#wip: enthralled

[transman-badass]

Betrayal

Whump + Cthulhu Mythos - 2.8k words

CW: mild (period typical) transphobia and misogyny, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, eye horror (not gore), major character death

The men were gaining on them.

Outside thunder roared, but over it, Lazarus Core still heard the footsteps behind them, pounding louder than the rain. His pulse beat against the skin of his throat. Sweat slicked the hand holding his gun. It’d just take one mistake, one little mistake, and he’d be dead, dead, dead. And it wouldn’t be the end of the world, if he died, but the last thing he wanted was to leave Sadie all alone.

He gripped her hand and did not look back.

A sharp turn, a shout from behind. The men pursuing them seemed to have no trouble in the darkness. Lazarus did not look back, he kept running, and Sadie’s fingernails dug into his hands. If they could make it back outside, back to where they’d hidden the car, he could hide Sadie within it, and go back around to find Niel. And if he didn’t come back, well, maybe Niel did. And if Niel didn’t come back either…

Sadie twisted in his grip, grabbed him by the shoulder, jerked him free from his thoughts. Her hand slammed over his mouth, Lazarus blinking, the stack of wooden crates sturdy against his back. He followed her lead, crouching down, holding his breath.

The footsteps grew closer. Closer still. Away, away, mumbling voices silenced by the rain.

Lazarus looked around, squinting in the darkness. There, that door, still cracked open - He tapped her on the shoulder. She jerked her curly haired head towards him. In the darkness, she nodded.

Without a sound, the door opened. Lazarus looked behind them once more before stepping into that new darkness.

Not quite dark for long. A light flashed, Lazarus threw up an arm against it.

“Niel!” Sadie whispered.

Lazarus lowered his arm, the light lowered to the floor. Niel hugged Sadie back, the electric torch almost falling from his hand from the force of it. His smile soothed something in the private eye’s heart, tension falling from Lazarus’ shoulders.

“You sly dog,” Lazarus whispered, stepping up to clasp his friend’s hand. “And here I thought I’d have to track you down.”

Niel grinned, but the tension didn’t fade from around his eyes. He drew in a breath, and then another. Lazarus opened his mouth to speak, but did not have a chance to.

The other man carried a faraway scent of spices and flowers on his clothes. Lazarus breathed in as Niel’s arms wrapped around him in a tight, burdensome hug. Memories, faded like paper in the sun, drifted. Memories of home.

“Niel-” Lazarus pulled away.

“I’m sorry about all this, my friend,” Niel said, gripping Lazarus’s shoulders. “I know you won’t believe it, but I am. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Lazarus said. Niel’s grip tightened. “Niel, none of this was your fault. You couldn’t have known O’Tipp would be here.”

Niel looked down, towards the golden pendant around his neck.

“Niel?” Lazarus repeated.

“That’s not it,” Niel said. “Not the thing I know you’ll hate me for.”

“Niel,” Sadie cut in. “What did you do?”

The door swung open. Lazarus turned, and raised a gun he no longer held. Something cold brushed against the back of his head, pressing through his dark red hair against his skull. His heart sank.

A dim lightbulb clicked on, illuminating the empty room. Nathan O’Tipp stood beneath the bare bulb, his smile stretched wide over his handsome face.

“Evening, gentlemen! And you as well, Miss Goode.” He tipped his hat to Sadie.

Sadie backed away, glaring behind her glasses. O’Tipp didn’t seem to notice, stepping towards her. The men behind him, three in all, followed into the room, staring at Lazarus, and his empty hands. They were all at least a head taller than him, maybe more, shoulders broader than his own, bigger, stronger, crueler. And O’Tipp just kept smiling as he took another step towards Sadie. But his eyes, they never looked away from Lazarus.

“Don’t hurt her,” Lazarus said.

O’Tipp laughed.

“Why, who do you think I am?” O’Tipp said. “Wouldn’t that be such a waste of a woman?” His men traded glances. “No, sir, I’m not going to lay a hand on her. I have better things in mind than that.”

Sadie swallowed. O’Tipp’s gloved hand wrapped around her upper arm, and held on tight.

The men said nothing. Lazarus closed his eyes.

“Niel,” Lazarus whispered, “Why?”

Behind him, Niel sighed.

“He’s got Mother,” Niel said.

“And even if I didn’t,” O’Tipp said, “I paid him quite handsomely for his help.”

Lazarus breathed in.

“You were spying on us,” he said at last.

“Don’t know what you expected to happen,” O’Tipp said. “You lead a man desperate for work to my speakeasy, and think he’ll stay on the straight and narrow? In Arkham, of all places?” His voice lowered. “You and I both know who really runs this town, Core. They put whoever they want into that mayor’s seat, but I’m the one who calls the shots around here.”

Niel said nothing.

“And Chambers, he did a damn good job, didn’t he?” O’Tipp said. “Made a best friend out of you, and your lady friend here. Didn’t make you think twice, did he, even though he worked for me, you idiot!” O’Tipp shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course, you’d miss that. You were stupid enough to challenge me, weren’t you?”

With one hand, he gestured to the men. The one in the middle stepped forward. The other two hesitated.

“Mr. O’Tipp-” one of them started.

“It’s fine,” O’Tipp said.

“But you’re sure…” the man said. “I mean. He doesn’t look that much like a man.”

“It’s fine,” O’Tipp said. “It needs to be done. There’s no shoving this one into a brothel, and pretending it’ll all go away. Besides,” he looked into Lazarus’ eyes now. “He hasn’t been a woman for a long time now, has he?”

Lazarus clenched his fists.

There wasn’t anything to say, as the men circled him. Niel stepped back, closer to the far wall, clutching Lazarus’ gun in one hand and the pendant around his neck with the other. His lips moved, mumbling something Lazarus could scarcely catch over the thunder and the rain. Between the moving bodies Sadie stared at him, tears in her eyes.

There was so much to say, and no time at all. Lazarus could only hope she’d understand.

“Hope it doesn’t offend you much to say this,” O’Tipp said, “But you weren’t even the worst of the pests I’ve had to crush. You’re not even the most annoying. Insects like you come and go like the bugs you are. You’re just the latest in a very, very long line.”

Two brutal hands grasped Lazarus by the arms and yanked him back. He grunted, instinct kicking in, but all the struggling in the world wouldn’t get him out of this.

“Rest peacefully, Core - your lady friend is gonna be in better hands than yours ever were.”

One of the men stretched his fingers. Nathan looked towards the man by the wall.

“How about taking the first blow, Chambers?”

Lazarus looked towards the man he called a friend. Niel shook his head. He didn’t meet Lazarus’ eyes. Nathan shrugged.

“Suit yourself, kid.”

