#I need to write. I need to write. I need to write.

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

---------------

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[gutsby]

Stuck

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel gets nominated to play Santa Claus for Jackson’s holiday festivities. Of course, you’re into that.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Breeding kink. Age gap. Santa Clause kink (it’s brief). F!Oral. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: Kinda inspired by Otis Redding’s Try a Little Tenderness

Word count: 5.5k

“Give your old man a kiss before he leaves?”

The invitation shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did. But it had. And Joel just grinned, lips twitching beneath his big fake beard and palms pulling you toward his body.

The kiss had had to be wholesome and quick. Before long, he’d be surrounded by a sea of eager, wide-eyed, and awe-stricken children in the middle of Jackson’s town square, and what sort of example would you be setting if you were the girl caught kissing Santa Claus?

It wouldn’t rally much confidence in Father Christmas, if either of you had had to guess. You let him go. With a soft, innocuous tug of his belt buckle and a pat on his padded belly, you’d promised to be extra good while he was gone and leave more than just milk and cookies out for him later. Joel had blinked twice, and in the glint of one look, you could tell he’d wanted to say much more.

But then Tommy, dressed as an elf and scowling like Ebenezer Scrooge, had tugged him off your porch.

“You can get those cookies later, Nick. Let’s go.”

And that had been the last you’d seen of the pair before you’d snuck off to see Maria about Joel’s secret gift.

Now, two hours later in the glow of a roaring fire and near-unbearable excitement, you were perched on the sofa. Sitting with your knees tucked underneath you and a glass of milk, a tray of cookies, and a small, rectangular box tied with a bow set beside you on the coffee table.

You really hoped Joel would like his present.

You also guessed it wouldn’t hurt that you were currently half-naked in a ruby red satin teddy for his return home.

As soon as you heard the creak of the front door, you straightened up. You watched a body shuffle in, head bowed and shaking snow off his sprayed-white locks. Joel looked perfectly ancient in his present get-up: thick black boots, velvet crimson pantsuit, chest-length beard, and lopsided hat. He looked haggard and adorable, too. You could tell by the way he kicked off his shoes and left them stranded by the door he was absolutely drained by the events of that night—dealing with every kid in town under the age of ten likely hadn’t been his first choice.

But now he was here. Joel had been so preoccupied with getting off his boots that he hadn’t even seen you on the couch, and the instant his gaze landed on you, it froze.

“Baby…” he groaned.

His whole face softened, like he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him then, and his arms stretched out for you.

He looked childlike, almost, with the way he lumbered over. His limbs were heavy, and they felt that way coming to crash over your cowered frame on the sofa. You leapt back and squealed, only to feel two big palms grab you by the hips and pin you underneath him. Joel’s breaths were warm, and his eyes were alight with rapt intrigue.

“This all for me?” he asked, sliding his hands down your thighs and in between them. He cursed feeling the heat.

You had to bite back a laugh at how silly this looked—Santa Clause, a staple of your childhood, prying your legs apart and all but drooling at the sight inside. Pawing at your legs, then at your hips, then at the band of your panties beneath the tulle hemline of your teddy. It felt fun in a depraved sort of way. You felt naughty, like you might not want to share Joel’s gift with him until after all the fun was over. But, deep down, you weren’t that cruel.

“Don’t you wanna see your gift? Have your milk and cookies?” you asked sweetly, just narrowly managing to slide an arm out from underneath Joel’s weight and pointing to the assortment of goodies on the table.

Joel looked that way briefly, but then his gaze was back on you. Its warmth was smoldering. Darkening in time.

“Later. Santa’s got a bone to pick with you first.”

You squealed again as fingers hooked in your panties.

“But— but— you’ll really like this gift, Joel. Really.”

“Yeah? Already got one for you right here, kiddo.”

In a crass, graceless sort of gesture, Joel removed one hand from you to grab his crotch, and shake it firmly—‘Got a good seven inches of this gift to share, sugar’���and from there, you had no choice but to acquiesce. If Joel really didn’t mind putting off his gift for yours, at first, that was on him. You leaned back to get comfy.

“If you insist.” The smile you flashed him was coy.

Knowing, as your underwear was slid down your legs and Joel nestled in between them on the couch. You propped your head on a pillow and watched, feeling another small wave of sick nostalgia wash over your senses; Joel was still fully dressed as Kris Kringle stripping you naked.

He’d just moved to pull off the white beard, tied snug with a string, when you reached down and stopped him.

“Leave it,” you said, voice quavering with the threat of a giggle. This was insane. “Leave the beard. Leave all of it.”

Joel flashed you a look with a brow cocked up, confused.

“You want me to eat you out as Santa Clause?” he asked.

He grinned, and you almost laughed again. His expression was still puzzled—mixed with arousal, the look suited him well—and before he could say another word, you just nodded. Shimmied your red panties the rest of the way down and kicked them off at your feet.

