#Also I didn't know how to end this fic

[tusks-and-claws]

Cold Love/Hot Blood

Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: “Between teeth on a broken jaw/following a bloodtrail, frothing at the maw”

Miguel is struck with something that he’s never experienced before

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, dubcon by way of pheromones, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, feral Miguel, biting, marking, blood drinking, paralytic venom

Wordcount: 3k

Ao3 link here

-

You opened your eyes, blinking at the soft light from the bleary haze. Wincing, you raised your hand to your head. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it definitely felt wrong. What had happened? You were on a mission. That's right. And it had been going so well, until… until the anomaly villain threw something at you and Miguel. What was it? It had such an awful smell to it. And, where was Miguel?

You traversed the rubble of the abandoned building you were in. You couldn't see him. You shouted out for him.

"Here, I'm here," you heard him from the distance. Following his voice, you found him under some pieces of sheetrock from a collapsed wall. He was pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask.

"Geez, Miguel, are you alright?"

"Been better." His voice sounded strained. "Got a transmission from Jess that she's got hands on the anomaly. We'll meet her back at HQ. You go on ahead of me."

"What? No, we have to-" you started grabbing at the rubble to pull it off of him. He caught your arm before you could keep lifting.

"Please," he said, trying to meet your eyes from behind his mask. "Just go."

"What the hell is going on, Miguel? You're not… you're not acting right. We have to get you out of here."

He brought his hands up, holding his head in frustration. "Please, just do it. Don't make me beg."

"LYLA, please check him," you said, the avatar popping up and saluting you.

"No, don't-!" He tried to catch her in the air but she evaded him.

"His heart rate is really elevated but he seems okay otherwise. I think he's being dramatic. I don't detect any major injuries," she reported. You thanked her and she disappeared.

You crouched down to where he was. "What's going on, Miguel?" Your tone was serious.

He tried to hold your gaze for a moment until he swore and looked away. "That bomb that the anomaly threw… it affected me in a way that it clearly didn't affect anyone else, alright? Are you happy now?"

You furrowed your brow. "I don't understand."

He sighed, his breath shaking ever so slightly. "Itwasapheromonebomb." He said it so quickly and quietly.

"...What?"

"It was a pheromone bomb. Just leave me here so I can wait it out. This is so shocking humiliating- I," he sighed again. "Don't make me explain any further."

You blushed, not sure what to say. But you couldn't leave him like that, half-buried and vulnerable. "Can I at least help you up…? I promise I won't make fun of you. I just can't leave you defenseless like this."

He seethed for a moment, considering your offer. "...Fine. Grab this stupid sheetrock."

You did so, lifting it off of him with some effort. He did his best to stand up quickly. Despite his best, though, you could see the source of his embarrassment. He had a rock hard erection, and a particularly desperate one, by the looks of it. It laid upward, reaching towards his abdomen and pushing up against the tight fabric of his suit, straining. The size of him was nothing short of impressive.

You turned your gaze pointedly towards the ground as he moved away from the pile of rubble. Don't react don't react don't react. Could you pretend like you didn't notice? Even though not noticing was impossible, even from a single glance? You swallowed a lump in your throat, your head swimming with unprofessional thoughts.

Miguel turned from you, crouching down, hissing out a slow breath. "Fuck, it's getting worse," he whispered to himself, his body starting to tremble.

You took a step closer, reaching a hand out to his shoulder.

"Your proximity isn't… isn't helping." He admitted without turning around.

You stopped, silently moving your hand away from him. Touching him would surely make things harder.

"Miguel, I don't think waiting it out is an option for you. You just said it was getting worse."

He swore under his breath to himself. "I didn't mean for you to hear that. This is- shock it- this is completely foreign to me. Never been hit by anything like this before, it's s-so intense."

You winced at that, you'd never heard his voice so pained. But, what was the other option? You shivered just to think about it, your body reacting in ways that surprised you. How could you possibly propose helping him without making him think less of you? Would he even want help from you? Across from you, he was in turmoil, on his hands and knees trying desperately to control his breathing.

“Miguel… how can I help you?” It was a foolish question, a loaded question.

“You know the answer,” he replied from over his shoulder, his tone cold. He cried out again. “I- I can’t- can’t do that to you.”

“What if I’m offering?” You asked, a little too quickly, pushing down your fear and embarrassment for even thinking such things.

He turned further to meet your eyes, though you still couldn’t see his from behind the mask. You didn’t even need to see his eyes, his body language was communicating perfectly on their behalf. His muscles were pent up and quivering. Every breath rocked his massive shoulders. “Why?”

You didn’t think he’d ask that question. You searched your brain for an answer. “Because it isn’t your fault. And I respect you enough that this won’t change my mind.”

His thoughts seemed to be diverting to his baser instincts, his voice becoming a growl. “Need you… to be sure. Don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“I’m sure,” you said.

In no time at all, he pounced, bringing you to the ground. He was on top of you, his taloned fingers caging in your wrists against the cracked concrete of the floor, your arms above your head. You landed with your legs apart and with him between them, his hips desperately close to yours. Your eyes widened at his feral energy, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. He brought his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling. His exhale was shaky. “You smell so good… always smelled so good.”

Your body grew hot upon hearing that. Always? Had he thought about you in that way before? You smiled to yourself as he nuzzled the nose of his masked face into your neck, his hot breath coming through and ghosting over your skin. You could feel his huge frame shaking around you. He brought his hips down to your pelvis, seemingly being as cautious as possible as he began to grind his hardened length against you. His breath quickened at the contact, and he met you again with fervor, stimulating himself on you. His cock was unbelievably hard and hot, the temperature of him coming through both of your suits to meet your skin and overwhelm you. The feeling of him against you was sending shivers down your spine, the pleasant pressure made even sweeter by the promise of more to come. He positioned himself on top of you in such a way that each rhythmic, grinding rock found your clit and teased it with clothed contact.

You moaned lightly, the sound of it causing him to growl into your neck. You lifted your hips up, meeting him with the same tempo so he could grind into you more thoroughly, your bodies now writhing in tandem. His heavy breathing became panting. "Need to… need to touch you." He picked up his head and released your wrists, one hand steadying himself on the concrete, the other reaching down eagerly.

You got the memo, quickly slipping the pants of your suit down and throwing them aside so he wouldn't rip them off for you. You had at least enough hindsight to know you couldn't go back to HQ looking so disheveled. He dismissed the gloves of his suit and retracted his talons as his fingers found you immediately, honing in on the wet heat of your sex. Two plunged inside as he loomed above you, his muscles shaking again as he wet his fingers with your arousal. You shook right alongside him, your reaction bodily, as your back arched and your legs closed instinctively to hold his hand in place and not let him go. His fingers hooked inside of you, already relentless.

"Soaked," he whispered, almost to himself. The word resonated with a deep, animalistic hunger. Without removing his fingers from your warmth, he sat back on his knees and used his free hand to pry your legs open. "Need to see," he said. He watched the length of his fingers disappear over and over. The large hand that kept your legs wide was squeezing the soft flesh of your inner thigh, and he seemed fixated on the way it was yielding to his rough touches. Nearly everyone was small compared to Miguel, but you… you were different. He had his hands on you, inside of you, the comparison was tangible. You were small, soft, and his. His mind swam with how he would take you, how he would sheath himself inside of you until he bottomed out, how he would desperately fill you with his hot cum and hold your hips up to keep any precious drops from leaking out. It took everything in him to not reach down and start rubbing his impatient cock through his suit, but his fevered brain convinced him to keep his free hand on your leg so he could watch you fall apart from his fingers alone.

He was delirious as your walls started to spasm around his fingers, white hot pleasure pooling in your core, threatening to overflow as he kept up his efforts. The constriction of your muscles bolstered him, and he began to go faster and harder, starting to overstimulate you. You threw your head back, hands wildly trying to grasp at something on the concrete floor but coming up short. He removed his hand from your throbbing sex to start teasing your clit with abandon, and you moaned as your body lifted up off the floor.

"H-holy shit, Miguel," you gasped out. "It's- it's so much."

His hand moved so fast against your swollen clit that you could hardly think. The feeling was electric, and your orgasm was dangerously close. Your legs started to shake and tried to close around him again, but he kept them forced open as he intently watched, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. You came and it utterly racked you, your body shuddering as you cried out, hot liquid spewing from you and drenching Miguel's hand and forearm. You squirted on him, because of him. You thought you should be embarrassed, but he gave you no opportunity.

