#*longfic

[astrarchee]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: The 100 (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Abby Griffin/Raven Reyes Characters: Abby Griffin, Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake, Bellamy Blake, Lincoln (The 100), Marcus Kane, Callie Cartwig, Anya (The 100) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Minor Character Death, Kyle wick friendship is important, vodka aunt!callie, nosy bff!octavia, mid-way time skip, Side Callie/Marcus, side linctavia, Side Anya/Bellamy, Side Clexa - Freeform, time skip midway through Summary:

When Raven meets Abby, they both assume it will be a one night thing. However, when Raven walks into class at her university only to see Abby teaching it, it becomes clear that things maybe were not meant for one night.

[ravencromwell]

Rereading Dickens Christmas Carol for the first time in a long time. And the more I reread, the more it strikes me how seamlessly a queer reading could slip within these pages. Not an especially twee reading, wherein all Scrooge's troubles start and end with grief over Jacob Marley's death. For we know that Scrooge was a "Tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!" And we know that he and Marley were "two kindred spirits"

And perhaps that very fact makes the similarities to queer life, unintended as they most likely were by Mr. Dickens, achingly poignant to me. Scrooge is, we're told, "secret and self-contained and solitary as an oyster." How much that resonates, for so many of us who shield our innermost selves but from a select group of friends. And we know that Scrooge and Marley were, at the very least, certainly that for one another. Scrooge is Marley's sole mourner; his sole executor and beneficiary; and even Dickens notes, "friend." How reminiscent is that of queer couples across history, estranged from their families?

Scrooge lives in a set of chambers that once belonged to Marley—clearly Dickens wanted us to believe Scrooge gave up his own dwellings after Marley's death to economize. But with only a flicker of change, those chambers become _their chambers, rented by Marley as the senior member of the couple. The place is so desolate Dickens notes "one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out again." The perfect abode for two queer misers who wanted no one prying into their business.

Marley's name is still above the door of Scrooge's counting-house: a mark by which, no doubt, Dickens meant to convey Scrooge such a penny-pincher he couldn't bother to have it changed. But a thing can be both! mark of frugality to ludicrous excess and! mark of mourning. "sometimes," Dickens opines, "People new to the

business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him."

This is why "death of the author" matters so much, in expanding our interpretations of texts. It is vastly far from the lens Dickens would have intended. But, the idea of a ghost of queerness, so taboo in the society it could barely be glanced at sidewise in this tale that is all about the inexplicable and yet that lingers over everything becomes an astonishing lens through which to read this book. Thinking of Scrooge as a queer man, his "melancholy dinner at his usual melancholy tavern" becomes a eerie prefiguring of the hollowness of days spent by Isherwood's A Single Man. In this universe, little wonder Scrooge doubly hates mention of time with family, marriage, etc. when the precise nature of his grief is both unacknowledged and unacknowledgable.

And readings like this are vital, because the uncomfortable truth is, discrimination doesn't "discriminate between sinners and saints", to borrow a Miranda phrase. It is easy, in my liberal circles, to fight for queer people who hold "the good sorts of politics". But what about men like Michael Hess, culpable for supporting Reagan even as his contemptuous homophobia let the aids epidemic run rampant? How much harder is it to remember Michael had a partner? That he deserves empathy and compassion for being practically tarred and feathered out of the party upon his own aids diagnosis?

Expanding our imaginative universes to include queerness, not as redemptive panacea, but merely as one aspect of identity, personality, often in vicious conflict with others. Even! as we consider those stories equally worthy of being told feels vital if we're ever to truly express the complexity of what queer humanity looks like.

[choccy-milky]

💖🎊the end, & thank you for reading!!🎊💖

im so thankful for all the support i got on this story, and i wouldn't have finished it if not for all of you, and for the love i got for seb and clora. so thank you again for giving me the motivation to write this 600k+ monster, and to see it through to the very end. LOVE YALL💖🫶 (ao3/wattpad)

[cetos-tide]

Whoever tf Lore is better be running

[ghcstao3]

johnny has always known simon to be quiet, introverted. it’s possible to get him talking when they’re alone, sure, but generally simon happens to be content listening to johnny speak, more than anything. a man of few words, as all the privates would say.

he expects it to be the same way when simon is at home, with family—but dear god, was johnny wrong to assume so.

it’s a whole new side of simon, when he’s with his family. and johnny kind of adores it.

simon complains when his mum asks for the nth time when’s the wedding? and looks pointedly at johnny. simon gets into lighthearted brotherly spats with tommy about the most insignificant things. simon and beth exchange their dry wit and shitty jokes. simon is loud and lively when he plays with joseph.

it takes some adjustment for johnny, at first, to get used to this strangely extroverted version of simon. but he certainly doesn’t hate it—if anything, it has him feeling inspired by simon’s mum by the end of the night.

maybe he’ll start asking simon when the wedding will be. perhaps that’ll speed things along.