But when Joel reached for your legs to pull you closer to him, you slipped off the couch. Your limp, shimmering frock that barely covered the globes of your ass underneath it brushed the bare skin as you darted off.

You’d meant it to be playful. Joel couldn’t brush aside gift-giving and get his way quite that easily. You stood on your own two feet, pivoting back to face him before starting to make your way toward the stairs. You waved.

“Okay. Give me a minute. If you’re giving me my present now, I need to get the rest of yours ready. It’s…upstairs.”

Joel’s—or Santa’s—whole face dropped. He stood.

“That wasn’t the deal, kiddo. You before me.”

He was already pacing after you, slowly at first; then, when your feet reached the first step, he broke off in a run. You screamed, and tried to tear your way up the rest of the stairs, but before more than four thuds had sounded on the wood, you were being thrust back in Joel’s arms—hoisted off your feet, and carried to the living room without another breath or pause from him. You kicked your feet, pretended to be indignant, and were smiling to yourself, inwardly, the whole time. He would really be kicking himself for this later, you knew.

“Gonna be a good little girl for Santa and stay put now?” he huffed, setting you down on your feet. Rather than heading for the couch, he’d placed you on the rug by the warmth of the fireplace and the winking lights of the Christmas tree, where he knew you felt coziest. And, in the glow of both, he could drink the view in completely.

You dropped to the floor where you knew he wanted you.

Still smiling. Fighting a laugh: “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

Joel laid you back. Spread your legs. Tugged your butt right where he wanted it beside the fire and slotted his torso in between your thighs. Your body was practically humming with anticipation as he brought his head lower.

The fluffy white bobble at the end of his hat swung in front of his face, preventing his mouth from sinking in.

He groaned.

“Fuckin’ kids.” He batted the thing out of his way.

“Been toyin’ with my hat and beard all goddamn night. You’d think I was a…a jungle gym to those little hellions,” Joel added with an edge of taut frustration to his voice.

You knew he’d liked the ‘hellion’ antics, whether he was willing to admit it or not. He’d pretend to be pissed at the kids for being kids, but deep down, he was always more than willing to oblige. He’d practically volunteered to take on the role of Santa before the ballot had even been cast for who’d get to play the Big Red Man for the festivities.

He was your old man. A softie at heart.

Hard in other places, but that was just how you liked it.

He spread your legs with both of his hands and practically moaned at what lay before him now.

You were wet. Glistening. In the light of the fireplace and the evergreen behind him, he could see it all too clearly: how pretty and slick and shiny you were along your slit. You’d been patient awaiting his return, and he could tell. Though you were dripping nectar through your folds, you hadn’t smeared one drop with your fingers—you sat like a gleaming, unwrapped present for the man to devour.

And maybe it felt wrong, all swollen and stiff beneath his costume pants and his hair dusted white to make him look even older than he was—about 1,700 years, give or take, instead of fifty-nine—but the look in his eyes said he wanted it all. He felt raw, and needy, and debased.

You liked seeing Joel this way. You liked feeling wrong.

It was what most of Jackson thought of you, anyway. What had taken Tommy, Maria, and the closest of your friends the longest time to accept, nearly all of your neighbors still thought was pretty strange: how Joel was decades your senior and you two were dating—happily. What they were liable to think when the news of you trying for a baby spread in town was anyone’s guess.

Joel seemed to forget all that as his head sank lower. He forked two of his big, meaty fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ and pushed your folds apart in just the way you liked, and he breathed out slow, warm puffs of air over your cunt. You shuddered, and you waited for his tongue.

“Baby…” he trailed off again.

“Yeah?” Your voice was tight.

A beat of silence passed.

“I’m…probably gonna need to take off the beard.”

You breathed out a soft, reflexive laugh, and you didn’t protest. Joel tugged down the big, white, wiry clump of hair from his face and let his other, shorter one surface.

This one wasn’t white, but it was a handsome black and grey, with a lot more of a silver sheen to its these days. You smiled as Joel drew closer, and that smile only faltered a little as the man kissed your inner thigh.

He did the same to the other leg. He dragged his mouth down the skin toward your center and let his lips part a little. He kissed you again, this time at the top of your mound. It made an extra low, almost lewd sort of sound. He rubbed his nose against your lower belly, and the contrast of the weathered texture to your own was stark.

Joel was old. He looked it even more with his hair painted white and his mouth hovering over your slit.

“She been good this year?” he hummed, peering up.

Before you could answer, Joel’s tongue slid out, and he drew a fat, wet line over the seam of your pussy. Your hips jolted in response, and his free hand held you down.

“She tastes good,” he went on in the most casual tone.

Then, without further warning, his jaw slackened some more and he started lapping at the tender flesh beneath it. He dragged his tongue through the thick, stringy mess and closed his eyes, like he was savoring the taste. His lips curled, and he kissed you again—this time, it closed around your clit, and he suckled you gently. With the first wet pop and a sickening squelch from his mouth, your eyes nearly rolled back in your head; Joel’s opened again as he flashed you a shit-eating grin between your legs.