The fist burrowed into his cheek. Blood smeared on Lazarus’s tongue. His hat knocked to the ground, exposing his blood red hair. Another fist, the other cheek. His teeth rattled, his mind reeled. Another punch in the same spot, blood bursting from the bruise birthing on his skin.

Fist to the stomach, Lazarus gagged, choked on air. The tears flowed down against his will. One of the men hesitated. The other’s fist kissed his nose. Blood drooled over his lips, his chin. Lazarus gasped for air through his lips, before another blow landed on his mouth.

Sadie screamed his name.

Through the smack of fists on flesh and cartilage, the agony of another punch to the gut, a boot to the foot, a kick to the leg, a slam to the womb, Lazarus heard Niel pray.

Maybe it was his imagination, a hallucination drawn from the depths of his subconscious by pain and the acceptance of approaching death. How would Niel know those prayers from his homeland? But where else Lazarus could have dreamed them from, he couldn’t imagine - he’d only heard them spoken once, back then, as a child. His mind spun through pain, and the prayer, it was all he could focus on.

Sadie wept.

Nathan laughed.

Lazarus took every blow.

His blood coated the men’s hands, smearing on his cheeks, on the dark fabric of his suit. Every punch to the gut sent stars flashing over his vision. Something broke, Lazarus was sure something had broken, the stabbing pain shooting through his body as familiar as the prayers he swore fumbled out around him in Niel’s voice. One of the men spoke, taunting him, but Lazarus couldn’t focus on it. He didn’t hear anything but the blood in his ears, and over it, Niel.

Why Niel? Why not his mother? Why not the woman who actually taught him those prayers?

Was their god still listening?

A kick to the stomach, and the strength in his legs gave out. The man holding him released his arms. Lazarus dropped to the floor, blood and grit digging into his skin. A foot slammed into his back. If he’d had any more air in his lungs, he would’ve screamed. Something kicked his side, someone laughed above him. Shoe polish scent on his nose, residue on his tongue. His vision blurred with blood, tears, pain, acceptance.

Lazarus accepted it. Death did not come as a friend, but like a blanket, warm and soft on his pain-filled body. Every breath hurt, hurt his sides, hurt his chest, hurt his lungs, hurt his nose and mouth and eyes. His fingers twitched, nerves on fire. His body wanted to live. Shit, he did too. But it was all over now. Nothing would save him now.

“I’m going to kill you!” Sadie shouted.

“Course you are, sweetheart,” O’Tipp said. “Chambers, give me the gun.”

Sadie sobbed. Niel said nothing. Footsteps walked away from Lazarus’ fallen body. He set his aching jaw, shifted his arms to push him upright. Death approached, O’Tipp’s familiar steps coming closer, and closer, and closer.

Gloved fingers buried into Lazarus’ hair and pulled. Lazarus didn’t feel the pain this time. His wet eyes met O’Tipp’s. Lazarus exhaled through his broken, bloodsoaked lips.

The cold metal of the gun - Lazarus’ own gun - pressed against the soft underside of his chin. O’Tipp smiled, satisfaction playing on his lips, those eyes.

“Any last words, Lazarus?” O’Tipp said.

Lazarus blinked, swirled his tongue around in his mouth. His eyes narrowed.

The bloody spit hit the mark. Landed right in the bastard’s right eye. O’Tipp reeled, a hideous noise coming from his throat as he gripped his face. His hand covered his eye.

Lazarus smiled.

The fingers of O’Tipp’s hand spread open wide. Veins throbbed within the bloodstained white of O’Tipp’s eye. The iris, so close to Lazarus’s own color, trembled. From within the pinprick pupil, purple tendrils shot out, stretching out, coating the iris as O’Tipp shook. The iris split, another purple iris folding out from the first. And then another. Two more. In a breath the eye was full of them, purple irises, the faded red-white darkening to black. Black like a hollow within the skull, black like the void of space that lingered over the city. Black like something Lazarus had seen before.

O’Tipp blinked, he struggled to breathe. His eye, now solid gold.

O’Tipp blinked, panting slowing down. His eye, returned to gray.

O’Tipp blinked. O’Tipp breathed.

The syndicate’s leader stood, the gun held loose in his hand. He did not look away from Lazarus, not for a moment, his eyes, so human, so perfectly human, locked onto the fallen man. Lazarus met his gaze, his own eyes wide. He’d seen that, and they both knew it.

O’Tipp snapped his arm out, finger on the trigger.

The gunshot echoed. Sadie screamed.

Niel’s body dropped, dead before he ever hit the floor. Sightless eyes met Lazarus’s, blood and worse dragging down from the bullet hole in his forehead.

“You-” O’Tipp said. He trembled, the blood and spit dripped down his handsome face, that handsome face contorting with rage. “I’ll do something special for you after all, Lazarus Core. You think you know what it’s like to suffer now? You think you’re gonna die the hero? I won’t give you that satisfaction. I’ll drag you to somewhere worse than hell, you son of a bitch.”

O’Tipp’s shoulders shook. A laugh broke free from his body.

“I’ll show you the real reason you were born. And you’ll wish every last day of your life, you never crossed paths with me.”

His head snapped towards the men. “Get out. We’re leaving.”

Without looking at either of his enemies, O’Tipp turned on his heel and marched out of the room. The men looked between each other, clothes soaked with blood and fumbled over themselves to follow him.

As the footsteps vanished into the raging storm overhead, Lazarus stared at Niel. His body twitched, nerves still fighting against death, even though it’d long won. He closed his eyes, he breathed through his mouth.

He saw it so clearly. O’Tipp’s eye dividing, folding out into a thousand copies of itself, transforming into something impossible. Something horrible. Something Lazarus knew on sight, just like he’d been told.

You will know the enemy when you see him, someone once said. You will know them because they are not of the King.

“Lazarus!”

He opened his eyes, raised his head.

“Sadie,” he said, and reached his broken hand towards her. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Sadie collapsed by his side, and wept.

The strength came back to his body eventually. With Sadie’s help, Lazarus guided his body back to his feet. O’Tipp should’ve let his men finish the job, but he’d been too eager to do it himself. The beating hurt, would hurt for weeks, but he was alive. Somehow, he was still alive.

“What happened?” Sadie said, as Lazarus limped forward. “Why did he - oh Niel… That piece of-” Her fists clenched so hard, they shook.

Lazarus sighed.

“My own fault,” he said, stepping towards the corpse. “He wasn’t wrong, about me being stupid. Stupidly kind.”

“What are you doing?” Sadie said.

“Saying goodbye,” Lazarus said.

Niel’s body, still warm, the breath still clinging to his lips as Lazarus slid his eyes closed. In the warm spring night, soon the body would be unbearable. Someone would report that gunshot, call the police, send them on the way. By then, he and Sadie would need to be gone. Niel would go to whoever wanted to claim him.

