheeky smile

aww you guys are adorable. i feel like i've been getting a lot of messages like this lately and they never get old 💗 i'm so glad you're having fun!! that's why we're here :)

—

WATCH LINKS MASTERPOST / FAQ / TAGS / ASK

[soufre-de-paris]

i was tagged by @lowgardn for a getting-to-know-you meme! and now i have the spoons/energy/time to finalize! :>

last song: last song i myself chose to listen to was still taca a xereca pra mim by mc kaique but A was loudly playing lady gaga's telephone yesterday as some sort of homage to their feelings of being freed of the necessity of having a cell phone by having had it stolen

favorite color: in which i am true to my brand™. i genuinely love soft pastels pink (up until i remember they have been so inextricably linked to gender, and then i remember gender exists, and then i'm sad) yay! pink!! keep in mind i have chosen pink bc i don't think "oil slick plastic" counts as a color.

currently watching: A and i are watching the original star trek series, because they have never seen it, and it's been excellent but also Does Not Hold Up Well when it comes to gender relations. amazing that they could conceive of aliens and humans living side by side (with some issues, of course) and deep space exploration in a post-fucking-capitalist society, but not that Women Are People. but it's also some of the best television i've ever seen, so like, wtf. i am considering watching good omens by myself during my sabbatical but we will see.

last movie/tv show: barbie. too many thoughts. before that, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.... probably shin ultraman???? which was so fucking great, god, hideaki anno!!

sweet/spicy/savory: what about… all of them… at once… yes, yes, this is Ideal

relationship status: i have a partner and a girlfriend and other untitled attachments. i routinely forget i am poly bc i am not actively looking to date anyone new. lately i've been really enjoying thinking about my polycule as a series of underground wires, and the connections between people who have never met and never will have chance to meet, but who are inextricably linked through the connections they form. my partner's girlfriend and my girlfriend's boyfriend have a zero possibility of ever meeting, but who can claim their lives and choices don't influence each other? furthermore, (picture me being dragged offstage by a sheep hook as i start to rant about compersion, arete, and social responsibility)

current obsessions: bg3/DROW FACTS (obviously) and the canon time-travel d.a.i fic i'm still spinning around in my head to nintendo wii sounds. and now that i'm home and our apartment is almost ready, i can start thinking about working on my own writing again… and 「glass」 is due a draft revision…

last thing you googled: colorpicker (for the image of pink above) and dumb phone with gps (for A)

tagging @maeaneke (i don't know your favorite color????) @k0gaball @the-local-gremlin @gomjabbars @thesandsofelsweyr and @birenza, no pressure!

[roberteospeedwagon]

[ID: A Tumblr post by photomatt, the platform’s current CEO. The post reads:

“I'm continuing to get harassment and death threats here, in a way that is overwhelming the account. If it's hard for me to deal with this, with the team behind me, if nothing else this has given me a lot of empathy for how pile-ons must be totally unmanageable for users with the interface of Tumblr, especially the lack of basic things like bulk actions that have been in WordPress for a decade-plus.

I'm actually on sabbatical for February, March, and April so I shouldn't have replied in the first place, I was just concerned about the reports of an account wrongly terminated and followed up at the request of Tumblr community members contacting me, and other staff is hesitant to make public statements for fear of harassment, attacks, and doxxing.

As far as I'm aware improving moderation tools both for staff and regular users wasn't on Tumblr's roadmap when I left, but I hope this raises awareness within the team. When I'm back to work in May this will definitely be on my mind, as well as if we should continue to invest Tumblr at all if it's going to harbor such toxicity and harassment. The mob misinformation and harassment makes people scared to work on Tumblr, and likely drives away scores of good creators, Blaze posters, advertisers, and subscribers—the folks who will make Tumblr a sustainable endeavor.

I'm going to return to my regularly scheduled programming of reblogging and posting to Tumblr, and have no further comment on the suspended account that people with limited information think shouldn't have been suspended.”

The post is tagged with #tumblr, #moderation, and #sabbatical. Notably, both replies and reblogs are disabled.]

turn on the reblogs and replies you fucking coward

[bambirex]

It's A Game We Play: Chapter 4

Pairings: Geraskier, Yennskier, Radskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Radovid, original female characters, Essi Daven, Priscilla, Ciri of Cintra, Valdo Marx

Additional tags: inspired by Mamma Mia! (movies,), crack, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omega jaskier, alpha geralt, alpha yennefer, beta radovid, awkwardness, jaskier is a good parent, protective jaskier, weddings, found family, post mpreg, fluff and humor, alternate universe- modern setting, jaskier is having the worst time of his life, valdo is here to make everything worse, confusion, banter

Rating: teen and up audiences

Full word count: 10,713 words

Chapter word count: 3,324 words

Chapters: 4/?

Summary: Jaskier's daughter is about to marry the love of her life, and she decides she wants both her parents at her wedding. Only problem is that Jaskier has slept with a little too many people in his youth, so the identity of the other parent is a mystery. That does not stop the bride-to-be from inviting three potential daddy candidates and unleashing absolute chaos in the process.

*

Otherwise known as Jaskier's terrible horrible no good past decisions leading to terrible horrible no good outcomes. Also known as the Mamma Mia! AU nobody asked for, but I wrote it anyway.

Chapter summary: Running into familiar, unwanted faces and meeting weirdly eager strangers.

Author's notes: Chapter title speaks for itself, since this question will pop up during this chapter many times. I liked the suggestions in my comment section about Geralt, Yennefer and Radovid knowing each other so much, that I decided to work that in, thanks for the idea!!!! I am also bringing you all a beloved beloathed character, and Amaryllis's big meeting with the "daddies" as well.

Read on Ao3

*

If someone told Yennefer just a week prior that she would literally drop everything and get herself an emergency sabbatical from the bistro, and she would force herself through a nearly four hours long ferry ride, all because she received a mysterious letter from someone she's slept with twenty years ago, she would've called them a fucking moron.

Yet, there she was, staring at the waves licking the side of the ferry as they made their way over the sea. Yennefer put her elbows on the railing with a deep sigh. She closed her eyes as she breathed in the salty air. Twenty years ago, she was traveling across the sea just like she was doing it now, full of youthful energy and hope. She had none of that now. She was just anxious as all hell, because seriously, what could Jaskier possibly want from her? How was she even supposed to react when she saw him standing on the docks, waiting for her? How was she supposed to greet him, what should she ask? How was she supposed to cope with the fact that she had to face someone like that from her past?

"Yennefer?"

As Yennefer turned around fast, the wind blew all of her hair into her face. She cursed and sputtered as she tried her best to remove it from her mouth and eyes.

When she finally came face to face with the person who called out for her, Yennefer suddenly felt the urge to throw herself off the ferry and into the water.

“Geralt,” she hissed, her eyes widening, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

Geralt cleared his throat awkwardly, a habit that he seemed to never have abandoned since Yennefer last saw him. Her and Geralt had dated about ten years ago, and for a while, Yennefer was convinced that maybe he could be the one. She was wrong, like she always was, about every person she dated. Geralt wasn’t a bad person, not by any means, and Yennefer did love him. But maybe two Alphas were just never meant to work out; their too similar personalities soon led to constant fighting, which lead to a not very nice breakup, during which Yennefer told Geralt he was a ball-less coward who really needed to get off his high horse, and Geralt called Yennefer a control freak with anger issues.

And now, to make this already weird and frustrating situation ever worse, here he was, staring at Yennefer with that constipated look on his face.

“It’s nice to see you too, Yen,” Geralt grumbled, arms crossed over his chest. Yennefer scoffed.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I was hoping we could have a civil conversation, but clearly, I was wrong. I just wanted to say hello.”

“Okay, you did. Goodbye.”

“Yennefer,” Geralt sighed, “let’s not be childish, okay?”

Yennefer gripped the railing again to stop herself from committing a crime that would’ve earned her a life sentence.

“Oh, yeah, says the man who’s allergic to commitment, and drops everyone like a hot potato the second things turn serious!”

“Yeah, because you handled everything so maturely,” Geralt growled, “you were only looking for flaws in everything, of course you found them!”

“Did you come here to antagonize me?” Yennefer spat. “You should have just ignored me.”

Geralt deflated at that, somewhat. There was a small, barely-there smile at the corner of his lips. Yennefer hated to admit, but it was still stupidly attractive.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Geralt said, his voice much softer. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same. So, what are you doing here, Geralt?”

Before Geralt could answer, a teenage girl rushed over to them, knocking into Geralt so hard it looked painful. Her ashen blonde hair was mussed from the wind, and her grin was mischievous.

“Dad,” she called out with a giggle, and Yennefer’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Dad!?

“I’m gonna drive a Bentley!”

“What?” Geralt turned to her with utter confusion. Yennefer was pretty sure she was going to pass out and into the sea.

“I never said that you could drive it!” Came a voice from behind the cackling girl. “I just said that you could see it if we reached land!”

A tall man with long, reddish-blond hair approached them with a huff. He looked utterly miserable, which might have had something to do with the seagull shit that covered the shoulder of his clearly expensive silk shirt. He looked familiar. Yennefer narrowed her eyes as she stared at him, trying to figure out where she knew him from.

Geralt blinked at the man with a similarly confused expression. “I’m sorry, do you know my daughter that you’re offering her a car show, or should I call the police?”

“Did you just accuse me of… rude!” The man huffed. “She walked up to me and asked me if the Bentley was mine! I wasn’t gonna send her away!”

“It’s a nice car,” the girl chirped, seemingly uncaring of the adults’ impending brawl. “Can I get a driving license, Dad? I’ve driven your car before, I’d do good!”

“I’m sorry,” Yennefer interrupted them, “Geralt? She’s you daughter?”

Geralt gave her a wounded look. “Yennefer… she’s Ciri. My daughter.”

Yennefer opened her mouth then quickly shut it again before she said something that wasn’t meant to be heard by a child. Geralt used to insist he could never have a family of his own. That he would be a shit dad, and children were too much hassle. He clearly found Yennefer’s desire for kids weird and unnecessary. And here he was, with a kid- a kid that was clearly a teenager. Holy shit, he had a kid while he dated her, he must have had a partner he cheated on with Yennefer, then. He made her into a homewrecker. Yennefer was going to kill someone today.

Ciri nodded towards her with a grin. “Nice to meet you! I like your dress!”

“Thanks…”

“Wait,” the blond guy turned towards Yennefer, “I know you!”

Oh, no. Now that Yennefer took one more look at him, it became obvious where she met him. It was the evening she officially ruined her career as a chef, and she was pretty much exiled to cook at a cheap bistro. She had to cater at some expensive business party, and she was so nervous around all the stuck-up suits, that she messed up the meal, big time. And that guy was there, his stubble was a little thinner and his eyes were a lot less stern back then, but Yennefer recognized him. He was the first to spit out her stew, which then drew attention to the mistake she’s made.

“You put sugar in the stew instead of salt,” the guy said, “it tasted like cake smothered in grease.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you all claimed!” Yennefer snapped. “But your spoiled ass had to make such a frenzy about it! You’re the reason I’m still cooking at a shithole bistro!”

“Oh, thank the stars, that’s better for everyone.”

“Wait,” Geralt said, cutting off the mighty string of curses Yennefer was about to throw. “I know you, too. You have that company. And a tarantula.”

“Huh?” The man turned to Geralt. His eyes widened. “Oh, wait, I remember you too! We met at the vet. Your foal tried to eat my shirt and it also jumped out of your hands and started wreaking havoc in the waiting room!”

“And you were so convinced that your tarantula was more important than my sick horse that you ran in before me! It probably wasn’t even sick, you just didn’t know how to take care of an animal properly.”

“You leave Franz Joseph out of this!” The man yelled, pointing a finger at Geralt’s chest. “He was very sick!”

“Who’s Franz Joseph?” Ciri whispered to Yennefer. Yennefer shook her head, which was quickly growing dizzy.

“Okay, alright,” Geralt sighed deeply. “Your pet has nothing to do with your own arrogance. How’s, uh, Franz Joseph, by the way?”

“He’s dead.”

“Shit. Sorry about that.”

“Alright, will anyone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Yennefer huffed. “Geralt, have you had a kid all along? While you were dating me? Was that why you said you could never have one with me?”

“Maybe not in front of Ciri,” Geralt tried. Ciri narrowed her eyes at him.

“You two dated?”

Geralt released a long-suffering, deep sigh. “Yeah. Some time ago. Yennefer, I adopted Ciri four years ago. She is my daughter, but we haven’t met while we were together. Okay?”

“Okay, and why are you headed to Thanedd?”