“She’s been real good for me this year, hasn’t she, hon?” And he squeezed your leg to indicate he wanted a reply.

You tried to answer, but it came out garbled and weak:

“So good, daddy. So— so—”

Oh.

Joel’s fingers moved from their forked position to push his index inside your weeping hole. At the same time, the tip of his tongue flicked delicately against your clit. The two parts of him moved in tandem, and from the feeling of both, you had to bite your lip to keep from letting out a cry. Your hand reached down to grab his hair, but all it could find was that goddamn Santa hat. Joel snickered.

With his lips, tongue, and finger still working your needy cunt, he couldn’t help but smile as you cast the hat aside

“Damn thing,” you cursed, fingers lacing through his hair.

“Language, young lady,” Joel murmured.

Like he was one to talk.

You made a fist with the chalky white locks and rutted your hips the tiniest bit, too flush with pleasure to give a single fuck what words came out of your mouth, and from the way Joel grinned and slid a second finger inside, you had only to guess he didn’t mind either.

He could pretend, though. He licked a little harder, then:

“She’s gonna be sweet for her old man, isn’t she?”

“Y— yes, she is.”

“Nice and polite before she gets this cock?”

“I promise.”

Appearing satisfied with this response, or else simply wanting to bring you to the edge and make you cum on his tongue, Joel wedged his fingers even deeper, then curled them. He brushed the soft, fleshy wall in a beckoning motion and, at the same time, sucked your nub between his lips. He felt you tense, heard you moan, and likely sensed there was no better time for his tongue to dart out again. Just as he released your clit from its airtight kiss, he was back licking circles on the tender, swollen thing, eyes flitting up to yours to hold their gaze.

“Daddy,” you whimpered.

When his fingers curled another time, you cried out.

Your brain was on the fritz; your heels were digging in the rug, stomach tight as it had ever been, and your hands seemed to move with a mind of their own. One was gripping Joel’s hair, giving you leverage to cant your hips against his face, and the other was palming your breast through the thin lace fabric of your teddy. You craved stimulation—couldn’t breathe without the feel of something on you, and in you, as you were about to cum.

Joel nodded his soft approval. He watched you fondle yourself and seemed enthralled, even from where he lay.

“That’s it, baby. Touch yourself while daddy licks your pussy. Lemme see how good she’s feelin’, sweetheart.”

His words were all the propulsion you needed and more. You pinched your nipple through the fabric, whined at the pleasure wrought by your fingers and by Joel’s simultaneously, and felt an even deeper twist in your gut. You grip constricted in his hair; you didn’t need to speak.

“She’s right there, isn’t she? I know that feels nice, baby,” Joel groaned, voice low, “Gonna cum for daddy now?”

You whined. You gripped tighter. Your body needed this.

“C’mon, hon. Let me have it. Cum on daddy’s tongue.”

Two more strokes of his tongue, a gentle thrust of his fingers, and the brush of your own touch across taut, pebbled flesh was enough. The next second had you clamping down on Joel’s hand and giving him all you possibly could, lips parted and spilling a feverish, shrill whine while your orgasm washed over you. Your toes curled into the rug, and Joel pressed your hips down as his tongue fucked you through it. He licked and sucked and coaxed your needy walls again and again; he felt you tremble, and he let your wet essence soak him through.

By the time you were done, his face was glistening.

He lifted his head from between your legs, gaze wild and lips shiny with your full release. He licked them, elated.

“All good, hon?”

“Amazing.”

You let out a shaky breath and pet his hair. Joel smiled.

“Wanna go upstairs? Be a little comfier in the bed, I bet,” he offered, slowly starting to rise, before wincing. Then when his knees audibly cracked, “Your old man needs it.”

You had no doubt about that. You sat up and smiled, and let him lift you to your feet along with him. Another snap.

“Aw, hell,” Joel hissed, shaking his head.

You wrapped an arm around his waist before pacing another step. He leaned a little into you, though not too much, and you couldn’t help but flash him an arch look.

“Did your wishlist include new kneecaps, by chance?”

“No ma’am. Just stronger hands to spank with.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat, grinning down at you.

You would’ve returned with something equally cheeky and light, had you not remembered that thing close by.

“Wait, wait—your present!”

Joel eyed the square box as you retrieved it. His eyes flashed with curiosity before you reappeared under his arm and helped him start up the stairs. He walked, and let out a soft groan, and when you’d made it halfway up, he shook his head at you again. It was slow but emphatic

“Gotta finish your gift first, sweetheart,” he murmured.

And, try as you might to get an inch of give after that, you sensed fighting Joel’s generosity was futile by then. You knew him well enough to guess that he’d only be satisfied receiving his present once yours had been properly secured with another orgasm, and his spend dribbled in big, thick rivers down the insides of your legs.

You heaved a sigh and smiled, walking slowly with him.

Joel, if you only knew.

