#my second foray into AUs

[aemondsbabe]

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?” 

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.” 

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

 Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home. 

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well. 

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it. 

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement. 

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was. 

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk. 

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it. 

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face. 

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you. 

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings. 

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly. 

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does. 

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin. 

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks. 

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor. 

“A… A great victory, master!” 

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare. 

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?” 

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you. 

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall. 

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded. 

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –” 

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately. 

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always! 

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything. 

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts. 

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.” 

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow. 

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours. 

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad. 

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer. 

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet. 

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone. 

A kindness, even now. 

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly. 

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.” 

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head. 

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers. 

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center. 

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot. 

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter. 

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace. 

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow. 

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.” 

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.” 

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them. 

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way. 

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill. 

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again. 

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?” 

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip. 

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his. 

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same. 

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you. 

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers. 

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself. 

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. 

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. 

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm. 

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold. 

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine. 

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking. 

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives. 

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason. 

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his. 

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm. 

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend. 

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine. 

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her. 

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion. 

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore. 

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now. 

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again. 

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you. 

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say. 

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly. 

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close. 

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew. 

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips. 

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.” 

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you. 

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else. 

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet. 

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#my writing #ramsay bolton #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay bolton fanfiction #ramsay bolton fanfic #ramsay bolton fic #ramsay bolton smut #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fic #game of thrones smut #got #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got fic #got smut #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #smut #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

[eoieopda]

Jadie, are you taking Stray Kids Requests now?! Omg. OMG. Can we please have reader and Chan being super soft after a fight? I feel like he’s kind of intimidating (not on purpose) when he’s annoyed but then so sweet to make up for it 😍

aaaah my first foray into skz writing 🤪 sorry to this man for being introduced mid-fight lmao.

established relationship au, precursory angst and a marshmallow ending

Fuck.

Bang Chan knew it the second he raised his voice that he shouldn’t have. He never did — ever — and the reason for that was buried in the bewildered look in your eyes. Even more jarring than his sudden outburst was the speed at which your surprise began to drown in half-formed tears.

Your rapid blinking had barely kept the tide at bay.

Chan’s friends had told him before that he often looked angrier than he felt. Knowing this, he did his best to manage the optics; to keep you from interpreting his frustration as something more intense. He’d been successful at it for years — until he wasn’t.

There may have, at one point, been a reason for his becoming upset — but he’d already forgotten what that was. Whatever it might have been, it sure as shit wasn’t worth the way you’d looked at him.

Just as soon as he started, he’d cut himself off mid-sentence and reached out for you like he always did. This time, you didn’t reach back. Instead, you’d recoiled like his arm was a snake primed to bite. When you promptly turned and walked away, you’d left him standing alone with his outstretched hand still in the air.

Fuck.

Chan had spent the subsequent twenty minutes pacing with the excess of his sweatshirt sleeves balled up in his fists.

His gut instinct had been to follow you out of his office, to not let you walk away angry — he fought it. You were more than entitled to space after being spoken to in that tone. So, that’s what he gave you — until he couldn’t stop himself from trying to make it right.

When Chan entered the bedroom, you were sitting cross-legged on your side of the bed with your back to the door. You didn’t acknowledge his presence when he crossed over to you, or when he slipped into the space behind you on the mattress. Radio silence, save for your barely-audible sniffling.

Shit.

“Baby,” Chan called out to you softly.

No response.

Shit.

He scooted closer, slowly, as if he’d spook you otherwise. You didn’t move away — a good sign — so he reached out and let his thumb graze gently over the exposed skin of your forearm. There was the tiniest shift in your posture; a microscopic slump of your shoulders. An ounce of tension dissipated.

Progress.

Chan repeated himself, “Baby?”

Then he punctuated his plea by placing a soft, experimental kiss on your shoulder. You sniffled, relaxed the tiniest bit more.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to shout at you, but I did and you didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a quiet, shaky exhale as if you were about to speak, but you said nothing. You did, however, accept his arms as they wrapped around you. Even better, you leaned back into his chest as he guided you into the space between his legs.

Chan kissed the top of your head and hoped you felt how much he loved you. In the event that you didn’t, he said as much, holding you even tighter: “You are my favorite part of every day. I’m sorry that I’ve done such a shit job of expressing that. I love you, completely.”

You remained quiet for a few moments. In that time, your closeness was enough for him; you didn’t owe him one goddamn thing. But you breathed in deep enough for him to feel it too, and then you said it:

“I love you completely, too… dingus.”

Stunned silence immediately gave way to breathless laughter. And when his mirth got too heavy to shoulder, you joined him in crashing sideways and smiling into the pillows.

A dingus and the best girl.

#jade’s requests #jade’s drabbles #anon #bc #bang chan #skz #stray kids #stray kids bang chan #bang chan drabble #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #bang chan boyfriend #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #christopher bang #chan bang #1k

[swifty-fox]

Sci-Fi Horror AU

idk kinda word vomited this tonight after trying a new strain. I will be continuing it into a full story but not sure when

Entry Log 2043

-DateStamp: 14th July 5399

-Location: DeepSpace Sector G8677-65HG-76789_I

-Personnel File: Maj. J.C. Egan (Zoot Suit) 

Recording_

“This is Major John Egan, callsign ZootSuit, aboard the vessel M’lle ZigZag. Today is the dawn of my final day of exploration, putting an end to a sixteen-month foray into DeepSpace. Initial findings reveal little of note. A few developing stars and planets; an asteroid belt; and a total of six planets, two of which I will be recommending for a second more thorough exploration of due to planets possibly location being within the ‘Goldilocks Zone.’ I look forward to whiskey, solid food and to breathe air that isn’t recycled from a fucking can. I can’t wait to fuck my husband-”

John pauses.

“Ah, computer erase the last seven words. Reasoning: Irrelevant to mission. I will be entering Hyperspace within the hour, once I hit proper trajectory to slingshot around the primary sun.”

He taps the record button to end the log, carefully labeling the file and placing it in a folder with the few thousand other logs he’d recorded over the last year and a half. A verified library of data, observations and the occasional love-letter. A year and a half of research; one of the longest expeditions ever undertaken by any pilot. Considered bold by some and risky by far more. Deep space played with people's minds, the long stretches of isolation broken up only by Hypersleep creating the perfect recipe for a light case of mental instability.John had trained for this, ran through thousands of psychological tests and millions of scenarios. There was not a person in the universe more capable of this task. 

John rubs his jaw, feeling the scratchy beard and spins out of his pilot's chair, leaving the computer to guide the craft. 

Moving about the cramped space of the craft, built to maximize storage space; and to minimize comfort in his opinion, he begins securing anything not already safely battened down. He shaves in the cubicle sized bathroom, splashes water across his face and ignores the swirling flickers of color and light around the edges of his sight. Jaw smooth save for the now carefully trimmed mustache - just how Gale liked- he makes his way to the tail of the spacecraft to run an inventory check on his samples. Moon rocks and space dust and asteroid dirt. Anything the computer pinged or John spotted in his long hours gazing out into the empty void of space. 