As your head just started to clear, he recalled his mask into the neck of his suit. You quietly gasped at unexpectedly seeing his face. So strong, angular, and handsome. His red eyes looked wild, his mouth was open, his fangs fully extended. He studied his hand, turning it over so the mess you made could catch the light. As it started to dry down on him, he brought the two fingers that had been inside of you up to his mouth, and he licked them both clean. You gaped at him, almost fully unable to process what was happening.

When he was finished, he turned his gaze from his fingers and back onto you, as you sat up on your elbows to watch him. You saw that his cock was still as hard as ever, still pushing to break free. As if reading your mind, he recalled that part of his suit too as he grabbed your legs and yanked you toward him. He rested his cock over your abdomen, once again reveling in just how much bigger than you he was. The hot weight of his manhood on your skin set you ablaze once more and you eagerly awaited him. He thrusted but without penetrating you, sliding himself over you and wetting his cock on your cum. His exhales quaked with anticipation until he could wait no longer. Even on his knees, he towered over you, and so he needed to tilt your hips up further so your entrance could meet the head of his leaking cock. He shifted his grip to your waist, holding firm as you steadied yourself on your elbows and looked to him with bated breath.

He slowly pushed his hips into you, his cock sinking deep into your pussy. The steady penetration had you reeling. You needed to feel him, all of him. Every inch, all at once. It felt like it took ages for him to finally reach the hilt, but when he did, he waited inside of you for a brief, merciful moment. You basked in the feeling of being so full, so complete. He began to pull himself out of you, leaving you cold and empty for a split second until he slammed his entire length back into you, repeating and repeating at an unwavering pace.

Each powerful thrust reached so deep inside of you that it was nearly painful. Immediately, the head of his cock found your cervix and was hitting it with each hard pump that Miguel delivered. Your eyelids grew heavy as your eyes began to roll back towards your skull. His onslaught was so thorough, every smack of his hips against your pelvis reverberating through every inch of your body. The overstimulation of when he fingerfucked you had carried over, and you were already close to losing control all over again. He felt it too, as he growled in response to your pulsating walls.

"This cunt…." He snarled through his fangs. "This cunt is mine."

"Yours," you moaned, meeting his words a little too quickly.

"Going to mark you… so everyone knows."

"Mark me, Miguel." You agreed, not quite realizing what he meant. He started to lay you down onto the ground without removing himself from you, continuing to fuck you in missionary as he brought his face down to the crook of your neck. Your pulse quickened with excitement. He opened his mouth, his breath making your skin somehow even warmer. You wished that you could've seen the flash of his fangs before what came next.

He bit down on you, hard, and you could feel the course of his venom like molten lava through your veins. When the searing heat reached its crest, a soothing wash of warmth followed in its wake, leaving your muscles loosened and relaxed. Blood started to drip down your shoulder, the wet trickle quickly cooling as it made contact with the atmosphere. Miguel stayed latched to you as his tongue met your skin, lapping at the red stream, determined to consume it all.

You submitted to him fully, allowing him to position you how he saw fit so he could fulfill his feral need. His strong hands snaked around your torso to your back, lifting you up with him as he rocked back onto his knees. He helped you to swing your legs around his slim waist and to drape your arms over his huge shoulders. You let your face settle against his neck, the clean musky smell of him overwhelming your senses. His hands found your hips and he effortlessly lifted you up and down on his cock, fucking himself with your pussy like you weighed nothing at all. You moaned into him as you clenched around his cock, your limp body succumbing to the overpowering feeling of him. You started to shudder as your orgasm claimed you with a white-knuckled grip. You whined into Miguel's neck as it hit you with shock after shock, your vision going spotty while your cunt tightened around him.  

He couldn't hold it any longer, and his cock jerked inside of you as he came. You were still getting hit with aftershocks of your own climax, your muscles bearing down to milk every drop of cum that he filled you with. He held you closer and he thrusted himself as far into you as he possibly could, instinctively trying to make sure as little seed would have the chance to leak out of you as possible.

Your muscle control started to slowly come back to you as you and Miguel were chest-to-chest, both of you sweating and heaving. You weakly raised your arms so your hands could tangle with the hair at the nape of his neck. You lingered there for a bit, his strong arms holding you in the place as you played with soft locks of chocolate hair. You finally leaned back to see clarity slowly returning to Miguel's expression, and he looked utterly mortified. He held your gaze as he turned red, removing one hand from your body so he could cover his face.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "What the shock came over me?"

You were struck with sudden fear. "Do you… not remember?" The fact that he was still buried inside you should've been a dead giveaway.

"No, I do," he said, nervously. "I remember getting hit with that stupid bomb, and you helping me, then me wanting to split you in half."

You couldn't help but giggle at that.

"I tried to make sure I wasn't too rough with you. I was still in there, the whole time," he said, taking his hand away from his face to smooth your hair. He stopped when he reached your neck, seeing the bite marks he left. "Guess I didn't do all that well, did I?"

"It's fine. I can take it."

"Clearly," he said, raising his eyebrows, mildly impressed. "Thank you. I… don't know what I would have gone through if you hadn't been so… generous. But… for God’s sake, let’s not go around telling people what happened. We have reputations.”

You agreed, the secret safe between the two of you, the puncture wounds on your neck a silent souvenir.

[buckevantommy]

alternate 8x06 where Buck doesn't race ahead:

They go to the movie. They share popcorn and hold hands and Buck watches a captivated Tommy more than the screen. He's thinking about date nights where they don't have to worry about two cars or parking. He's thinking about going to sleep next to Tommy and waking up beside him instead of one of them rushing back to their place for clothes or bc they have a shift soon. He's thinking about the drawer he gave Tommy turning into half a closet and all of Tommy's things in his space becoming their space..

..and then he remembers: Tommy has a garage with a carlift and engine parts and a muay thai setup. Tommy has furniture. Tommy has a yard and a garden and trees. Tommy has a house.

Buck turns his attention back to the movie. Now he's thinking about the illogical nature of asking Tommy to move into the loft: it's not fair to Tommy and also it's not the best idea. He doesn't know what the best idea is, yet, and maybe he won't know until he talks to Tommy.

Because that's where he went wrong in the past: moving in with girlfriends without actually talking about it first, it just sort of happened or was expected. and they all left him. He doesn't want Tommy to leave him. They've been together six months and haven't talked about the future. Buck is thinking about the future now so he needs to talk to Tommy - see where he's at and how he feels.

Back at the loft after the movie, in Buck's bed after sex, Tommy can sense Buck's restless mind. He checks in, because he always does, and Buck hesitates. Then asks: "Do you ever think about the future?"

And Tommy says sure, so Buck presses for details, curious, and then it's Tommy's turn to hesitate. But he mentions some stuff about work - flying certain crafts, heading up a training program, a few bucket list items, but all in all just keep doing a job he loves and keep renovating his little house or maybe there's a little holiday cabin that needs some work.

Nothing about Buck. Nothing about a partner or a family. Buck's heart does something funny in his chest, something uncomfortable, and his nerves kick in properly.

"What about you?" Tommy asks, and Buck swears he tenses under him.

"Captaincy, one day, I hope. I travelled a lot in my youth so I don't really have the bug for that anymore, but I was alone then. I think I'd wanna go places if I wasn't alone. And I don't wanna live here forever, obviously." He means the loft, but he's not closed off to the idea of living outside LA. And since he has no self preservation, he adds: "And.. you." He doesn't say mention getting married or being a father, because that feels like too much all at once.

His nerves are having a field day as Tommy remains quiet.

Buck leans up, terrified and desperate to see Tommy's face. "Do you.. see me in your future?"

They're naked and pressed together under the tangled sheets. Tommy's hand has stilled where it was tracing soothing patterns on Buck's arm. It isn't right. The air feels charged in a bad way, like waiting for lightning to strike.

"Evan.."

"I love you." He doesn't want to say it like this, not for the first time, but it suddenly feels urgent, like tommy has to know right now and maybe it'll change the way he just said his name - like an apology, like a regret.

"You don't love me. You love the idea of me."

And that- that's not true. And it hurts. And Tommy's face has fallen. "No, I-"

Tommy sits up, dislodging Buck, and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

"Wait- where are you going?" Tommy's gathering his things. He's getting dressed. Anxiety and dread swirl in the pit of Buck's stomach.

"I'm going home."

Home. It hurts to hear. "You don't have to leave-" Buck knows he's pleading, he doesn't care. He scrambles off the bed, tugging on his boxers as Tommy reaches for his shirt.

"I think it's for the best."