But there was something Lazarus needed to do first.

“Flesh is feeble, soul eternal… Rings of life, they ever circle…”

He’d seen the back of the pendant before, with the lesser Yellow Sign. Maybe, Niel had gone back there, back home, even before tonight. Had to get something like that somewhere, after all.

“Fair is the land where the cloud waves break, the twin suns sinking beneath the lake… Fairer still, our soul’s true fate�� ”

It seemed only fair, to mumble the prayer he’d heard in what should’ve been his last moments. He needed to improvise a bit. It’d been a very long time, after all, since he’d learned these words. Since he and his mother walked the streets of their true home.

“No heaven awaits, all screams unheard… to die unheard, your last breath, here with me. Fate returns you, the lost now found… to live forever, called back by the shepard, there with him, in sweetest Carcosa.”

Lazarus breathed. Niel didn’t. And it hurt to acknowledge it, that old longing he’d never chased away. Why couldn’t he go home, too, as Niel did? When he died, he would not return to Carcosa, he knew this. But it ached, to know it. That some things were lost, and would never be found… and some lost things, were lost for a reason.

“Lazarus,” Sadie began, but he shook his head.

“Later,” Lazarus said.

He reached into the inner pocket of Niel’s jacket. Against the fading warmth of Niel’s body, he found the item, and slipped it free. Lazarus smiled, and it hurt. Niel’s little book of friends, all the contacts he had in the city, written down in Niel’s familiar handwriting. This would help them a lot more than it’d help Niel now.

With effort, Lazarus stood. The ground swayed. Sadie’s hand wrapped around his shoulder, and he breathed normal again.

“Let’s go,” Lazarus said. He looked down at the body, one last time. “Goodbye, Niel.”

“Goodbye,” Sadie said. “And good riddance.”

Outside, the rain fell and did not stop until morning.

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[thalassophiliascripte]

balor/female farmer wip

“I just—you must have lived such an exciting life in the Adventurer’s Guild. Why’d you give it up?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought I told you that already. Besides, it’s not like I gave up adventuring, or anything that made my life—nothing that I loved. It wasn’t a sacrifice to come here.”

He didn’t seem convinced.

“There are small adventures too, you know?” she offered.

Balor rocked back on his heels, and tangled his hands in the belts and sashes around his waist. “Oh? You’ll have to take me on one.”

Her mouth was drier than it’d been a minute ago. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” She managed a smile. “Let me teach you how to be an adventurer, like we did in the Guild.”

[kyannnite]

wip but uh. if you told me i’d be drawing love never dies fanart 3 months ago i would not have ever believed you but here we are

[thegreatyin]

what are interactive fiction authors putting in the water to make their arthurian legend games absolutely fire

[strigital]

unfinished quickie of Hal and his archfey girlfriend patron because i will die but not stop doodling at work whenever there's some quiet

[random-cryptid]

The best storyteller in the history of Salem

And a lil bonus:

[bottomvalerius]

Chamomile tea you say….?

I haven’t even touched act2 and I’m already really Normal about this guy so I wanted to attempt to doodle him lmfao his hair is. So difficult to me. LMFAOO but I will keep trying

[lynpheas]

random flora rarepairs i have solely because i think the characters are hot are flora/darcy and flora/diaspro. i don’t think flora and darcy have notably canonically interacted (mind you i’ve only watched up to season 5 and a couple episodes of wow), but in my season 2 rewatch i was pleased/surprised to see that flora and diaspro HAVE canonically interacted. it’s after diaspro gets kidnapped by the weird orientalist gang and is ranting about sky or something, meanwhile flora and chatta are validating her.

[toiletshit]

I haven't done anything with actual lineart in a while so doing this actually reminded me why I don't

[chikoyama]

[juniefruit]

☆ Caught in a Web ☆

☆ Spiderman! Jisung x fem! reader 18+

☆ Summary: Peter Jisung Han lived a double life. One, as your best friend since first grade. Second, as New York's one-and-only Spider-Man. For the past few years, his life has been... well, complicated. It only gets more complicated when you see something you weren't supposed to which, surprisingly, had some pleasurable consequences.

☆ Warnings: Kind of silly, monster encounter, friends to lovers, mutual pining, ji and reader are in college, piv, making out, fast progression, for mature audiences ONLY. MDNI.

☆ Word Count: 3.3k

☆ Notes: this has been a wip for soo long I thought about scrapping it. Posting it now to just finally get it out of my drafts. Couldn't decide on whether to keep the smut or not. But hey it's here so: smut readers, enjoy!

Police sirens.

Cars honking. Incessantly. 

Subway cars screeching to a halt under your feet.

Skyscrapers towering above the crown of your head. 

That was New York. Your humble city, the one that never sleeps. You know who also doesn’t sleep? Jisung. Your best friend you met your first year of Uni. Attached at the hip, you could probably complete each other’s sentences– if the other would ever stop talking. 

University was its own battle, but having Jisung around made things that much easier. He lived in the apartment complex across the street, and sometimes you’d see the lights on in his window way past reasonable hours. But his skin was flawless nonetheless- not a dark circle in sight, not even on bad days. You could go on and on about him, his perfect hair, warm eyes, bubbly laugh. You would gush about him to your best friend- but you can’t, because he is that friend. So, you’re stuck screaming into your pillow from his astronomical charms. 

The news anchor’s voice cuts through the air, the TV against your wall flashing with another breaking news headline. When your eyes scan the title, you grin. Spider-man saves dozens in East Manhattan, it reads. With a sparkle in your eyes, you phone Jisung. He never picks up anyway. But you couldn’t stay mad at him, no– not when he flashes you a lopsided smile and promises to buy you dinner as an apology. 

7:53p.m:

You: Yo r u seeing this?? Spiderman’s on the east side!!

Missed Call

Missed Call

Missed Call

You wouldn’t call yourself a Spiderman fanatic– you just give credit where credit’s due. Try telling that to Jisung– In reality, you were enthralled with the masked man. He was just so cool and personable. He swung so gracefully through the city, catching everything from petty criminals to monsters even your nightmares couldn’t conjure up. You could see the outline of all his hard work under that skin-tight exo-suit, too. He handled news reporters like a champ- always knew what to say and how to leave you breathless. Until he swung off into a dark alley, until the next time his presence was needed. 

You had given up on calling Jisung, knowing he was probably gaming or sleeping and couldn’t reach his phone. It was only until the news had moved on to the next headline that you felt the buzz of your phone, which you threw onto the other side of your bed in annoyance. Of course you picked up.

“Hey, y/n! Wanna tell me all about it?” Jisung spoke, almost too enthusiastic for how out of breath he was.