He checks a few straps, making sure they’re tension tight before hitting the override on the artificial gravity. He holds the intentionally placed handle as he slowly lifts from the metal walkway. Giving himself several seconds to adjust he uses the similarly placed handles along the wall to pull himself back over to the pilot's chair. A second check on the navigation systems; the mathematical calculations for his trip around the sun and through hyperspace. Much of the process was left up to the computer these days, but John hadn’t survived twenty one missions - one of the highest in the force save for a handful - by not being thorough. 

Finding nothing out of the ordinary he switches all the lights off until his world is lit only by the approaching Red Giant, bathing everything a warm red. System lights blink soothingly as he takes a moment to take in the vast wonder in front of him. Years now it had been, and it still never failed to leave him breathless.

“Computer, begin countdown to Hyperspace entry, one minute. Beginning LCHS procedure, eta one minute.”

John pulls himself to the economically sized bunk, slotting into the space that barely left room for him to stretch and roll over, strapping himself down. 

“32…31…Thirty Second To HyperJump’’  the computer announces.

Bucky presses two fingers to his lips and then to the photograph taped above his bed. Folded so many times the crease lines were white and soft to the touch, Gale’s face gazed back at him. Caught unawares he was smiling soft and curving, glancing somewhere behind the camera. Laughing at something John had said, trying to pretend that he wasn’t. His cheek was rested in one elegant hand, gold ring glinting in the sunlight; a carbon match to the one on John’s own finger. 

“Be seeing you soon Buck.” John adjusts himself against the organic synthetic fibers of the mattress below him.

Fifteen seconds the computer chirps warningly. John always thought she got a little testy in those last few moments, as if scolding an unruly child. 

John reaches for the pouch beside his temple, withdrawing the last pill from the sheathe. Soft baby blue and the size of a quarter, he’d been issued exactly sixty-five of them upon the start of his expedition. Enough to get him all the way to the furthest reaches of the known galaxy in the shortest amount of time. Seven more consecutive jumps than had been previously attempted. Anything more than thirty and Federal Law was a minimum six months rest and recuperation before attempting further jumps. Risks for brain bleeds, heart attacks and Z-Sum sleep went up with every extra jump. John had stopped only once, stretching to forty five jumps before stopping at the nearest C-Class Planet Simulator outpost to rest. It had been his last chance to speak to Gale before he exited the reach of all communications. Eight months since he had seen that smile in any medium other than this photo. 

A quiet, tense conversation. Buck hadn’t wanted him to go; knew better than to stop him. 

“You’ll be careful out there John?” Buck was the only one to never call him Bucky. To the public he was Egan, Major if they were being formal. In private it was John, always John. His husband was strange like that. 

“More careful than a cat in a rainstorm.” 

Buck hums and squints his eyes at him. Stress sat in heavy lines at the corners of his lips, between his brows and around his temples. It had been eight months since John had kissed that mouth, tasted Gale’s sweet noises on his tongue. 

“You have enough LCHS’s to get through? None of them are compromised?” 

“Buck.” John sighs, “Come on.” 

Gale runs a hand through his hair, sucks his bottom lip between his teeth “I know you know what you’re doing...” His deep voice rumbled through the comms, staticky and pale in comparison to the in person thing.

“It’s just your job.” John finishes, grinning at Bucks self-amused shrug. “I checked them all twice. No leakage, no discoloration.” 

“I love you.” 

It never failed to make John’s spine tingle, hearing those words spoken so easily and effortlessly. The Gale he had gone to flight school with was a reserved quiet thing; John was better off trying to space-walk without a suit than pull an ounce of vulnerability from the other man. The years had softened him - John had softened him. 

“I love you too sweetheart. I’ll see you in eight months.”

Ten seconds. 

John startles, the pill slipping from his fingers and drifting in the gloom. He curses and reaches for it, straining against the straps holding him down. His steady beating heart kicks into panic mode. 

For centuries mankind had struggled to break out of the tiny confines of their miniscule corner of the universe. Confined by things like time-space and the limits of the human life span versus the distance needed to travel to discover anything new. They’d languished away certain of it was their destiny to never walk amongst the stars. Until HyperSpace had been discovered. The miniscule pocket between the folded pages of space-time. A way to jump through matter from one corner of the galaxy to another - and further. It blew the doors wide open on space exploration. They could go anywhere, journey past the point of creation they could find it. 

The only thing holding them back was the side effects of HyperSpace. It didn’t seem to pair so well with the cranial contents of human beings. The tendency to turn ones brain to pure soup was a drawback that left researchers, scientists and theorists all stumped. SMall jumps were manageable, with migraines and dizziness a much more risk-acceptable outcome. But in order for them to make any real progress they would need to find a solution,

LCHS. Lysergic Cerebral Hibernation Synthesizer.

The miracle drug and the solution to their dilemma. Developed initially from LSD the drug soothed the more vulnerable edges of one's brain and put the subject in such a deep sleep it took a reversal injection to bring one back to the waking world. It was used recreationally now as well; a way of opening one's mind to the world beyond the physical dimensions. Where light and color and feeling weren’t senses but physical states of being. It kept their pilots down for the jump; kept them asleep to the journey home. 

Without it. Well. Nobody had made a waking Hyperjump in as long as John could remember, at least had done it and lived. 

Five seconds.

John hisses through clenched teeth, straining for that little blue pill, technology his husband had dedicated his life to. Logically they both knew it was unlikely Gale had made the exact LCHS’s that sustained John, but he knew the other man pretended he did either way. The level of care put into each new batch as if it was made for his beloved specially. 

Three seconds.

John risks freeing one of his shoulders from the straps so he can get better reach. “Come on” he hisses. Closes his fingers around the dosage.

Two seconds.

John lays back, shoves his shoulder back into the strap so quickly the velcro scrapes his skin raw. He lifts the pill to his mouth, pressing past his lips.

One second.

_

_

_

Entering Hyperspace. 

Gale. John thinks.

His brain turns to mush.

#swiftywrites #2buck #buck x bucky #clegan. #mota #master of the air

[anangelcalledinquisitor]

SCP AU, inspired by @icedmetaltea 's SCP AU artwork! My first foray into this, and I'm excited for the second part! I'm not done writing it yet, but soon!!!

#my writing #fnaf au #fnaf sb au #moon/sun/reader #monster romance #I'm beyond nervous about posting this #Never written anything like this before so uhhhhhhhhhh yeah

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

19.

Alone, together. Making up for lost time. 

My lipstick smudged on his lips after stolen kisses in bathrooms at parties. His arms snaking around me from behind in my apartment's kitchen at 3 am, his chin resting atop my head. Study dates occurred nightly, often devolving into naps, cuddles, kisses, or more.

There in my room, we laid. Way less weekly frat house forays for me. Kyle practically lived at Lily and I's place.

I feared Lily would hate it, with her personal space being invaded, and all. But she really liked him. Her attitude toward him changed after that night when they teamed up to rescue me. It took a bit for her to tell me what went down when they got me back to our place. 

"It wasn't what you needed to hear at the time," she shrugged when she finally decided to tell me. From what I understand, it happened a bit like this:

Lily's POV

"She come to yet?" Leon asked from the driver's seat, his tone dripping with concern. His dark eyebrows were furrowed, eyes laser-focused and intent on getting us back as quickly as possible. He directed his question to the back seat, where Kyle sat cradling Hannah's head, preventing it from bobbling around as he hit bumps and took turns.

"Nah, man..."  Kyle trailed off, looking down at her unconscious form. She was limp, eyes cracking open just slightly every so often.