[aethon-recs]

30 Tomarrymort Recs for 2024 — Completed Multi-Chapter Fics (Part 1)

Happy new year, and what a year 2024 was for the Tomarrymort ship! 🤍 We went from close to 13,000 fics in the beginning of 2024 to over 15,000 fics in the ship tag by the end of the year. How incredible is that!?

I've split up my 2024 year-end recs into 3 parts: (1) Completed Multi-Chapter Fics, (2) One-Shots, (3) WIPs. Here is Part 1 of the list: Completed Multi-Chapter Fics.

Please enjoy these 1.5 million words of completed Tomarrymort fic from 2024!

*

A Dangerous Game by @cybrid (E, 322k, complete)

Tom Riddle opens the Chamber of Secrets in Harry’s fifth year at Hogwarts. After a botched attempt to extract the Horcrux in Harry’s scar leaves their souls tied together, Tom is forced to kidnap him when he makes his escape. A story of Horcrux hunting, adventure and unwilling attraction.

Anabiosis by @itsevanffs (E, 39k, complete)

The school is… unprotected. Voldemort gets resurrected early, and learns this very quickly. Harry Potter likes his new teacher: he's a pretty man in his early thirties with a kind smile and dark hair and eyes - and he doesn't seem to hate him, unlike all the other teachers.

aurora polaris by @aglassroseneverfades (E, 217k, complete)

Harry does not give up the Horcrux when he dies. Moved by compassion, he embraces it instead. What follows next, he could not predict. He’s not sure he ever really had a choice in the matter. The world Harry wakes up to is not like the one he remembers. And his captor is neither the same as he was, nor as different as he would like.

Change Me by @valkyrie-chemist (E, 17k, complete)

Harry Potter had grown up listening to tales of the cursed Lord Voldemort. Trapped in his mysterious manor, the man—the monster—was said to be crueler and more hungry than Death itself. So why then, Harry thought, was the groundskeeper still alive? What sway did Tom Riddle have over Lord Voldemort to stay his wicked hand when Harry had so brazenly trespassed on his lands? Whatever it was, it was not enough. For try as he might, not even Tom could persuade the monster to let Harry leave. That is, Tom challenged, if Harry even wanted to.

Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (E, 28k, complete)

Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings warp all Harry could have become until no more than dark magic and devotion remains. Visions of a wraith with red eyes complicate matters, especially when Harry and the Voice follow it to Hogwarts so Master can get his hands on the Philosopher’s Stone. Harry can do magic. He can’t do people.

death cheater (are you?) by regulus_little_mermaid (E, 14k, complete)

Tom tries to understand: just because a stranger saves your life a few times doesn't mean you can fall in love with him.

Dulce Et Decorum Est Mori by beetaker (E, 135k, complete)

“I'm glad it's both of us,” Harry said, green eyes somehow greener, the natural brightness in him turning incandescent. “I'm glad we're going together.” “We'll always go together,” Tom said, knowing it as fact, unable to imagine anything different. Wherever he went, Harry was sure to follow. It'd been that way forever. It would surely always be that way.

Extenuating Circumstances by Origin_Of_Symmetry (M, 87k, complete)

“You’re really quite a delight, Harry. I can’t believe I went weeks thinking you were useless and boring.” Somehow, unwittingly, Harry finds himself engaged to Tom Riddle. He’s not entirely sure how that happened.

friend of the devil (a friend of mine) by @shyinsunlight (E, 28k, complete)

There’s something very unsettling about Tom Riddle. Cedric can’t put a finger on it. Whether it’s the way he moves, all long limbs and eerie fluidity, the dissecting gaze he follows them with, or the way he speaks, with an accent that doesn’t match his manners. Maybe it’s how he drinks in Harry’s presence like a religious zealot, or how his eyes wander over Harry’s body as if he’s seen the skin and flesh underneath before.

gaming buddies by @reggieblk (M, 19k, complete)

All it takes is a rude comment under a YouTube video for Harry and Tom to meet their best friend and, incidentally, the love of their lives. Through thousands of hours of playing Minecraft together, getting to know each other, and finally meeting in real life, it was inevitable they'd fall in love.