“Uh, yeah! Did you see that spin kick he did? It was mid-air too! And he totally demolished that one—” Jisung zoned you out, back against the brick wall, hand gripping his mask. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple as he caught his breath, silently. “Where even are you?” Your voice raised in annoyance. “And out of breath too?” Jisung looses a breathy laugh. 

“Just went out on a run, cutie. Don’t you worry, I’ll be back soon.” 

You don’t sound too convinced. “Okay… Just don’t get mugged.”

“I’ll try. Still on for lunch tomorrow?” Your heart skips a beat for no particular reason. You agreed and said your goodbyes, but you didn’t sleep until you saw the lights turn on in Jisung’s apartment. The next morning, the crisp air had a slight chill to it, indicating the beginning of fall. Maybe you were imagining it, but everything had that autumn vibe to it. The streets weren’t overly crowded yet, as you waited in line at the coffee shop on the corner. Class was starting in a few minutes. 

“y/n, wait up!” You recognized Jisung’s voice from behind you. He had a scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders in a warm brown color that suited him well. “Walk with me?” You nodded, sipping your warm drink. It was too early for this, you thought. You enjoyed the comfortable silence, and so did he. Class was okay… But it was always better when Jisung cracked a joke or two about that one kid who always raised his hand, or the typo in the professor’s slideshow. The day trudged along, until you were back in your brick wall apartment, Jisung splayed across your bed while you sat crisscrossed on your side. Occasionally, you mindlessly glanced over at the various band posters on your walls, or the fairy lights above your desk.

“Do you ever think we’ve walked past spiderman, not knowing it was him?” You spoke whatever came to mind. 

“Uh, I don’t know, probably.” Jisung put on his best unamused voice. 

“I hope he’s hot.” You sigh, dreamily. He chokes on air. “What?” You ask, turning to him, faking annoyance.

“That’d be great, yeah.” He laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 

“I mean, look at him! He’s got sooo many muscles!” You gesture to the TV, going through the daily Spiderman-appreciation segment. Jisung rolled his eyes. He really didn’t get the hype. All he wanted was to stop these dumb monsters and go on with his day. Maybe if the news didn’t blow him up so much, he would’ve told you already. But he can’t risk it. 

“I’ve got muscles too, you know.” He didn’t want you to like Spiderman, he wanted you to like him. God forbid he gets a little jealous sometimes, even if he is technically getting jealous of himself. 

“Yeah, but are you spiderman?” You ask, jokingly. 

“Uh-” Jisung stammers. He was never good with confrontation. His heart was beating too fast and his ears were getting red. Breathing was getting difficult.

“That’s what I thought.” You fold your arms in victory. 

“Goodnight, y/n.” Jisung got up from the bed in a hurry, shuffling over to where his shoes were by the door.

“Eh? Did I say something? Whatever it was, I’m really sorry-!” The sound of the door slamming cut you off. You raced over to your bedroom window, and waited until you saw the lights in his apartment turn on. It might’ve been stupid, but you tore a piece of paper out of your notebook, and in big sharpie ink, wrote, ‘sorry :(‘ and taped it to your window before getting ready for bed. 

The next morning, Jisung had to blow off some steam. Quite the overthinker, he was. He didn’t see your message posted on your window, practically jumping into his suit and pulling his mask on, the rising sun set a golden glow across his form as he swung between stone brick walls and fancy office building glass. Leaves were turning various hues of red, orange and yellow. They fell like confetti from the tree branches that lined the streets. Screw my morning class, he thought, he could always pull an all-nighter to catch up. His superhuman energy meant he rarely felt tired. In the corner of his vision, the neighborhood coffee shop caught his eye. He could really go for a bagel. It’s gonna be one hell of a morning for the people in there, he thought as he swung down, and opened the door with a chime. Walking up to the counter clad in his suit and mask, the barista was too busy writing on a cup to acknowledge him, but he could hear the hushed whispers and surprised gasps of the cafe patrons. 

“Welcome in, what can I get for you?” “Lemme get uhh-” 

Jisung got that sudden feeling across his skin, like a wave of electricity. Something was about to happen. 

BANG! 

A loud explosion right outside, some of the window panes cracked. The ground shook in a deep rumble. So much for that bagel. Sprinting outside, A large crack in the asphalt was billowing steam. A little farther down, A heavy creature made of stone and mud was stomping down the road, laughing maniacally. Attempting an ambush, Spiderman launched a web at its back. Almost instantly the web string got stuck in the mud and was enveloped by the creature. Oh. At that, the monster stopped trodding, and slowly turned around. It had a face of assorted rough stones, kind of like a snowman. Jisung sighed. Alright, plan B. 

“Oh my god!” You shrieked at the TV from your quaint living room, watching the fight go down on the live news broadcast. Sat in your comfy pajamas, you had decided to take today easy. Until now. Spiderman was leaping across building walls, launching strike on strike onto the monster. The cameraman was shaky, but you didn’t seem to care, as your eyes trailed every movement of spiderman’s agile maneuvers. All of a sudden you gasped, an idea striking you faster than a lightning bolt. If I leave now, I might have enough time to get there and meet spiderman in person! Frantically running to your closet, you changed into something lightweight and casual. Booking it down the apartment stairs and onto your bike, you recognized the location of the fight because that’s where you and Jisung would always get bagels after your morning class. The thought made you smile. Approaching the scene, you could hear the buzz of commotion. Right as you rounded the corner, you saw it: masses of mud and stone flying everywhere, shattering windows and denting cars. Steam was rolling off the creature, as if the sun was making it dry up. You abandoned your bike and quietly walked closer. They haven’t noticed you yet. That is, until one hit from the creature caught Jisung off guard and he tumbled onto the cement sidewalk, grunting on impact. You gasped in shock, covering your mouth. His mask scraped against the cement, ripping on the side, exposing his left side completely. The more he tried to fix it, the worse it got, until he angrily shoved the mask off with an annoyed look on his face. 

“Happy now?!” He shouted. There were little scapes littering his cheeks from the rubble. The monster grumbled in response. 

“Jisung?” His head whipped around at the sound of your confused voice. 

“Y/n-” Oh shit. Oh, this was bad. Of all people, he thought. “Y/n, get back-!” His voice was strained as the monster launched another attack. He jumped out of the way, closer to you. “Just- run, please!” He exclaimed. You stood there, staring at eachother for a few seconds to confirm that that was really him and that you were really you. Reluctantly, you stepped back before Jisung ran after the monster. Your knees felt weak and you could feel your lungs running out of oxygen. You heard fire truck sirens quickly approaching, and the rest was a blur. 