“Why are you?”

“I… I got a letter from someone, it’s an emergency, or whatever, I had to drop everything at home, I’m really fed up already, and you are not helping!”

“What,” Geralt’s voice wavered slightly, “a letter? You too?”

“A hand-written letter?” The other guy chimed in, his face turning pale. “From someone on Thanedd? About… a life and death situation?”

“Yes?”

“Who wrote to you,” Geralt asked, his eyes widening with panic, which made Yennefer’s nerves even worse. Yennefer grabbed the railing again, this time to not faint.

“An old love… I mean, someone I knew. Is this an interrogation?”

“You started it,” rich guy reminded her. “And this someone, who sent you a letter… he’s not called Jaskier, by chance?”

“How do you know him,” Geralt growled dangerously as he turned towards the other man. They were about the same height, but he still seemed to tower over him. Yennefer could feel the angry Alpha pheromones oozing off him. It made her feel even more snappish, not to mention that possessive flare upon hearing someone else knowing Jaskier. Her Jaskier.

“Control yourself,” the man warned him, “your child is standing right there next to you.”

“Don’t bring me into this!” Ciri huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that was so similar to Geralt’s. “I have zero idea what’s going on, I’m just enjoying the free show.”

“Why would Jaskier write to you,” Geralt continued, lowering his voice slightly. “Who are you to him…?”

“Radovid,” the guy helped him out with a sigh. His eyes narrowed to slits. “And how do you know him?”

“He wrote to all of us!?” Yennefer asked in horror. “What… why the fuck would he do that?”

They all stared at each other. Geralt chewed on his lip, his brows furrowed in distress. Radovid stared at his feet, stiff like a statue. Ciri looked from one to the other, both confused and clearly entertained by the mess she ended up in the middle of.

Yennefer turned back towards the sea and groaned. It wasn’t enough that she had to worry about what Jaskier needed of her after all this time, now she had to face the fact that her ex, and a random guy was also here, and they all got the same letter, apparently.

She really should have thrown that letter away.

--

Probably everyone thought Amaryllis was insane, what with the way she was pacing up and down on the docks, muttering to herself to calm her nerves. She couldn’t possibly know if her plan worked at all. There was a chance their address changed, and none of them received her letter, or if they did, they could have just ignored it. After all, twenty years have passed since then, what were the odds they would leave their homes so abruptly to come see Jaskier?

Amaryllis could only hope that her Papa left a mark on them deep enough that they would want to find out what he (well, Amaryllis) wanted. She knew her father was a remarkable and loveable guy, but she didn’t know how the other three were. She could only go off on the descriptions in the diary, hence why she was nervous if she would recognize them at all.

By the time the ferry arrived, Amaryllis was a hair’s breadth away from passing out. She watched the cars roll down, then the people walk off, her heart beating at an abnormal speed all the while. What was the chance she would get a heart attack right now? She pressed her fingers against her neck to feel her pulse. Oh, God, she was going to explode from anxiety.

Amaryllis craned her neck to see over the crowd that milled around the docks, trying to find faces similar to the descriptions. She really did hope no one went through a drastic style change that made them look entirely different.

The crowd cleared a little, and Amaryllis noticed a shiny white car- a Bentley.

He is literally blonde Prince Charming, not on a white horse, but in a white Bentley.

Amaryllis’s breath hitched in her throat as she approached the car slowly, her palms growing clammy with sweat. What were the chances the car was the same, that it was Radovid’s?

Once she reached the car, she was greeted with a girl somewhat younger than her, who grinned at her brightly.

“Nice car, isn’t it?” She asked proudly. “It’s mine!”

“No, it isn’t… whatever. Let the kids have fun.”

Amaryllis turned towards the voice. She gasped at the sight of a tall, lean man, with blond hair, dressed in expensive clothes there were only somewhat dulled by the smear that suspiciously looked like bird poop. It had to be him.

“Radovid,” Amaryllis breathed out. The man’s eyes widened comically.

“Do we know each other?”

“It’s you…”

“I’m sorry, how do you…?”

Amaryllis wobbled on her feet when a broad, white-haired man stood next to the teenage girl who declared Radovid’s car her own.

“Geralt…?”

“What? How do you know my name?”

“Okay, I genuinely don’t know what’s going on, but…”

Amaryllis turned towards the female voice, and yes, indeed, there was Yennefer. She couldn’t believe her luck.

“Yennefer,” she whispered, causing the woman to stare at her like she just massacred her entire family.

“Do you know my name too?” The young girl laughed. Amaryllis sent her an apologetic smile.

“Alright, this is strange,” Geralt noted, “how do you know us?”

“I… huh. Lord. This is weird, I know. Bear with me, okay?” Amaryllis bit her lip, trying to hold back an excited squeal. “My name is Amaryllis Pankratz.”

“Pankratz!?” They all yelled in unison. Amaryllis grinned. They remembered her Papa.

“Yes. I’m Jaskier’s daughter.”

She had never seen faces turn so white all at once. Geralt practically wasn’t even breathing. Radovid closed his eyes. Yennefer’s jaw literally dropped. The teenage girl grinned in delight.

“Jaskier has a daughter,” Yennefer whispered. She looked Amaryllis up and down, recognition lighting up in her eyes. “Shit. You look just like him. I should have known.”

“Yeah, do you know how many times I got the ‘oh, did Jaskier went back in time and turned into a girl’ joke?” Amaryllis chuckled. She swallowed in embarrassment when no one laughed. “Erm…so, yeah, Jaskier is my father. And I know you guys all know him, and I know you don’t know me, but… ugh, this is difficult! We gotta get to know each other a little better before my wedding.”

“Before the what?” Geralt asked. Amaryllis chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, so I’m getting married and I kinda need one of you to be at the wedding, but first I need to figure out which one of you should be there, because I think one of you is… shit!”

Amaryllis turned pale when she spotted Jaskier in the distance. He was luckily not facing them as he was walking towards the market, but she couldn’t risk him seeing his old lovers there before Amaryllis had a chance to talk to them.

“Trust me,” she practically begged the bewildered group, “and follow me, okay?”

Before any of them could protest, Amaryllis practically shoved them all towards the cars, away from Jaskier. The teenage girl went with them, and while Amaryllis wasn’t sure who she was, she kind of liked her already.

They would all have plenty of time to get to know each other, if everything went well.

--

Jaskier was contemplating which watermelon to pick when he felt a hand brush his side gently. He jumped, dropping both melons on the ground. They smashed on the asphalt, coating his new shoes in juice.

“Thanks for this,” Jaskier groaned as he stared at the mess on the ground, “I will not be paying for these, but you will!”

He looked up to see who touched him. The breath caught in his throat, and his head started swimming right away. He wobbled on his feet for a second, before he let out a mighty “what the fuck are you doing here, you ghoul!?”

“Oh, Jaskier,” came the snarky laugh in response, “you did not change one bit.”

What terrible sin Jaskier must have committed against the gods that they brought Valdo Marx, the bane of his existence, his formal rival, his archnemesis, the curse of his life, to the peaceful little island he lived on!?

“What are you doing here,” Jaskier huffed, hands on his hips, “I thought you were in jail for being a sex offender or something.”

“You wish,” Valdo grinned. He raked his eyes over Jaskier with an appreciative hum. “Look at you. You look lovely, still. Gained some weight, but that’s par for the course after having a child, isn’t it?”

“It takes me approximately one second to grab one more melon and bash your head in with it,” Jaskier warned him. Valdo laughed heartily.

“Oh, come on, now, Jaskier, don’t be so hostile! It looks good on you. You look gorgeous, was what I was trying to say, and yet, here you are, threatening me with assault.”

“Stop with the fake compliments,” Jaskier spat, “what the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be playing shit music with your band of disgraced theater kids?”

“Another thing that didn’t change: your deaf ears. We’re playing plenty, don’t worry. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“What?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Valdo grinned mischievously. “A certain Mrs. Cooper is best friends with our manager. And he offered her a lovely band, ours, to play at her daughter’s wedding.”

“No,” was all Jaskier was able to say when he realized Valdo was talking about the mother of Amaryllis’s fiancée. Valdo laughed again, enjoying the horrified look on Jaskier’s face.

“Congratulations! I’ve heard Sara is marrying your daughter! Can’t wait to meet the lovely brides.”

“You. Are. Not. Playing. At. My. Daughter’s. Wedding!” Jaskier growled, emphasizing every single word. Valdo tutted at him condescendingly.

“Oh, don’t be like that! It’s going to be lovely! You can give your daughter away to the sound of my beautiful singing, doesn’t that sound good? You’ll get to watch me bask in the glory while you cry in the background. Just like old times.”

Jaskier let out a scream as he grabbed another watermelon off the stand. Valdo ducked away just in time before his head collided with the large fruit.

“See you around, Jaskier,” Valdo chuckled. The bastard had the audacity to grab his hand and kiss his knuckles, making Jaskier let out a sound that he didn’t realize he was able to make. He rushed away before Jaskier could attempt to murder him one more time.

“You’re gonna pay for all the melons you smashed, I hope you know that!” The clerk yelled at him. Jaskier nodded with a sigh of defeat.

His hands shook as he fished his money out of his wallet. This couldn’t be real. He must have been experiencing a terrible nightmare, and he would wake up soon.

He would have to come up with a plan to make sure Valdo wouldn’t get to make a mess at Amaryllis’s wedding. Jaskier won’t let that happen, that was for sure.

At least things couldn’t get worse in the meantime, he reassured himself as he walked home.

[victorluvsalice]

WIP Snippets!

I was tagged by @dont-offend-the-bees to post a snippet of a WIP -- but I have two major projects that I’m working on, so why not do a bit of both? :) Especially since I didn’t do a “sneak peak” at anything over the holidays this year. . .

First things first, though -- I am tagging in turn @nebbychan, @ace-of-tales, and @thesatiricaldemon, should they be inclined to share anything they have going on in the writing well. :) Anyone else who also feels inspired to post a WIP snippet upon reading this, please feel free! We’re all friends here!

And now -- snippets! First up, we have a portion of the first chapter of “Londerland Bloodlines: Downtown Queensland,” the second part of the “Londerland Bloodlines” series I’m working on with Alice as the Malkavian fledgling in Vampire: the Masquerade -- Bloodlines. This is from my take on the cutscene where the fledgling wakes up after being knocked unconscious by the Sabbat and dragged off to a junkyard upon their arrival downtown. . .but you’ll notice that one of the Sabbat members looks a little different from usual. . . (warning for some foul language and threats of violence -- no worse than in the game itself)

---

“Let’s drain it.”

“Let’s stake it and leave it out for the sunrise.”

“We’re going to have a lot of fun with this one.”

Well, fuck, was the first coherent thought Alice could put together. Her skull felt like someone had taken it out, dropped it on the ground, then poorly superglued all the pieces back together before ramming it back into her head. She cautiously cracked open her eyes to see three figures standing over her, poorly lit by the light of the moon and a sputtering lamp. “Think you could blow up our warehouse and get away with it?” one snapped at her in a voice as rough as sandpaper. “Huh, lick?”

The fellow next to him (Alice was reasonably certain it was all hims) snorted. “Let’s pull out its tongue and its eyes and its teeth!” he suggested, flexing the claws that had dragged her into this mess in the first place.

“Yeah,” a smoother voice said, its owner crouching down in front of her. “I want its teeth.” He put a foot on Alice’s clavicles, pressing her down into the cracking concrete. “Camarilla fuck – what do you say to that?”

Alice squinted at him. “. . .are you wearing glitter?”

Judging by the startled blinking, that wasn’t what her captor had been expecting. “. . .yes?” he admitted, suddenly defensive. “What of it?”

“It’s just not the usual look for you lot, is it?” Alice continued, her tongue happily running ahead of her brain. “I mean, no offense, I’m happy you apparently put enough stock in taking care of your appearance to actually bathe, let alone apply make-up, but. . .” She looked him up and down – at least, as best she could from her vantage point on the ground. “Loads of hair gel and a bright pink suit don’t exactly inspire terror.”

The clawed fellow snickered. “She may be a Cammy fuck, but she’s got you there, Habits.”

“None of you fucking appreciate fashion,” Habits replied, surrendering to stereotypes by sticking his nose in the air.

“Toreadors,” the sandpaper-voiced one – Alice could now see he was a big fellow, face framed by dreadlocks – muttered, before focusing back on her. “Don’t think that big mouth of yours will help, Camarilla. I think my boys and I could use a little entertainment.” He turned to an invisible audience over his shoulder, smirking as he curled stumpy fingers. “Those of you sitting in the first few rows will get wet.”