Leon's question pissed me off. Unnecessarily so. "Fucking-  of course she's not awake, Leon. She got fucking roofied."

"Sorry, Lil," he muttered, twisting one of his curls around his finger. He chewed his lip and turned the steering wheel hand-over-hand into the parking area behind our apartment. He let go of the curl and it sprung tightly back into place as he threw the car into park.

Wordlessly, Leon and I unbuckled our seatbelts as Kyle opened the left-side back door. Both of us rushed to aid him in getting Hannah out of the car, but after getting out, he immediately bent down and picked her up bridal style as he did at the party. 

"Kyle, we can help," I began, reaching my hand up and brushing a hair out of Hannah's face.

"I got her," he rasped, adjusting his hold and turning in the direction of the building. "Which way's your place?"

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, allowing him to have his hero moment, but only because it was in Hannah's best interest for me not to argue with him. I pointed toward our back door. 

"Sh-should I go?" Leon stuttered behind me. "I think he's got it."

I turned around and buried myself in Leon's arms. I couldn't help but need comfort in the moment. It was selfish, but as soon as his embrace tightened around me, I felt a sense of clarity and a new capacity to help. "Thank you, Leon. I love you," I sniffled into his chest.

"She's going to be okay, Lil. I can come in if you need," he said lowly. 

"No, go back to your boyfriend. I'm sorry we interrupted your time."

"Oh, hush. Anything for you and Han," he whispered, releasing me and holding me by my shoulders at arm's length, looking into my eyes. "I promise."

"Get back safe," I muttered, turning on my heel to rush after Kyle, who was practically at the door. 

I picked up the pace to a light jog, fumbling in my small handbag for my keys. I watched Hannah's head roll toward Kyle's body, resting lazily on his shoulder. His immediate response was to stroke the back of her head, not a thought behind it. I reached the door and unlocked it in a swift motion, hustling in before the two of them.

"Her room is back here," I called out, not even turning the lights on or glancing back in their direction. I swung the door to Hannah's room open and waited by the entrance for Kyle to pass me. He hesitated and took in the room for a split second before taking her over to her bed and placing her down gingerly.

He turned her over on her side and turned away, striding quickly back toward the door. Only then did he hunch over, hands on his knees, and take a deep, shaky breath. My eyes darted between Kyle and Hannah. Hannah and Kyle. Who to acknowledge first? Who to help first? 

I deemed Hannah okay enough for the moment for me to be able to check on Kyle. "She's not that heavy," I quipped, forcing a small, dry laugh out of him. I stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

He straightened up stiffly, still facing the exit, rather than her. He took another shaky breath before responding. "Honestly, all that matters to me right now is if she's okay. I don't even know how I am," he uttered. "I know it'll pass, but it's heavy."

"Yeah...it's intense," I agreed, turning my head to stare at Hannah, who looked as if she were sleeping peacefully. Face still like a young child in a deep slumber.

"Can you, uh, text me when she wakes up? I can give you my number," he sniffled. I looked back in his direction and watched him wipe his eyes. He turned his head to look at me and I nodded. "I love her, Lily. I'm sorry, but I do." His eyes were glassy and pleading. 

"I do, too," was all I could muster.

"I let go of the illusion that things could have gone any different. She may hate me forever. But I love her," he spoke, just barely above a whisper. " I can't imagine a day I won't."

+

I found home in his arms. 

He held me tenderly. I lay cradled in his arms, tracing the veins that twisted their way up them with my finger. My head rested lazily on his chest. His heart thudded quietly beneath my ear.

Kyle slept soundly beneath me. He took a deep breath before shifting slightly, squeezing his arms tightly around me. He then returned to sleeping peacefully. 

It was the middle of the night and I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about him. Us. He looked at me like there was something there worth looking at. He talked about me as if I put the stars in the sky. 

I couldn't believe the boy I thought hated me felt this way about me. That I was lying in his arms planning our future. 

It was beautiful. I couldn't have asked for anything more.

Previous Part

#kyle spencer #kyle spencer imagine #kyle spencer headcanons #kyle spencer x reader #evan peters fic #evan peters x reader #evan peters x female reader #evan peters oneshot #evan peters #ahs #ahs fanfic

[rmd-writes]

fic rec friday fun

thanks for the tags @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus 💖

So wanted to get some hiatus rec lists going and encourage some self promo in my friends so how about sharing your top fics no matter how big or small - give us the links to your wonderful words with the Most hits/Most kudos/Most comments/Most bookmarks /Most words/Least words

most hits: everybody needs good neighbours

(RWRB)

a fwb to lovers, oh my god they were neighbours AU inspired by a tweet about a misdelivered McFlurry

most kudos: titles are the worst, we refuse

(RWRB)

5 times Alex tells someone to fuck off and one time Henry does - a collab with @indomitable-love @clottedcreamfudge @everwitch-magiks @athousandrooms with perhaps the most iconic title ever 😅

(this is actually my second-most kudos’d fic but the one with the most is also the one with the most hits)

most comments: to the victor, the spoils

(RWRB)

Cheating here again because my fic with the most comments also has the most words, but they’re in the same series so I’m bending the rules.

This is my OG firstprince lawyer au where Alex and Henry are lawyers at rival NYC firms who are, perhaps, prone to engaging in some less than professional behaviour.

most bookmarks: yours for the afternoon

(RWRB)

Again, not actually the one with the most but the others are already on here.

A coffee shop, meet cute, fake dating AU - when I wrote this, all I knew was that a) I wanted to slander Hunter, and b) I wanted it to have a really great first kiss.

most words: what, like it’s hard?

(RWRB)

At 65k words, by far and away my longest fic. This is the prequel to my firstprince lawyer au and proof that sometimes, if enough people ask nicely for more of a universe, a writer might be inspired to make it happen.

least words: Husbands

(Schitt’s Creek)

A dialogue-only wedding blow job - this was actually my first foray into writing anything resembling smut!

I’m fascinated by the fact that all of my “most” stats are RWRB fics!

Tagging @welcometololaland @iboatedhere @three-drink-amy @strandnreyes @liminalmemories21 @alrightbuckaroo @ambiguouspenny @maxbegone @stereopticons @cha-melodius @orchidscript @stutteringpeach (and those of you tagged above too!) to share 💖

#fic rec friday #rmd writes #rmd writes: rwrb #rmd writes: sc

[mochalottie]

HAPPY NEARLY SIX MONTH BIRTHDAY TO MY BRAIN CHILD!!

Oel Ngati Kameie my beautiful little series, my first foray into Spider's character. I wrote it after my second viewing of Way of Water (which might also get a live blogging session when it comes out on Disney+) and at the time, I had no motivation or inspiration to write cause Covid hit hard guys.

So my tiny little brain decided one night to think, what if Spider got hurt worse in his fall from the tree at the beginning of the film? Cause there's no way he would've come out of that unscathed. And the next morning I started, and that evening finished the first part, which clocked in at 6k words. I posted it thinking it wouldn't get much interaction because Spider didn't even have a proper character tag at the time, and then suddenly I checked back, and it had brought in almost 1000 hits and about 12 comments in three hours.

Granted, to some people with major stories who get way more than that in one day, it is a small number. But, to me this was huge. I was coming from getting maybe a few hundred hits in a month, and maybe 5 comments on my works because they were so niche (my ideas are weird, okay? I wrote an Alice in Wonderland AU for Zukka I'm that strange).