When you woke, the first thing your brain acknowledged was the plush feeling of your mattress under your fingertips. It didn’t make sense, but it was comfortable. Slowly opening your eyes, you took a deep breath in, mumbling something incoherent. The blinds in the window were only half closed, letting in the warm glow of the setting sun. Confused and tired, you tried picking yourself up, until a voice to your right interrupted your movement.

“Hey, take it easy,” Instead of making you feel giddy like it usually does, Jisung’s gentle voice made something like anxiety swirl in the pit of your stomach. He got up from his seat by your desk, walking over to lean closer. 

“Do you feel okay?” He asked, eyes cautious. You must have been out for a few hours, because the scratches on his face were cleaned up, and his hair was neatly done. His silver drop earrings dangled in the light. 

“No.” The anger was strating to set in. 

“Alright.” He figured it was better for him to be quiet right now.

“Care to explain?” Or not, Jisung thought. Your voice was slightly hoarse, not an ounce of humor in the tone.

“I’m, uh, I’m… Spiderman?” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled nervously. 

“You’re joking,” You don’t sound amused.

“You saw me yourself! You weren’t supposed to, but you did!” His hands waved in the air to defend himself. You groaned, running a hand along your face.

“Do you even know how embarrassing this is for me? I wanna die.” You whined in annoyance. All the times thirsting over him, screaming over him, and he means to tell you they're the same person? You’ve had a crush on two people, but it’s actually one? “You probably think I’m a major loser.” He loosed a breathless laugh at your confession. 

“You know I would never think that.” He spoke with certainty. And you believed him. Mostly. “You’re my best friend. I think you’re, like, the coolest person ever. And hey, I won't lie, you also give me the biggest ego boost when you talk about how much you loooove Spiderman’s muscles.” 

“Shut up!!” You swatted him away, but he didn’t budge. He snickered at your annoyed state. Teasingly, he pushed even closer, making you giggle. Your arms wrestled against his, until he tumbled onto the bed with you. Reluctantly, he let you catch your breath, laying shoulder to shoulder.

“You’re still my best friend, right?” You confessed. Truth be told, this was a huge reveal on Jisung's part. If he had to cut you off for your sake, it wouldn’t be easy, but you’d manage. You understood how troubling life in the spotlight is. He turned towards you, and you could almost feel his breath on your skin. It sent goosebumps up your spine. 

“Yeah, I am. Of course I am.” His voice was just above a whisper, but he spoke with confidence.

“What if the news thinks I’m your girlfriend? You know how they are,” You rolled your eyes at the melodramatic tendencies of American news media. 

“Would that… be so bad?” Jisung braced himself for the worst. He honestly wasn’t prepared for this, but if not now, when? You knew everything about him. Well, you do now. You were the one person he could truly let his guard down around and really be himself. You knew about all his favorite bands, his order at the corner shop, or even the route he takes to class that specifically avoids the news broadcasting station. He liked you. Like, liked you. There was really no other word for it. 

“I’ll never let anything happen to you, y/n. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He looked down at you with a wide, thoughtful gaze. His heart was racing. You finally let your brain catch up to your heart when you leaned in closer. He let you do so, but not moving an inch himself. Frankly, he was petrified. You carefully pressed your lips against his, measuring his reaction. It was only when you pulled away, your eyes scanning his face hesitantly, that he was thrown back down to earth from the euphoria that was you. He chased your lips as his brows furrowed in concentration, his warm palms coming up to cup your cheeks. You let out a hum in surprise, arching into him to feel his upper body against yours. The front of his body felt firm and defined even over the fuzzy sweater.

Jisung quickly became addicted to your body. He moved one palm lower, swiping over your neck and moving your hair out of the way in the process. He moved down; down your shoulder and to your waist. There, he squeezed you, trying to feel you through the barrier that was your sweater. Moving further down and stilling at your hip, he felt the edge of your jeans, wiggling his hand under the sweater to feel your soft lower waist. He let out a heavy exhale at the touch, and he didn’t even realize how big the tent in his jeans had gotten until you squirmed against him. He shifted your position so you were on your back against the bed, his hands exploring your body until they came to rest right under your bra. Jisung sprawled out above you, his sweater clung to his broad shoulders as he tried to regain his breath for the few short seconds his mouth wasn’t on yours. 

“Still wanna see Spiderman’s muscles?” He grinned above you, out of breath. The desire in his eyes was unmistakeable, but with a hint of playfulness too.  

“You’re insufferable.” You huffed, grabbing handfuls of the fluffy blue sweater and pulling it up and off his head. The planes of his chest overwhelmed your vision, his smooth skin driving you wild. His biceps bulged as he pulled your shirt off, his eyes drinking in your figure, scanning up and down. Impatiently, his fingers thread themselves into the belt loops of your jeans, tugging them down. You did the same to him. His hips were grinding against you in waves, like he couldn’t control himself. Your legs spread as far as possible to hold him closer. Jisung could feel the slow, aching throb spread through his dick, hissing through a clenched jaw. Your core felt his bulge, wetness sticking to your folds almost uncomfortably. Your hand glided against your hip until it reached the gusset of your panties to pull them to the side, holding them there. Pushing his boxers down, he finally slid his length through your lower lips, catching against your clit. One of his hands was balanced against your hip, thumb drawing circles against the skin. He leaned down to press a passionate kiss to your lips before his face moved to the side of your face, his deep breaths right by your ear. Pushing into your hole, he took his time adjusting. He moved slowly, shoulders shaking from the anticipation, whining through sealed lips. 

“Sungie, you don’t have to wait-” You whined, squirming slightly. 

“Shh, just let me have this moment,” He comforted you with a hand on your shoulder, his eyes closing from pleasure- Forcing himself to stay still despite the primal itch to just get on with it. The thrum of anticipation felt shockingly good. After a few moments pass, he drags the heavy weight of his cock out of your walls only to sensually thrust back in. Then, it was like the floodgates opened. Jisung gasped, starting to thrust in and out, his pace gradually speeding up. His hips rhythmically lift upwards to hit your lower belly, thighs slapping against your spread cheeks. Your moans kept him grounded, otherwise he feared he would lose himself in euphoria. His voice grew raspy the longer he groaned and moaned. His pace didn’t falter, even while your arms snaked up to wrap around his shoulders, bringing him closer. Your fingers wrapped around that little silver chain he always wears and tugged lightly. His dick reached deeper as he pressed himself against you, body hitting yours in all the right places. Your thighs lifted up to press against his outer hips, your walls squeezing with each push of pleasure from him. 

“I’m, ah, close y/n-”. He hummed, lips pressed against the column of your neck. When your core squeezed around him, he whimpered at the feeling of his impending release.