Shit – all right, Alice, think, she told herself as he turned back toward her, baring his fangs. Above him, the clawed fellow and Habits smirked, preparing themselves for a show. Going invisible obviously isn’t an option, and Auspex is less than useless here – which means I’ve got get my head focused enough to unleash Wonderland upon this lot before they unleash on me. She dug her nails into the sidewalk, pushing past the pain in her head to focus her blood as best she was able –

BANG!

---

And second up, a bit from the sequel to the full version of “As Long As You Love Me” (which should be going up this year, I just need to edit it properly), “The Joker And The Queen!” This is the story I’ve mentioned before where Victor ends up kidnapped by X-Sector and imprisoned in The Sanctuary by Dr. Kelman while Alice ends up teaming up with Victoria and Emily to find him. . .and while he’s in there, he ends up meeting quite the remarkable group of people, including one named Smiler. . . (warning for a touch of accidental misgendering in this one, but Victor genuinely doesn’t know Smiler’s non-binary until they tell him)

--

They proceeded down the hallway, around a corner, and to a large pair of double doors (white, of course). Bagshaw opened them to reveal a room that looked a bit like Victor had always imagined a dorm common room to look – some couches arranged around a TV, another bookshelf (better-stocked than the one in his room) against the wall, a few tables here and there for people to sit at, a beanbag chair in the corner because it was expected. And fortunately for his sanity, Kelman had made some concessions to color here – not a lot, as the couches and chairs were all white, but the tables and bookcase were at least mahogany, and there was a couple of sad plants on shelves adding a bit of greenery. It was a slightly less depressing place than his cell, at any rate.

And it had other people in it – a young black man and a Chinese woman playing cards at one of the tables; a pair of white women – one red-headed, one platinum blond – half-watching the TV; and a red-headed white man built like a lumberjack lounging in the beanbag chair. “Everyone?” Bagshaw called, causing them to all look up. “This is SW9.” He patted Victor briefly on the shoulder. “Play nice.”

And with that, he headed to the corner by the bookcase, pulling out his phone. Victor stared at the vaguely-curious faces before him, one hand automatically reaching for a tie that wasn’t there. Oh damn. . .when was the last time he’d actually introduced himself to anyone? Usually his interactions with people who weren’t Alice consisted of either handing over money for snacks or giving his name and then handing over money for a hotel room. And – and he didn’t know any of their names, or what they were like, or –

“Hi!”

Victor damn near leapt out of his skin. A seventh person had just appeared at his elbow, one he’d missed in his earlier glance around – a white man about his age, he guessed, with spikes of black hair hanging down the left side of his face, and bright yellow eyes that could only be contacts. “I’m Smiler!” he introduced himself, sticking out a hand with a brilliant grin. “What’s your name?”

“Ah – um – Victor,” Victor said, taking the offered hand cautiously. Goodness, but this fellow seemed ready to beam his head right off with that smile. Wonder if he read Mr. Cedars’s book too. . .

“Great to meet you!” Smiler said, pumping his arm. “I mean, yeah, be a lot better if we weren’t both stuck here, but under the circumstances, great to meet you! Oh, and let’s get this out of the way right now – they/them. My pronouns,” they added in response to Victor’s puzzled eyebrow, stabbing themselves in the chest with a finger. “Non-binary.”

“Oh! Oh, yes – he/him,” Victor responded in kind, cheeks heating up. “S-Sorry, my family’s a little conservative, so – I’m still a bit new to that sort of thing.”

“No worries! Now you know,” Smiler said, smile never faltering. “Come on, let me introduce you to everybody!” They linked their arm through his and pulled him over to the first table, where the card-playing pair were waiting with faces that suggested they’d totally expected this from Smiler. “Okay, so – this is Oblivion, he thinks he’s an edge lord,” they said, pointing at the black man. “And that’s Thirteen, she’s actually an edge lord.”

---

Hope you enjoyed!

[throughthelensofthebabypanini]

I posted 6,991 times in 2022

That's 6,898 more posts than 2021!

19 posts created (0%)

6,972 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@winterspiderpurrs

@khalixascorner

@im-a-goner-foryou

@monster-cock69

@professional-benaddict

I tagged 3,037 of my posts in 2022

#peter parker - 940 posts

#harringrove - 839 posts

#steve harrington - 787 posts

#billy hargrove - 713 posts

#starker - 557 posts

#tony stark - 532 posts

#bucky barnes - 321 posts

#steve rogers - 221 posts

#winterspider - 215 posts

#spiderman - 203 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#literally they look like the couple that will show up ridiculously late at a party and still own the night because theyre just that powerful

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Okay so I’ve had this prompt(?)/idea(?)/plot outline(?) stuck in my mind ever since Black Panther gave me Erik “Killmonger” Stevens🥺 to drool over so here it goes:

• Post CW: Peter and Tony have been together for almost 2 years, Peter’s convinced their endgame cuz they’re both so in love. WRONG, Peter discovers that Tony’s been cheating on him with Steve for the past 6 months when Tony moans Steve’s name during sex.

• Tony tries to apologize, excuses start flying out his ass, “Baby you know you’re the only one for me.” Peter, against his better judgement, relents and they try to make it work.

• Not even a week goes by, he walks in on Tony and Steve. Tony tries to appease him but NOPE, Peter packs his bags and leaves.

• On May’s suggestion, Peter goes on sabbatical to Oakland where he decides to volunteer at the Wakandan embassy. There he starts to heal and stuff. Then, he gets the chance to actually go to Wakanda for immersion.

• In Wakanda he meets the newly healed and inducted prince N’Jadaka (Erik). It’s rough at first, Erik is closed off and Peter’s just starting to find himself again but they make it work. They complement each other and they’re beautiful together.

• 4 years later, SI is in need of Vibranium so Pepper and Tony, who’s not looking so great cuz him and Steve are just not okay, travel to Wakanda to negotiate with the Foreign Relations co chair and COO of the Wakandan Vibranium Distribution

• They arrive in a lavish conference room, set up their presentation/proposal, the door opens and a Dora Milajae announces the arrival of “the soon-to-be Prince Consort of Wakanda, the fiancée of Prince N’Jadaka, the Foreign Relations co chair and the COO of the WVD, Dr. Peter Benjamin Parker.”

• “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, shall we start the presentation? I have a meeting with our wedding planner and a cake tasting this afternoon. Who knew planning for a royal wedding was going to be so much work?” Everybody present laughs except for Tony.

• Because there in front of Tony is the man whose heart he broke looking absolutely breathtaking with a dazzling smile on his face and his heart aches remembering how much he fucked this up not just for himself but also for SI.

🤩TADAAA🤩

This actually looks more like an outline as opposed to a prompt but when I started writing the words just wouldn’t stop😅 anyways I’m just sooo glad I got this out of my system as I’ve been playing this story in my head for so long.💕✨

26 notes - Posted June 8, 2022

#4

❤️IL SUO CUORE💙

This is my first ever starker fic and I hope you like it. The fic is not beta read because this was supposed to just be a ficlet that turned into a full length-ish one. For some reason when I opened my Notes app this story just started to write itself so its rushed and not perfect, so please be kind to it🙏🏽 alsooo TW‼️ for attempt at non-con starting from: “memories of his Heart” up to “Back pressed against the wall”. If anyone wants to beta this please feel free to dm me and I’ll post it on ao3 🤩anyways here’s the fic, I hope you like it!🥺✨💕

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It happened. The one thing that Tony tried to warn everyone about. “A suit of armor around the world”, that’s what they needed but no one NO ONE believed him and it cost him the one thing THE ONE THING he couldn’t live without. THE ONE THING he’d burn the whole world for.

Two years. Two blissful, mind numbingly wonderful years became the film reel he’d see every damn time he closed his eyes. Whispers beneath black silk sheets. Smiles reserved only for him surrounded by his creations, Their children. Declarations of “It’s going to be You and Me together Baby, always.” Hazelnut eyes sparkling with intelligence, wit, and love. The Love he lost in a planet lightyears away from home. Gooey caramel eyes that looked at him with so much adoration and warmth. So desperate to feel a smidgen of that warmth again, he plunged right back into old habits.

“Tony, you need to stop this! You’re killing yourself!” Tony looked at her, tumbler creaking under the weight of his hand. The woman he thought he loved years ago. Ha! She couldn’t even accept the biggest part of him. Couldn’t look at the symbol of his determination and perseverance to live. No, He was the only one who truly loved him but He’s gone now, he failed Him. Dust in a small alabaster jar on his nightstand. A reminder that He loved him as fiercely as He protected the city that raised Him.

“Why don’t we go away for a little while Tony. Some place quite just the two of us huh? Please for me.” Please for Me. Please for Me. PLEASE FOR ME. Tony, let’s go grab dinner. We’ve been stuck on this equation for 10 hours. Come on, please for Me. Everything imploded. Arms suddenly embraced him. Sinking on his knees and letting the grief wash over his soul, at least what remained of it after Titan. Tony relented, succumbed to the comfort he didn’t love.

Nobody knew of course. To everyone else, Tony Stark didn’t lose anyone of importance to him. They had no fucking idea that the Heart he finally had after decades of iron and pain and false affection turned to crumbled in front of his eyes, Dust in a small alabaster jar on his nightstand.

The house by the lake was what Tony envisioned the first time He said, “You know, I love New York. I’m tied to her but sometimes I just want to put my feet up, lounge on a swing by the porch looking out to a lake with you by my side.” He would’ve loved it here. His Nymph, his little Sunflower Prince. This would’ve been Their paradise, His meadow, the house he built for Him beside the lake He imagined, porch swing included.

She didn’t let him bring anything he could work on. “No distractions, please. You need to rest.” That’s what she insisted on. She could try and take away, his projects, holograms, ban him from his workshop, but she could never take away the old Starkphone with busted up screen from him. “This isn’t a distraction! It’s my Lifeline Pep!” A Lifeline filled with conversations of forever, images of those two years, and His voice. She tried to fight him for it but she backed off eventually, said “okay Tony” and went back to her calls. Her worked distracted her enough from realizing that he had another lifeline strapped to his thigh for safekeeping.

“Tony, come on. I know you want it, need it even.” It became a routine a few weeks after she sequestered him in the middle of nowhere. “No Pep. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I have my own room for a reason.” A conversation repeated almost everyday now with the same words said, the same responses given. And every time she sulks, flounces around house, clattering pots, pouting, looking at him with glassy ice blue eyes, he apologizes like it’s his fault he doesn’t want to touch her like that. Can’t even stomach anyone touching him like how his Heart used to.

He sleeps, he eats, he tries to survive. She “dotes” on him, tries to get him to open up, then tries to distract him with SI work because “the company still employs thousands of people Tony. We can’t all be stuck in our grief.” With nothing to drown himself with, he relents. Works on improving tech for Stark now that “Tony’s had time to grieve and he’s going back to work Mr. Walker, don’t worry I’ll make sure of it.”

They celebrate the company hitting another milestone 1 year, 7 months, 16 days after Titan, after the snap, after he put Dust in a small alabaster jar on his nightstand. Stark giving the world a breakthrough in first response equipment. A biodegradable easy to use adhesive for wounds based on His formula. A formula tucked away in the servers he made for Him. Servers she had no right snooping around in. “This could help a lot of people Tony. Relief operations, rescue missions they’re still happening. SI could aid in those efforts.” He wasn’t convinced, this was His. His creation and no one but Him should decide what to do with it but he’s gone, Dust in a small alabaster jar on his nightstand. “Okay” he yields.

“This is great Tony. We’re still on top of almost all major fields. Stark is still the powerhouse we built despite everything that’s happened. And you’re finally coming out of your funk. Here, I know you shouldn’t but since it’s a special occasion you can have a glass or two.” One glass, two, three, four. One bottle, two, three, four. He sat there, throat burning, vision blurring, his whole world spinning, it was nice feeling warm again, even just a little bit. He wants nothing more than to keep floating, drifting like he did in the Benatar. No expectations, no deadlines, no pressure, just him and memories of his Heart.

Then a weight on his lap disturbs his peace. Arms around his neck, hands on his hair, chapped lips on his. “It’s okay Tony. I know what you need. Don’t worry I’ll take care of everything. We’ll be a family, I’ll make us a beautiful family. You and me together, always.” He screams, “GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” Shoves his arms forward and scrambles to the corner of the room. Back pressed against the wall, nanites crawling up from his thigh to his outstretched arms, gauntlets ready to fire. “WHAT THE FUCK TONY! We were finally going to be together again!” This bitch, THIS BITCH! “What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?! I TOLD YOU! I told you NO YOU BITCH! NO!”