Hearthstone Abbey by @ramabear (E, 116k, complete)

Harry follows Thomas Gaunt into his world much like he stepped onto Diagon Alley that first time, wide-eyed and full of wonder. He has no idea what exactly this world has in store for him, but he knows that with Thomas at his side, he is safe and happy for the first time in his whole life. There is someone who will always be there for him, always look after him, always care for him and everything Thomas does just proves that to be true.

In the Shape of Fear, Erised by @rowena-rain (E, 19k, complete)

Harry sneaks into Lupin’s office late at night, determined to banish his recurring nightmares of a certain devastatingly handsome future Dark Lord once and for all. But things quickly spiral into depravity, and before he knows it, Harry is getting thoroughly railed by a boggart in the form of Diary Tom Riddle... Or is it?

in the silence by @satflesk22 (E, 48k, complete)

There's a new student at Hogwarts. And, for some reason, he's decided he's going to be Tom Riddle's best friend. Tom, immortal aspiring Dark Lord, apparently has no say in the matter.

In Their Absence by @mosiva (E, 35k, complete)

“Weird place to hang out, mate,” Harry said, more to break the oppressive silence. There was nothing but the thick hedges, the faintest whisper of a breeze, the grey sky overhead, and Voldemort. “You believe this to be a dream,” Voldemort rasped. “You always were foolish.”

Kudosed, Bookmarked, Subscribed by @maquira713 (E, 79k, complete)

By day, Harry works as a lowly assistant to his boss: the cruel, controlling Tom Riddle. By night, he lives, breathes, and writes fanfiction. And when he's not writing, he's obsessing over the work of his favorite Ao3 author: Lord_Voldemort_. So, of course, it’s only a matter of time before Harry gets caught reading Voldemort’s latest fanfiction at work… by none other than his boss.

Machine Men by @izharmilgram (E, 5k, complete)

Harry discovers Lord Voldemort is transgender, and he's really fucking hung up about it.

rage, rage (against the dying of the light) by MerleBlanc (M, 17k, complete)

1978. Voldemort is winning, bored, and his immortality secured. When a mysterious man appears out of thin air to oppose his Death Eaters, he is more than intrigued by whom the newspapers now nickname the Good Samaritan. Except someone is also stealing his horcruxes one by one, and he has never felt more threatened in his life. Or: Harry just lost his wife, made a deal with Death, travelled from the future to gain back his mortality, and decided to fuck a timeline.

see you soon by @duplicitywrites (E, 9k, complete)

It’s summer, which explains why Tom has all this free time to visit Harry’s flat and place of work, but it does not explain how Tom knows, with unerring accuracy, where Harry is at any given moment. Harry has checked with his coworkers—Tom only ever shows up at Fortescue’s when Harry is the manager on shift.

Shiver, Lustre, Skin by @monsieurclavier (M, 9k, complete)

Harry goes undercover as a bargirl at one of Tom Riddle’s exclusive clubs. Tom has her figured out in approximately one second. Or: In which Tom is a badass Wizarding mob boss and an incorrigible lesbian flirt, and Harry—sassy newbie Auror and secret virgin—is just Tom’s type.

something precious by @mosiva  (E, 16k, complete)

“Fine,” Harry said, giving in to curiosity as he always did. “What is it?” Tom shook the vial, letting the liquid catch the light and send rays scattering over his hand and face. “It’s a love potion,” he said.

Still Into You by @moontearpensfic (E, 29k, complete)

Harry has a stalker. If only he noticed sooner.

Sugar Soaked by @teaandsweaters9 (E, 46k, complete)

Seducing Hepzibah Smith out of her most precious belongings should have been simple. Spend time with her, charm her, drain her for all she’s worth, and move on. Unfortunately for Tom Riddle, Harry Potter, professional savior and amateur waiter, has other plans.

the only heaven by iwasborntired (M, 11k, complete)

“You,” Ginny swallows, and her voice sounds jagged, waves crashing against an uneven shore. “You called out for him, in your sleep.” He does not need her to finish. He knows. It is sick and festered and rotten, and it is true. In the blanket of night, in his dreams, Harry Potter starves. His mouth forms the supplication, a secret scalds the air, and his soul, then and now and always, calls out for Tom Riddle. It is only fair, after so long spent stitched into the fabric of one other.

the righteous dead by @aspengray (T, 40k, complete)

Harry is resurrected, sewn together with thread and magic. He remembers nothing except that he loves his savior, a man named Voldemort.