“You can let go Sungie,” Your palm reassuringly rubbed against his broad back, feeling up the hard working muscles at the same time. His sounds grew higher in pitch until he eventually snapped, his pleasure triggering yours like a domino. For what seemed like hours, the only thing you could perceive was Jisung’s heaving form above you, and the climbing steps of your orgasm that finally crashed down in one fell swoop. Cum and slick gushed out and coated your joined bodies as you caught your breaths. With a hum, you looked over Jisung’s shoulder to realize the muted TV was still on the local news channel. He gave you a short kiss to your spit slicked lips before rolling to the side.

“Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

“Your face is all over the news.”

“Oh shit.”

Check my masterlist for more!

Warning: Everything I post is 100% my original writing & thoughts. This also includes the moodboards at the beginning, that I create. Please do not plagiarize or copy. Tag for inspiration or add-ons. Reblogs are appreciated! <3

[transman-badass]

The cars drove on.

Somebody played the piano off in the distance, some happy melody that didn't match the funeral going on across the street.

Wheels ground against pavement. Nobody looked at him, because there was nothing to see. And even if they did see him, what were they gonna do about it?

The gun, heavy in his hands, his hands so slick with sweat.

The hate in his heart, burning, burning.

The widow across the street, crying into the arms of the man who would be her next husband. A few teenagers, unconnected, uncertain at best. A pastor, reading off the good book in this sweltering heat. And the gun in his hand, and the hate in his heart.

He could not disobey O'Tipp. An order was an order. Bizarre occult magic, something past anything he knew of as human, tied them together. All orders would be followed.

And he tried to rationalize it, sometimes, the blood on his hands. Just another job, right? Just another body. Just another coffin. Just another name in the newspaper.

But it still made him so fucking sick.

The bells sang out.

The cars slowed.

The people in black filtered through the iron gates.

The Harbinger crossed the street, and the gun warmed in his hands.

Tag list, ask to be added or removed:

@slenders1ckn3ss @jacquesfindswritingandadvice @redacted-metallum @actualblanketgremlin @higgs-space @phantomnations @mushabumi @assistantdirector--janson @aldhidbah @sabtael @yourheartonfireblog @jade-island-lives @arsenwormwood @cecuesta @darkhorse-javert @comicgoblinart @lizadomuch @minutiaewriter @angelsofprey @izzyspussy @passthebeat-blog-blog @dragonedged-if @andromedaexists @cyanide-latte @lillis-writes @suckerpunchfemale @late-to-the-fandom

[fairandfatalasfair]

Messy Disaster Besties Crystal & Edwin fic recs

@gendrsoup tagged my "I need more Crystal and Edwin growing into their friendship" post with: #YES PLEASE#I LOVE THEIR FRIENDSHIP I ADORE THEM#fav#I NEED THE FIC RECS SO BADLY so... here's some messy disaster besties Crystal & Edwin fic recs --

An Unformed Life by takadainmate - 1 chapter, 12 497 words Incredible character study of Crystal figuring out how she fits with the boys post canon and making space for herself in the agency and her and Edwin finding their footing with each other (and also some solid Edwin whump.)

A Room Of One's Own by DarkStars - 1 chapter, 11 192 words Crystal perspective on payneland generally failing to figure their shit out while she rolls her eyes and snaps at them for the frankly unreasonable amounts of sexual tension in the office. Also includes some really lovely soft moments of understanding between Edwin and Crystal towards the end.

A Teenage Psychic's Guide to Having a Mostly Probably Functional Life by @acediscowlng - WIP, 1/2 chapters so far, 5 557 words Lovely Crystal character study ft. Crystal and Edwin watching some of Niko's movies together. I love how much Crystal gets to just be a traumatized grieving 17 year old in this fic, trying to figure out how to stay friends after a breakup and how to be nice when you don't really like yourself that much, and how Edwin meets her where she's at in all her dysfunctional glory, it feeds my soul.

Dance the Night by Gruoch - 11 chapters, 69 182 words Very intense plot-heavy rollercoaster of a story - a casefic in which Charles ends up in a dangerous situation and Edwin and Crystal have to team up to get to him while risking their lives to protect each other against a seriously terrifying opponent and bickering like cats and dogs the whole while. Lots of angst for everyone, but especially Edwin.

how could anything bad ever happen to you - 1 chapter, 11 070 words Really fascinating dynamics both between Crystal and Edwin and Crystal and Charles. Lots of neat worldbuilding around the plot as well, which focuses on the gang trying to get Niko back. Has a sequel which is also very good (but less Crystal-centric)

Iphigenia by @e-vasong - 1 chapter, 9 567 words Vampire AU where the boys are vampires instead of ghosts, and Crystal was enthralled by David before the boys rescued her. I love the nuanced take on Crystal and the way her relationship with Edwin especially changes over the course of the fic. (Also highly recommend this author's other work!)

-

Shorter fics: I'm Bitter But I Swear I'm Fine by @cordelia-noir - 727 words, Edwin comforting Crystal after her parents have let her down, very sweet. We'll Work On It by @ahyperactivehero - 1716 words, Edwin and Crystal working on magic and bonding over rich neglectful parents, hardcore sibling vibes, adorable.

(add on in the notes!!! add your own fics!! add your friends' fics!! feed my TBR pile...)

[iron-strangers]

That's my girl!

aka Din watches you fight with the biggest heart eyes in the galaxy as Wildest Dreams (Taylor's Version) plays in the background (a WIP of my 3+1 fic)

gif credit @1038276637

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Length: 690+ words

Tags: Mand'alor Din Djarin, Swearing, Kid Fic

A/N: Written in Expanding Clan Mudhorn universe. Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

“I challenge you for the Mand’alor’s hand in marriage.”

The lively chatters around the market shifts into a quiet whispers when a challenger appears from the crowd. She has her full armor on, holding her blaster up for everyone to see. Shrugging, you took your squirming fourteen-months toddler from his birikad (baby harness) into his buir’s (father’s) arms before walking into the fight. Aranar laughs, clapping his chubby hands and pointing at you. “Bu-ee! Look, momma!”

“Yes, Ar’ika, momma’s gonna kick some s-h-e-b (ass), so we have to stand aside and let her do her thing, okay?” Din sighs, bouncing the boundless energy out of his toddler, getting a ‘Kay! and a grin from his son who’s currently munching happily on his small portion of uj cake, with that sweet tooth no one will ever doubt that he truly his momma’s son. Aranar is getting a lot of ‘copikla’ (cute) from every passer-by, enthralled by his mop of dark curly hair and his adorable toothy smile.

“I accept your challenge,” you smile, turning your saber on. The snap-hiss of lightsaber ignition rips through the air and Aranar whoops. “Bu-ee! Pu-pel!”