“TONY! I’m trying to help you! THIS, ALL THIS I can fix it for you. WE can fix this, all you have to do is let me take care of you the way you need it.”

“THE WAY I NEED IT?! And you think what?! Everything’ll be okay after we fuck?! Is that it?!”

“No! We’re going to make love the way we used to. Tony, I love you so much, I just want to help you, let me help you.”

“I don’t know what ideas you’ve convinced yourself with Potts but I don’t love you anymore! Hell, I never knew what love TRULY meant when we were together. Whatever fantasies you’ve conjured up about us is just that, a fantasy because I’ve only ever loved someone once in my whole life. My Heart, who I lost on a godforsaken planet lightyears away from here!”

“Tony you don’t mean that! You’re just confused, we weren’t together when you were up there, I’m still here Tony. We can even be a family now. No more Iron Man or Avengers distracting you. We can finally make a life together, a family. Don’t you want that?”

“My Heart isn’t you Potts. It never was. I don’t even want you to know who He was after what you pulled you selfish bitch! The only family I want is the one I built with Him! Just like how I want to live in this house, the house I built FOR HIM, WITH HIM!”

Seething, he was seething. It was clear, even to Rhodey whenever she let him visit, that he held no affection let alone love for her. He thought she was safe, but he should’ve known. Should’ve realized all those times she insisted she take care of him that way. How could he be so stupid.

“Tony, please you have to understand, I’m doing this for US. I won’t let you ruin the life I made for us here. I won’t let you!”

“What life?! I was trying to survive my grief, these months weren’t us making a life together. I needed a place to grieve the Love I lost and you INSISTED on being there for me but what did you do? You took away my suit, Rhodey has to go through you before he can visit me, you only let me use the workshop because you thought I just needed to suck it up and make SI more money! This isn’t life, this is a prison! And I was soo stupid not to realize the shit you were pulling.”

He had to leave. He had to be safe, so he fired at the wall across him and ran up to take the last thing that was His. Dust in a small alabaster jar clutched safe in his hands, the suit engulfed him and before he could reach him FRIDAY freed him from the prison she made.

“I’m so sorry Baby, don’t worry I’m gonna make sure that We’re going to be safe from now on. FRIDAY set a course for the compound, alert everyone I’m coming back.”

The field was littered with the remains of the team he once considered his family, a family that he was trying to mend because the world needed them. You’re so much more than who you mask yourself with Tony. You’ve always been kind, generous, you gave the world a hope unlike any other. And I AM SO PROUD of you for doing this. Nobody moved when he landed but when the nanites retreated, their eyes saw everything. The grief he tried to survive, the pain that bled through every bone in his body, they could all see it now. Laid bare, hands clutched around the Dust in a small alabaster jar, he wept.

“It’s okay Tones, FRIDAY told us, it’s going to be okay, you’re here now, you’re safe.”

The days passed but the hollowness didn’t, everything was still painful but he was starting to hope now. He didn’t think he’d ever get to the point where he would function without his Heart but he was trying, it’s what He would’ve wanted. I’m not going to pretend that I know how difficult this must be for you Tony but you are doing the right thing. It’s scary, I’d be peeing my pants if I was in your shoes, but you can get through this. I’m gonna be with you every step of the way.

See the full post

32 notes - Posted May 11, 2022

#3

“They met by pure chance.

Peter was working a very much illegally obtained job as a pizza delivery boy, and Tony had just escaped Obadiah's dreadfully boring client briefings. Peter makes his last delivery to a shitty nightclub- the same shitty nightclub Tony picked to avoid paparazzi.

Tony is not gay. He's really not. He's just drunk and painfully horny. He figured he'd give it a chance because this guy was very hot- and definitely on the young side but that's what bouncers were for, right? To check ID.

He didn't expect to fall in love. He didn't expect to be someone's dirty secret. He didn't expect to be the one begging for a relationship.”

Made my first ever moodboard for this starker fic I’ve been obsessed with for quite a while now which is Dacrylagnia by Extraho🤩

It’s very well done and a big departure from the common dynamic that I’ve seen starker portrayed in fics💖 here’s the link and as always, mind the tags!💕✨

86 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

#2

Post CW Avengers where Alphas Steve and Bucky pull a Clint-with-the-secret-family and bring the entire team to hide out in their upstate NY home but forgetting to inform their former HYDRA Spider/Red Room’s only begotten Son/Herald of Death Omega Peter that they’re bringing guests over.

- - - - -

“You know, when I told you boys you could bring work home with you sometimes, I meant you could bring paperwork or evidence you need to study, not bring your entire team over because the villain of the week blew up the compound.” An unknown voice rings loud and clear in the hull of the Quinjet startling the already agitated heroes.

After a moment of stunned silence, Tony peeps out, “Um, hello? Hi! Who are you?”

The voice responds cooly, “Ask the Alphas whose knots are in danger of being fodder for the pigs.”

“Heeey babydoll! Um We know this isn’t the best time to do this but we thought the team could spend a few days at ours?” Steve, who apparently knows the owner of the voice, reasons. The Captain fiddles with his hands and throws a sheepish smile towards one of the cameras.

“Don’t you babydoll me Steven Grant. We agreed that the pups and I are off limits to your crew until we’re all ready. This is a clear violation of what we agreed on.” ‘Babydoll’ bites out.

Bucky opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by a flailing Tony, “Wait wait wait! Hold on! Babydoll? Pups? What the actual fuck is going on right now?”

Bucky stares at Steve, a whole conversation happens with their eyes. Steve widens his eyes at Bucky and the latters sighs heavily. With a pinch of his nose he says gesturing to the ceiling and then towards the team, “Um so everyone this is Steve’s and I’s mate, Peter. Peter, darlin’, this is the team.”

Peter, who seems to be more exasperated now than displeased responds, “I would like to say it’s a pleasure but considering the circumstances it’s quite unfortunate that this is how our family’s introduced to all of you.” He sighs and calls out to Steve and Bucky, “Steven, James, KAREN’ll take care of the landing protocols. Make sure not to agitate any of the plasma cannons near the fences, I’d prefer it that I’m the one that gets to blast you both for this.”

Both super soldiers let out a relieved breath, “We’ll make it up to you sweetheart. We promise.”

“Oh you better or else you both can get ready sleeping with the horses for at least a month.”

Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. I am KAREN of the Spider’s network. I request everyone to please be seated as we are about to reach the Barnes-Rogers family home. Thank you.

90 notes - Posted June 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Just thinking abt ABO starker with FRIDAY calling Peter “Madame Stark” UGHHHHH

Could be a post CACW fic with Tony “welcoming” the rogues back to the compound and FRIDAY saving him from a confrontation by announcing,“Boss, Madame Stark has arrived and is looking for you.” *insert the rogues’ confusion here*

172 notes - Posted April 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[domestick-clairvoyante]

I posted 119 times in 2022

That's 116 more posts than 2021!

20 posts created (17%)

99 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@rainbluealoekitten

@gh0st--wh0re

@domestick-clairvoyante

@crazycatsiren

@the-cobalt-athenaeum

I tagged 78 of my posts in 2022

Only 34% of my posts had no tags

#witchcraft - 39 posts

#witchy - 33 posts

#witchblr - 30 posts

#not mine - 21 posts

#witch resources - 20 posts

#baby witch - 19 posts

#witch - 15 posts

#traditional witchcraft - 15 posts

#witches of tumblr - 13 posts

#mine - 13 posts

Longest Tag: 29 characters

#spellwork and correspondences

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i often open up my drafts on tumblr and think “today is the day! today is the day i ask the moon if i could court her”

and then i remember that i don’t have the audacity

4 notes - Posted December 12, 2022

#4

happy froggy friday 🐸

via Linnea Sterte

5 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

#3

our flag means death more like OH MY FUCK MAN WHAT JUST WENT DOWN IN GAY PIRATE LAND

7 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

#2

i love you queer witches i love you trans witches i love you witches who are unlabelled i love you witches who are just starting out i love you witches who have experience i love you witches still willing to learn i love you witches <3

22 notes - Posted December 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

hello loves!!

if you’re a southern hemisphere witch like me, then you’ll find that the wheel of the year/sabbats dates are in a bit of a tizzy

so, i’ve listed the southern hemisphere sabbats dates for you below :))

YULE (Winter Solstice): June 20-23 ❄️

IMBOLC: August 1 🕯️

OSTARA (Spring Equinox): September 20-23 🌷

BELTANE: November 1 🔥

LITHA (Summer Solstice): December 20-25 ☀️

LUGHNASADH: February 2 🌾

MABON (Autumn Equinox): March 20-23 🍁

SAMHAIN: May 1 🎃

64 notes - Posted October 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[pedrito-friskito]

head to head - frank castle x fem!reader (hell’s angel part i)

summary: you’re a bounty hunter with a price on your head. frank comes to collect, but you both quickly have other ideas.

warnings: WHERE TO BEGIN. uhm. this is PWP basically. canon-typical violence (the punisher is R-rated after all) - unprotected p-in-v sex (no glove no love), oral (m and f receiving), brat!kink, dom!frank, frank’s filthy mouth, fingering, cursing, a few soft moments for ✨flavour✨

a/n: also kind of threw this into the deadpool universe just for shits and giggles? @saintmurd0ck and I have been suffering from SERIOUS frank castle brainrot and this was the end-product for me (she always wrote the most delicious matt murdock x reader x frank drabble - GO READ IT HERE!)

this is my first frank fic so pls be kind - tagging some people below I think might like this (based on my post likes lmao). this might eventually turn into a series, who knows, but ENJOY 😮‍💨

(main masterlist) (series masterlist) (ao3)

Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children. The hottest place in New York, for a mercenary. Gold cards, a decent stack of cash, enough job-flow to keep you coming back for more. And fuck, if Weasel doesn’t make a mean whiskey sour. Sometimes. Other times you’re half-sure its just Jack Daniel’s and root beer, but it always goes down like a dream.

The place is packed, the bar itself filled stem to stern with all manner of mercs. Most of them give you a nod when you saunter in, your fur-lined jacket more noticeable than most, and the shotgun strapped to your back a warning like no other. It had taken some time to make a name for yourself at Sister Margaret’s, a good few jobs under your belt before the big burly men stopped calling you sweetheart and little girl and got the hell out of your way.

The truth of it all was that was that you were good at what you did, and Sister Margaret’s was the kind of place you had needed when you were a kid. Someone looking out for the sad-sacks and lowlifes of the city with nothing better to do than to prey on young girls and try to ‘make them into women.’

To put it plainly, you had a penchant for abusers, leaving them much worse off than when you found them, and you liked it. The cash was just an added bonus, and the name? Well, you were still deciding if you liked it or not.

“If it isn’t Hell’s Angel,” Weasel calls from behind the bar, his hands spread wide across the top, a gold card notched between his knuckles. “How sweet of you to grace us with your presence.” His tone is dry, and you smirk, sliding your finished card across the bar top and reaching for the one he’s holding, but before you can snag it, he pulls it out of reach. “Not so fast.”

“Don’t be like that, Weas,” you chide, pouting at him. “Someone’s gotta pick up the slack around here now that Wilson disappeared.”

“Medical sabbatical, I told you,” Weasel shoots back and you roll your eyes. “He’ll be back, and he’ll be pissed to know there’s no jobs left roaming the streets for him when he does.”

You sigh, trying to snag the card again. “Give me the card.”

“No can do,” he says, his tone still dry, but then his voice changes. He reaches beneath the bar, and presents you with…a whiskey sour, complete with a cherry speared on one of those stupid little plastic swords. “I can pay you out, but that’s it, Angel. You’re cut off”

“What?” You start looking up and down the bar. You reach for the glass, and toss back the drink in one slug. Fuck, that’s a lot of whiskey, but you’re too fired up to really care. “Which one of these fuckers complained, huh? Point me in his fucking direction, why don’t you.”

Weasel reaches across the bar, card still between his knuckles, and grabs your arm. “Calm your shit, no one complained. It’s…worse that that.”

You balk. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “Worse?”

“Someone put out a hit on you, Angel,” he says, tone seesawing between dry and genuine. “You gotta go. I’m sorry.”

“Who…?”

“I can’t tell you who,” he says instantly, shaking his head. “You know I can’t tell you who put it out. Or who took the card. I can’t tell you shit.” He sighs. “Them’s the rules.”

Fuck.