Despite his best efforts, the man still couldn’t work out how he’d ever gotten so lucky to find something like this—someone like you. As his hips worked their way up to a near-desperate pace, bordering on frenzied as he fucked into you, Joel decided that he wouldn’t bother guessing.

He’d accept this for what it was: a gift he didn’t deserve.

The two of you hadn’t even gotten around to the business of unwrapping your presents yet, and Joel already knew that he had it all just looking down at you.

With your back arched and your hands making fists in the sheets beside your head, wet and glistening cunt accepting each one of his thrusts and squeezing him tight on every stroke, Joel had to steel himself just feeling how good you were, knowing how well you fit him in every way, and sensing this was as close to replete happiness as he’d ever get. He couldn’t ask for more.

Even without a baby, he knew things would be okay.

The two of you had been trying for months now, wholly without success of yet. There had been the night he’d bought a blue pill and fucked you four times in one day, and you’d told him at the end of it all that your period was late. But then you’d bled the next morning, and your hopes, for the present moment, had been dashed away.

No pregnancy hopes since then had amounted to anything else, and at length, you’d agreed not to let it get your spirits down—or try not to, anyway. You’d fuck as often as you could, but you wouldn’t let the thought of wanting a baby make the process less fun for you now.

That didn’t mean Joel couldn’t remind you every now and then what you were hoping the endgame would be.

Presently, he leaned over your prone body on the bed and pressed his lips to your ear. He ground his hips against your ass so his cock wedged itself all the way in to the hilt, and when the tip was just threatening to graze the edge of your cervix, he dropped a kiss on your cheek.

“Want me to put a baby right here?” He spoke gently.

Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and your head reared back to fall against his shoulder. Joel took this as his opportunity to start peppering more kisses. He knew how much you liked the dirty talk while he was deep inside, talking about how much he wanted to blow his load and knock you up. It was a melting point for you both, and he sensed that you wouldn’t last long after it.

He had your head tilted to his, your lips spilling moan after moan as his dick plunged further inside and your eyes struggling to stay open. They flitted between his, and they gave him a hopeful look. You managed a smile.

“Right…right there, daddy,” you whimpered out.

Another sound escaped your mouth and flooded his, and Joel couldn’t help it: he kissed you, and he fucked in deeper. He couldn’t have wanted this more if he tried.

His forehead was slick with sweat, as was yours. Your bodies were grinding together—Joel’s soft, warm belly filling the concave space where your spine curved down, and he rutted repeatedly into you, like an animal in heat.

His face was right beside yours as his teeth gritted out:

“My sweet girl want a baby in her for Christmas, that it?”

Again, you whined and rolled your hips against his, nodding your head, and the look in your eyes was wild.

“Baby—please. Please fuck your baby in me, Joel.”

Joel could do more than that. Much more. Ask him for twins, triplets, or however many kids you could’ve wanted, and he would’ve given it to you then.

He wished it were that simple, and he could’ve knocked you up and made you happy a long time ago, but sadly, that hadn’t been in the cards for you two. Joel shortly brushed that thought away, not wanting to lose his momentum or delay the oncoming orgasm about to rattle your body underneath him. He kissed your shoulder this time, thrusting with his stiff, wet cock in just the way you liked, and in seconds, he got what he wanted—what you needed, clearly, as your muscles seized and your lips let out a sharp, shrill cry in response.

Joel held you to him as long as he could. He felt you melt into the bed and only held your body tighter, rutting his hips at their relentless pace to keep your pleasure alive. He heard you whine, tell him to cum inside me, daddy, please, and from that point on, he sensed he’d have to slow a little. It couldn’t be helped. When he came, he had to pin you down and fill you completely—take his time working his spend inside your needy, pulsing cunt, and when he was done, just keep you there. Let you feel him. It was a satisfaction unlike any other for you both, and it was one he’d come to love these last few months. He stilled inside you, feeling his cum coating every inch of your walls around him, and he grinned. You let out a sigh.

“So I…I made the ‘Nice’ list, Mr. Clause?” you panted.

Joel’s head dropped to yours in a short, rumbling laugh.

His dick twitched inside you, and his belly growled a bit. He definitely should’ve taken you up on those cookies.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we’re square,” he breathed back.

How long you laid like that was anyone’s guess. Joel didn’t bother keeping track of the seconds or the minutes spent splayed out over your body; he only sensed when he was starting to go soft and you wriggled your hips underneath. He shifted and let you flip around.

His cock now completely out and a smile touching your lips as you turned to face him, your gaze flitted to his.

“Can you go get me one of your shirts, please?”

You were also both stark naked, thanks to the lightning-quick stripdown you’d both done the second you’d made it to the bedroom. Though Joel was sleepy, he knew the routine: get you a shirt, get him a clean pair of boxers, and get the two of you off to sleep. It’d been a long day.

“Yes, dear,” he answered dutifully.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose before rising. He padded his slow, heavy feet over to the dresser at the opposite end of the room, and he opened the top drawer.