“Yes, good job Ar’ika! Momma’s laser sword is purple!”

“How many time should I tell you it’s called lightsaber.” Kryze sighs, holding her head in her hand. She insisted to come during their visit to the newly opened Sundari Market for this exact reason, security of the Ven’alor Mand’alor. “You married a jedi, osik (shit), you have two jet’ika.”

“Osik!” Aranar parrots, laughing without caring how his buir is going through all five stages of grief in three seconds. “Kryze! I swear to the Manda-”

Din is cut-off by the sound of lightsaber hitting beskar. You deflect blaster bolts with the force and hits the challenger on her pauldron. You swipe your saber low, aiming for her leg. She jumps and brings her other hand up, shooting grappling hooks out of her vambrace, straining you. You groan as you fight against the ropes until it budges a little, enough for you to slash it with your saber. You pull on the leftover rope, sending the challenger towards you and you punch her in the middle of the T-Visor of her helmet, sending her to the ground with a loud crack.

“That’s my girl!” Din cheers, earning snickers and adoration from the passer-by. Flustered behind his helmet, he nuzzles Aranar’s soft curls, pointing and narrating the fight to the baby. “That’s your momma, ad’ika. Isn’t she the best? Buir and momma will teach you just how to fight like that when you’re ready, ner ka’ra (my star). You’ll be unstoppable.” Din can't take his eyes off of his riduur (wife). You fight with grace, your steps calculated and you never miss your attack. Every hissing sound of lightsaber meeting beskar only adds to his love and adoration.

She shoots another round of blaster bolts and you deflect them all to the ground with the force, careful not to let stray bullets hit the crowd. You stalk over her, the tip of your saber dragging on the ground. You flick your hand and her blaster flies from her hand, crumpling in the air when you curl your hand into a fist and brings the tip of your saber up to her neck, so close to her pulse point. 

“Yield,” you command. She stutters, forfeiting the fight and scurrying back to the crowd.

“Anyone else want to challenge our clan?” Your question is met by silence and you smile, turning the saber off. Addressing the crowd to go back to their activity as the purple light disappear into the hilt of your lightsaber. 

Aranar lights up when he sees you, making a grabby hand and asking you for uppies. Smiling, you pepper the laughing boy’s cheeks with kisses and lift him up to your shoulder. Din leans his helmeted forehead to yours and leads his family away from the crowd.

“Hey, Kryze made Ar’ika swore back then.”

“By the force- Kryze!” 

Yeah, that’s my girl, Din smiles adoringly behind his helmet, taking your hand and lacing your fingers together before you can go smack some sense into Kryze.

-

[fayes-fics]

Cravats

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Just kinky, married wall sex.... sorry rubbish summary

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, kink content, slightly rough vaginal sex, wall sex, light bondage, biting, slight breathplay, dirty talk, derogatory term, mention of shibari style bondage and edging. Very unofficial use of cravats.

Word Count: 2.1k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Not what I should be writing (aka Portrait, my other WIPs). I should be ashamed of myself. Don't let me write at 4am. I'm going to hide now and maybe delete this later. I blame this squarely on @eleanor-bradstreet for her cravats post. Sorry <3

“Darling, I'm home early; I was thinking we c…” he screeches to a halt mid-sentence.

Damn.

You have been caught red-handed. You thought he would be out all afternoon promenading with his sister.

“What are you doing?” Benedict asks, puzzlement filling his tone.

You stand in your joint dressing room with one of his cravats looped around your neck, and you are, well, there’s no getting around it, inhaling his scent from it, even sucking on the material. Even you are not sure what compelled you to do such a thing other than you caught a whiff as you went by and, well… couldn’t resist a sniff, even a taste.

“I like the feel of the silk…” your stutter, the sound muffled, knowing you are blushing.

He moves closer. “And is there any reason you are sucking on it, my dear?” he rumbles, gently tugging the end from your mouth, eying the wet patch that blooms darker from your saliva.

“I like your taste,” you mutter quietly, head bowed in shame.

“What was that?” his tease velvety, “speak up, darling.”

You know he is flirting now. You look up to meet his heated gaze and repeat louder. “I like that they taste of you, husband.” 

His eyes dilate rapidly at your statement, and he takes a deep breath.

“I love how utterly feral you are for me,” he snarls. You are hauled against his solid frame, one of his arms banding tight around your waist, the other gathering both ends of the cravat looped around your throat a few times. “Do you know all the ways I could tease you with these?” he rumbles, his voice skittering hot over the skin of your neck.

“Tell me,” you exhale raggedly, thrilled about where this is going.

“I could tie you up in a rainbow, my darling,” his promise so intoxicating, “cover your skin in delicate, intricate silks bound in exotic knots that only I can untie.”

You breathe harder at the very idea.

“Do you know how many cravats I own, darling?”

You glance sideways at the rack but give up at attempting to count them when his warm lips start to suck insistently on the spot right below your ear.

“Fifty-two,” he answers between nips of your skin with his teeth, “one for every week of the year.”

“That’s a lot, husband…,” you rasp, his grip on the cravat at your neck starting to restrict your windpipe just a touch, causing a dangerous slick jolt of arousal down your spine.

He hums in agreement, suddenly releases the cravat, and wrenches your dress off your right shoulder—the room echoing with the sound of a seam ripping under his harsh grip. His mouth lands hot on the skin there, and you shudder as he bites down just a little. Talk about feral.

Wordlessly he rips the rest of your light cotton dress with one fist grab, and it falls to the floor around you. It wasn’t one of your favourites anyway; the animalistic urge it has brought out in him is far more enthralling than your affection for that dress. 

Then his hands are roughly plucking the lace of your stays, your whole body jerking with the motions. All the while, he is staring you down predatory, and you daren’t look away, just hypnotised by his stormy expression. When he is like this occasionally, you are utterly mindless for it, for him, in this crazed state. Your stays hit the floor behind you, and he picks up your now naked body, except his cravat, and propels you against the wall of your dressing room, knocking over an empty hatstand as he does so.

You gasp as it slams to the wood floor, and your back hits the wall. 

“Benedict,” you splutter in surprise at how forceful he is. He’s not hurting you, but he’s not treating you gently.

“Don’t suck on my clothing like a wanton little bitch in heat and not expect me to fuck you,” he intones.

You are shocked at how aroused you get at the derogatory phrase he uses—just a flood between your thighs. Your nipples pebbled hard as they rasp against the slightly scratchy wool of his sharply tailored cropped jacket as his hand reaches between your bodies and roughly unbuttons his britches.

You feel a wave of body heat over the apex of your thighs as he pulls out his cock and swipes its hot sticky tip over your clit. You moan at the sensation, already so pulsing and swollen from his handling of you. He loops your left leg high onto his forearm, a slight burn in your thigh from the stretch, and plunges into your pussy without warning. You cry out at the sheer size and speed of his invasion. Spearing you open.