"No, it's not- we can talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Buck stills. Tommy's holding his jacket, standing at the top of the stairs, trying to school his features to hide his emotions. He does that. He hides things. "What's happening right now?"

For a brief moment, tommy lets devastation show on his face, before it's tucked away behind a mask.

"I thought.." He doesn't know what he thought. He'd hoped Tommy felt the same, that they were on the same page. Six months in and he can already picture a life with Tommy.

"I'm sorry."

Sorry you thought this was more than what it was. Buck feels sick. His heart is stuttering. "Tommy-"

"Goodnight, Evan."

It feels like Goodbye, and Buck can't find the words to make Tommy stay before he's disappearing down the stairs and the loft door is closing behind him.

Sometimes lightning strikes the same place twice. Maybe it's connected to the string of bad luck that's followed him his whole life. Maybe he's jinxed, or cursed. Or maybe it's his own fault, his choices acting as a conductor for the kind of carnage most people only experience once.

[funky-fox-fics]

Prompt: trust

So here is how it will end:

Skizz and Impulse, the final survivors of this horrible game of death, will stand on the precipice. The ghosts will be singing for death and blood. Two of those voices will be Grian and Scar.

Impulse will remember walking through a house filled with ghosts, will remember Grian and Scar (and Gem and Skizz) alive and well, will remember them hunting ghosts themselves, will remember them being friends. Will think: isn't it ironic? Will think about Gem. Will think about things everyone should have forgotten by now.

"I didn't think we'd get this far," Skizz will murmur, and then he will say, "So this is it?"

Impulse will think about endings. Impulse will think about the ghosts. Impulse will think about the ghosts, whispering in his ears, begging for bloodlust. Impulse will think about how they got here, how many people had to die.

"I guess it is," he will say, and then he will say: "I don't want to end like this, though."

The ghosts will fall silent--or maybe they won't. The ghosts will begin to clamor for blood, violence, more death and more blood--or maybe they won't. Impulse will think about the ghosts. Impulse will think about ghost hunting.

"How else should it end?" Skizz will say, and there will lie the trap--his curiosity. Genuine. (He's never been good at hiding that, especially not from his best friend.)

Impulse will remember a book he'd read, about games and death games and winning them. Will remember how the last three victors were alone. Will remember how the first two victors wanted to die. Will remember the cliff, and their lack of armor, and the fact that falling damage is consistent.

Will remember how the first victor died in the end.

"We could win together," he will say, staring at the rugged ground below them.

This world is stained with blood. He won't let himself stain it with more. Not if he can help it.

Skizz will look unsteady, swaying, caught in the ghosts' chanting voices. "They want a fight," he will say, and he will sound a little like Grian and a little like Gem and a little like Scar and he will sound a lot like none of them at all.

Impulse will grab Skizz's hand, and they will stare at each other, the ghosts clamoring now for sure. "And what can they do about it? They're dead! We're alive! We get to do what we want to do! We get to win together!"

Skizz will not answer him for a long moment. Skizz will think about how much he's done to get here. How much blood is on his hands. How much blood is stained in the ground. Skizz will think about Impulse, and what Impulse means to him, and what the ghosts mean to him.

"Do you trust me?" Impulse will ask, desperately, their eyes both red, their hearts both Red. His hands will tighten on Skizz's wrists and it will feel a little like claws.

Skizz will think about how they were meant to win. Skizz will think about the ghosts. Skizz will think about Impulse. (Impulse will think about last resorts, and the sword tucked in his inventory, and tainted victories, and winning death games.)

(They both will think about breaking cycles. They both will think about five previous cycles. They will think about winning together, and what that would mean. They will think about the ghosts.)

"Of course I do," Skizz will say, Skizz will always say, Skizz was always meant to say.

(Or maybe he won't. Fate is a funny thing. There are ways to twist even the most staunch believer against everything they've held as fact forever. But it is better to think he always will then to entertain the idea that he won't. After all, there is only one world, currently, visibly, where this happens at all, and in this world he does not say no.)

"Then we have to do it," Impulse will say firmly, as the ghosts most certainly go silent with disbelief, with confusion. Gem and Scar and Grian will be among them. Impulse will think about ghost hunting. Impulse will think about hunting ghosts.

"On three," Skizz will say, and the ghosts will roar.

They will stand on the precipice, and Grian's voice will drown out Scar's and Gem's, and Impulse and Skizz will stand and count down to three.

And then, together, armorless, they will jump.

-- -- --

(It will be Impulse who Grian will call the victor, but the Whisps will shout both their names instead. And the Whisps are what matter in the end, aren't they?

After all, Grian was dead, and the Whisps are not.)

[blizzardfluffykpop]

My Darling

Summary: A mean clothing boutique shopkeeper. And Kevin who soothes all your insecurities by proving to you what you mean to him.

Oneshot

Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Non-idol au, Fluff?, Friends to Lovers au

If you are a minor, please do not read/engage with this post. This is an 18+ work. 

Warnings: Oral (r! receiving), Cum eating, Slight hair pulling (m! receiving), Protected Sex, Hand holding during sex, Slight body worship, Praise?, Marking (m! & r! receiving), Some aftercare, Use of pet names: Sweetheart & Darling. Very important: Reader is androgynous in clothing & and doesn’t wear makeup, and has body hair, and is a bit self-conscious about both (nothing Kevin can’t soothe ofc). *And if I missed any pls lmk!*

TW: A shopkeeper makes meanish comments about how the reader dresses and doesn’t shave. Leading to slightly self-conscious thoughts.

Word Count: 3,840

Kevin X Androgynous! Afab! Reader

Requested

Again, if you are a minor, please do not read/engage with this post. This is an 18+ work. 

------

You start getting dressed to go out when Kevin calls you up, asking, “Hey, you wanna hang out today?” You look at the clock, “I’d love to, but I have plans to go clothes shopping right now.” He hums, “Okay. How does five sound?” You grin, your heart thumping at the thought of seeing him later, “Sounds good, I’ll see you then.” He sweetly says, “See ya.” You grin as you realize you could get something new to wear on your date. You shake your head at yourself and tell your heart to quiet down. He just wanted to hang out with you as a friend. It definitely wasn’t a date, nor was your outing for him, but it didn’t mean you could get something for the occasion as well. 

You go to a few shops, buying a few things here and there before you end up at a local boutique. You head in, and the shopkeeper sweetly greeted you. You look around, picking out a motorcycle jacket, a few pairs of jeans, and two shirts. The jacket paired well with all the jeans you tried on, including the jeans you had worn there. But it was the two shirts that you were having issues with. The first one was too shapely. And it gave you an ick, so you took it off before trying on the yellow shirt. It was definitely your cut, but you weren’t sure if the color muted your skin tone. So, you ask the boutique owner for a second opinion. You spin around in front of her after asking her about the color to show her how it looks, and she says, “Honey, that?” You nod, and she shakes her head, “You’ll never get a partner if you keep dressing the way you do. Don’t you want something that’s flattering and shows off your natural curves?” You blink at her. All you had wanted was a color opinion. 

You give her a tight-lipped smile as you express to her, “I dress in a way that makes me happy…” The shopkeeper shakes her head, “Up to you, really.” As she walks back to her register, she tsks, “What’s with this new generation and not shaving…” You quickly get out of the clothes you were trying on and put your clothes back on. You didn’t want them anymore. You just wanted to go home. You put the clothes on the return rack and tell her tersely, “Thanks.” As if she didn’t say what she had in the changing rooms, she cheerily says, “Stop by again~.” You leave the store empty-handed, and it takes everything in you to make it out to your car without crying. They were tiny remarks, but they hurt so bad. Maybe she was right… 

You barely made it home, wiping your eyes at every traffic light you stopped at. When you finally parked, you rushed to your apartment, throwing your bags of clothes at the front door and yourself onto the couch as you wallowed. It wasn’t often your insecurities bothered you because you were confident in your skin. But her remarks cut like a remark. You couldn’t be with someone like Kevin. You didn’t dress flatteringly; it made you uncomfortable. You didn’t wear makeup, you didn’t shave, you didn’t do anything that was expected of you by society. And you didn’t want to, and it never mattered before because how you looked and dressed made you happy. But what if those things did actually matter? What if Kevin wouldn’t want to date you because of that? You cry harder into your couch cushion, trying to calm yourself.