So to have a series blow up that much, was such a privilage and a confidence boost. And just at the time where Spider and the kids were getting popular. You guys don't know how starved I was for content literally months ago. It makes me feel not quite old by aged thinking about how there were literally ten stories about Spider and one of them was mine XD

So to my (admittedly not small) first foray into the world of writing Avatar, happy six month birthday. And to anyone who has read the whole of this post (which wow dedication) THANK YOU!!! <333

also to those newbies who have found me because of Our hearts Or For the Nights here's a link to check it out. i gave Spider an Avatar and a family it's pretty cool.

tags (can i tag with this sort of post?? XD): @be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie - biggest supporter, @wafflesrisa - bestie I hadn't even realised you commented on part of it i gasped so hard.

#oel ngati kameie #spider socorro #avatar the way of water #sully family #avatar spider #i wrote the whole series in little over a week which is wild to me #like that's 37000 words in ten days #absolutely wild #writers on tumblr #lottie writes fanfic

[alexanderlightweight]

Wednesday idea - Long-haired braided shadowhunters. Braids indicate position, attitude, relationships etc, and letting someone braid your hair is huge sign of trust. Maybe times Alec asks/is asked to braid his people's hair, Alec realising he doesn't want Izzy/Jace to braid his hair as he loses trust in them, or his shadow-hunters teaching Magnus the right braids because they know Alec wants to show his trust in their traditions. If any pick your fancy, I just love long hair as show of trust!

So my kelpie!au has long haired alec and I love that there are various meaning of braids. Half of my foray into lotr/hobbit fandoms are for the hair lore.

Thank you for the prompt and I hope you like it

—Clary fits right in at the Institute and Izzy and Jace take to braiding her hair between them. Eager with their time and hands and intimacy as they soak up her heat like little moths hunting flames.

Alec watches with what feels like is going to become a permanent glower and sets down his foot only when they try to give the girl braids hasn't earned.

His siblings come to find and braid his own hair less and less and Alec refuses to go to them.

Their braids in his hair are something he allows from them, not something he craves.

He’s a shadowhunter commander, the only one who should be putting braids in for him are his second-in command or significant other.

He's allowed them to get away with it because they’re family, but if they don’t wish for it, he won’t seek it out.

Clary tries to touch his hair once and he throws her through a door. Jace tries to yell at him and every single shadowhunter in the room bristles and takes a step towards him.

Jace doesn’t try to scold Alec for it again in public and when he tries in private, Alec reaches out and rests his fingers just above Jace’s own hair.

“Your little girl touches my hair again—“ Alec says seriously, because this is his promise as a bloodied warrior, “and I will send her to Idris bald and broken. And they can summon the silent brothers and a warlock to extract anything useful from her brain, because they won’t be able to bring anything else back.”

And Jace pales and accepts it, because Alec doesn’t joke about things like this.

Alec doesn’t even braid his own siblings' hair, because he can’t afford to falter in battle.

That his hands might shake if he sees a fallen body with braids he himself forged is too great a risk.

So Alec goes on with his business and he tries not to be too stunned when they end up meeting Magnus Bane, whose very presence is magical.

And he tries not to respond to what he knows is flirting because it’s different. What Magnus is offering is too different from what Alec wants, what he needs.

So Alec stiffens his shoulders and tries to scowl when he wants to smile because Magnus is lovely.

And then, three days after Alec’s latest attempt at ignoring him, Magnus shows up with long hair flowing freely and Alec walks into a wall.

Magnus doesn’t come to him, spending instead a suspiciously long time talking with Mirai and glancing suggestively and heatedly at Alec.

It’s distracting and Alec is relieved his siblings and Clary are elsewhere for once

And then Magnus is coming towards him and his hair is no longer loose. It’s being braided intricately with magic.

And they’re specific braids. Braids that Alec never thought he’d see. .

“I couldn’t help myself.” Magnus says, like Alec doesn’t know he only just found out about this tradition.

And it’s shocking… but this is what Alec has always craved.

Someone equal.

Of a standing similar or above Alec’s own, someone who can bear the burden of loving Alec and not break.

Because everyone breaks in their love for him.

Love for him, even familial love runs out eventually.

But Magnus is a warlock who showed up with shadowhunter length hair when he most certainly had short hair before.

And his braids are new.

They’re new and they’re not an invitation.

They’re a declaration.

Magnus is intending to fight for Alec’s attention and possibly his entire being and he’s not taking no for an answer.

Alec swallows because the braids Magnus is suddenly sporting — and the knife he holds out with a flourish of magic for Alec to accept — makes Alec’s knees weak with sudden want.

“I accept.” He says and he takes the knife, Magnus already holding the matching one.

And he knows that either way, even if he somehow wins, he is going to accept.

He and Magnus are going to leave this fight with a lock of each other's hair braided into their own.

Because Magnus wants him, and a fight like this, it means that maybe, whatever interest Magnus has formed in Alec will last, until Alec can plug every hole that might drain Magnus’ attention.

And Alec doesn’t swallow down the soft, adoring smile he sends Magnus’ way as the floor clears and Alec settles into a crouch.

It seems Alec was wrong, Magnus is exactly what he needs.

And everything he wants.

#shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #immortal husbands #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #prompt fic #prompt fill #lumine writes #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets #shadowhunters au

[ferni-mothofprophecy]

Finished the first chapter of the AU I’ve been working on! :D

Ao3 Link

Character Designs

DISTORTED THREADS

Chapter 1

A rush of colours surrounded him. He couldn't move; couldn't breathe; couldn't anything.

And then it all lifted at once and Martin Blackwood was sitting at his old desk in the archives, as if nothing in the past few years had ever happened.

His first thought was that he was dreaming, or dead. However, his thoughts were dispelled when he caught sight of the calendar across the room. 2015. He blinked. The date remained the same. 

Steps sounded and a man with deliberately messy brown hair and a pink Hawaiian shirt strutted into the room.

"Hello Martin," he said, his voice friendly, "excited for our first foray into the job of archiving?"

"Tim?" Martin squeaked. Tim couldn't be alive, unless he was actually back in 2015. His brain felt foggy and he tried to remember where he had been before this. 

The panopticon. Jonas Magnus. Jon! Oh...Jon. Martin buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle sobs.

"Hey, are you alright?" Martin felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Martin lied, "Just had a rough few days."

Tim gave him a sympathetic look.

"I like what you've done with your hair, by the way. It suits you."

"Thank you," Martin said, as Tim wandered off and took his place at his own desk.

 He wracked his brains to try to think what Tim might be talking about. He didn't recollect anything, but it was perfectly possible that he'd got a haircut before his first day working his new job (which he was now realising this was).

There was a mirror in the bathroom across the hall, Martin remembered, so he got up from his desk and made his way over to that. 

His face stared back at him from the mirror, younger and less lined than he had seen it in ages. A dusting of freckles scattered across pale skin, ginger hair streaked with white flopping across his forehead-

Wait. White hair? That had only happened after the Lonely. Why was this happening now? Was it because Jon wasn't here? Did the Lonely now want to claim him again? Martin's throat was clogged with tears. 