“Second one, please. With the flannels,” you called out.

Okay.

Joel snagged a pair of underwear for himself, then went to the next drawer to get you a flannel to wear, since the scorching heat of your house evidently wasn’t enough to keep you warm. He smiled to himself, about to crack a wiseass comment about you being cold-blooded or something, when the man was obliged to stop. He took one look inside, dropped his boxers, and paused a spell.

When Joel started again, it wasn’t to speak—he just turned and lifted the first thing he saw in the drawer.

“Wha—oh, shoot. I was supposed to wrap that,” you said swiftly, wincing as he held it. Still smiling at him, though.

“Seems a little small to be a gift for me, don’t you think?”

In his grasp was a miniature onesie. Beneath it, in the drawer you’d directed him to, there had been at least four more just like it. All soft, pastel-colored, and small.

Your smile stretched even wider as you shook your head.

“It’s from Maria and Tommy. More of a…future present, for the two of us,” you shrugged, pushing to sit up in bed.

Joel eyed you a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say.

On your face, he saw hope and excitement etched bright. Like you were fine to keep waiting on this ‘future,’ no matter the duration. One glimpse of that and Joel felt a lump the size of his fist in his throat. He walked over.

And it had to be the last thing you wanted to see, surely—him setting the onesie down, dropping beside you in bed, then fumbling gracelessly, uselessly, to hold you.

Feeling every bit the remorseful, too-old man who couldn’t give you what you wanted. He wanted it, too.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he blurted out, unthinking. He pulled you to his chest; within his own, his heart was pounding, “I know…I know it’s taking us awhile. That’s my fault—”

“Joel.”

“My cum’s as old as dust and that’s probably why—”

“You don’t—”

“—you aren’t pregnant yet. I know it’s frustrating for—”

“Seriously, Joel—”

“—you to deal with. All of that disappointment, I mean—”

“JOEL.”

“What?”

His pulse was still thudding away. You blinked once.

Then, in a slow but deliberate path, your gaze trailed over to the nightstand. Joel’s followed after in similar fashion.

“You still haven’t opened your present,” you said. Stern.

It wasn’t the tone Joel had been expecting to hear at all.

And when you handed him the box, he felt his blood pressure spike. Absently, he thought that couldn’t be safe for a man his age. He couldn’t even tell what it held, and still, the prospect of it had him anxious beyond words. He turned it over; something rattled inside.

‘Go on, Joel.’ Your voice coaxed him gentler then.

And he did, though his fingers trembled some.

The weight in his grip could’ve been an ounce, a pound, or a ton, and his hands would’ve shaken all the same. Joel felt a current pulse through him as he slid the lid off.

Then he just stared.

His eyes widened.

“That’s…”

“Exactly what I have been trying to give you all night!” You laughed. The sound was light, not derisive or cruel.

When he looked up to you, your cheeks were as full and high as he’d seen them all day—you were smiling so big.

That made him think that this wasn’t a joke. Or a dream.

Surely his brain couldn’t have contrived both the most perfect, blinding smile on your face and a slim, white, pink-capped little stick with a ‘+’ on the screen at once.

It still hadn’t hit him completely, though, so he blinked.

“Really?” His voice was hoarse. Vacillating.

“Really.” Yours was more certain. Happy.

And, while the truth of it was slow to seep in, Joel knew he couldn’t waste another moment. He didn’t think—just pulled you in and squeezed you to him as tight as a vice. He couldn’t think—the rush of his blood in his ears and the puffs of your breath and the clatter of that positive pregnancy test in its box, discarded, were all too much.

As soon as he squeezed, your next breath was a sob.

“I meant to tell you, Joel. I meant to. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Your confession came out muffled against his chest, though Joel heard it all with total clarity. In a blink, he had you drawn back a little, just so he could hold your face and search your gaze with his own in a wide look.

Before he could even speak, he saw the tears welling up, as if coming from nowhere. You were still trying to smile.

“It’s been weeks. Since…since my period. I just—” With a wince that could’ve shredded Joel’s insides in two, you went on, “—I couldn’t stand disappointing you again.”

The same way he’d felt. Why you couldn’t tell him.

“Baby, hey, no— no. No, no, no. Please don’t say that.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own emotions at bay.

“After the last time, and the— and the way you looked so happy at the thought of being a dad, I…I…had to be sure. Maria got me a test, and we triple-checked.” You sniffled.

Moving to wipe at tears as if any of this was your fault. Joel’s thumbs only grew more fervent in their path to smear the moisture away, and his head kept shaking back and forth—‘No, sweetheart, that’s not on you. Don’t even think that. Come here.’—as he tried to be a comfort. He couldn’t be happier. He hoped you were too. While tears engulfed his hands, he hoped you would be.

Even if his bones were old and his knees were weaker than he wanted them to be; even if you couldn’t count on two hands how many years stretched out between you and the decades made it seem like forever to the people in town. Even if this baby was the first, and last, you had.