Thin Skin by @iseliljathedreamer (E, 15k, complete)

The war ended with a conditional surrender where the most powerful wizard alive signed his freedom away for 100 years to a boy of 17 armed with a basilisk tooth and a putrid, poisoned pool, in exchange for secrecy and eternal life. But that was years ago now. Harry thought he'd never get used to having Voldemort living in his house, but he did. Time is a miracle-worker beyond all human comprehension, and yet, there are wounds it remains to heal. Quite literally.

Tom Riddle's DIY Disaster by @sri-verse (E, 13k, complete)

Harry and Tom were the closest two people could be. They always shared everything, no secrets between them.  So, when Tom told Harry about his last orgasm, why was Harry acting all weird? It was granted that Tom would think of him.

Trenches by @shadow-of-the-eclipse (T, 82k, complete)

"Maybe you should kill them," Harry says. He's sitting perched on the stairs, hands clasped together, green eyes watching Tom and his irritating year mates. His form is hazy around the edges, an almost translucent quality to his image. "I can't just kill people," Tom says. "Not in public.” Role-Reversal where Harry is the Dark Lord and Tom Riddle is the Boy-Who-Survived.

two ways of being: the noun & the verb by cycloalkane (NR, 8k, complete)

Potter is finishing up with his sketch of the craniofacial structure. There is still more of his body to go, and more sessions left, and Tom cannot be sure whether he wants the precise drawings to be more or less—true, at all, if he could even describe them as untruthful. They aren’t beautiful as Tom is in the mirror, but they are still, undeniably, him, with the eye of someone learning to cut people apart and look beneath their skin, still bloodless yet, and—well.

What quickens me is the violence in thee by @i-dream-of-libraries (M, 17k, complete)

Harry is sold at auction to a man who is clearly in some kind of disguise - Lord Riddle isn't as charming as he looks, and the way he looks at Harry...

You By The Shore by @blackseatwenty (E, 19k, complete)

Harry's grown on the island his whole life. He fell in love with a stranger standing alone by the shore. Or is it crazy to believe in love at first sight?

*

[mariyekos]

Okay to reblog to help sample size!

[planet-dusk]

☆ making bad decisions for you ∘ b.c

chan fucked up, and now he's left to deal with the consequences. how does one find someone to help their sweet pup through her heat on such short notice? the first step: call jisung. the second step: stay on the straight path. he has this under control. at least that's what chan thinks, until you throw him a curve...

─── ☆ pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

─── ☆ length: 2.3k

─── ☆ warnings: puppy hybrid!reader, sub!reader, perv!chan, big dick chan, pillow humping, corruption, bondage, unprotected sex, breeding (like a lot), dirty talk, praise, pet names: baby, pup, puppy

─── ☆ note: 18+ minors dni. the characters don’t represent real idols; this is fiction for entertainment purposes only. fictional smut is not a reflection of real life ! always communicate with your partner and practice consensual and safe sex ‹33

© planet-dusk do not copy, translate or repost my works.

Chan’s in over his head.

He knew this day would come. He should’ve been prepared. But he’s been so busy lately, and he didn’t keep track of your cycle — fuck, if only he could physically beat himself up for being the world’s shittiest owner. 

And of course he can’t find the informational flyers anywhere, and he doesn’t trust the internet, the advice varying so wildly he isn’t sure what to believe. He could call the shelter, but he doesn’t want them to find out he messed up. What if they take you away from him? 

So he calls the only experienced person he can think of: Jisung. 

“I really don’t know what to do, Han, fuck! Please help…”

“Take a deep breath, it’ll be alright. It’s not your fault there’s a suppressant shortage. You sure you don’t want to…?” 

“I can’t, it’s… it’s wrong,” Chan feels the panic rising in his chest again. He takes another gulp of air to calm his shaky nerves. 

“Fine, okay, it was just a suggestion! No need to yell at me, lemme look into it. I'll find a stud for her and come over as soon as my shift’s done, okay? You try to stay calm in the meantime and do exactly as I've told you to. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry, it’s - I’m a mess, I should’ve seen it coming, but thank you, Ji. Thank you. I owe you one.”

“No worries, bro. Good luck. Call me if you need any help.”