An hour later, a knock comes on your front door. And you wipe your eyes before checking the peephole to see Kevin standing there. You gulp, remembering he asked to hang out later today. You try to wipe away any remnants of tears left on your face. So, it wouldn't look like you’ve been crying for the past few hours. You open the door with the best smile you can muster, and he smiles at you, “Hey, (Y/n)-” Before he pauses as he searches your eyes, “You look like you’ve been crying. You okay, sweetheart?” You let him in as you shake your head, looking down at the ground, “I just… I had a really bad day…” He hums and asks you to talk about it. You sigh “It’s over something small…” He shakes his head, “Even if it’s small doesn’t mean it can’t hurt you.” You bite your lip, “I um… well, I went to a boutique earlier.” He nods as you both sit down on the couch. “Yeah, I remember you telling me you were going shopping.” You give him a curt nod, “I did get a few things at other stores. But, uh, I asked the shopkeeper to come over because I couldn’t decide if this one yellow shirt complimented me or not...” 

He puts his hand over yours that’s starting to shake, and you sigh, “She uh… She said that um…” He rubs his thumb over your hand, waiting for you to continue. “She told me that I’ll never get a partner… if I keep dressing the unflattering way I do.” He gasps, “She said that!?” You nod, unable to hold back a sniffle, “It’s just um… it’s something I’ve always worried about. I mean, usually, I'm confident in my style and self. But her saying that… It hit a sore spot.” He shakes his head, “But, sweetheart, she’s wrong. You’ll get a partner no matter what you wear-” You shake your head as you squeeze his hand, “But Kevin,... she’s right, I don’t dress in a way others could possibly like... No one would ever want to date me.” He shakes his head at you, “No, she isn’t. Because if she was right, I wouldn’t find you endlessly attractive and want to date you, huh?” He presses his lips together as he realizes what he said, “This is not how I wanted this to go…” You blink at him in disbelief, “You do?” He nods, “You’re so attractive to me.” You ask him wearily, “You don’t care about how I dress?” He squeezes your hand, bringing you closer, “No, rather, I enjoy it, and god, your outfits make you look hot. And I enjoy how you don’t conform to stupid patriarchal standards.” You look into his eyes, searching for any sign of a lie, “Seriously?” He nods, “I mean it. You look so cool. And you being confident in your style makes you even hotter.” You shake your head, “I... I don’t believe you. You mean you’ve liked me back all this time?” And he asks, “Do you want me to prove it to you?” You blink at him but give him a small nod, “I need words, darling.” You whisper, “Please.” 

He brings you into his hold, removing his hand from yours to cup your cheeks. He smiles as he looks at you, “Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are beautiful?” You whisper, “No…” And he tells you, “They’re the prettiest ones I’ve ever seen.” You blush, and he finally brings you in for a kiss. His lips meld with yours as he pulls you onto his lap. He breaks apart to tell you, “I know this outfit makes you look undeniably hot, but I can’t wait to see what you look like without it on.” You blush as you pull him in for another kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. He runs his tongue along your lips, asking for permission, and you grant him it. His tongue explores your mouth as he runs his hands over your shirt. You let out a soft moan as you pull on his hair, making him let out a soft grunt. 

He pulls back to just kiss your lips, his eyes searching yours. As he gets his hand under your shirt, you shake your head, pulling away from him, and he immediately moves his hands away, “I’m sorry, was I moving too fast?” You shake your head, “That’s… That’s not it.” He waits for you to continue, “What is it?” “I- I… I didn’t- I don’t shave… and she also made a comment about that.” And he smiles before he gives you a shrug, “A little body hair never hurt anyone.” And you shake your head, closing your eyes, “But Kevin…” He tsks at you, “You could be bigfoot, bald, green with yellow polka dots, and I’d still find you attractive. I promise you; nothing is going to scare me away. So may I please see what you look like without your shirt on?” You ask, looking him in the eyes, “Pinky promise?” He tells you, “I’d swear on a stack of ten bibles for you, but yes, I pinky promise.” He links his pinky with yours, and you sigh, “Okay.” His hands creep under your shirt, gently rolling it up before he takes it off. You see his grin grow as he looks over you, “You’re so fine, darling.” You blush at him and whisper a small thanks before he pulls you into another kiss. You find your hands wandering to the end of his shirt and slightly lift it up to run your hands over his stomach. He cheekily flexes his abs as you do. And you giggle into the kiss. 

He peels off his shirt and lifts you up into his arms with ease, “Why don’t we take this somewhere nicer?” He takes you to your bedroom and lays you gently on the comforter. He reaches over and finds the switch for the bedside lamp. And when it turns on, he grins as he looks over you. “You look divine.” You blush, and he leans over you to capture your lips in his. He trails his kisses down your jaw and along your neck, leaving little marks as he does. You move your hand, and when he pauses in between hickeys. You pull his face to yours and bring him in for another kiss. You make out for a few minutes before you both pull away breathlessly. And he sighs, “Fuck, I can’t get enough of your lips.” He brings you in for another kiss, and when you pull away this time, he trails kisses down your chest, teasingly nipping at your skin as he makes his way further down. 

He kisses all along your stomach, and then he stops. And you look at him in confusion, and he says, “Before I get too far ahead of myself, are you sure you want to go further?” You sigh, “Please, Kevin.” He grabs your hand and places a gentle kiss on it before pulling off your pants and adjusting to be in front of you. He smiles, kissing along your stomach before he kisses you over your panties a few times. He hooks his fingers under them and pulls them off. You gasp as your self-conscious brain catches up to you as you try to hide yourself from him. Kevin raises his eyebrow at you and asks, “And what do you think you’re doing, darling?” You blink at him, and he says, “I want to see every inch of you. Don’t you dare hide.” You nod, and he smiles as he pushes your hands away and your legs back open. He smiles as he kisses up your thighs. As he grows closer, he sucks on your thigh, nipping at it to give you a hickey. As you gasp, he says, “Your little reminder until next time~” 

He swipes his fingers over your entrance and grins, “All for me?” You blush, giving him a small nod as he licks his fingers clean. He lets out a little hum before sinking further into the mattress to place a kiss on your clit. He grins as you let out a whimper and licks a stripe along your folds. He hears you rustling the comforter and looks up to see your hands desperately seeking purchase in your comforter. He reaches his hand up to hold yours before diving in and lapping at your entrance. Making you squeeze his hand tightly as he shoves his face further in. His nose brushes your clit as he closes his eyes in contentment. He groans, “God, you taste so good, darling…” sending vibrations up your spine. You whimper as he continues to figure out what exactly made you twitch. Licking at your entrance before sucking on your clit and back again. Your moans grow louder as he finally finds his rhythm, his tongue running figure eights over your entrance as his nose bumps against your clit. Your moans are like music to his ears, especially when your legs start shaking against his head. You hold his hand tightly as you start squirming, and his other arm comes to hold you down as he eats you out like a starved man. 

Not being able to close your legs, with your free hand, you seek out the next best thing. You grip his hair, causing him to groan against you as you nearly scream from the pleasure, “Kev-Kevin!” He hums, and it sends more vibrations up your spine, and you let out a louder moan. “I’m gonna-” and before you can even finish your sentence, you do. And Kevin hums again as he laps up your juices. His nose bumps into your overstimulated clit as he does, making you cry out. When he finally pulls away and sits up on his knees, you let out a sigh of relief. Your hands separate for a moment so your mind can finally catch up to your brain. And when you look up at him, you see his chin covered in your juices. He wipes his chin off with the back of his hand and licks it off. He leans over you, “I know I’ve already said it, but you taste so good…” He puts his finger under your chin, pulling you to look at him, “Is all this just for me, darling?” You nod in a stupor, “Just for you…” He smirks, “Good.” before capturing your lips in a kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth. 

When he moves back, he reaches back into his pants pocket, pulls out his wallet, and grabs a condom from it. He puts his wallet in his pant pocket before he asks again, “You sure you want to go all the way with me tonight? Because if not, I can always rub one out-” “Kevin, please just fuck me.” His smile slowly turns into a smirk, “You asked for it, darling~” In one swift motion, he pulls off his pants and briefs before slipping the condom over his cock and lining up with your entrance, “Tell me how you feel, okay?” He slips in slowly, and you let out a little gasp, “So- so good, Kev…” He smiles as he grabs your hand again, and your other hand grips the comforter beneath you. You squeeze his hand as he bottoms out, and you both let out a groan. He grunts, “When you’re ready…” He places gentle kisses along your collarbone as he waits for you. You squeeze his hand and tell him he can move. 