You push a hard breath out, feeling the whiskey start to buzz through your veins. Time to get the hell out of dodge. “Well, pay me out, Weas, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Ten minutes later, a decently large wad of cash stuffed in your pocket, and you’re headed home. Or, what you’ve called home for the last six months. The outskirts of New York are littered with empty houses, and you like taking your pick of the richer neighbourhoods, breaking into the homes who’s owners have left them empty for the season, picking your way through designer closets and wine cellars before slinking off to the next.

Problem is, someone’s already waiting for you.

Perched on the steps of your latest abode, a shotgun larger than yours balanced on his knees. There’s something…familiar. You haven’t seen him at Sister Margaret’s, that much you know. But the face, there’s something there that twinges the back of your brain.

Crew cut, square jaw, big nose that fits the face perfectly. Just enough stubble to know the beard that lurks. Hard stare, dark eyes, unfairly full lips. Broad shouldered, covered in black head to toe, and big fucking hands holding that shotgun.

“Number’s up, sweetheart,” he calls as soon as you’re close enough, your boots clicking on the pavement as you reach behind you casually, your fingers curling around the handle of your own gun. He lifts one hand, and you see the tell-tale gold card wedged between his thick fingers. You bite your lip. Motherfucker. “You wanna dance?”

“There’s a lot of things I’d like to do with you, handsome,” you call back, tilting your head to the side as he rises to stand. You’ve seen enough well-cut men to know he’s packing muscle beneath the dark get-up, and you let your eyes wander south. You’ve seen enough well-hung men to know that he’s packing something else too. “But dancing isn’t one of them.”

He smirks, a little half-assed thing that manages to send a zap of heat through you. Fucking hell in a hand basket, are you actually attracted to the man that’s come to…collect you? There’s gotta be some law against that somewhere, right? Somewhere deep in the merc’s handbook, for sure.

“S’a pretty price on your head, sweetheart,” he continues, and slowly starts to descend the steps, closing the distance between you just enough to send your heart racing in your chest. He’s got a good head on you, and peers down his nose as you grip your shotgun and pull it from your back, letting it hang loosely at your side. He’s got a big nose, suits his face, busted enough to make you think it’s been broken more than once. “Who’d you piss off?”

“Dunno,” you say with a shrug, starting to around him, meandering pace as you keep your eyes glued to him, watching his reaction. You keep a fair distance between you, and he doesn’t turn as you circle him, but you catch his eyes raking over you when you disappear and reappear in his line of sight. He’s toying with you; you’re toying with each other. This is gonna be fun, at least, a good way to go. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly kind to the lowlife assholes of the world. Some of them must work for someone with deep pockets.”

“Heard they call you Angel,” he says, his voice gruff and grating and fuck, if he says your real name you might just dissolve into a puddle. “Knew a guy once, they called him the Devil.”

“Maybe I’d get along better with him.” You grin. “And it’s Hell’s Angel, just for the record. What do they call you?”

His nose twitches. “Punisher.”

Your brows shoot up. The memory tweaks; a newspaper strewn on the bar at Sister Margaret’s. Punisher Punished. “Ahh, I knew I knew you,” you purr, tapping a finger to the tip of your nose. “You’ve got more of a rep than I do, handsome.”

“Gotta stop calling me that, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re stalling.”

“And?” you ask, looping around him again, lifting your shotgun onto your shoulder. “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

He just smirks. 

“What are you gonna do if I don’t stop, huh?” You’re in front of him again now, staring at that stupidly, ruggedly handsome face. “You gonna punish me, hmm?” A step forward, than another. “I might like it.”

He’s staring down his nose at you, mouth a taut line, eyes hard and unwavering. “Watch it now, sweetheart. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew.”

“Oh, I don’t bite,” you purr back, grinning as you chance a hand forward, walking your fingers up his chest. No armour beneath the dark shirt, nothing but hard muscle that jumps beneath your touch, which has you thinking… “Not unless you ask me to.”

You do another circle, your steps slower this time. He doesn’t turn, but his head does, one eye watching you as you move, slinking up the steps one at a time, shotgun still resting on your shoulder. One, two, three…

He swings around, lifting his own gun and levelling it with your face at the same moment you lift yours. It’s a standoff, each of your staring down the barrel of the other’s gun, at the mercy of the other’s trigger finger, or lack thereof…

“Gimme a good reason, Angel,” he barks, “why I shouldn’t pull the trigger.”

You lift a brow. “The Punisher, giving me a chance to beg? You’re not the big bad I thought you were, handsome.”

“You don’t know me at all, babydoll,” he grits out, and the switch in the nickname alone makes your heart stutter.

But then the world implodes.

Shots ring out, the glass of the window beside the house’s front door shatters, the door itself splintering inward. You both drop, more shots exploding toward you, bullets whizzing by your shoulder and head. There’s a big hand grabbing the scruff of your jacket, hauling you up and shoving you through the now open door. More gunshots, and the Punisher shoves you out of the the doorway the moment you’re through.

You hit the ground hard, rolling through shards of glass that poke and prod and make you wince. You’re quick to head for the window ledge, using it as a bunker while you cock your gun and take aim. The hooded figure standing in the road isn’t familiar to you, the large gun in his hand lifted and ready to end one or both of you.

Then you see the gold card. “Your time is up, Castle!” the merc yells. The memory twigs again; Castle, Frank Castle. You read that article so many times Weasel had to pry the newspaper from your hands. You chance a glance over at the man in question, see him propped up beside the door. He looks unharmed, mostly, dust and debris on his jacket and pants. Your brow hardens.

“Come on out, Angel!” the merc calls. “I’m not here for you!”

What the fuck?

You look at Frank again, and this time, he’s staring right back. There are no words, no gestures, nothing. But something unspoken, and he slowly drops a handgun to the floor, covers it with his boot, and then slides it across the floor to you. An easier shot than the shotgun propped on your shoulder.

Then he nods.

“I just want my money!” the merc shouts, and you roll your eyes. Who the fuck is this guy?

You scramble for the handgun for a moment, swinging it out the broken window to take aim just as a hand grenade goes sailing over your head, hitting the ground behind you. You take the shot, the bang echoing through your head as the bullet finds it’s mark, and then that big hand is at your shoulder again, hauling you up and out, a large body covering yours as you hit the hard ground. Overhead, the first floor implodes, wood and glass and debris flying everywhere.

Your ears are ringing, you can taste blood, and everything hurts. When you try and lift your head, your eyes immediately meet a large shard of glass that’s sticking out of your shoulder and you groan and you’re pulled to your feet, yanked against a warm body. Your knee barks in protest, and you look down to see more glass, this time accompanied by a thin piece of wood speared through your leg. Fuck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” a gruff voice asks, right by your ear, and a thick arm slides around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Shoulder,” you managed to rasp out. Who the fuck even blows people up anymore? “Knee. Nothing major.”

“Good,” Frank Castle says. “Let’s get outta here, huh?”

“Thought you wanted to,” you wince hard when a falter in your step sends a shock of pain up your leg, “dance.”

“That can wait,” he tells you, glancing over his shoulder, starting to shuffle you down the street. “That was an impressive shot. Besides, saved my ass; least I can do is clean you up, show you a good time.” He smirks. “Dancing comes later.”

+

You’re not what he expected.

He was hoping for some fat, ugly asshole. Some easy kill, swipe the gold card and collect the cash, get the hell out and never look back. That would have been easy, that would have been simple.

You are already proving to be anything but.

He half-carries you to the motel, trying to ignore the feeling of your body heat against his arm. That god awful coat of yours is covered in debris from the house, dust and broken glass and wood. The shard in your shoulder needs to come out, along with the twig in your knee. You’re taking it like a champ, that much he’s sure of, wincing occasionally but not a word of protest falling out of you.

“What hurts more?” he asks once he’s brought you through the door and deposited you on the bathroom counter. Both your guns bounce onto one of the the mattresses, forgotten for the time being. Dancing comes later. Not that he’s even planning on dancing, now. “Shoulder or leg?”

“Leg,” you rasp, and he tries not to let his eyes linger on the expanse of your throat when you throw your head back, crown hitting the mirror as he takes your ankle in hand and lifts. The wood is jammed just above your knee, through and through, blood staining the fabric of your jeans. He leaves you for a moment to grab his kit before he comes back, pushing a bottle of whiskey in your hands.

“Drink,” he orders, and you listen, yanking the cap off and tossing it to the side, tipping the bottle to your lips and chugging. He waits a moment, waits until you tip the bottle back down, until you’re wiping your lips, takes hold of the wood, and pulls.

“Motherfucker!” you screech, good arm reaching out and fisting in his shoulder. “Warn a girl next time, huh?”

“Nope,” he responds, sinking to his knees. He tugs on your good leg. “Get down. Pants off.”

“There are nicer ways to get me naked, you know, Castle,” you quip, but obey, sliding off the counter and undoing the button on your jeans, kicking off your boots. You push your jeans down as far as they’ll go, and Frank bites the inside of his cheek at the scrap of lace covering you. Then he eases your pants down further, carefully around your injury, helping you step out of them and kicking the fabric to the side.

“You don’t ever stop, do you?” he grumbles, grabbing your hips and lifting you back onto the counter. You’re so much…smaller than him, a good head shorter, and he towers over you, even sat on the countertop as you are. You grin, and he bites his cheek so hard he can taste blood.

He fishes bandages and antiseptic out of the kit. Ignores your whine when he wipes the wound clean. So much for taking it like a champ. He wraps it carefully, ties off the gauze, then reaches for your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says lowly, “eyes on me.”

You do — fuck, you perfect little obedient thing — and he reaches for a cloth, wrapping it around the glass sticking out of your shoulder. One hand on the shard, and he lifts the other to your throat, thumb swiping the curve of your jaw.

“I’m not killin’ you, sweetheart,” he tells you, and watches your eyes go wide. “Not tonight.”

You suck in a breath, a retort on the tip of your tongue, and then he pulls.

“Motherfucker!”

There’s a spurt of blood when he yanks the glass out, letting the smeared shard clatter into the sink. He reaches for your shoulder, pushing the edge of your coat back, and grabs another piece of gauze, holding it to the wound, pressing hard enough that your teeth sink into your lip. Your head tilts back, knocking against the mirror again, face pinching when he presses harder, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“That was an impressive shot,” he mumbles, dragging his eyes from your face and staring at the gauze pressed to your blood-stained skin. You’re a mess — you both are — skin covered in dust and blood, your chest heaving and Frank can’t stop himself from planting his other hand on your thigh, fingers curling around the bare muscle. It twitches in his grip and he hides his grin. You’re reactive, your body already giving in to him. “Where’d you learn how to shoot like that?”

“Self-taught,” you tell him, and he can’t stop himself from staring you right in the face. No way in hell. You’re smirking, head lolling a bit on your shoulders, hips adjusting on the counter. He’s got half a mind to just rip those panties off right here and now, throw your knees around his ears and eat your pussy until the sun comes up. But he’s more of a gentleman than that. He wants to ease you into it, wants to watch you break down and…submit to him. He’s holding that gold card over your head, holding your shoulder, watching your gaze flicker down when his thumb slides down the inside of your thigh.

He’s not killing you, not tonight. Maybe not ever. But he is gonna do something else.

“No way, princess,” he says with a shake of his head. “Tell the truth.”

You let out a laugh that’s more like a scoff. “I am telling the truth, Castle.” You wince as he peels back the gauze. It’s still bleeding, but not as much; he’s gonna have to stitch it. Your eyes are hard, just watching as he moves, reaching into the kit, pushing at the collar of your coat. He opens his mouth to tell you to take it off, but you beat him to it, shrugging carefully out of the thing, tugging it out from under your ass and letting it drop to the floor. It leaves you in a little black tank top, the straps thin and the neckline scooping across your chest. He lets his eyes dip shamelessly, tearing open an antiseptic wipe, and your eyes traipse up his body, until they meet his, and that shit-eating grin is back on your mouth.

The grin disappears as he sets to work, wiping the blood away, disinfecting and pushing the whiskey back into your hand. You turn your head to the side, taking another healthy swig, and he watches your throat bob, his jeans tightening at the sight.

Fuck, you are really not what he expected.

“I really am self-taught,” you say, your head still turned, pointedly not looking at him stitching your shoulder. No wincing though, no complaining. “You go after enough fuck-heads who don’t understand the word no and you turn into more than a decent shot. That, and I go to the shooting range so often they give me half off now.” A little smirk. “It ain’t pretty, but it’s a living, right?” Your eyes cut to him, watching his expression. He feels a little vulnerable under your gaze, then remembers the gold card in his back pocket. “You grow up thinking it was all gonna shake out like this, Castle?”

His brow hardens. “What d’ya mean?”