The call disconnects and Chan is left standing alone in the empty bathroom, his heart galloping in his chest. He failed you. But he needs to be there for you now. He's not proud of what he’s about to do, but you’ll understand. He has no other choice. When this is all over you’ll understand. Please, you have to…

“Please forgive me, Y/N,” he whispers and unlocks the door.

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom Chan’s thrown off balance by your body slamming into his. “Channie, sir, please,” you whimper, pressing yourself tighter against his side and wrapping your arms around his neck. Chan feels a blush rise to his cheeks and turns his head away, swallowing harshly. 

“Let’s go to your bedroom, pup.” 

You yelp excitedly and dart off, throwing yourself on the bed. Your tail wags against the sheets and Chan can’t help but smile. When he was a little kid he always thought he’d get a wolfdog hybrid, or a big husky, but then he saw you at the shelter: a little cream coloured mutt with soft ears and a fluffy tail, and he knew he had to bring you home. 

You’re watching him rummage through his nightstand, head cocked and ears pointed. “‘t hurts, Channie, please hurry,” you roll on your back and stay there, skirt sliding down your thighs and almost exposing your panties. Chan coughs. 

“I know, baby, Channie’s here to make it all better,” he mumbles and fishes a pair of padded handcuffs out of the drawer. “Just give me your hands, okay?”

You give him a puzzled look but comply, letting him attach the cuffs to the headboard. “I'm so sorry, puppy, I'm sorry,” he whispers, avoiding your eyes. 

Then he turns around and hurries out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft but resolute thud. 

Your frustrated howls are loud enough to reach the living room and he flinches. Every noise you make pierces his soul and adds to the pool of guilt in his gut. He had to do it, Jisung told him so — keep her safe, tie her up somewhere, otherwise she might hurt herself. It’s for her best interest. 

Chan knows, but why does it hurt him so much? He checks his phone, looking for a distraction. Two hours left until Jisung’s shift is done. Surely he can find a stud before the end of the day, right? Jisung knows so many people. He said everything would be fine. Chan just has to relax and trust him.

He takes another deep breath and turns on the tv, mindlessly going through the channels. He checks his phone again. 5 minutes have passed. Time’s never felt this slow. 

Eventually he settles on a documentary about tiger hybrids. He almost succeeds in focusing on the (terrible but entertaining) storyline when he notices your howls have changed into softer, breathier sounds. They almost sound like… moans? Chan thinks. He feels his cock stir. He shifts on the couch and stares at the tv, but the screen is a blur and he doesn’t hear a word the voiceover says. 

The noises continue and Chan grows more restless. How…? He looks at his phone again. 90 minutes left. 

With growing curiosity, Chan’s feet lead him to your bedroom almost involuntarily. Your noises have grown softer, little moans and whimpers drifting through the door. With a quiet click he opens it and peeks his head around.

You’re sitting on the bed, awkwardly positioned with your hands still chained to the headboard. Somehow you’ve managed to maneuver one of the pillows between your spread knees. You’re grinding down on it, fluffy tail causing your skirt to ride up. From his position in the doorframe Chan catches a glimpse of your white panties hugging your ass. 

The noises you’re making range from whiny to plain frustrated, the friction not enough to satisfy you. When you bend over to try and find a better position, Chan sucks in a breath, cock swelling at the sight of your soaked panties. You’re so wet the gusset has become almost see through, clinging to the outline of your pussy. 

Chan shouldn’t be here. He should leave before you notice him, before it’s too late. He should go back to the living room, put on his headphones and wait for Jisung to arrive. Let him sort it out. Get you a handsome dog hybrid to help you through your heat. 

“Chan?” your voice is soft, halting his train of thought. “Please…” 

He’s not sure if it’s your broken plea or something else that compels him to move, but Chan steps into your room. Your tail starts to wag slowly and you drop to your elbows, presenting yourself to him. From this distance Chan can see the tantalizing curve where your thighs meet your ass, the spot he wants to lick and suck and tease…

“‘s okay, puppy, Channie’s here.” There’s still time to leave. But you’re looking back at him with your pretty eyes — how could he say no to his sweet pup? He wants to protect you. Keep you safe. Jisung and his stud be damned. 

“I’m so sorry I did this to you, Y/N. I panicked.”

His hand strokes your thigh and you sigh into his touch. “Don’t leave me again, Channie. Promise.”

Chan shakes his head. “It was a mistake, I promise, I’m here with you now pup. Let me help you.” 