Jon wasn't here. Jon wouldn't be here either. There was no way whatever had brought him here would be kind enough to bring Jon as well. There would be a version of Jon here but it wouldn't be his Jon. He could stop Sasha and Tim from meeting the same fate as they had before though, that was some consolation. There must be a reason he had been forced back into here and saving the people he had once considered his best friends seemed like a good enough reason to him. 

When he his face no longer showed the fact that he'd been crying, Martin returned to the archives. A woman he had never seen before was sitting at a desk, chatting to Tim. He knew she must be Sasha, although it broke his heart that not a spark of recognition passed through him at the sight of her. He stared at her, trying to memorise every detail that had been wiped from his memory. Not!Sasha's hair had been short, hanging down as far as her shoulders in lifeless strands. The woman in front of him, the real Sasha, had dark curls that tumbled to her lower back. A pair of round glasses with green tinted frames were perched on her face and two emerald eyes stared out from beneath them. She was wearing a yellow jumper and a necklace of chunky gemstones hung from her neck.

She looked up.

"Martin!" She said. She stared at him for a second.

"It's great to see you."

"Well I'd hardly be skiving off work on my first day," Martin cracked a smile. It felt a bit forced.

The three of them sat down at their desks. A light chatter filled the room but Martin's mind was too full of thoughts to contribute much. He would have to stock up on fire extinguishers. Oh and make sure Sasha never went to artefact storage. At all if he could help it.

His thoughts were cut off when a new face entered the room. Oh so familiar but oh so different than when he had last seen it. Gone were the scars that had pitted the face of the man he loved. His eyes were no longer that burning viridian but instead a deep black. His long hair was still streaked with grey, but there was less than before and it was tied back in a messy bun atop his head. Martin didn't remember Jon's hair being this long when he started working in the archives but he could have easily cut it a few weeks into his new job. It had been years and Martin's memory was hazy on the details.

Jon made his way to his office without saying a word and shut the door behind him. Martin sighed. He had forgotten how long it took for Jon to warm up to him. Jon’s door creaked open and he poked his head out.

“Um. There’s a spider in here,” he said, voice shaking a little. Martin grinned, this was still Jon.

“I’ll come and remove it,” he said.

Jon’s office was similar to how he remembered it, with the main difference being the messy piles of paperwork now littering the desk and floor. A large spider was squatting in the middle of Jon’s desk.

Martin scooped it up and turned to Jon.

“There you go,” he said, “feel free to call me any time you need a spider removed. I like the little guys.”

Martin could have sworn he had seen a trace of a blush darken Jon’s cheeks but he was probably just imagining it.

“Yes,” Jon said, a little awkwardly, “I will do that.”

Martin carried the spider outside and gently set it down. He muttered a few words about the Web and then made his way back indoors, to begin his first day as an archival assistant.

****

Martin’s first order of business after he got off work was a shopping expedition. The lady at the checkout had given him an odd look when he had purchased all the fire extinguishers the store had to offer but at least he hadn’t bumped into anyone from work whilst doing so. That would have been hard to explain.

He stashed most of the fire extinguishers in a cupboard near his front door for easy access but spread a few throughout the flat just in case.

Ideally, he would kill Jane Prentiss when Jon sent him to follow up on Timothy Hodge’s statement, but he knew things didn’t always go to plan. He would not be trapped in his flat again though. That he was sure of.

He missed Jon that night. He had grown used to the feel of Jon’s body pressed against him while he slept and the bed felt cold and empty without him. Tendrils of fog crept into the room and he shivered, then startled. No. The Lonely couldn’t claim him now. Sasha was here, and Tim. A version of Jon as well. He wasn’t alone and he wouldn’t abandon them. The fog retreated and Martin huddled in his blankets. This flat didn’t even feel like his anymore and the memories of Prentiss seemed to swirl around him, making it impossible to rest. After a while he gave up, dressed and exited the flat, hoping a walk outside would clear his mind.

He felt his feet take him to a park he had frequently been to before. A few trees lined a path down to where a shallow lake lay, twinkling in the moonlight.

A dark shape standing by the water’s edge caught his attention and he stopped cold. Waves of ominous energy seemed to radiate off of them. He couldn’t make out any details apart from the fact that they seemed to be humanoid in shape.

He waited a safe distance away and called out, “Hello?”

Maybe not the best idea to alert whoever it was to his presence but, in his defence, he was curious.

The figure turned round and Jon’s face came into view. All the ominous energy seemed to melt away and Martin started laughing.

“Martin?” Jon asked.

“I thought you were some kind of monster,” Martin wheezed.

“You’ve been reading too many statements,” Jon said, a smile turning up the corner of his lips.

“Perhaps,” Martin said, “What are you doing out here so late?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Jon observed dryly, “Sleep was evading me so I felt it necessary to take a walk to clear my head.”

“Pretty much the same reason I’m out here,” Martin sighed, flopping down onto a bench, “The new job is more stressful than I thought I guess.”

“You’re more than qualified enough to do a good job,” Jon said.

“I faked my CV,” Martin blurted without thinking. He blamed it on the late hour.

Jon blinked.

“Oh. I was referring to your ten years working in the library actually,” he said, “I haven’t seen anything significant of your archiving work so far but I am sure it will be excellent.”

2015 Jon complementing him? This was weird. Martin bit his lip.

“How are you finding the new job?”

“Not exactly what I’m used to,” Jon admitted, “but honestly I imagine anything would be better than the state the last archivist seems to have left the place in.”

“True,” Martin laughed.

Jon took a seat on the bench beside him and they sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes. Martin was glad of the company. Although this was not his Jon, he felt comforted by his presence.

“Your hair looks different,” Jon broke the silence

“In a good way.”

“You’ve only seen it once before,” Martin pointed out, “When the dog got into the archives on the day we went to check over them.”

Jon winced.

“Ah. Yes. I am sorry about how rude I was to you then. I was under the stress of the new position.”

“It’s fine,” Martin smiled, though a bitter note clung to it. How different would things have been if he had met up with Jon like this before. Would Jon have warmed up to him sooner? The answer was evidentially yes if the conversation he was having right now could be taken into account.

“I should get going,” Jon said, rising from the bench, “I should get at least some sleep to prepare me for tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Martin agreed, although he dreaded going back to his flat. He wondered if Jon would let him use the cot in the archives. He could just ask actually.

“Do you think I could use the cot in the archives?” He turned to Jon, “Just for a while. I’ve had a bad experience in my flat recently and I don’t think I’d be able to sleep there well.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, though you could always stay at mine?” Jon said, then his face flushed.

“Not like that.”

“Thank you for offering but you hardly know me,” Martin said, “the cot in the archives will be sufficient.”

“I suppose I don’t,” Jon sighed, then before Martin could ask him what he meant by that, he turned and left. Martin watched him until he passed out of sight then headed to his flat to retrieve some of his possessions (and a few of his collection of fire extinguishers), before turning in the direction of the archives, and, he hoped, a good night’s sleep.

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

#tma #ferni.scribbles #distorted threads au

[brigittttoo]

If you are still taking prompts for the ask game: What about 🌿 💞 💌? Whichever you'd like, no pressure at alll -- 🤍@smoosey

Hi @smoosey ! Definitely still answering prompts this fine morn <3 (q's from this ask game)

🌿How does creating make you feel?