“Yes, that’s it; scream my name,” he orders through clenched teeth; your most often mild-mannered sweet husband is almost nowhere to be found under this untamed wild man. And hell, if it isn’t everything you want.

He starts a punishing rhythm right away. Just fucking you. Hard. Your hands fly into his hair and fist the luscious mass there. He groans lewdly as you tug on the strands and rake your nails over his scalp, giving almost as good as you are getting. Hungry for him in a way you're not sure polite society would understand. 

You idly wonder how many wives of the Ton get stripped, bitten and fucked against a wall by their husbands on an overcast Tuesday afternoon. You suspect very few. You also suspect fewer would do what you do, pitch forward in his rough, punishing grip and bite his earlobe, gusting encouragements right into his ear, making him stumble in his movement and growl.

You want his handprints on your body, his teeth marks, signs that you are his. And you want to mark him too, leave scratches on his skin, bruises on his neck from sucking so hard. Just possessive, dark things that he brings out in you, things that you never imagined when you married him as a maid, all those months ago. 

You’ll never forget the first time he was like this. You removed your shawl as you sat down in a box to watch the opera, and he saw the mark he had left on the swell of your breast, entirely by accident, in his enthusiasm. He leans over, mumbles an apology, and asks you to conceal it. Instead, you turn your head and whisper you are proud to wear his mark and don’t care who sees it. The surprise and sheer want on his face you will never forget. He made it through half a song before grabbing your hand and pulling you into a stairwell, pushing aside your underwear and taking you right there, lying on the cold stone steps. It was the fastest you had ever orgasmed in your life. And now, you aid and abet him every time he lets out his wild side, wanting nothing more than the full force of his dizzying desire.

His hipbones will undoubtedly leave marks on your inner thighs as he pounds into your body, snapping deep and making you grunt softly with each push. You will probably carry a slight ache tomorrow, and you crave it. A reminder of how much passion you can share.

He pauses his movements, leans to the side and grabs two cravats. Looping them around your wrists a few times and tying a bow as he holds you against the wall up on your tiptoe, him buried deep inside you.

“What are you doing?” you are intrigued why he has stopped to tie pretty colourful knots on your person.

He doesn't answer, but the smirk on his face as he raises your hand high makes you tilt your head up against the wall and watch as he loops the bow he made in the material around a high coat hook there.

Oh.

He does the same with your other arm. Now you are hooked to the wall.

“Green,” you breathe, and his grin is boyish and so breathtakingly handsome.

That is the word he asks you to say when he checks your comfort level with something new. You don’t even wait for him to ask, desperate for him to continue, to start fucking you again. Instead, he curls his spine outwards and sinks down to teeth your nipples. You scream and clench hard on his cock. Which just makes him clamp down harder in surprise - a carnal loop of call and response that makes you burn so hot.

“Fuck me,” you whine, rapping the knuckles of your bound hands against the wall to emphasise your point.

He chuckles richly at your apparent impatience and finally speaks for the first time since he first entered you. 

“The more you make demands, darling wife, the less inclined I am to listen. I’ll just go slower and slower and slower and keep you simmering and trembling for me. Cry pretty tears for me in sheer frustration.”

“Please don't,” you appeal, writhing between him and the wall. He is still fully clothed, just his trousers around his knees, although much of his clothing is dishevelled now by your pawings—something so commanding about him being so fully dressed as you are naked and restrained.

“Then stop making demands,” he murmurs silkily, “or I’ll gag you too.”

Your eyes flash with excitement at the idea, and he chuckles again.

“Maybe not; you would enjoy that far too much, wouldn’t you? Dear god, I am the luckiest man alive,” he breathes and cups your jaw, moving to give you a surprisingly tender kiss.

“Please, Benedict,” you beseech softly over his lips.

“Okay, my darling,” he soothes, flicking a gentle thumb over your nipple and making you whine more.

He begins to move again, building a steady cadence that burns you white-hot. You moan for more, and he obliges, snapping harder into you, precisely what you need. Nudging the hilt of your channel, making you slump into him, putty in his punishing grip on your hipbones, slamming into your body now. You wish you could touch your clit as it pulses hard, pulled taunt by every plunge of his cock. Just needing the tiniest ounce of friction to tip over the edge you are skating.

“Does your little nub want my fingers?” he intuits duskily, and you nod vigorously and bite your lower lip, even as he keeps up those rousing thrusts.

You shout his name and a few expletives as his thumb worms its way between your bodies and unerringly finds where you need him most, pressing forcefully against the swell of your clit, hooking under your clitoral hood, right to the point of most sensation. He flicks his thumb up and down rapidly, and you are hurtled over the precipice, screaming and convulsing, your pussy squeezing so hard he has to push back against your rippling to stay inside you. A sweeping tide of sensation washing out from your core through your whole body, lungs almost burning with heaving breaths, blood pounding all over, your muscles tensing and releasing as you writhe hard, your arms aching from the slight stretch of being almost suspended by them.

Then you hear him roar and stutter in his movements, mouth hot and slack on your cheekbone as he curls inward and pumps his seed deep inside you, groaning and bodily twitching with the sheer force of it. 

After a few moments of panted breaths and little aftershocks wracking his frame, you are still somewhat floating as he unhooks your wrists and brings them back to your sides, rubbing your shoulders gently and kissing your temple sweetly as you recover.

“My love,” he breathes, back to the loving, attentive husband he always is, “are you quite well?”

“Yes, husband,” you reassure, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into the frills of his shirt that poke out of his waistcoat. “I'm going to drape myself in nothing but your cravats if this is the treat I receive,” you opine drolly as he places your foot back on the floor, slipping out from your body with a muted moan followed by a huff of amusement at your words.

“I look forward to it,” he smiles, kissing you gently on the lips and cheeks, holding your face with loving reverence.

A few weeks later, when you lean over during a dull musical recital and inform him that you are wearing one of his cravats, his brow knits in puzzlement. Until you discreetly guide his hand up under your dress to feel the silk length wrapped around the very top of your thigh, like a thickly looped garter. You don't even reach the stone steps in the quiet stairwell this time. He takes you right against the door outside your box seats where any usher or patron could walk by and see; his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your screams. Apparently, he has lost too many cravats to your gnashing teeth to gag you with the favourite one he wears that night. Pity.

I can't even bring myself to tag this... EDIT: OK I was convinced by some lovely peeps to tag it lol @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory

[symbiotic-slime]

the lore is cooking for this au im afraid, its probably gonna turn into a multi chapter fic

would you guys be interested in venom/the magnus archives crossover fan art