You lean your head back against the mirror again. “I grew up wanting to be a truck driver by day, ballet dancer by night. Bounty hunter with a price on her head didn’t exactly make the list.”

Frank barks a laugh, pulling the stitch as he does. “That’s quite the combination, sweetheart. My daughter wanted to be, uh, a veterinarian.”

Your head snaps to look at him. For the first time, you have a soft look on your face, rather than a shit-eating grin or a seductive smirk. He waits for you to ask, to try and deep dive into his past, to try and pull something out of him. Something he’s not willing to give to you. Not yet.

“Who put out the hit on me?” is what you ask instead, and Frank drops his gaze, reaching over to run his hands under the tap, cleaning your blood from his skin. Then he reaches for the bandages, taping up your shoulder.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, eyes focused on your shoulder, ignoring the way the strap of your tank top keeps falling across your collarbone. There’s a silver chain at your neck, a tiny little pendant that looks like a star sitting in the hollow of your throat. “Didn’t ask.”

“So you just took a hit on another hunter, no questions asked?” When he doesn’t reply, you scoff. “Punisher, my ass.”

“What’s that supposed t’mean?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“You go after bad people, right? Isn’t that your gig?” Satisfied with his bandage work, he takes a step back from the counter, and you slide off in an instant, taking the whiskey with you, bouncing away in your skimpy little top and panties barely covering your ass. He swallows hard. “That’s your schtick?”

Frank turns around, leans against the counter, crosses his arms over his chest. “Not a schtick, sweetheart.”

“I’m not a bad person,” you say, setting the whiskey bottle on the dresser. “I’m not bad people. I do what you do; I only go after people who hurt other people. People who can’t protect themselves.” You glance over your shoulder at him, the corner of your mouth quirking. “Mostly men. Idiots who don’t know the meaning of consent, who like to prey on little girls in dark alleyways. Those are easy shots. Easy money.” You tap your fingers on the dresser. “Boom.”

“God,” he drawls, tapping his foot against the floor. “You really don’t ever stop, do you, sweetheart?”

You spin to look at him, eyes bright and fiery. Ah, there she is. “What, I’m not allowed to plead my case? I thank you for the chivalry of stitching me up, Frank,” you say, and he has to stifle the choked noise that worms up his throat when you actually bow, curtsying to him and giving him and eyeful of your chest, “but I don’t think I need to remind you that you had a shotgun pointed at my head less than an hour ago.”

“You had one pointed at me too, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you bark, pointing a finger at him. Fuck, he’s got you riled now. “I don’t deserve the gold card, is what I’m saying. Sure, I’ve pissed off a few people, but who hasn’t? You think every fucking idiot who rolls into Sister Margaret’s is a saint before they walk in the door? I think the fuck not.”

And he’s had enough.

Frank pushes off the counter, takes two long strides towards you. “Would you just shut the fuck up,” he says, and watches your reaction, watches your back straighten and your eyes widen, “for two seconds?”

But you don’t. “I’m just saying,” you continue, “you should know this shit before you try and put a fucking bullet in me.”

“I don’t wanna put a bullet in you,” he throws back, and takes another step. Your knees knock together and he closes the distance with a final stride. Knuckles under your chin, tilting your head up to face him. Your brow is a hard line, lips pressed together, and he lets his thumb wander over the seam, feeling your breath on his skin. “I wanna put my cock in you.”

Your quip is fast, eyes rolling to the back of your head: “Now, there’s a line if I ever heard one.”

But Frank sees it, sees that hint of submission creep into your eyes, the way your jaw goes slack in his grip for a fraction of a second before the big bad bitch returns. He grins. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, huh, princess? Shut you up for a minute with this big fat cock in your mouth?” He grabs your wrist with his other hand, yanks it down and presses your palm to his crotch. Your fingers twitch over the outline of him and his jaw goes tight.

This time, there’s no quip, no witty response, just big shiny eyes and he watches the tip of your tongue snake the corner of your mouth. You’re fucking drooling, just at the thought of it. Good. He adjusts his grip on your face, holding your chin in his hand, squeezing your cheeks slightly.

“You gonna let me fuck you, babydoll?” he asks, and your mouth pops open, warm breath tickling his face. He should kiss you, wants to kiss you. Needs to kiss you. You make a tiny noise somewhere between a whine and a moan and he reaches for your hip, yanking your body towards him, shoving his hand under the lace covering your pussy. “C’mon, when’s the last time somebody fucked you like you deserve, huh, sweetheart? Last time someone ate this pussy till you screamed?”

“Frank,” you groan out, hands reaching for the wrist holding your face, nails digging into his skin. God, you look pretty like this, big eyes and wet lips, pupils blown and tongue between your teeth.

He’s done waiting, done fucking around and talking. At least, talking pretty.

“Say yes, princess,” he says, leaning in until he’s almost talking against your mouth. “I wanna hear it.”

You nod your head furiously in his grip, eyes going wide as dinner plates, canting your hips into his hand. You’re dripping, all wet heat and soft curls against his fingers.

“Use your words,” he commands, and can’t help but capture your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging not so lightly. It makes you moan, and this time, he can’t stop himself from capturing the sound, swallowing it.

+

It’s not a kiss so much as a collision. 

You were losing it when he grabbed your chin in his big fucking hand. More so when he bit your lip. And now? Absolutely gone. His fingers working between your legs, calloused pads scraping your clit in a way that makes you want to scream in pleasure.

He’s been pulling you apart since you walked into this motel room. Piece by piece, brick by brick, stitching you up just so he could tear you apart in a different way. You think you could drown in that voice, fall apart in those big hands, get down on your knees and worship the big cock that jumps towards your palm when you reach for his crotch again.

He growls into your mouth, tongue spearing against yours, tasting of black coffee and something else so violently delicious your knees start to quake. You’re so far gone now, between the pet names and the big hands and the I wanna put my cock in you. You’re out of witty responses and daring quips.

When’s the last time somebody fucked you like you deserve, huh, sweetheart?

The answer? Far too fucking long.

He pulls his hand from between your legs abruptly. You almost whimper, but the noise is cut off when he releases your face, reaches both hands down to cup your ass, gripping your cheeks in an iron vice before they slip lower, grabbing your thighs and lifting you up and against him. Your hands scrabble for his shoulders, clawing at his t-shirt, pulling at the tight fabric. He’s wearing too many clothes; you need to explore what lies beneath.

Frank kisses like he’s trying to eat you alive, and you love it. You only come up for air when he drags his teeth along your jaw, nips at your earlobe, drags his stubbly cheek across your neck. “C’mon, princess,” he grumbles against your skin, and then he drops you, your back hitting the bed, body bouncing slightly on the mattress. His eyes rake across you, and he reaches for your knees, fingers curling around the backs and yanking you towards him, spreading your legs wide. “Words.”

His hands move down your thighs, thumbs pressing in deep as he goes, moving towards the heat pooling between your legs. You’re absolutely losing it. “Yes,” you finally moan out, chewing your lip furiously as he reaches the hinge of your thigh, lets one thumb reach out and swipe over your drenched core.

“Yes, what?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, you think, wanting to roll your eyes, to yell at him to just fuck you already. But you know this game, and judging from the twitching bulge in his pants, it’s a game Frank likes to play. “Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

His mouth splits into a grin and he rewards you for the admission, moving his whole hand to your pussy, dragging his fingers up and down, up and down. You keen into the touch, back arching off the mattress. “Mmm, yeah, good girl,” he grits out, and you feel him reach for the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin. “Gonna make you feel really fucking good, sweetheart. Gonna fuck the brat right out of you.” He snaps the band again and again, and you lift your hips, feeling him tear the scrap of fabric down your thighs.

Before you can even react, he’s on his knees, big hands curling around your hips and yanking you to the edge of the bed. There’s little ceremony, no build up, just his mouth sealing over your pussy, that big fucking nose grinding into your clit, lips sucking and tasting and sending white sparks across your vision. You reach down, grab his head in your hands, lock your fingers in the longer hair on top of his head. He groans against you when you pull hard, thrusting your hips up against his face and it sends a wave of vibrations rippling through you, your back arching harder.

That busted nose of his feels like heaven against your clit, the stubble on his chin grating just enough to bring you higher and higher, and he’s holding your hips so tight you’re sure you’ll have bruises shaped like his hands come morning, but you don’t fucking care. As long as he doesn’t fucking stop.

He’s rutting into the bed, eating your pussy with such vigour and enthusiasm that he’s moving you up the mattress, further and further until he’s half on it with you, knees pressing into the duvet while he pulls you up towards his mouth, your knees bent over his shoulders. He adjusts his grip, locking his arms around you completely, holding you to him.

When his tongue dips into your dripping heat, prodding the deepest parts of you, that’s when you lose it.

You try to shout as you cum, try to drawl his name, but no sound falls out of you. Especially when one of his arms comes loose around you, holding you in place with one bulging bicep, and his hand closes around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to notice, not enough to cut off your air. You can feel the strength that he’s withholding, what he’s using to hold your pussy to his face, but what he’s not wielding on you like a weapon.

I’m not killin’ you, sweetheart. Not tonight.

Can you die from the most intense orgasm of your life?

As soon as he pulls his tongue from you, he jams two fingers in, slamming your hips back onto the bed and covering your body with his own. His knees bracket your hips and then his mouth is on yours again, free hand curling around the side of your face, peering down between you as he thrusts his fingers in and out, thumb pressing hard on your clit. Still, you don’t have words, only heaving breaths and gasped moans that only climb higher when he finds that spongy spot deep inside, caressing it softly before he twists his wrist, scissoring his fingers wide.

“Where’s that smart mouth now, huh, baby girl?” he whispers, his mouth right by your ear. You can only moan, digging your hands into his shoulders as hard as you can, grabbing onto him like a lifeline. “Can’t talk, huh? That good?” He continues to move his fingers, rough and then soft, the quick changes nearly giving you whiplash. “Gotta warm you up first, sweetheart, so you can take this big fucking cock.”

You push your face into his thick neck as you cum a second time, the first one barely bled away before the second takes over. Your fingers and toes are static, limbs taut and limp at the same time, and you hook your arm around his neck, something between a moan and a sob bouncing off his skin. He curls his fingers up, pressing against that devastating spot, drawing the orgasm out longer, making you gush around his knuckles.

“Tha’s a good girl,” he grunts, turning his head to kiss your temple, the action softer than you’re expecting as he drags his fingers out of you. You watch, hazy-eyed, as he shoves his fingers between his lips one at a time, sucking the taste of you from them, and then he’s grabbing your face again, kissing you rough and passionate, his mouth tasting of your release, fingers spanning your jaw and cheek. 

He pulls back, eyes boring into yours, searching your face. Your chest heaves with breaths, eyes rolling back as he lowers his weight onto you more, making a home for himself between your thighs. Your can feel how hard he is, even behind his jeans, the rough material pressing against your sensitive core, making your hips stutter against him. 

“This what you needed, huh?” he asks, grinding into you slightly. “Baby needed somebody to shut her up, is that it? Somebody to give her what she needed.”

Somehow, you find it in you to nod, gripping him tighter, lifting yourself against him to chase his mouth, to kiss him as hard as he kissed you. He grunts, rolling over until he’s on his back and you’re astride him, hips still on his, knees pressing into he mattress. You can feel his cock straining against his zipper, jolting when you grind down on him, sensitive but still desperate for more.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, sliding your hands underneath. His muscles jump at your touch, and you can feel his eyes on your face, but yours are too busy watching the slow ride of his shirt up his stomach, caught on your wrists as you move higher and higher. You can feel the ridges of scars and the curves of muscle, dips and valleys you want to drag your tongue along. You push the shirt up his chest as high as the position will allow, and then drop your head, your mouth at his sternum.

You’ve never seen this much muscle on one man, thickly packed onto his body, a wild landscape for you to explore. And he’s so fucking broad, shoulders nearly twice as wide as your own, tapering down to well-cut hips, deep adonis lines that disappear beneath his belt, making your mouth water just thinking about what lurks below.

You can feel his heartbeat hammering against your lips, and one of his hands lifts to your head, running his fingers through your hair, pushing it back from your face. “What ya gonna do now, pretty baby?” he asks, his tone low and music to your ears. “Huh?”

Moving your hips back, you move your hands from his chest, lifting your head and dragging your mouth right down the middle of his body. He makes a pleased noise, letting your hair sift through his fingers until you’re out of reach. You sit up straight, hands reaching for his belt buckle, and you can feel those dark eyes still watching you, gaze hard and lust-blown, mouth twitching with a grin.