You mewl when his fingers graze your clothed slit. “Sir, ‘s hurting, don’t make me wait any longer, need you to breed me now, please,” you trail off, grinding back against his hand. 

Normally Chan would take his time to explore your body, tease you until you’ve cum at least twice before he’d give you his cock. But he hears the urgency in your voice, your pained little whimpers as you tug at your restraints. 

And it’d be a lie to say he hasn’t fantasized about this before. Late at night in his own bedroom while he tried to muffle his moans, unsure of what your sensitive ears could pick up. 

Chan slides your panties down your thighs with shaky hands. Your pretty cunt’s all puffy and glossy with your slick and it drips down his fingers when he pushes two inside. 

Your reaction is instantaneous, a pleasant gasp as you arch your back for him. “Need more, need your cock, need it now,” you plead again. 

“You sure you can take it, puppy?”

Chan rolls his plush bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t want to hurt you. 

“‘Mmm don’t care, make it fit,” you pout and wag your tail for him, “Channie.”

He’ll never tire of hearing his name like this. A broken sound, filled with so much need it goes straight to his head. 

He chucks off his pants and his boxers, hard cock springing free and slapping against his abdomen. He slides the tip over your slit to wet it, holding your hips to keep you still. Then he sheathes himself in your dripping heat inch by inch, whispering soft praises into the air between you. 

“Just like that, puppy, don’t move. Gonna fill you up so good baby, let me take care of you.”

Chan knows he’s big, watches your pretty hole stretch to accommodate him. He groans at how wet and warm you feel. It’s even better than he imagined. When you shift forward on your knees he growls, “Where do you think you’re going, pup? I'm not even halfway in yet.”

He pushes in deeper, watches you arch your back even more. “Channie, so full,” you pant when he finally bottoms out, stilling for a moment to catch his breath. The sensation of your soft, velvety cunt around him is overwhelming all his senses. 

“Yeah? Is my puppy nice and full?”

“Wanted - wanted this for so long,” you say and his heart makes a little leap. He knows it’s just your heat-clouded mind talking, the hormones making you more susceptible to his presence. But there’s a small part of him that dares to hope you’re speaking the truth. 

“Yah - wanted my sir, my Channie,” you nod when he starts moving, holding tight onto the handcuff’s chain. He briefly considers removing them, but you don’t seem to mind being tied up like this, pushing back on his cock like the neediest little thing he’s ever seen.

My Channie.

“I want you too, Y/N,” he groans and you hum at the sound of your name. “Can’t stay away from you - my pretty baby… knew it from the day I brought you home.”

You’re moaning every time his hips meet yours, soft uh-uh-uh’s like music to his ears. Your pussy is gushing around his length, and Chan’s not sure how long he’s going to last if you keep clenching down on him like this.

“Fuck, puppy - you’re hugging my cock so tight,” he lands a playful smack on your ass, “want me to breed you that bad, huh? Want me to stuff you full with pups?”

He tilts your hips to reach even deeper, fat cock slamming into you with force. You’re slumping against the mattress and he hovers over your back to nip at your ear, eliciting another moan from you. The soft fur of your tail tickles his abs but Chan is too focused on the erratic pulsing of your walls around him. 

“Are you going to cum for me, baby? I can feel you’re close, just let go. I’ve got you. Channie’s got you. My good girl.”

You sob and he feels your release gush around him, fucking you through your high with renewed vigor. You’re a blabbering mess, unable to form words except for “Channie,” “please,” and “fuck.” 

“Did my puppy lose her tongue?” He grins. “Getting all dumb on my cock after one orgasm, and I haven’t even bred you yet, baby.”

“Please…need it,” you whisper into the sheets, “need you to cum inside, please, sir.”

Even with his weight pressing you into the bed you’re still angling your hips up more, and Chan buries his face into the crook of your neck. You smell so good, like vanilla and the heady scent of sex. “I always keep my promise, pup, I’m going to breed you so well you’ll feel it dripping out of you for the next three days.”

You turn your head just enough to catch his gaze, your eyes so glossy and fucked-out Chan loses all composure. He ruts into you one, two more times before ropes of thick cum paint your inner walls and tumble you headfirst into another orgasm. 

His thighs are shaking, your cunt milking him of every last drop until he’s a panting mess on top of you. For a moment the two of you lay still, breathing heavily, until Chan realizes you’re still chained to the bed. He pulls out and you mumble something when you feel his cum drip out of you, rubbing your thighs together. 