Joel just wanted you happy.

It was all he could ask to have.

“We’re gonna be parents,” you said, half in awe.

You blinked harder and more tears slid down, but the look behind them was brighter. Your eyes were on his.

“We’re gonna be parents,” Joel repeated, “You and me.”

Then he pinched your puffy, wet cheeks, pictured a baby that looked the tiniest bit like you, and he had to lean in. He kissed slower than he meant to—had to savor you.

A baby.

His baby.

Your eyes were a little wider when he pulled away.

“Happy with your present, daddy?” you teased.

Joel blinked, and he thought of the dozen-odd boxes he had laid out under the tree downstairs—all for you to unwrap in the morning—and he realized then that you had him soundly beat in the gift department that year. Though none of what he’d bought could even hope to hold a candle to what you’d given him tonight, there were still ways to try and make it up. Say thank you.

“I love my present. And I love you.” Joel answered softly.

And just as you smiled, were about to slide back under the covers and tell him you loved him just as much, he grabbed your ankle. Started to lower himself after you.

Your eyes widened more.

“Joel Miller.”

His smirk widened right back.

“One more present before bed?”

You might’ve rolled your eyes, but you let him climb over you just the same. You felt his weight shift over yours, sensed a familiar stir in the depths of your body, and peered up to meet a matching smile you knew you’d find.

Joel was beaming from ear to ear like this was the luckiest day he’d lived to see. Like he couldn’t wait to show how glad he was to be a dad—over and over again.

“Just wanna make sure we made it…stick, y’know?”

He was grinning now. Gently laying you down.

You sighed, smiled, and spread your legs.

“Too late. You’re stuck with me, Miller.”

“Yeah? I like the sound of that.”

“What?”

“Stuck.”

[deepspacenova]

UNDER PRESSURE

1700 words | banter. tension. jealousy. possessive Sylus.

Prompt: running into your main lads man (boyfriend) while you're out with your second favorite lads man (as a friend) and how they would react.

Note: Written for this round robin/challenge by the lovely @jinwoosbabyboo -- it's open for anyone, by the way, so consider yourself tagged if you're interested! (:

The smell of antiseptic mingled with the earthy scent of Vagrant's Land while the pop-up clinic buzzed with organized chaos. Patients with various illnesses and injuries stood around waiting for the moment they'd be called back and have their ailments treated or cured.

The welcome tent’s fabric flapped in the soft breeze as you let the nurse manning the check-ins know why you were there. When you were shown inside, you noticed the open space had been outfitted with portable medical equipment to create a busy hive of treatment cubicles and testing areas.

You glanced around the crowded space until you found him. Taller than most of the room, intent on his work, and confidently in his element, Dr. Zayne scribbled onto the clipboard a nurse was holding toward him. Finishing his last marking, he looked up, cool hazel eyes thawing ever-so-slightly and dented with a happy crinkle as he straightened and dismissed your escort.

"Right on time," he murmured, grabbing two latex gloves, a yellow file folder, and his medical bag.

"Miracles can happen when you least expect them," you teased with a grin.

Zayne started to usher you toward a makeshift examination corner since all the cubicle curtains were closed. "Medical miracles, maybe," he quipped. "But you being on time? That’s a phenomenon even science can’t explain."

You laughed softly, sitting down as he gestured to a folding chair and rested his medical bag on the wobbly table next to him. "Careful, Dr. Zayne, your bedside manner is slipping."

With an amused shake of his head, he reassured, "This shouldn't take long. Just a quick exam, same as always."

You nodded, rolling up your sleeve as he pressed his cool fingers to the inside of your wrist and got started. His touch was warm but impersonal, his attention fixed on his readings. He moved methodically, pressing the tips of his fingers over your heart and chest.

Though the process was clinical, you couldn't help but study Zayne with fondness — the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his nostrils flared when a loud noise interrupted him, the way his breath became a tickle on your cheek when he leaned in to adjust his stethoscope.

That was the moment you heard his voice.

“Don't tell me you're afraid now,” Sylus demanded from the clinic's entrance, making nurses and bystanders alike stand to attention, as if they couldn't help but wait for his next directive. “I could put you two into far worse situations.”

Two hooded boys in medical masks shuffled in behind him, the defiant puff of their chests doing little to hide their apprehension. At Sylus' words Luke scowled but didn’t argue while Kieran kept glancing toward the exit like a cornered animal. Giving them a pointed look toward the nurse they were supposed to follow, he took a few steps forward before his eyes landed on you.

The vision of the leader of Onychinus halting in place with a satisfied smirk spreading across his face was unnerving enough to straighten every spine in the vicinity. But he barely noticed as he waved off the boys and made his way toward you.

Then his eyes flicked to the person next to you. To the stern yet striking man whose face was so close to yours he was practically stealing your fucking air from you.

Jaw tightening — the only outward sign of his discomfiture—Sylus strode toward you with deliberate, measured steps, his posture casual but predatory.