Creating makes me feel like I'm putting puzzle pieces together and it's very satisfying! Figuring out what pieces fit together, how to construct something in a compelling way -- and this is applicable I think to my sewing projects as well as writing ones. I can daydream about the mechanics of a clothing pattern or a story plot very happily.

💞What's the most important part of a story for you?

Especially if it's an AU, the worldbuilding is pretty important to me. For example, I was never that into DC Comics media because for some reason Gotham/Metropolis/whatever never felt fleshed out enough? They just sort of existed as isolates in some sort of general USA ether that I just couldn't get past to ever become invested in the stories or characters (I know this is very weird of me). So when I write a story, making sure I have a sufficiently solid grasp of the surrounding contextual world feels very important to me.

As well, characters and the way they interact with and know about this world is probably the next biggest part. Having a firm grasp of what a character does and doesn't know contributes to writing what a character would or wouldn't say or do -- keeping in mind the fact that the reader may or may not know things already about the world or the story too! These moving parts can make or break a story for me tbh. I'm reading a book right now that commits the crime of having a character experience an event in front of the reader and then two seconds later tell another character details of the event that just happened. I know character 2 needs to be told, but I just read everything that happened! I don't need to be told again! It becomes tiring.

💌 Share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

I have one WIP right now that has been put on the back burner while [major but positive real life changes] happen. I am still very excited about it though, and think about it a lot; it's a combination of tomb raider style adventures and star wars universe aid missions, with a post-war codywan pairing. Without being too spoiler-y, I'm trying to experiment with different relationship stages as well as different framing circumstances, and it's another slight foray into horror story elements. I think I've found a good little snippet for you:

Cody doesn’t know why, but he thinks about the couple days after the battle on Moon L13-B2, when Obi-Wan just held him. His shoulders had fit just under Obi-Wan’s arms, chests half-overlapping on the bunk, Obi-Wan’s hand on the back of his neck. His robes had been so warm. He thinks about that moment while he run-stomps through the brambles, his own breath sounding loud inside the respirator, eyes trained on that gap in the fence where the bridge is. He can’t see Feliks very well, and he keeps having to look down at his feet so he doesn’t trip, and all he can think of is being held, that quiet rise and fall of breathing.

#thanks so much smoosey!! these were really interesting to think about! #ask games #my fic #the other grows rampant

[mirjam-writes]

What about you? What writing are you happy about this year?? Is there anything you want to brag about?

Happy Yule, solstice, Christmas, Festivus, (belated) Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Doctor Who Day! And anything else you might celebrate, or happy Monday if you don’t!

Thank you so so much for asking 🧡🧡

This was quite a writing year for me. I wrote only four stories, but I'm quite proud of all of them. To Love Somebody was my first foray in rare pairs. An angsty backstory for Shadwell, and what made him the way he is. It has an hopeful ending, and I'm quite proud of the structure, and how much I managed to squeeze into the small word count. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun is a short and wholesome outsider pov story I wrote for an event. I was surprised how much people liked it! It was also my first attempt on present tense, which continued in A Stable Relationship, one of my FTH stories for this year (the second one will probably be a bit late, and be completed in January). I had fun writing it, and it turned out to be a good one, and the only one of these oneshots that was Explicit. It was set in horse riding world.

The reason why I wrote only three oneshots, and why my second FTH piece is late, was of course my favourite story of all time: Be Still My Soul trilogy. A human AU story set in the sad moments of Finnish history.

Despite the class differences, landowner Azirafel Fjäll and sawmill worker Anton Crowley have been friends since childhood. The Great War rages over Europe and the Empire of Russia is in the firm grip of a revolution. The echoes of these fateful events carry over to the Grand Duchy of Finland, vaguely sauntering towards independence. Azirafel and Crowley find themselves on the opposite sides of a conflict that will eventually lead to a bitter civil war, tearing the country apart.

Is there a possibility for them to find their own side, or will this be the end of their budding love story?

I started writing the third part in January, and finished it just before S2 aired in July. It finished posting in October, and it's now complete and done, though I'm still commissioning art for it. This story took over my life for over two years, and it's my baby. I've had such a hard time to let go of it! It also has its own blog @be-still-my-soul-fanfic where I posted dozens of posts about historical and cultural facts. The story is written in a way you don't need to know anything of the Finnish history beforehand (my American betas made sure of that). It's a lovestory, not a history lesson, BUT if you want to learn more, there's a lot of extra info available 😅

I think it's the best story I've ever written (and probably ever will). Many readers have agreed, but it's angsty with very heavy themes until the happy ending, so it's not for everyone and I think posting it just when S2 aired cut some of the potential readers. The third part of the trilogy is now five kudos shy of 100 kudos, and I'm hoping it could get past that milestone before new years. 😂 So yeah, my own personal favourite gets the least interaction of them all. Oh well.

I'm gonna sound a bit self-absorbed, but I'm proud I finished it and it turned out even better than I hoped. My dream would be to print a physical copy or to record a podfic of that, but both might be a bit too much work.

For the next year I have two zine fics to finish, and I have applied to a third one. I have one event fic in the works as well, but the FTH story will be the one I'll concentrate until it's done. It's an oneshot human AU which somehow grew limbs and now it's 7.6k words and nowhere near done 😱 That's my holiday project.

Thank you for asking!! I was so delighted to get a chance to ramble myself 🧡 There's never enough chances for writers to gush about their own work because it always feels a bit self centered. That's why I like to wander around Tumblr and give people the perfect excuse to do that! Peek at the #writer's favourites tag if you want to see other fanfic writers sharing their favourites! And feel free to use the tag yourself if I forgot to ask someone (I was very much not organised when going through the blogs and I'm not good at matching blog names with writer names 😅)

I hope you'll have a magnificent new year 🧡

#writer's favourites #my writing #good omens #ask #good omens fanfiction

[clawbehavior]

Hi and happy new year 🌺🌺🌺

For the wip game:

I'm really intrigued to know more about these : 3,8 and 13 (sorry for being greedy 😅)

Please

happy new year anon!

not only do i love that you asked about more than one WIP (i am greedy with you), i loooove these choices because i just updated the work that is #3, so i'm knee deep in it emotionally. it's 'everything everywhere all at once', my money lender au! i have 5-10 drafts going at any time for this story because writing a new chapter helps me simplify the plot. then i have to write that down and cross reference against the clues i already published.

eeaao is very dear to my heart because it was my second foray into fanfic writing after more than a decade and my first multi chapter work. i get a unique thrill from reader engagement with it. finishing it is going to be a life accomplishment for me because of the amount of time i've spent on it (a year) and the very real plans i made in september to discontinue it. we're all good now though, with things finally falling into place for the remaining 1.5 chaps.

i'm posting a snippet from y's take on things which is his version of eeao, made unique by the context he brings to their interactions. i love this scene so much that i actually use it as a treat, telling myself i can publish it only if i finish the main work lmao. so i'm THRILLED you asked about it anon, thank you 🥰🥰

i will reply to the other WIPs in your asks shortly but for now, enjoy the snippet under the break.

after the breakup, yohan has wet dreams like never before. he dreams of gaon. of laying him on the bed with reverant hands and tying him to it so he can't leave. of ravishing him while gaon moans and cries and begs for more. of releasing gaon at the end, only for him to climb into yohan's lap greedy for kisses and with whispered promises that he'll never leave, that he'll stay by yohan's side no matter what. because he loves yohan.