Chan unclasps the handcuffs and kisses your wrists, hugs you close and captures your lips with his own. They’re so soft, needy little sounds already escaping you again as you rut against his thigh. “Need more, Channie.” 

“Insatiable little thing,” he grins and traces your puffy cunt with his fingers. “Can’t get enough, can you?” 

He slips one finger in your sensitive hole just as the doorbell rings. You look up in surprise, eyes wide and ears darting in all directions. 

Chan kisses you again. “Ignore the bell, pup. I’m not going anywhere. Made a promise, remember? Need to breed you nice and round. Maybe make you beg a little more for it,” he chuckles, “let me see how needy you can really get.” 

You’re grinding down on his thigh now and Chan doesn’t care how long he has to stay here with you, he’ll give you whatever you want. He’ll spend days holed up inside your nest if he has to. 

You grab his shirt and pull him closer, and the blaring sound of his ringtone rips him out of his reverie. 

He rolls over with a groan and hits the green button, cutting off Jisung’s voice. “It’s already taken care of, Ji. Thank you.”

“Wha —? You sly dog!”

Chan throws his phone into a corner and rolls you onto your back, slotting himself between your thighs with a smile. “Don’t worry, pup. I won’t let anyone else touch you ever again.”

© planet-dusk do not copy, translate or repost my works.

[earthtooz]

500 wc, post-argument diluc fic, gn!reader

The night feels stagnant and the clock on your bedside is far too loud and incessant for you to sleep. Normally, you wouldn't be able to hear the hands click, but tonight it is a metronome for the chaotic whirlwind of thoughts in your head.

You know it is getting late, and no matter how strongly you wish for sleep to find you, it is unsuccessful, a contradicting push and pull of trying to get your buzzing mind to fall asleep.

But the bed is cold and the vacant spot beside you is even more so. Diluc often gets home late, returning at two most nights, but the hour hand has now struck half past three and your lover still has not returned after storming out, needing some space to cool down after a heated… discussion.

You waited for him the entire night, anxiously hoping to hear the sound of the front door opening, followed by the steps of his boots and yet, as you lay on your shared mattress with your back turned against the door, there is still no sign of him. 

Until the wooden door to your bedroom creaks open on its hinges and the soft padding of footsteps follows after. You don’t move, figure deceptively still in the moonlight and eyes shut to go along with the facade.

The mattress by your thighs sink and the smell of smoke clinging to someone’s coat enters your senses, followed by a dull waft of pine. You know this scent too well, and the weight by your legs is one you would recognise instantly. Diluc is home, and you don’t know if he’s still upset at you for earlier, so you feign unconsciousness. 

Hands place themselves on either side of your body and you feel the gentle press of lips against the apple of your right cheek.

For you, the contact is a balm for your wounded heart, a reassurance of love and adoration against the cold night. For him, it is salvation because his hopes and wishes of you staying, even after his fiery outburst, has been answered, you still feel safe in his bed, you did not run and chose to bear the brunt of loving him. 

“My heart,” he whispers against your skin and the words sink right in. “I’m sorry for earlier.” 

You want to sigh in relief. 

The weight disappears and the sink of the mattress is alleviated as the red-haired disappears to your shared bathroom, the sound of a faucet running muffled behind the door. The sign of another person’s presence is comforting, and Diluc’s is a perfect aid to the insomnia you were suffering through moments ago.

When he emerges, you are almost asleep, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. A familiar pair of arms envelop your waist and a face is pressed against the back of your neck, followed by a sigh of relief.

“I love you,” he murmurs. Diluc doesn’t need you to say it back, just needs to know that you’ll be there when he wakes up so that he can prove it.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[devondespresso]

barista!eddie drawing a pentagram or whatever with the table cleaner while closing and accidentally summoning demon!steve, who's absolutely stoked to see a cozy little coffee shop for the first time

[crescenthistory]

💌 = fluff I 📭 = angst I 📬 = hurt/comfort I 📜 = smut I 🪧 = humour

𖤐 remus john lupin

(14.4k) It's Nice To Have A Friend (💌📬: childhood best friends to lovers, you are the only person remus is comfortable being physically affectionate with publically)

a blurb about their happily ever after

(4.8k) A Little Push (📬💌: sirius finally tells you about your best friend remus' feelings for you after you almost kiss him at a party)

a blurb about everyone's reaction

(3.7k) i'll hold your hand through all of christmas day (📬💌: remus supports you through your grief during the holidays)

drabbles:

(0.6k) morning touches (💌: waking up with bf!remus)

(1.5k) odd socks (💌: domestic january morning in the lupin cottage, with knitting and cuddles)

(1.6k) family photos (💌📬: visiting the lupin cottage for the first time, looking at family photos)

(0.9k) going home to his wife (💌: remus is lovely when he's wine drunk)

headcanons:

☆ farmer!remus

☆ remus and reader with scars

☆ magical!dealer!remus

features in:

poly!moonwater

(1.9k) What Now? (💌: your concerned boyfriends find you feeling poorly in the infirmary and dote on you)

(0.7k) hospital au (💌📬: muggle au, you accompany remus to a&e where your boyfriend works)

find more remus in poly!marauders in the marauders masterlist

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay. 

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway. 

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks. 

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.” 

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. 

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees. 

Steve asks, “How much time?” 

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.” 

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.  

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough. 

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids. 

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did. 

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.” 

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.” 

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond. 

“And us,” Erica adds as well. 

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.” 

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.” 

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him. 

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?” 

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally. 

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.” 

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.” 

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital. 

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them. 

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.” 

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.” 

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.” 

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...” 

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase. 

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.” 

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?” 

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.” 

~ 

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children. 

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.” 

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him. 

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!” 

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.” 

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!” 

“So you guys joined the club, then?” 

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed. 

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.” 

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says. 

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.” 

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.” 

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.” 

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.” 

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

[sasoop]

Hello DB fandom, please take my humble offering

[fixing-bad-posts]

one shots are so good and legendary 😭

[nosferatini]

🕊️ The Season of Nightingales 🕊️

🍾🎉! FIC COMPLETE !🎉🍾

IT'S DONE. 🥹

This is it. 

This is the end of the story that made me get my AO3 account. 

I've had this thing burning in my brain ever since the end of S2 came out in the summer of 2023, prompting the immediate need for resolution. 

And now I finally have it. I hope you've enjoyed it too.

Read it from the beginning here:

🕊️The Season of Nightingales🕊️

Fic Summary:

The Second Coming looms large. In this tale following the season after affection's seed is planted with a kiss, Aziraphale must keep his vow to fix Heaven before it’s too late, without asking the impossible from Crowley. As the effort is complicated by unexpected friends, an ex-Inspector Constable, a guileful Metatron, and a Heavenly floor full of the Blessed Dead—Aziraphale and Crowley find navigating their relationship is not mutually exclusive from saving the world from Armageddon. Somewhere, somehow, there is an outcome where the Nightingales sing in Berkeley Square. The angels just need each other—and maybe a little help—to find it.

Final Chapter Excerpt:

Curtains of blossoming flowers and ivy fell over the window, casting leafy shadows against the opposite wall. The trim had been completely taken over by lengthy wandering branches that erupted from the gap beneath the door. Telescoping circles of sunshine cast a dreamy glow into the room. Angelic and demonic eyes adjusted to it, absorbing the yellow-green dawn with growing awe. 

🕊️Finish the Fic from Chapter 36!🕊️

and with that... I'm done!

🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤

🖤Time for a MASSIVE list of shoutouts!🖤

First, thanks to @addledmongoose, my first beta and one who helped me correct some of my long errant grammar stupidity and encouraged me when this fic (and my AO3 account) was just a wee baby. 

Next, r/GoodOmensAfterDark, the GOAD Writers Guild, and @whickberstreetwriters, and all the lovely mods and modlings who have made those communities thrive!

Next, I bow low at the feet of my beloved betas — u/blackjeans93, @dbacklot99, and @demonsandpieohmy. Thank you from the bottom of my black heart, for putting up with my late ass updates while providing all the TLC I needed throughout these last few months. 🖤🖤🖤

Shoutout to @wiblywoblytimeywimey754 for her linguistic skills on Agnes Nutter!

And finally, thanks to the rest of you. To you GOADers, you GO tumblrs, you readers who leave comments and kudos and encouraged me to complete this instead of leaving it at chapter one. Thanks to the ones who were cheering me on from the sidelines. 

Thanks to all of you.

I owe you all a glass of Talisker 🥃 and a mighty cheers!

To the world, lovelies!

...

Fin.

Hm....

Something feels unfinished.

But what could I be missing...?????

🤔🫣🤭

Pspspsps.... @kotias......... did I do it right? 😇