He starts out slow, slowly thrusting in and out of you as he starts to work you both into a pace. You whine, “Fa-faster…” You squeeze his hand as his pace picks up, and he squeezes it back before resting his weight on his other forearm. He captures your lips in another kiss and happily swallows your moans as he increases his pace. He pulls away to whisper, “You’re so beautiful, darling.” He gives you another gentle kiss, and you grip your comforter tighter as he starts thrusting even faster. You lean your head up, and he moves his upper body down so you can place kisses on his collarbone. He lets out soft groans as you suck and nip at it to make it nice and red before pulling away. As he thrusts faster, you place a few more kisses up the column of his neck and leave a hickey next to his adam's apple. When you pull back, he’s looking down at you with a small smile on his lips as he starts moving faster, “W-what?” He smiles, pausing to whisper, “I just wanted to kiss you.” He captures your lips in his as he picks the pace back up, and it leaves you moaning in his mouth. 

When his lips leave yours, he shifts his weight to his knees, running his hand up your stomach and to your chin, “You look so hot.” He kisses you again before moving his hand back down and slipping it between you two to rub circles into your clit. You gasp, squeezing his hand tighter and the blankets harder. “Kev-Kevin?” “You close, darling?” You nod as you gasp, and he murmurs to you, “Then cum for me.” Two thrusts later, as if you were under his spell, you come undone. He groans, “Fuck…” He buries his head into your neck as he reaches his own orgasm. He thrusts a few more times, and you whine a bit from the overstimulation, and he stops, breathing heavily as you both try to catch your breath. When you finally can see things other than stars, he pulls out and kisses your forehead, “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” He gets up from the bed, pulls off his condom, throws it away, and heads to your bathroom. He returns with a damp rag and cleans you up before tossing it into the hamper and lying beside you. He wraps you up in his arms, peppering kisses over your face, making you giggle. “I know this backward to ask now… But can I ask you to be mine?” You smile at him and kiss his nose, “Only if you’re mine in return.” He grins, “Of course, my darling.” He kisses you before pulling the blanket over the two of you. You cuddle into his chest, letting his steady heartbeat put you to sleep. 

When you wake up in the morning, you find Kevin’s arm wrapped loosely around your waist, keeping you close to him. You look back to see him starting to blink awake. And he smiles at you. His voice is gravely as he says, “You even look hot with a messy bedhead, huh?” You blush and shake your head at him, and he turns you over. You ask, “When did you fall for me?” He smiles, “Five days after the day I met you. But you were so out of my league at the time.” You blink at him, “What do you mean?” He laughs, “You were so cool. You didn't care about what others thought and dressed to impress yourself. And I thought that was so hot.” You laugh, and before you can interject, he says, “Knowing you do care behind that tough exterior. I promise to remind you all the time.” You shove your head into his chest, “Kevin...” You hear him laugh before he asks, “Now, it’s only fair if you tell me.” You look up at him, “I was listening to you talk about something you were passionate about a month after getting to know you. And that was it for me.” He hums, “What was it about?” You grin, “Beyoncé.” He laughs, “Good to know my nerdy fanboy talk turns you on.” You lightly smack his chest at that, “Shut up.” He places a kiss on your forehead before curling around you. You stay like that for a few minutes before he asks, “Would you like to go back to that boutique? I know there were some things you wanted.” You sigh as you look down at your blanket, “I mean, I do… But…” He nods, “Is it because of what she said?” You nod, and he kisses your nose, “Well, now, we get to prove her wrong. And you can try on that top, and I’ll give you my honest color opinion.” You look into his eyes as you ask, “Really?” He nods, “Of course.” You grin, “Okay, let’s get dressed.” 

He offers you his hand when you get out, and you happily take it in yours. When you get close to the door, he looks at you as if to ask you if you are okay with this. You nod. You really did want that motorcycle jacket. The shopkeeper greets you in the same cheery voice, like nails on a chalkboard. You find the jeans, jacket, and shirt you had tried on before. And Kevin grins, “Oh, that jacket is so cool.” You smile, “I love how it looks.” He smiles, and you lead him over to the changing rooms. He lets go of your hand and stands guard outside the changing room. You show him how the jacket looks, and he grins, “Yeah, that’s sexy.” You laugh, and he smiles as he waits for you to try on your shirt. You look over it and still can’t tell if the color looks good on you. And your brain starts replaying what she said to you. Before it can shake you, you quickly move the curtain back. You catch Kevin glaring at the shop owner and giggle before you say, “What do you think?” He smiles, “That yellow looks beautiful on you, darling. It makes your skin glow.” You blush, “Really?” He grins and kisses your nose, “You should get it, and I think it’ll pair with the jacket well, too.” You grin at him. That’s all you wanted to hear. You try the jacket with it and find he’s right before changing back. 

You head to the counter, hand in hand, squeezing his hand for reassurance as you draw closer to the shopkeeper. He whispers, “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here.” She rings your stuff up, and you see her look at your interlocked hands. And he squeezes your hand, grounding you. She tells you the total. And before you can pull out your wallet. Kevin says, “I’m paying for my partner’s clothes.” Her eyebrows raise at him as she scoffs, “Okay.” She hands you your bag and tells you both to have a nice day with a gruff tone. He pulls you in for a kiss right in front of the door, and you hear her gasp. He pulls away and opens the door, and both of you snicker at her attitude when you leave the store. And you tell him, “You didn’t have to pay…” He shrugs, “I wanted to.” You shake your head at him, “But Kevin-” He opens your door, “Plus, wasn’t it fun to prove her wrong?” You smirk, “It kind of was…” He smiles and squeezes your hand, “Then that’s what matters most.” You shake your head, and once he’s in, he asks, “What do you say to being wined and dined, darling?”  You grin as you both buckle in, “Oh hell yeah.”

[yellowocaballero]

I said a little bit about this in a comment a few hours ago (hey kenny) and I actually really felt like saying more.

For all that gay people/Tumblr people/AO3 peope/waves hand are really, really into found family they are actually pretty allergic to conceptualizing familial relationships outside of nuclear family roles.

I see a billion posts on Tumblr about how friendships can be just as important as romantic relationships, if not more, but nobody ever actually writes the friendship as important as a romantic relationship. Or friendships are interpreted as romantic, or friendships are sidelined for the romantic relationship. It's always a weird disparity between what people say are important and people actually find important for me.

So when we do step out of romantic relationship and into gen relationships, we typically enter the trope world of #foundfamily. But the same kind of flattening of characters for the sake of shoving them into yaoi ghost archetypes honestly also really happens with family relationships.

There is always a dad. There's always a mom. There's always siblings (frequently the canon female love interest). Maybe an uncle? Ex-wife if we are feeling sexy that day.

I really rarely see people interested in #foundfamily relationships outside of those boxes. It is overwhelmingly, entirely American-centric. There's no recognition of the unbelievable diversity and breadth of human relationships, or the very many ways there are to love somebody. In fanfic, if there's a much older male character emotional close to younger characters, he's dad mode. And the relationship then follows the character and story beats of the father-child relationship intended to draw out those fuzzy family feelings. Damn, I read found family stuff to get away from the intense claustrophobia of the fandom's favorite ship, I'm not here to get family yaoi ghosted here too.

I think you can create a very unique and engaging relationship if you're wiling to engage with the unknown and uncomfortable. Make a path without the paint by numbers story beats and character arcs. Please stop letting tropes rule your writing instead of construct it.

Write stories about love. Write relationships about loving each other. Just start from there, and don't worry about anything else. Create a relationship that is its own. Let it breathe. It can stand on its own two feet. It'll be a richer relationship and a richer story.

[lucreziaces]

thinking about the dark side of cesare fanning the flames-- or at the very least just not doing anything to stop them-- of the unholy love/desire he and lucrezia felt for each other when he just playfully chased her around the garden after discovering she was watching him fuck another woman, or when he planted the idea that he'd be the only one to care for her heart, or when he implied the love between them was comparable to the love of God, calling it "as all-consuming and pure as the love of God"....an idea she later reflects in season 3 when she says "one touch of your hand and God comes rushing back" (also in the same scene "whatever it is, it overwhelms".) like, yes, okay I do believe lucrezia is probably the one that shifted their relationship into sexual terrority (not on purpose though!!), but cesare is older by a few years. he would've understood it to be wrong before she did, and he could've sat her down at any point in season 1 or 2 and told her "hey, this isn't how brothers and sisters are supposed to feel about each other. we can't lean into whatever this is, okay?" and then made an actual effort to let her go instead of just half-assing it before then immediately beginning the build up of the already thick sexual tension between them until it was unbearable and she was left thinking her husband didn't care about her because he wouldn't sleep with her, so she climbed into cesare's bed and convinced him they should just get it on because no one else could understand them and people already it whisper about them anyway, so "why deny ourselves the pleasure?" very sick and twisted of him. I kinda hate him for it actually. because if he hadn't gone and created this "ideal lover" in lucrezia's head that only he could fit the mold of, she might've found actual happiness with someone else!! 😡 😡

[youchangedmedestiel]

You don't know how to write a fix it fic after episode 15x18 "Despair"? Let me help you a little bit (well it's more like let Jensen help you with one of his songs):

Dean would still hope deep deep deep down that Cas would come back because he always did. He came back once from the Empty maybe he can do it again.