the dreams are incomprehensible without a structured timeline or form. he cooks for gaon and feeds him with his hands in some. he binds gaon's wrists together under the younger man's besotted gaze in another. they drive down an endless road at night, gaon curled into the passenger seat, his forever companion. 

only once does yohan dream something so terrible that he does something unbelievably cruel in real life to offset the feeling and leads a man to believe his family is burning alive in their home to prove a point. and the thing he dreams of is raising a family with gaon. 

he wakes up thrashing, in sweat stippled sheets twisted around his waist and legs. stumbles out of bed and into clothes and away from a home saturated with gaon's presence. for two whole weeks after that, he avoids his house. isaac picks up on this strange energy within the first week, becomes downright meddlesome by the third. yohan rebuffs his well-intentioned efforts and throws himself into his work, into the hunt, the remaining stronghold of his life because it's where gaon cannot be found. 

or so he thinks. he's just wrapped up a successful negotiation that gives him significant editorial oversight over a prominent but heavily indebted news company, and is leaving the VIP section of the club when he sees him. gaon's on the lower floor, sound and strobing lights separating him from yohan. he's sitting on a bar stool, talking to another man. being propositioned, it's obvious. the man has his hands jammed in his pockets but has leaned close, eagerly making a point and staring at gaon with a desire yohan knows well. 

how could he not? gaon looks lovely, even though he's tied up in a suit while everyone around him is in clubbing clothes. he's swirling his drink one handedly and listening with his head cocked to the side, inviting but not reciprocating. 

from his vantage point on the upper floor, yohan catalogues all this in the brief look he allows himself. then he walks straight out of the bar and to his waiting car. he'd let gaon so could live his life. without yohan. ergo, with someone else. 

yohan's many things, but what he's not is unselfaware. so he doesn't bother berating himself in the time it takes to switch his attire for a different kind of hunting outfit, black sweats and a hoodie. 

gaon's place looks the same, yohan notes from where he's hidden by the shadows across the street. it's also dark. 

which doesn't mean anything, he tells himself with a faint tinge of desperation. gaon could've gone bar hopping. but yohan remembers the closed line of his body even as let the man come too close, how gaon's wrists were concealed by two layers when he bared his skin willingly for yohan. 

maybe yohan wasn't as self aware as he told himself.

this line of thought is immediately blown apart when gaon rounds the bend with his friend, cheeks flushed by alcohol and the cold. yohan crushes his cigarette under his sneaker and stares hungrily. gaon catches yoon soohyun when she stumbles -- a show, yohan thinks meanly, given how sturdy her boots are -- and pulls her into an affectionate one-armed hug, tugging her up the stairs and into his apartment. 

soohyun is my oldest and closest friend, yohan recalls as he watches the house. the bedroom light turns on. we're not romantically involved, nor have we ever been. 

platonic, yohan reminds himself. but a platonic friend could fill a sexual need just fine, albeit insufficiently. this is good, he decides. it means gaon's moving on. somewhat. and not with the stranger from the bar.

he's not fooling himself that the thought of gaon pushed up against his kitchen counter by someone else, for someone else to undo his tie inbetween laughing kisses and mess up his carefully styled hair, tug his shirt out of his trousers filled yohan with sick violence. it was the sex, but it was more than that. it was knowing how unselfconscious and uninhibited gaon was during sex. the experience opened him up in such a way that a part of him sunk into his surroundings, including the body of his lover. yohan felt it every time he left gaon, that gaon had deposited a piece of himself in yohan's hands, permanently changing them both in the process.

the lights in the bedroom go out. 

yohan swallows. 

a moment later, the living room lights turn on, a lithe frame passing near the windows before everything goes dark again. it means he hasn't moved on yet, yohan thinks, drawing his armor around himself again. but the hurt comes from deep within, a feeling breaking him apart like a tree root piercing concrete. 

yohan should've pushed him away earlier. before he got attached. he slinks into the alley and heads home, feeling worse than better.

and then one day, just as chaotically as gaon walked out of yohan's life, he walks back in.

#the devil judge #my fic ideas #am writing #anon asks #ask games

[girlwithakiwi]

Fic Authors Self Rec

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💕💗

Tagged by @whimsicalmeerkat

•

I've got some beloved oldies on my FFN account but I'm going to stick with completed/permanently hiatused works on AO3 for this one.

In reverse chronological order:

1.) The Terrible Things - Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes AU. I don't think this was the start of the Mirror Darkly AU, where Moriarty and Moran pretend to switch places in their professional roles so Moriarty can commit crimes to her heart's extent. This is the first and only second-person fic I've written and it is probably my first fic published on AO3 in my current...voice? Style?

2.) Arcana - The Dresden Files. Ah, right. The last "big" fic before the Great Five-Year Hiatus, a fic currently stuck in permanent hiatus. Even though I've fallen out of love with both the author and the fandom, Elaine Mallory is still one of my favorite characters and I had such a fun time writing the backstory for her and Harry.

3.) the gather, the bend, the bringing forth - Game of Thrones, S8 alternate ending. Hmm, this monstrosity. My first foray into writing for the ASOIAF universe, clocking in at just shy of 500k. And even though I was a bookverse fan only with only casual interest in the show and definitely nowhere near a Jonerys shipper, here I am four years later, completely and utterly eyeballs deep into this fandom and this ship

4.) the silhouette of a single memory - Game of Thrones, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen reincarnation AU. Honestly, this is the one fic of mine I reread the most. I love both the reincarnation trope and the star-crossed lovers trope and this is equal amounts angsty, smutty, and light-hearted for me.

5.) where ruin also exists - A Song of Ice and Fire, post-Dance AU. Listen, I just love giving everyone's favorite 17-year-old leader of a penal colony more trauma. This was also my first bookverse!Jonerys fic and honestly, I'd love to write more of this. I certainly don't have anything planned for October. Not all.

•

Tagging @moon-ruled-main @moondancer71 @jellybeanficwriter @libradoodle1 @evax3 @arielchelby

#chase writes things #memes on tumblr?! #fic tag meme

[hbyrde36]

Self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🖤

oh! so fun, thanks anon!

In no particular order because they are all precious to me:

Steve Harrington: Vampire Hunter

Vampire Eddie Munson, Vampire Hunter Steve Harrington, P.I. Robin Buckley, bad-ass gun toting Nancy Wheeler, VAMPIRE DUSTIN!, Stripper Chrissy Cunningham, and so much more.

My ‘steddie as Anita and Jean-Claude from the Anita Blake novels’ fic. I fucking love this thing. It’s SO FUN. The book series it’s pulled from start out in the 90’s (yes I’m old and I read them when they were originally published🙈) and as much as I love the idea of Vampire Hunter Steve having a beeper, I decided to bring things up to present day (along with quite a few other changes to make it my own, and to fit the steddie vibe). It’s weird and a little challenging writing a fic intermingling two different pieces of media, but I love weaving in and combing elements of each universe's lore, while still maintaining the main beats of the story. If nothing else, read this one for the dream sequences!

2. Caught in the Undertow

Post season 4, Canon Divergent – Eddie lives and Vecna has been defeated.