You shuffle back further, letting your feet hit the ground and planting your hands on his knees when yours threaten to give out. He’s just watching, reaching up to fold his hands behind his head. You reach for the button on his jeans, and his brow lifts. “Yeah? You want my cock, huh?”

Nodding, your pinch the zipper, pulling slowly, feeling the jump of his length towards your hand. Your hands are shaking, but you’re more sure of your footing now, and, surprising even yourself, grab the waist of his jeans and pull down hard, lifting his hips up and pulling his jeans and briefs down all in one shot. He grunts as you do, one hand flying for your shoulder, and then you drop your mouth to his stomach again, dragging your tongue along the ridge of his abs, unable to hold back the moan in your throat when his bare cock lifts against your chest, tip hitting your breasts, a smear of precum across your skin.

You go to move your head lower, to take him between your lips, but before you can, there’s a big hand around your jaw, jerking your head up, forcing your eyes on his. “You gotta ask nicely, babydoll,” he says, and swipes his thumb over your lips, dipping his fingertip between them for a moment. “I told ya, use your words.”

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. You can’t help the slightly bratty tone, but it gives way to desperation quicker than you mean to, dragging your hands down his sides, squeezing his hips and then his thighs. “Please, Frank.”

He smirks, giving you a slight nod. “Show me what you got, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the way he tucks your hair behind your ear makes your stomach lurch, his hands settling at his sides, tapping softly against the duvet. A happy little moan escape you, and you lower your head again, uninterrupted this time.

He’s thick. Thicker than you imagined, a prominent vein running down the side, precum still beading at the tip. Neatly trimmed hair at the base, those deep-cut lines at his hips truly trailing to something magnificent. You knew he was packing the moment you laid eyes on him, but even you couldn’t have imagined this.

A sharp inhale reaches your ears as you close your lips around his tip, sucking lightly, experimentally. His palm lands at the crown of your head, fingers working along your scalp, and you do it again, waiting for the hitch in his breath.

It doesn’t come, and instead, he works most of your hair into his fist, tugging hard until your head lifts again. “Don’t wanna be teased, baby,” he grunts, eyes glued to the way your lips aren’t around his cock, but its resting against your mouth. “Not tonight.”

Frank keeps your hair in his fist, but the grip is more lax, giving you more room to move.

There’d been little ceremony or build-up before he’d buried his face in your pussy, and he said no teasing. So, you dive right in.

He groans loudly when you take him all the way, cock sliding past your lips and across your tongue, hitting the roof of your mouth while your hollow your cheeks and suck hard. The sound he makes is deep and guttural, sending a shock of heat through you as it bounces off the walls of the motel room. Part of you wonders if the neighbours can hear, a bigger part of you doesn’t care.

You curl your fingers around the base of him, bobbing your head, working against your gag reflex as best as you can. There’s a sliver of a tear in your eye, but you ignore it, swallowing him down, dragging your tongue along that thick vein. His hips jump when you do that, cock thrusting deeper, hitting the back of your throat and he groans again.

Then he starts talking.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he says, and it makes your eyes roll back, feeling his other hand move to your hair, both locking in your hair now. You let out a little moan around his cock, gripping his hip tightly in your free hand, digging your nails into his skin. You’re moving faster now, spurred on by his gravelly voice in your ears. “S’right, babydoll, you suck that cock so good, huh? That’s what you needed, big dick in your mouth to shut you up, make you feel good.” He sits up a little, getting a better grip on your head, stomach jumping against your forehead. “Does that turn you on, baby, huh? You like sucking that dick?”

With one hand still wrapped around him, your other drags down his leg, squeezing his knee before you’re slipping it between your legs, toying with your clit and moaning around his cock again. You go harder, faster, moving your head as fast as your muscles will allow, sucking him deep while the salty taste paints your tongue.

“Fuck me,” he grits. “Sweet little thing, sucking my cock like a champ.” One hand moves under your chin, and he pulls you off of him slowly, leaving you gasping for air, a string of spit connecting you to him. “Shit. C’mere.” He hauls you up, pulling you back onto the bed and into his lap, still gripping your chin, swiping this thumb through the spit on your lips before bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking his thumb clean. It makes everything in you clench. 

He grabs your face again, this time with both hands, and pulls your mouth to his. His tongue invades your mouth, licking into it, gathering you closer and closer until your chest is pressed against his. He gathers your hair into his fist again, mouth still on yours, and pulls at the neckline of your tank top, yanking it down, curving his fingers around the swell of your breast. You moan into his mouth, teeth knocking together before he moves his face to your chest, lips closing around your nipple, tongue dancing over it until its a hard peak.

Frank pulls back after a moment, looking up at you. “Gonna make me cum if you keep sucking me off like that,” he whispers, hands reaching for the hem of your tank top, pulling it up and over your head. Then he reaches for your wrists, moving your hands between the two of you. “Put my cock in you, baby. Want you to ride me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

You nod, almost frantic, reaching down and curling your fingers around him again. His hands settle on your hips, angling you up. You whimper when his tip notches at your opening, and he lifts his head to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip. Then you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly.

Even with your two wild orgasms and how worked up you are from sucking his cock, the stretch still burns. It rides that thin line between pleasure and pain, your jaw dropping open as you lower yourself, head dropping forward onto his shoulder. “Frank,” you manage to moan out, and his arms slide around you tight, holding you to him, keeping your hips pressed to his. Your clit is captive against the hard ridge of his stomach, and with every breath he takes, there’s a shock of pleasure through your system.

After a moment, the pain gives way completely to the pleasure, the stretch nothing more than blissful and you start to move. He adjusts his grip on you, one palm flat between your shoulder blades, other arm hooking around your waist. “That’s it,” he whispers as you start to roll your hips. “Good girl, baby.”

You wrap one arm around his neck, the other skimming the back of his head, the short hairs at his nape tickling your palm. He turns his head, kisses your cheek, drags his tongue up the side of your neck. He chases your hips with his own, fucking up into you, and the tip of his cock manages to find that spot, sending lightning shocks of pleasure through your whole body, making you shake.

You must get tighter around him, because Frank groans, fingers scraping against your spine. “You gonna cum again, baby?” he croons, voice right at your ear, whispered but just as husky. “You gonna cum on this cock, huh?”

You go to groan out a yes, jaw hinging open, but before you can say anything, he’s tipping you back, wrenching himself out of you and tilting you sideways, laying you out on the bed. You whimper at the loss, but it’s not gone for long, Frank knocking your legs wide with his hand and covering your body with his own again, taking his cock in hand and guiding himself back into you. You keen up into his touch, sighing as he plants his elbows beside your head, caging you in.

“Wanna see your face, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning down and just dragging his mouth over yours, capturing every little noise your make. “Wanna watch you lose it again.”

He starts to move again, and this way, this position, the pace is unrelenting, heavy and hard, filling the room with the sound of his skin hitting yours, the wet glide of his cock, and the quiet way he shushes you, moving one hand to cup your chin again, gripping tight enough to make you clench around him.

“Frank,” you moan again, and he just nods, that big nose dragging along yours, mouth dropping to capture your lips in a biting kiss.

It doesn’t take much more than that. A few more snaps of his hips, his hand moving from your chin to your throat, the muscle of his stomach catching on your clit, and you’re gone. It’s blinding, numbing, tingling, all of the above.

You’re somewhere in the clouds, your body completely in his control. He bites at your collarbone, his hips starting to stutter, and you know he’s close. You see his face go hard, brow pinching, and he pushes his head into your chest, biting at your breast as he keeps fucking into you, hands in your hair, sweetheart moaned into your skin.

He fucks into you hard, one final thrust that has your body sliding up the bed, legs locking around his to keep him close, keep him deep inside. You can feel the white-hot heat of him painting your insides, spurting out of him while his face stays buried in your chest. He pulls one hand from your hair, slams his fist against the mattress, as his chest starts to heave, deep breaths pushing his muscled torso against yours. You can feel every ridge and line of him, his cock twitching inside you, muscles jumping against your skin.

You’re expecting him to disappear, to roll off of you and hit the shower, leave you to clean up the mess he’s turned you into. But he doesn’t. He stays right where he is, between your legs, and after a moment, pulls his head up, adjust himself slightly, kisses you softly.

His hand reaches for your jaw again, but this time his grip is feather-light. His thumb drags across your chin, again and again, following the curve of your lower lip while his eyes trace over your face. “You really are something, sweetheart,” he whispers, and it puts a grin on your face, “you know that?”

“I do,” you throw back, smiling at him, reaching your hand to drag fingers up and down his back.

“Smart ass.”

+

Frank wakes the next morning to an empty motel room. Any and all trace of you is gone, your shotgun missing from the other bed, your mess of a coat picked up off the floor. You even cleaned your blood off the countertop.

But the sheets still smell like you, and if he thinks hard, he can feel the outline of you pressed against him, limbs tangled in his. He doesn’t have to think hard to remember how you felt underneath him, however, that obedient little thing he managed to turn you into, so good and so pretty and so perfect.

It makes his cock jump between his legs just thinking about it. About you.

He gets up slowly, gathers his things. Finds the gold card somewhere between his boots and his jeans, the stupid thing cracked down the middle. He picks it up, snaps it in two, tosses the pieces in the trash. 

When he goes to pack his kit, that’s when he sees it.

A cellphone, one of those cheap burner things you can buy at the gas station. It’s got one of those stupid dangly charms attached to it, cheap plastic shaped to look like angel’s wings. He smirks. Hell’s Angel.

And, hastily scrawled on shitty motel stationary, the pen ink barely legible, is a note from you.

hiya frank,

I can’t stay in new york, not with gold cards floating around with my name on ‘em.

hope you understand. last night was…bliss.

give me a call if you end up in chicago and you’re looking for round two

sweetheart xoxo

Frank just grins, shakes his head, and jams the phone into his pocket.

————

tagging: @saintmurd0ck @thesongof-thestars @moonlarking @grippingbeskar @itwasthereaminuteago

[ben-the-hyena]

Since Tumblr is the website of illiterates who don't understand I tag my posts for finding things easily myself on my blog and that I have to repeat myself a thousand times, I will stop tagging specific religions for demons. This will be more confusing to sort out, but guess I have no choice if some people assume it means I associate this or that with this religion or that religion even if I never intended that, plus I guess that way it will make some people happy

*EDIT*

Now I cooled down, I understand some may have thought that by putting the "judaism" tag on those posts was insulting since during history sadly it was often associated to mysticism (like how a Sabbat was seen as a witch meeting). It was not my intention at all, I was just wanting to precise since sometimes the use and origin or a demon or an angel has a blurry line between religions. I now will not do it anymore. However I would have APPRECIATED it to be said calmly through DMs without any accusitory words. People who don't know exist and surprise, if you instantly imply they are hateful most of the time instead of going "oh ok sorry" they will go like I did, "EXCUSE ME!?". FUCKING DM PEOPLE, YOU ARE LITERALLY TARGETTING THEM TO POTENTIAL INTERNET HARRASSERS IF YOU CALL THEM SOMETHING THROUGH A PUBLIC VISIBLE REBLOG

[some-kindofgnome]

MASTERLIST

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS BLOG IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. do not LIKE, do not REBLOG, do not FOLLOW. 

some-kindofgnome’s WIP List

☼ - fluff

☂ - angst

☾ - smut

Individual tags and warnings are in each individual post. PLEASE heed them before proceeding. 

katsuki bakugou: 

☾ - quiet time 

Bakugou sees you’re looking stressed at the family Christmas party. He takes it upon himself to give you a little dose of quiet time to help you make it through the holiday. 😉

-

☾  - for auld lang syne

It’s time for your agency’s extravagant New Years’ Eve party. But after a little sabbatical, there are some things you’re not ready to come back to. 

(drabbles)

☼ - bakugou treating your burns

☼ - teaching bakugou to embroider

-

keigo takami (hawks) 

☾ - tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet) 

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal.

☾ - sick day

Hawks comes home after a few days away. You’ve come down with a nasty cold in his absence.

(drabbles) 

☾ - je vous ai manqué (hawks)

☾  - hawks fucking you into the headboard

☾ - you are

-

dabi

☾ - these violent delights (westworld AU)

In an immersive theme park where cutting-edge technology makes your wildest dreams come true, the line between fantasy and reality begins to blur. enter westworld, where artificially intelligent automatons known as ‘hosts’ are programmed to fulfill your every delight.

one  two  three

-

mirio togata

☾ - with autumn closing in (mirio togata x reader)

You’ve had Mirio beside you for as long as you can remember. Since before you ever knew who you were, you had him. Even when the line between friend and more was blurred, you’d transitioned so smoothly into romance. It was like you’d always known that you were it for each other.

i. ii. 

hitoshi shinsou

(oneshots) 

☾ - mindfuck

Hitoshi tests a more creative application of his quirk on you, his willing submissive.

