Fanfiction? What Fanfiction?

Oh!! Thanks, darling! I was! I love Pride’s art— surprised I didn’t recognize it! :D

Edit: For all those wondering, my icon is cropped from a wonderful picture here

His long fingers tangle playfully through your hair, and all your defenses falter.

John Egbert is tousling your hair, running his fingers across your scalp, and rambling on about things like this is nothing, and he can’t even tell you’ve been put on red alert. You pull back and his hand chases you, his fingers tugging softly at your hair and fuck, did it feel good. Too fucking good. You hold in a whine; Dave Strider’s mind has officially vacated the premises with no plans if returning soon.

(More of a start of a fic than anything else buuuut)

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are a fortified temple of mental perfection. Or, at least, that is the thought that you let yourself think, your emotions strangled by the strings of personal improvement pulled taught, strangling your weakness and making you grapple for challenge.

It is out of the deepest depth that the highest must come to height, and you were Nietzsche’s superman. Worlds fell before you, even most challenging intellectual problems faltered against your intellect and persistence, and it felt like the world bent to you with the flick of your fingers. As far as you were concerned, you had one weakness; a kryptonite that stole your focus and weakened your demeanor: Jake English. 

When you look at him, disgust wells inside of you. Due in large part to his stupidity (you will ignore your own involvement), you spent (no, wasted) sweeps of your pitifully short existence on a hell rock with a group of social fuckups that you and he had gathered as “friends.” You’d been waiting for this moment; when you would see his stupid face again and make him pay for the lost time and the well-placed bucket to the face. Not a homosexual your fucking ass. 

Even though what felt like eons had passed, there was no mistake; the boy in front of you was definitely him. You couldn’t miss the ridiculously stupid buck teeth, the messy hair, and the fucking stupid glasses. In many ways he had filled out differently than you thought he would (a thought your thinkpan would flip to whenever it had the inclination to be a complete ass), and, much to your chagrin, you actually thought he was pleasant to look at. 

In each overly eager step, you loaded the sexual frustration that had been marinating for 3 years as you strode up to him, your heart pounding out a desperate, hateful plea, pulsing all the way down to your sorely neglected bone bulge. You seize his collar and your body aches as yelps in surprise. “Egbert, you sick fuck, we aren’t even going to start… you better have been saving up as much genetic material as I have, you sick fuck.”

His eyes shine like Derse and you shiver with excitement. “I loathe that expression on you, Egbert.” He clears his throat, mouthing words absently and grappling with no hook up Expression StoneMount. “How could I forget how utterly useless you are?” 

He struggles and you sigh, letting go of him. He sucks in a deep breath and you roll your eyes. “Erm… I am rather grateful for you relinquishing your hold on my throat, old chap-” Green. When the fuck did his eyes turn green? Was that a human thing? “But I do think you are quite mistaken as to my identity.”

Suddenly, you look at the boy in front of you- really look at him- and you can’t feel more like more of an idiot. 

[I’ll go with some Bro/Dad for you! I have’t written any before!]

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing, pulling your attention to his creamy white cleanly shaven throat. Your eyes travel up the smooth angles of his jaw and you feel you quirk an eyebrow when you notice a few stray whiskers. Imperfect. How… rugged.  When your eyes meet his, you have to force down that sideways smirk that demands to curl your lips in that desperate plea for attention. Emoting would only get you so far and, although attention is most definitely what you plan to claim from Egbert, you would rather garner such things by inching him slowly against those all-too-perfect Ikea boxstore counters and slipping your hand along the inside of his thigh until he understood just how willing you are to worship that cake-padded middle-class rump of his. He looks aside and you continue to survey him through your shades. 

Everything comes gradually and at its appointed hour.

I don’t know whether to croon out an “Aww,” playfully chuckle, giggle about the phrase “oh my muffins,” or offer some ice for that fine chair punching my fic delivered to your emotion’s beautiful face. No matter the case, you are sweet and I appreciate it! Thanks for the comment! (Did it take you terribly long to read? I am amazed at everyone telling me they downed it in one go!)

The next chapter will be out as soon as I track down my Beta :] I hope it is very very soon!!