A fluttering of wings had taken flight in your stomach as soon as you'd heard Sylus' gravelly voice, but for the sake of Zayne's time and not raising any eyebrows in the semi-public setting, you'd resolved to find Sylus after your check-up. Unfortunately for you, Sylus never much cared about the concept of discretion when it came to you.

Stopping behind you, he placed the edge of his palm on your shoulders, spreading his fingers across your chest in a rather over-the-top display of possessiveness.

Doctor Zayne hadn't even looked up at the interruption and had moved on to digging for a tool in his medical bag when the hand-shaped barrier blocked his access to your heart.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?" Though the words were casual, his tone was wrapped in barbed wire.

"Sylus!" You said, hoping the breathlessness in your voice wasn't too noticeable. Looking up at his sharp features, which managed to be frustratingly beautiful even upside down, you smiled and moved his hands from your chest to your biceps, patting the tops of them twice. "I didn't know this is what you meant when you said you were taking care of some business with Luke and Kieran. Shouldn't you be with them?"

A low chuckle emerged from his throat, laced with both amusement and menace. "I was, sweetie. That is, until someone else piqued my... curiosity." His hands slid slowly down to the crooks of your elbows and then disappeared. Suddenly, the chair next to you was occupied with your boyfriend's imposing form, eyes boring into Zayne's unflappable figure. "I didn't realize doctors from Linkon City made special appointments when they visited Vagrant's Land."

“I volunteer here once a month,” Zayne said matter-of-factly. He didn’t look up as he re-focused on his examination of you, ignoring Sylus' eyes — one, a muted scarlet, the other an angry vermillion — trained on every movement. “It’s a good way to reach those who can’t make it to a hospital.”

Sylus’s gaze darkened, his lips curving into a tight smile. “How noble of you. I see you're very—” His eyes lingered on Zayne’s hand, still resting against your chest. “—thorough with your patients.”

"Sylus," you cut in quickly. "Have you met my childhood friend, Zayne? We recently reconnected when he became my doctor."

But Sylus' attention didn't move from Zayne.

“Any good doctor is thorough,” Zayne replied, turning to jot down notes into your file. His voice was calm, almost bored, as if Sylus’s presence barely registered. “If something's off, it's important to work on her as soon as possible."

“I’ll bet it is,” Sylus muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

Recognizing the simmering menace in his tone, you jam your elbow into Sylus' narrowing your eyes in a silent warning. Your string of bad luck continued however, when, after he placed a dramatic hand over his elbow, Sylus went back to watching your childhood friend with the kind of intensity that made most people fear for their lives.

Zayne, of course, was not most people.

“Do you mind?” Zayne asked, flicking a quick glance at Sylus through his lashes. “I’m trying to work.”

“Not at all,” Sylus replied smoothly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Another tense few minutes pass, and the balloon of pressure in your chest expanded second by second as the tension between Sylus and Zayne crackled like static.

You were caught between irritation with Sylus for his uncharacteristically territorial behavior or shock with Zayne, who was acting more aloof than usual, almost like he was... purposefully fueling Sylus' ire.

“So, Sylus,” you said brightly, trying again to diffuse the situation. “Why'd you bring Luke and Kieran here?”

“Do they seem like the guys who'd show up to update their vaccines if I didn't drag them myself?” he shot back with a smirk, jerking his head toward the cubicle Luke and Kieran were in.

“That’s admirable,” Zayne remarked, his tone neutral. “More people should take an interest in the well-being of others.”

“That's me, a real caretaker," Sylus drawled, eyes narrowed. And just like that, any hope for the peace you'd been building toward popped like a bubble. "Though I can't say I'm as hands-on as you, doctor. At least... not in public."

"A shame." Zayne raised an eyebrow, his expression faintly amused. “Hands-on can be very effective when done correctly.”

The implication hung in the air, subtle but deliberate. You groaned internally, feeling like a rope in an increasingly taut tug-of-war.

“Alright, enough,” you snapped, looking down at them with your hands on your hips. “Sylus, this is just a check-up. Zayne, stop provoking.”

Both men fell silent, though the charged atmosphere lingered.

Sylus had the nerve to look almost... chagrined for the first time in his life, which alone worked wonders on your frustration — though from the way he stood and rested his hand on the back of your neck, it might've been more placating than chagrined.

Zayne, who also stood up, simply adjusted his glasses, his composure as unshaken as ever.

“I’m done here,” Zayne said, handing you a slip of paper. “I've updated the schedule according to your upcoming work trips. Other than that, you're fine.”

“Thank you, Zayne,” you smile warmly, stuffing the paper into your bag.

Zayne nodded, then turned to Sylus and held out his hand in a begrudging truce. “She’s in good health. You can relax.”

For a moment, you stared at Sylus' stoic expression and worried all hell would break loose in Vagrant's Land. Then, he linked his hand with Zayne's and gave it a firm, business-like shake, turned you around, and led you back to the entrance to wait for Luke and Kieran.