-

eijirou kirishima

☾ - meet me in the afterglow

After college graduation, you took an all-summer backpacking trip around Europe with your best friend. Now you've got one last night together before coming home as lovers.

(drabbles)

☾ - soft smut with kirishima

koutarou bokuto 

☾ - you turn me on (i’m a radio) 

bokuto comes over one night midweek while you’ve got the apartment to yourself. after a mishap with his favourite volleyball shorts, you take advantage of the privacy.

(drabbles)

☾ - soft domestic hcs

erwin smith

☾ - someday

You and the Commander are safe, but trapped as the snow piles up around you. As you wait out the storm, you let fantasy get the best of you.

KINKTOBER 2020 (MASTERLIST)

[hellreads]

Hello, I just stumble on your blog. Seeing a comment from Wrienne which I also read on AO3, I wanted to ask if you also have AO3 recs..?

hi there darling, of course, I have some recs for you! since you didn’t ask for anything specific let me just share a few faves that you could only read/access on ao3 (I would also recommend you check my ficshelfs and use the ao3 filter to find stories exclusively posted there + i’ll still include wrienne’s works for other readers :3 ) | 🍒

OT7/MULTIPLE MEMBERS

❥ Right of Way by fringesofsanity ➴ Infidelity!AU | Jungkook x Reader x Jimin | Series ➴ In theory, things were simple: your best friend was Jungkook’s girlfriend while your boyfriend, Jimin, was Jungkook’s best friend. In reality, things weren’t always that simple. And mutually exclusive.

❥ The Hills by minlouvre ➴ Vacation/Exes!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Hoseok | Series ➴ A ski trip with old friends sounds like a fun time, right?

when your ex-boyfriend (who you hate but somehow always end up in bed with) and your stepbrother (who you are harboring not-so-secret feelings for) tag along at the last minute, you have a feeling it won’t be an uneventful weekend.

but fun? debatable. that remains to be seen. ❥ A Hundred Percent Human by Wrienne ➴ Hybrid!AU | OT7 x Reader | Series ➴ In which you (reader) are forced to take care of seven hybrids in a twist of fate.

After your estranged mother passes away, you're left with an unwanted will and the heavy burden of responsibility. Although you're desperate not to stray from the familiar path you thought was laid out in front of you with a fully human boyfriend who loves you more than anything, your life is thrown upside down once more after another unfortunate incident (that may or may not have to do with said boyfriend) occurs.

Drunk and down on life, you finally decide to deal with the house and the unsavory business your mother left behind. However, to your shock, you find that seven very different hybrids are included with both the house - and the business. Seven hybrids you never even met before - even less agreed to take care of.

❥ Dead Leaves by Wrienne ➴ Detective/Exes!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Jimin | Series ➴ In which you (reader) are a homicide detective about to face the biggest hurdle both of your career and life.

Married to probably the kindest but most boring man you’ve ever met and living in a town where nothing ever seems to happen means life for you is dull. Dull enough to drive you crazy with boredom and dissatisfaction. However, life changes abruptly when your old boss retires and a new man takes his place - a man you used to love (and sleep very regularly with) more than a decade ago. Especially when your husband comes home smelling of perfume, you’re unable to resist your more carnal urges and dead women start showing up across the city with unnerving frequency. ❥ See Both Sides Like Chanel by minlouvre ➴ FWB/Rich Kids!AU | Namjoon x Reader x Hoseok | One-Shot ➴ You, Namjoon, and Hoseok are inseparable. 

Three best friends that grew up together since you were all in diapers.But lately, Namjoon has been drifting away…

So on his birthday, you and Hoseok remind him just how inseparable the three of you really are.

⤷ or alternatively: a little less twenty-one candles, a little more “touch me”

❥ Love Is A Dog From Hell by yourlocalhoney ➴ FWB/Lovers!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook | Series ➴ You and Yoongi agreed on being good friends, co-workers, and friends who help each other out under the sheets. What you never agreed on was to catch feelings for each other.

Enter, accidental feelings.

Enter, Jeon Jungkook.

❥ The Uncanny by Sinsirella ➴ Arranged Marriage!AU | Jungkook x Reader x Seokjin x Jimin | Series ➴ (Y/N) is a young girl whose Life turns upside down. One day her mother surprises her with news of her arranged husband, forcing her into her new chaotic lifestyle. Join her journey and experience her new life through her eyes. Will she get along with her husband? Or someone else? What are they hiding? ❥ Seven Deadly Sins by mintedmango ➴ Hell!AU | OT7 x Reader | Series ➴ You stood suddenly, chair being pushed away by the backs of your legs, the rest of the sins standing with you as you looked around in panic. All except Sloth who was out cold in the corner.

“Oh, little pet, indeed, I am still hungry.”

❥ Walk Through The Fire by shellflower ➴ Supernatural!AU | Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook | Series ➴ In a world of supernatural beings, a normal human like yourself always found attraction and wonder towards these creatures. It was your kind heart that led you to become a doctor to treat such people. And it was your kind heart that led you into the arms of a young Alpha wolf who will accidentally force you down a path you were never meant to follow... ❥ Into Temptation by coconutty  ➴ Demon!AU | Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook | Two-Shot ➴ It was just a dare...

❥ Won’t Be Nice by coconutty ➴ Lovers/Poly!AU | Taehyung x Reader x Hoseok | One-Shot ➴ A night by the pool just got interesting...

KIM NAMJOON

❥ Covenant by fringesofsanity ➴ Arranged Marriage!AU | Namjoon x Reader | Series ➴ You are betrothed to Kim Namjoon, the heir of a real estate mogul. To say that it was a fairytale romance would be erroneous. You’re instead loped in the sad tale of the rich and melancholy.

❥ Read You Like A Book by coconutty ➴ University!AU | Namjoon x Reader | One-Shot ➴ Come get an attitude adjustment in the library, courtesy of Namjoon.

KIM SEOKJIN

❥ Éffleurer by @sugaurora / sugalights ➴ Office!AU | Seokjin x Reader | Series ➴ There were always whispers in your office about what secrets Seokjin hid behind his clean image. Now, you knew at least one of them. ❥ The City Comes Alive by minlouvre ➴ Musician/S2L!AU | Seokjin x Reader | Series ➴ Seokjin is a street performer who falls for a girl who is always passing him by. ❥ Seaside Sabbatical by dark_muse_iris ➴ Working Man!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot ➴ After an accountant in your firm is sent to prison, you are assigned to clean up the mess he left behind. Sorting out your clients’ disastrous business records proves beneficial when you meet the fisherman who teaches you the value of taking a break. ❥ Cake by yeyeniejjung ➴ Yandere/Killer!AU | Seokjin x Reader | Series ➴ "I was always hungry for your love. Just once, I wanted to know what is was like to get my fill of it. I wanted to be fed so much love that I couldn't take it anymore, just once." ❥ The Lord Taketh Away by dark_muse_iris ➴ Medieval/Werewolf!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot ➴ Every autumn, the dwindling harvest summons fears for the impending winter and its promise of scarcity. For Seokjin and his wife, faith lies in God and their local lord’s generosity to provide what their ailing son needs to survive another year. With each season, however, the lord grows cold-hearted and greedy, squeezing the young family to the brink of despair.

MIN YOONGI

❥ Zelus by SugaAconcept ➴ Lovers/Sugar Daddy!AU | Yoongi x Reader | One-Shot ➴ Yoongi becomes jealous when your close friend Jungkook puts his hands all over you right infront of his face. So, Yoongi decides to make sure you know who you really belong to. ❥ Carpe Diem by fringesofsanity ➴ Idol/Lovers!AU | Yoongi x Reader | Series ➴ Working for the UN, you are tasked to handle the poverty reduction campaign of a certain boy band. A certain rapper from the group however decides to mix business with pleasure.

JUNG HOSEOK

❥ Feel You From The Inside by coconutty  ➴ Idol/Staff!AU | Hoseok x Reader | One-Shot ➴ You've been watching him for months, little did you know, he's been watching you.

❥ As You Are by fringesofsanity ➴ Lovers!AU | Hoseok x Reader | One-Shot ➴ You're not the girl for Jung Hoseok. Him - who was sunshine and daisies and fireworks. You - who were back-alley darkness and used needles and burnt cigarettes. But he doesn't care. And you fucking hate yourself for it.

❥ The Thin Blue Line by bluesxde ➴ Pregnancy/E2L!AU | Hoseok x Reader | Series ➴ One badly-judged fling with Jung Hoseok, the son of a company-rival, leaves you with a little surprise.

PARK JIMIN

❥ His Throne by hseoks ➴ Royalty!AU | Jimin x Reader | Series ➴ You, a maid for the royal family, have sex with the irresistible Prince Park Jimin on his throne.

❥ Ineffable by fringesofsanity ➴ FWB!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot ➴ You’ve only shared your body to Jimin, mostly silent after the act. The one time you decide to bare so much more, you find yourself baring your soul to him, far more than you bargained for.

❥ Blue Side by hoseokiehopie ➴ Ghost/Lovers!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot ➴ You’re all too familiar with the legend that says the dead can walk freely on Halloween. It’s a secret you hold deeply within yourself. When a classmate starts to break down the walls you built so strongly after your boyfriend’s passing, you have to decide if you’re going to remain in the past with the dead, or live among the living.

KIM TAEHYUNG

❥ Effervescence by fringesofsanity ➴ Idol/Fling!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ Just like the fizz of a cola on a hot summer’s day, your encounter with Taehyung is short but sparkly sweet.

OR Getting married in three months, you and your girls attend Ultra Miami to cap your single life, a final hurrah of some sort. What you didn’t expect is meeting a beguiling boy with a boxy smile who gives you a festival you’ll forever reminisce.

❥ Minutiae by coconutty ➴ Stalker!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ Y/N meets a mysterious and alluring photographer and wants to interview him. Along the way things start getting a bit strange. What happens when you draw the attention of someone who always gets what they want?

❥ Flower Arrangements by iq_biased ➴ Pregnancy/Lovers!AU | Taehyung x Reader | One-Shot ➴ From the moment you met Taehyung, his flourish for life drew you in completely. It wasn’t long before you fell head over heals for the tattoo artist who was so wrong for you, it felt right. But your story hasn’t always been an easy one, and just recently it’s become a whole lot more complicated…

❥ Freaks Forever by yeyeniejjung ➴ Criminal/Psych!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ "So tell me, Mister Kim, what's your ideal evening?"

"Ah..full moon, sex and drugs all night."

You are the psychologist to the world's most dangerous criminal, Kim Taehyung. Kim Taehyung is the man solely responsible for some of the most horrific crimes that the world has ever seen, from burglary, drug possession, sexual assaults, to brutal homicides of a total of 37 victims, though there are suspicions that there are more, that range from children to the elderly; both male and female. The two of you form an odd bond between your weekly sessions, causing you to somehow completely miss his blatant manipulation that soon controlled you in every aspect; resulting in his escape from prison and his bloodthirsty ways and eyes to be immediately turned onto you..but will he spare you in the end of the torturous time he keeps you or will your fate be the same as any other past victim of his?

❥ Slow Burn by fringesofsanity ➴ Idol/F2L!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series  ➴ He was just supposed to be one of those clients. But then he gives you a night you’ll never forget. ❥ Noona by yuu14045 ➴ Neighbors/Lovers!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin lives in same apartment building. One day Taehyung received a mail for another Kim. She turned out to be Jimin's new neighbor.

❥ Snapped by Kpopyandere ➴ Yandere!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ Your relationship with your boyfriend hasn't been going well lately. His twin, Kim Taehyung, decides to take advantage of this.

JEON JUNGKOOK

❥ If You’re Struggling Like I Am by @btssavedmylifeblr / bts_ruined_my_life ➴ Idol/Lovers!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series ➴ You are hired as a makeup artist for BigHit working with BTS. You are older than all of them, yet, despite your best efforts, you find yourself slowing falling in love with the youngest member.

❥ My Cheating Amnesic Fiancé by Wrienne ➴ Idol/Arranged Marriage!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series ➴ A series set in our world featuring Reader, the sole heiress of a multibillion-dollar company, and the Bangtan Boys' Golden Maknae - Jeon Jungkook. Mainly a romance, though doused with angst, drama and the twisted ways of fate. ❥ Return by Kpopyandere ➴ Yandere!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series ➴ As Seokjin's girlfriend, you're off-limits, but Jungkook doesn't see it that way