"How far will you go You should know You'll be on my mind Said you were leavin' But never said when you'd be comin' back home and I can't wait another day"

But Dean would also miss him and feel miserable without him. He would feel empty and would no longer want to live.

"Ride with me Round the lakeside Got a raincoat and a veil It's been so long since you went away Took all of your lovin' and left me with nothin' and When you go What a shame"

And Dean would think that he deserved to lose Cas and that it was his fault the angel died. He would remember all those memories and wouldn't believe he didn't see Cas's love for him. He, who always thought his love was unrequited, would realize how wrong he was.

"Maybe I deserved it To be left this way I'm not sure How I was so blind"

Dean would want Cas's love back, would want Cas back. But if he comes back he might become insane from the fear to lose him again or simply because he will be consumed by this love or just that he would lose his mind if Cas had to keep his love for himself again (lots of possibilities for this one).

"All I know's that if you return it And kept it here to stay I'd lose my mind I'd lose my mind"

Despite the lack of will to live, despite thinking this is what he deserves, despite the fear, despite all that, he would try anything to get him back from the Empty. He would go to the end of the world for him.

"Cause you know I'd go to the end of the world for you To the end of the world for you"

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Do you have any Zhongli/Zhongchi fic recs? I haven’t found any that are nearly as good as yours 😔😔

funnily enough someone already asked this, but it was quite a while ago and tumblr is a mess to search old shit thru so here, this is the post this was asked during the ao3 crisis of- .......last year? i can't remember. either way, the post starts w me saying i don't have all the names and links but dw, after ao3 came back up i edited the post so you should see all authors and links in the recs.

i have to admit that for reasons unrelated to the fandom i haven't been reading many zhongchi fics as of late? so like- bear in mind i don't have an updated mental picture of any of the recs after the post was made. so if one went off the rails or if one of the WIPs finished, i'm not aware;; i also mention in the post that i'd add more recs if i had access to ao3 (which i didn't at the time bc it was down), and while that is true, it's been so long since i read any of them that i wouldn't be able to confidently reccomend them outside of 'i somewhat remember the plot and i remember liking it'. also i don't remember half of their names. so uh- yeah that's the list i think

[tubapun]

25 for both fandoms :3

25:common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

For Scooby-Doo I'm straight up sick of hearing any complaints regarding Velma. Especially from folks who haven't interacted with scooby in any capacity otherwise on this site

For MLP it's complaints about how "x character is toxic and doesn't deserve blah blah blah" like babe I think maybe Pinkie Pie being a little insensitive sometimes doesn't make her a bad person it makes her a rounded character. I get you only think about these characters in terms of which ones kiss but maybe let the rest of us talk for a while

[smallblueandloud]

making good progress on the time-travel fic :D

Leia’s face lights up. “He’s a Jedi?”

“Yep.”

“Do you think he knows Obi-Wan?” Leia asks Bail.

Bail says, “It depends on how old he is, probably.” He glances up from his stirring to catch Han’s eye.

“Luke was born after the fall of the Republic,” says Han, casual. Bail should’ve known better than to worry about a smuggler’s lying. “But he’s met Obi-Wan Kenobi a few times, I think.”

“There’s an underground network,” says Leia. “Although I don’t think all the Jedi know about it.” She accepts the cup that Bail hands her. “Thanks. How did he become a Jedi if he’s too young to have grown up in the temple?”

“You should ask him,” says Han. He puts his hand up at the cup Bail offers him. “No, thanks. It’s a cool story. His dad was a Jedi.”

Leia takes a sip. “I thought Jedi weren’t allowed to have children?”

“See, you’d think that, wouldn’t you?” says Han. Bail takes a too-fast sip of his caf and burns his tongue. “Kriff, you okay?”

“Fine,” says Bail. He misses Breha. She has a talent for quietly underscoring punchlines.

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[mechazushi]

More Monster than Man, More Metal than Monster. Parts and parts and parts of a whole, but still can't give less than his all.

So I was kind of joking about Kafka not being able to keep his legs, but that thought sort of spiraled into.... this.

(Look, I've made it clear drawing is not my foremost best talent, but Kaiju Number 8 is forcing my hand.)

So the idea is coming from a few places, namely, you guessed it, Chapter 117. (The grip it has on me, the grip I tell you! King Arthur couldn't pull it out of my mind even if he tried.)

With the recent chapters implying that Kafka needs to have a deeper connection with his inner Kaiju before he can defeat anything as well as there is something preventing some part of his hand from reverting back to normal, I've been enamored with the idea of more parts of Kafka succumbing to the Kaiju within and just have more and more of him turn into a tamer version of his base form. And then we get hit with what might just be the fourth time we see Kafka's legs get fucked up (Kaiju stepped on it when he was in the Sweepers, twice with Isao [once in dream sequence, the other during the fight] and now. Please let me know if there are others that I've forgotten.) And now I'm just like ". . .Well at this point, just replace the damn things.", which is so far up my alley, it's practically starring in the concert hall. Soooo... yeah. Kafka, stuck halfway through a transformation and now has his legs replaced.

I didn't mean to give him "Wattpad Body Guard Novel Cover" Energy with the hat and face mask, but I like to think he would start to wear something like that if his face did get stuck in the way it looks like in some of his cover art. I doubled down on the whole "He can't keep his legs on his person" by making it part of the AU that there's several steps needed to be done before he can take his legs off. There's a metal latch, a rotating locking pin, and f*cking fingerprint recognition on the inside of the leg. Part of me wanted to draw steam shooting out of it, and I might if I ever feel like drawing more of him like this. The leg itself is supposed to look like it's made out of Black Diamond Plate, a blue aerogel section around the knee section, and glowing panels. (The scientists that made the leg added that on as surprise.)

I think the reason I like this idea so much is because it plays into a specific characterization of Kafka that isn't really played upon much. (To be fair, it might not be obvious at first and you might have to dig for evidence for it.) People like to portray him as just a happy guy, no matter the circumstances. Others like to play up his potential depression. I like to view him as a man who can't stop sacrificing. By God, he spent every year that he could trying to get into the Defense Force, and by God he's going to make his last chance count. You could say "Even if it kills him", but it's not. It's not going to kill him: he's not going to die. If he dies, then that means that someone would have to take his place. And that scares him more than dying. He's going to wander around the Defense bases as a husk of what he once was, his fuel being an ever constant need to make sure no one else has to feel the same levels of fear everyone he loved once felt. Even if it means he becomes a fractured memory of an innocent man.

@narumi-gimmick-blog Because I really liked your comment on the last post I made. He will never lose that challenge again. 🤣

@sonicasura Idk, you seem to like AU shit, so here. I guess this is thanks for tagging me in some of your Crossover AU takes?

[sysig]

Reading moodboard #84430940 (Patreon)

[anyoldfandom]

wait hol' up i gotta hear those Bobo Thoughts. hes such a fascinating character and the way he was used was so all over the place (like straight up vanishing when it was Serious Episode Time lmao) but,, thats Rex's friend! weird uncle? Moral compass but pointing the wrong way?? Always had such mixed feelings about his writing

Bobo is like. The thing about Bobo is he's such a good fucking character potential. I said most of my thoughts in this reply so I don't really have much more to say besides Wow they really did just make the potential for a really interesting character and blew it for jokes about harassing women. There was so much THERE where he COULD be funny while still being a serious character - plenty of the time Rex is silly and goofy while still being a serious character.

Exposed imo is one of, if not the best Bobo episode for the simple fact that he was actually a funny comedy relief character while still being Bobo, actually. It didn't really dive into him as a character, but he did have some pretty good lines ("That cage was electromagnetically sealed" "I didn't say it was easy" got a chuckle out of me, as well as "Are you going to just stand there and talk or help me?" "Talk.")