AKA the sad Eddie fic, or, as i used to call it in my head, 'the passively suicidal Eddie fic'. This was my first foray into the ‘giving my own issues to my blorbos’ thing, although it still seems to be in character for them, I think. Don’t worry, I spread it out between both Eddie and Steve, so they’re both a little fucked up. I loved and hated writing every word of this fic. It was so hard sometimes and I made myself cry more than once, but it was incredibly cathartic. This is the fic I go back to and read parts of more than anything else I’ve written.

3. Times Like These

Time loop, Eddie POV

TLT was my first brain worm, my first ever fanfic, and the first thing I’d written period in a very long time. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was so intrigued by the idea and there weren’t many (any?) Eddie POV time loops on ao3 at that point so it was definitely a little bit of a “fine I’ll do it myself” moment. I was just so curious how it would play out if Eddie, the new guy who knew so little about the upside down, who got thrown into the mix and died all within a single week, were to be the one stuck in a loop. What would he think was happening to him? Would he trust the party enough to tell them? What would he do or change to try and fix things? I think I’ve improved quite a bit as a writer since I finished this, just through sheer practice, but I’m still so very proud of my first baby and think about it often.

4. Life is a Game (and True Love is a Trophy)

Canon was just a crazy homebrew D&D game, sort of.

My second brain worm, this fic lived in my head for 8 months before I had written a single word of it. It all started with the idea that, 'what if all of the events from the show had just been a D&D game played by the boys in Mike’s basement?', and then I ran with it from there. It’s a work in progress and we have still have a ways to go (I’m not sure we’re even at the halfway point yet) but I love how it’s turning out. The response from readers, in comments on ao3 and tumblr, to this one has been very kind and encouraging. It makes it SO easy to work on knowing others love it as much as I do.

5. Thank God we didn’t peak in High School

Friends-with-Benefits to Lovers, Modern Au, life after high school au, no upside down

I wrote this series at the last minute for Steddie Week. Last minute, as in I didn’t even start until several days into the event. I’ve never put out so many words so fast. This fic is loosely based on my own marriage’s origin story, although our beginnings were even more dramatic than this (I felt like I had to tone it down to make it believable). This is the first project that made me realize how fun writing from prompts could be! It’s definitely not my best writing, but the story is fun and cute, a little dramatic and angsty, and as always the boys get their happy ending!

#asks #my fics <3 #steddie fanfic #self rec #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie #time loops and AUs and trauma - oh my!

[huginsmemory]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

Omg thank you for the ask!!! 💕 Damn, I don't know which to really choose. I take so long to write anything that I find it hard to judge things; and especially as then years have gone by regarding my posted and finished fanfics it makes me difficult to choose. For fanfics I really have a bunch of fandoms I've periodically cobbled something together (as a result each fic rec is from a different show) and many I haven't read in years; but I've quite enjoyed the chance to go back and actually read them.

#1 - Blackbird series (Trigun (Trimax), Vashwood)

Ahhh this doesn't count as two right? It's my most recent work composed of Blackbird (M, 5.5k) and I'm no pale faced saint (E, 11k) both which I really enjoyed writing. Blackbird is vignettes of Vash and Wolfwoods relationship (if they were lovers) over the course of trimax. I'm no pale faced saint is a story tucked sometime within the same au when Wolfwoods and Vash are travelling, and during their stop Wolfwoods is asked to perform a funeral; later the two of them talk about promises in amongst foreshadowing of what will later occur and sexy times. It was also the first time I forayed into writing explicit fanfic which was certainly interesting and perhaps fun? Still not sure haha. Both are pretty bittersweet. Technically it's supposed to be a triptych, with a third and final installation which I've... not finished writing. Fingers crossed I'll get around to having some time to finish it eventually... It's all planned out so I just need to sit down and write the damned thing.

#2 - Tracing Ink on Skin (JJK, Satosugu, M, 34k)

A yakuza au fic that I'm still working on, that I originally started because there was none of those fics when the first season had come out. The premise is they were schoolmates, and lose touch after, Satoru the next in line for the head of one of the big Yakuza families, only to be reunited when Suguru finds Satoru bleeding out on his doorstep. I'm reccing it cause it's a bit newer. It's also my first long fic which is exciting but also haunts me a bit since it's also definitely not a priority, since I keep neglecting to write new chapters... shoves my 10 newer WIP fanfics into the drawer guiltily. Again I've got the whole thing planned out, I just need to actually write it. Also part of me wants to rewrite some areas, ack!

#3 - Chain Restaurants and the Beginnings of Friendship (Dorohedoro, Risu x Aikawa, T, 3.5k)

Also in the scheme of things newer... Premise is the two of them go for lunch right after Aikawa kills the teacher. I like this one with it's fun twist and actually intended it as a part of a series of short vignettes, as I had more ideas... as you can see I'm great at finishing things. I've heard there's supposed to be a second season of Dorohedoro coming out which might help kick me back into the mood. I really should trawl through my WIP files...

#4 - Warm Lights on Sleepless Nights. (Golden Kamuy, SugumotoxOgata, G, 3k)

Premise is it's a vignette of a modern au of Sugumoto essentially waking up from a nightmare, and remembering the time that Ogata was also awake at the same time before his betrayal, and the possible implications of that.

#5 - Antiform Haunting (Gotham, Edward Nygma x Oswald Cobblepot, T, 3k)

Premise is on some unseen scenes after Ed betrays Oswald, and dreams of him, leading up to the scene where Ed hallucinates Ed. I liked this one better then the other, softer fic I had written on the pair, which more people seemed to have enjoyed; how funny.

I'm ignoring how clearly all the pairs I write for are tragic character relationships (or perceived relationships lol) here. Nope, I don't know what you're talking about, I totally am not addicted to bittersweet or sad writing.

#hugin speaks #hugin rambles #hugin writes #asks #hugin replies #fic rec #author fic recs

[cooking-with-hailstones]

Thanks for the tag @bahbahhh :D

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and your fic with the least amount of words.

Most hits: Shadows: an epistolary poem from Steve Rogers to Bucky Barnes Outing myself here as a former marvel girlie lol. Winter Soldier had a vice-like grip on my psyche as a 17yo. I'm still kinda proud of this one ngl.

Second most kudos: Is That A Yes? My first foray into writing NSFW! This was a lot of fun - Link and Zelda reminding each other of what it means to be human, not only the Goddesses chosen vessels. (porn with plot zelink oneshot)

Third most comments: A chance encounter at the blood clinic TBH I'm so proud of this modern au. It is so silly. (What if you meet your soulmate because you fainted at the blood clinic?) Gen Zelink one-shot (unless I finally write the second chapter that's still bonking around in my brain)

Fourth most bookmarks: Silk and Moonlight This was a collab with bahbahhh for Zelinktines 2023! B did the art, and I'm still not over how beautifully it turned out. Inspired by a vintage silk nightgown I own.

Fifth most words: Is that a yes, again, but I'm going to take the opportunity to shout out my Kass & Link being buddies fic, which has the 6th most words: Bright is the ring of words

Least amount of words: We only have each other Okay, look, I was really bored at work one night and the line "do you wanna punch a nazi?" just appeared in my head to the tune of "do you wanna build a snowman" and so I wrote a parody Stucky version of the whole song and it is just as ridiculous as it sounds.

Tagging @louwhose @pikayay213 and @drsteggy !

#tag game #emily talks #my writing #zelink #zelink fanfiction #botw #botw zelink #self promo #ao3 #stucky