But also in my rewrite of Bobo, he's...well, he trusts in Rex's abilities, and he knows at the end of the day he doesn't really have superpowers or healing like the kid, but he's way more concerned for him. He notices how Rex makes jokes when he's stressed and makes jokes with him, to help ease tensions and get Rex to crack a smile when things are tough. He sits with the kid and talks because he knows he's also an adult, but he knows he's easier for Rex to relate to than other soldiers at base. Even with as much as Holiday and Six love Rex and are there for them, they're still in positions of authority over him - Bobo, meanwhile, is another EVO, who knows he can talk to Rex about how much it sucks not to have people like them. I don't have the link on hand but I remember in @bambeptin's interview where the show creators mentioned how Bobo was like a weird uncle, and I think they should've played into that dynamic more. Bobo encouraging Rex to be reckless and sneak out and see what he can get away with when his parents and Providence aren't looking.

Also, the show just kind of...forgets that Bobo made Robobobo and I think that'd be fun to play with. Bobo surprising everyone with how smart he is, all the skills he picked up over his time doing crime on the streets that Rex doesn't remember/know about. He could've contributed to the team so much in S3 by being the guy who knows how to break into places without hurting or killing people (like Six and WK know), occasionally peeking at Holiday's work and pointing something out bc she's an overthinker (all the adults in the Providence Fam in S3 kind of are in their own ways) and he goes at things to try to find the easiest solution. Hell, even have jokes about him being surprisingly smart - have characters talk about something super complex and Bobo surprises everyone by understanding it. Have everyone getting ready to kick down a door and have Bobo say "And here I thought I was the animal" or some joke like that and pick the lock. Hell, have him try to open a door and see that it's unlocked while everyone's prepping to kick it in.

Have Bobo be just...a smart and logical guy and have that be the joke. He looks ridiculous, constantly makes jokes and acts dumb, but reminders that he IS smart can be funny, and him being cheeky can be funny! Hell, the show kind of hinted at potential but never went through but Bobo and Six having a rivalry bc they both think the other is bad for Rex at first (and have a history of clashing that we see in Promises Promises) could be VERY funny! Especially because it would pair Six's very blunt personality with Bobo's ridiculousness and refusal to act seriously. There's potential there but they just...went for easy jokes and it's a shame, because Bobo had so much potential to be great.

[legolasghosty]

Kissing the homies goodnight for Willie (/Willex) because I feel like Willie would.

Ack I'm so sorry this took so long but here you gooo!

Willie ducked into the kitchen to grab the water pitcher and some glasses, praying he wasn't forgetting anything important. They knew it was just their friends crashed across various surfaces in the living room, but it was still nerve-wracking. Willie hadn't been to a sleepover in like... five years, let alone hosted one. They got why the foster care system had to check over people before they could stay overnight, but with the number of times Willie had moved around since entering the system, it just... had never happened.

Caleb had been hesitant at first when Willie asked if they could all stay over, wanting to ensure Willie was settled himself first. And also wanting to meet all of these kids before he let them have free reign of his home.

But it was finally happening. All of Willie's best friends (and his boyfriend, but they hadn't really managed to wrap their head around that one yet) were lounging in his living room at 2 in the morning, some closer to dozing off than others.

Willie wasn't sure which was stronger: the excitement or the terror of messing this up.

He was pretty sure he hit all the main bits on all the 'how to throw a slumber party' lists he'd found online: pizza, way too many types of ice cream toppings (they're not entirely sure how many of those canned cherries Luke ended up fitting in his mouth), random games (he'd never heard of turning pictionary into a drinking game with shots of soda, but apparently that was a thing his friends did), and a movie with lots of popcorn and cozy blankets.

So they're pretty sure they've done alright thus far.

Still, it'd been a long time since Willie did this.

He re-entered the living room just as Alex managed to grab the TV remote and turn off the rolling credits of Legally Blonde. Flynn looked to already be asleep, lying across one of the air mattresses with her feet up on Julie's stomach. Julie had propped herself up a bit on her elbows and was debating...something with Reggie. Both of them looked closer to dozing off than winning though. Luke and Carrie were both sitting upright on one of the couches, madly swiping on their phones and hissing at each other.

"Do I even want to know?" Willie asked Alex quietly, setting the water and cups down on the coffee table and rejoining him on the loveseat.

Alex groaned. "I made the mistake of telling them there's a PvP mode on this tower defense game they both play."

Willie tried to hold back his giggle. He failed.

Alex attempted to glare at them, but mostly just looked sleepily confused. "I'm serious, we're gonna have to take their phones away now if we want them to sleep," he sighed.

Willie winced. "Any chance the game will kick them off after a few rounds?"

Alex shook his head, then leaned over to rest his head on Willie's shoulder. "And they're both too stubborn to give in, I already tried it."

Willie rested their cheek against his hair, letting their lungs adjust to expanding and contracting in time with the light huffs of Alex's breath against their collarbone. "Is it online?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?" Alex responded, blinking up at him sleepily in the dim light of the lamp.

Willie smirked and pulled out his phone. Okay, so Caleb hadn't technically given him the password for the router, but like... it hadn't been hard. He opened the app on his phone that connected to the electronic and started typing.

Twin cries of annoyance erupted from the pair on the other couch a moment later, informing Willie of his success.

"It just kicked me off!" Luke complained.

"Same here," Carrie griped. "Willie I think your wifi died."

Willie looked up, attempting to look innocent. "Oh yeah, I think you're right," they agreed. "Ugh, this happens sometimes, it will probably come back in an hour or two, but we just gotta wait it out."

Both Luke and Carrie groaned, but seemed to buy it and tossed their phones aside. Carrie peeled off her sweater and tossed it down next to Flynn's head, before pulling a blanket up and over herself and stretching out along the couch. Luke slid down onto the air mattress beside Reggie, koala cuddling against his back. Reggie laughed and shifted over so Luke could share his pillow, still discussing... Okay Willie was pretty sure they were trying to figure out who in their friend group would be whom in Legally Blonde. Fair enough.

Willie felt Alex's tiny sigh of relief against his neck and shivered. It felt nice, being close like this and knowing it made Alex just as fluttery as it did them.

Alex brought his fingers up to his chin, then let his hand move forward, palm up. Thank you.

Willie tucked his phone away. "Don't mention it," he whispered, daring to brush his lips against Alex's forehead.

Alex's cheeks turned pink, but Julie interrupted before Willie could tease him about it.

"Hey, no PDA unless you're willing to share with the class," she mumbled, eyes heavy.

"You're one to talk," Alex pointed out, glancing pointedly between her and Flynn's feet still resting on her abdomen.

"Oh you wanna wake her up?" Julie snarked back, the words slurring together a bit.

"I don't think any of us have that death wish," Willie chuckled. They tapped Alex lightly on the shoulder in warning, then stood up. "And I don't mind sharing." Before Julie could respond, he ducked down and pecked her on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, Juju," they added, throwing a spare blanket over her and heading back toward Alex.

"Hey, we're part of the class too," Reggie called out. When Willie turned, he was sticking his bottom lip out, the puppy eyes mostly hidden by his drooping eyelids.

Willie glanced back at Alex, a little startled, but Alex just shrugged and gave him a sleepy smile. So Willie picked his way around to Reggie and gave him a goodnight kiss too. And then Luke perked up a bit and wanted one. And Carrie said she should get one on Flynn's behalf, since her girlfriend was asleep.

"I guess I should have warned you how clingy we all get this late," Alex murmured when Willie finally made it back to his side. "I kinda forgot you haven't been able to be around this before. Just feels really natural."

"All good," Willie promised around a yawn. "Just tryin'a be a good host."

Alex leaned over and hit the button on the side of the love seat to make it lean back, the extending footrest turning it into more of a bed. "It's perfect," he stated, pulling Willie in to lay beside him.

Willie let out a happy sigh and cuddled in closer. Alex's cool arms soothed the nervous energy that was always humming along their skin. He felt Alex's lips brush against his hairline.

"G'night Lex," they mumbled, eyes slipping shut.

"Good night, Willie."

[wellhalesbells]

i desperately need to know what "troll the respawn jeremy" is and also hi i love you and everything you've written 🤍 (i regularly go reread the classics because they make me Feel Things)

Okay, so, "Troll the Respawn, Jeremy," is 1) a quote from Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt and b) the fic I've been trying to finish in time for Halloween for like.... years now. I cleverly only remember it exists in September, add a few thousand words, subtract about a thousand even, and then inevitably fail to finish in time. It's a great system, like, absolutely no notes on that, obviously. You're killing it, brain!

I'm honestly not sure how the thought originated in my head now but I do know the prompt for it was nothing more than 'zombie!Stiles' essentially. Stiles dies and the gang brings him back and he's... not quite right. The memories are there but his emotions aren't so he's rebuilding relationships, morality, and the everyday in this new framework where the only thing to stop him being awful is essentially if it's more work or not.

When it's not dark humor, it's actively silly. There's a lot of Stiles building bonds with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, since he wasn't very close to them before he died meaning they have the least expectations for how he should be behaving. It's a lot of Pack, figuring out how his relationship with Scott is going to evolve and Jackson coming back and Peter's curiosity naturally being piqued by this less self-righteous version of Stiles and he and Stiles and Boyd watching soap operas together because of course they would.

It's a fun one and a humorous one, even with Derek pining in the background and Stiles having to decide what his emotional responsibility for this person is and if he should be the one to police his choices or not. Because, well, there has to be twisted psychology in there, right? It's a resurrection fic, dammit!

It's also a lot of making Derek do the work too, which I like - especially when I have a good reason for it, because Stiles is all path of least resistance, so these people want him, care for him, would like him around and so he would like to be around and preferably in a way where no one's commenting on his behavior so everyone's trying to help him build boundaries, want the right things, do the appropriate action, etc. So Derek's figuring out in real time what Stiles' motivations are and learning to work within them and having exchanges like:

D: "We can’t keep fucking if I die.”

S: “Unless I bring you back.  You might be more fun that way.  Less with the frowny face probably.”

D: “Sounds like a lot of work for you.”

Same kind of thing with making monogamy something Stiles might want by framing it in a way that's appealing specifically to him. It's interrogating in a lot of ways what's necessary to make a relationship work. My little ace brain has questions and this is the only way I know to get answers, okay, LOL

Snippet(s):

“You gonna get all deep and philosophical on me?” The church is a tiny one and Stiles had only ducked inside to avoid, well, everyone.  He hadn’t expected Boyd would follow.  Truthfully, he doesn’t expect a lot of what Boyd does.  He hadn’t thought about him much before he died and even less after. Follow he does though, settles into the pew ahead of and at a diagonal angle to him.  Feet up on the wood next to him, arm stretched out over the back so he’s facing Stiles rather than the front.  Like he’s expecting Stiles to offer the sermon tonight. Stiles blinks at him.  “No, I don’t think so,” he says, when it dawns on him: “Should I?”  He doesn’t know a lot about being dead, having only done it for a short time, but if he’s meant to start spewing revelations, or even Revelations, he’s willing to give it a try. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” Boyd says in his lazy tone of voice that seems indifferent to most everything around him.  Stiles likes that; it sounds like he feels.  “What are you doing here then?” “Isaac was around here.”  It’s close to where he works, this little abandoned site of holy ground.  And Stiles had kind of wanted to see if he’d taken on any vampiric dead-guy traits and couldn’t cross the threshold.  He doesn’t know what the new rules are, and is starting to suspect there aren’t any.  Which is about the most horrible thing he can think of.  “Then his boss called, and he wasn’t, and I was bored.  What are you doing here?” “Keeping an eye out.”  The way Boyd says it, it sounds like, ‘figuring out how many things are wrong with you.’ “Think I’ll start eating brains?”  Stiles is genuinely curious as to what the theories are.  Wants to see if any match up to his own. Boyd shrugs.  “Do you want to?”  He sounds genuinely curious too. Stiles shrugs back.  “I don’t have any moral qualms about it.  But it seems like a lot of work and there’s just pretty much no way they’re as good as Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, right?  It’s a bone-saw and blood and innards versus opening a plastic bag.”  He weighs them in his hands.  “That’s not even a hard decision to make.  If I am a zombie, which I’m not conceding by the way, then I’m a zombie with some serious dietary deficiencies.  I require processed foods, stat.”  Boyd seems to consider this, then decides, “Cheetos would be good.”  After a second, he adds, “I have Runts in my pocket.” Stiles jumps over the back of Boyd’s pew and lands hard near him, says, “Then break ‘em the fuck out, man.”  Stiles steals all the banana pieces spread out on the bench between them, and relinquishes the cherry ones as penance. They don’t talk.  It’s not half-bad.

(Angstier) Snippet #2:

“You’re not you,” Derek says gruffly, not meeting Stiles’ eyes when Stiles lowers his head and looks at him straight on.  Derek and Stiles’ dad, they just can’t ever seem to get there.  Derek says it like he thinks this is why Stiles is here and wants it out of the way.  So Stiles won’t be here any longer.

“Not entirely,” Stiles agrees, tapping his fingers along the counter, the island a buffer between them.  “But the basics are all there, I’m just having a hard time accessing my,” he does a half-assed robot dance, “bleep-blorp-beep morality center.  I kind of think maybe because it just doesn’t exist anymore?”  He grins widely.  “Fucking cool, right?”

Derek stares at Stiles’ adam’s apple, glassy-eyed and blank, says without inflection, “What.”

Stiles slides into the stool at the counter enthusiastically and talks as much with his hands as with his mouth.  “I mean, okay, there’s action and consequence, right?  And arguably the biggest action and consequence: life and death, I defied it and now it’s like, I don’t know, I can’t appreciate that there are consequences.”  He rubs a hand over his buzzed hair, back and forth, back and forth, jolting himself back into the present moment with the spiky side, losing himself in his head when he’s not fighting its natural direction and his hand hydroplanes smoothly over it.  “I just don’t feel things the way I used to and that’s my best guess for why.”

It’s better than his second-best guess: that there’s still a part of him that’s dead, that the only part that ever gave a shit about any of these death-prone people/supernatural whoosie-whatsits didn’t come back with him.

Derek stares down into the depths of his cup, asks it, “Why are you hanging around Isaac?”

Stiles shrugs, staring more intently at Derek the longer Derek avoids his gaze.  He can see Derek’s pulse thudding in his throat, fluttering like it’s trying to escape confinement entirely.  There’s a heaviness to him that Stiles doesn’t think has anything to do with the sleep that’s still clinging to him.  He looks like the weight between his hands, cradling his mug, is as draining as holding up a bowling ball with just his pinky fingers.  “I’m fixing him,” Stiles answers succinctly.

Derek raises an eyebrow.  “Why?”

Stiles shrugs some more.  His gaze drifts down to the folds of the tank top over Derek’s stomach, he wants to flatten his palm there, smooth it out.  Derek looks so warm and defenseless, leaning against his counter, barefoot and weary, defeated and just waiting for someone to finish him off.  “Something to do.  Plus,” Stiles adds, sly and low, “I fix him, I know how to break him.”

“You want to… break him.”  It’s not a question, more like a naked declaration that wishes it were uncertain in the least.  Derek’s eyes are downcast and sad.

Stiles sighs, places his elbow on the counter, drops his chin into his hand and stares at the stubble on Derek’s cheeks, can practically feel the rasp of it against his mouth.  “I don’t know.  Something to do.”  He’s really not malicious, he doesn’t think, just easily bored and inherently curious about how other people work.  Since he doesn’t seem to.

Derek drops his chin against his neck and Stiles watches a slow breath move the weight of him.  He doesn’t ask for anything else, has no more comments to make, almost seems to be rejecting Stiles’ presence simply by virtue of ignoring it.

Stiles stares down at the island, lifts up his other hand.  It hasn’t left behind an outline of perspiration.  He rubs his dry fingers against a dry palm.  Stiles’ hands sweat; they’ve always sweat.

They don’t now.  Now.  Now everything is scorching, burning up sweat and tears before they can even make an appearance on his skin.

He lets out a gusty breath and says quietly, but without judgment, “You shouldn’t have done this.”

Derek’s eyes close, rim of the cup against his lip, expression pained.   “It was my turn,” he says softly into the steam.  Stiles watches him and Derek’s head drifts to the side before he wrenches it back, jaw tight, looking in Stiles’ direction but down at his chest now, where the scar tissue is resting under the cotton of his t-shirt.  “To save you.”

“But you didn’t,” Stiles tells him blankly, but not meanly.

Anyone watching would’ve thought it was an upper-cut though, the way Derek’s whole body rocks with the impact.  His eyes are closed again and he doesn’t look inclined to open them, not while Stiles is still there.  His hand slowly curls around the lip of the counter behind him, holds on tightly.  He still answers though, through some weird sense of debt or something else Stiles doesn’t understand, but he answers, says, “I know.”

Wip list is here!