You couldn’t help but glance back at Zayne as you walked. He'd already moved onto his next patient, but caught your eye when you look around. And you could've sworn that Zayne, Doctor Zayne, your childhood friend, winked at you.

Once you were far enough to feel the afternoon breeze sweep over you, Sylus' gaze softened as he searched your face. “You feeling alright?” he asked, looking at the place where her aether core rested. His voice was quieter now, the edges of his tone no longer sounding so ruffled.

“I don't know. How should I feel after I've been pissed on by my boyfriend at my doctor's appointment?” Though you try to sound angry, it comes out as nothing but pure amusement.

At your smile, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and the corner of his lips curved. "Pissed on? I'd never do something so crass, kitten." He leaned down, his breath gliding over the crook of your neck like a feather, and rasped, "You know I'm more of a biter."

[vampiefemme]

i’ve been thinking about grinding on vi’s boot and now it’s your problem. 18+ below or i’ll kill you.

she’s got you on your knees, one of her legs hiked up to allow you access to her throbbing cunt; you’re lapping at her like a woman starved. the lower half of your face is practically dripping with your saliva and her sweet slick—she loves when you’re a mess like this. hair misplaced and frizzy from her vice-like grip, your eyes watery every time you peer up at her from beneath your lashes to watch her face crumple in pleasure.

“so fuckin’ good at this,” she praises, giving your hair a tug for emphasis. your scalp burns and it makes your stomach churn with arousal. you can do nothing but moan in response, tongue splitting through vi’s folds, nose bumping against her spit-soaked clit in a way that pulls another moan from her kiss-bitten lips.

you shuffle forward on your knees, looking for easier access to the heat between vi’s legs, and you shudder with unexpected pleasure when your clothed cunt brushes against the rough steel toe of vi’s boot. fuck—that’s good.

your eyes flicker up to catch another glimpse of vi, wondering if she’d noticed your reaction. and you find her already watching you, those piercing blue eyes clouded with lust and smug, smug knowing.

busted.

breath hitching in your throat, you continue licking into vi’s heat, eyes locked in her heated gaze—but you shiver anew when you feel vi’s boot lift, prodding at your core. your panties are soaked, you can feel it, even in spite of the cold surface of the steel toe.

“go on,” vi says, a teasing lilt in her voice. “make a mess, princess.”

cheeks burning, you don’t move at first. your tongue circles vi’s clit, dips into the warm heat of her opening, makes her grunt and groan and lose focus of your figure beneath her. and when she’s lost in pleasure again, you grind your hips down against her boot again, hips circling and rotating until you find a rhythm.

just like she wanted, you make one hell of a mess.

[aodite]

#i commented on a fic that hadn't been updated in a year#just saying how much i loved it and how lucky i was to have read it#and that i would always love it even if it remained unfinished and just...thanked them#and they updated with a new chapter 2 weeks later#it's not guilt that motivates people#it's love#and if they still don't have motivation#well all you lost was sharing some love#so you didn't lose anything at all ( @not-poignant )

This week, I read a fic that was around 20 years old, which had originally been posted on the author's personal website and which she added to AO3 a few years ago. She listed her email address with the fic, so after I finished reading, I sent her an email saying how much I enjoyed the story, how much I appreciated the work and effort she obviously put into it, and thanked her for uploading it to AO3. She responded the next day and thanked me for my message, then said she had a few more stories in the same series that she hadn't gotten around to uploading. I checked this morning--she added a 35,000 word novella and thanked me in the summary.

👏 comment 👏 on 👏 old 👏 fics 👏

[ekingston]

SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using 

his dyslexia; 

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and 

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there. 

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain; 

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and 

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again. 

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice. 

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later: 

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether. 

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them. 

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that. 

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation. 

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

Again, please, please PLEASE reblog this post instead of the one I sent originally. All the information is here, and it's driving me nuts to see the old ones are still passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much.

[prisonhannibal]

In Norway we celebrate christmas eve more than christmas day, so today is christmas for me. I’m writing this before our christmas dinner. I want to say it has been a good but tough year, and today I’m thinking of my friends in Gaza. It has been an honor and a gift to be allowed to help and be in contact with them, but terrifying to hear their stories and know how much danger they face every day. For the new year, I wish them safety and peace, and I hope that whatever holiday you celebrate, you can be willing to help them this year. That is my wish

I’m sharing their fundraiser again in the hopes that you can show them some love and support

Nader @abdalsalam1990, my friend who i’ve known the longest, a 17 year old who campaigns daily to save his family including his father who is sick with cancer and his 1 year old niece. His strength, kindness and hard work to provide for his family impresses me every day. (Vetted #4)

Ibrahim @wolf-aid A 15 year old boy with hopes and dreams of continuing his education, but now has to struggle to survive every day so that he can get his family to safety and achieve his dreams (Vetted #25)

Ahed @ahedfamily A 33 year old father of three young daughters under ten, who loves his daughters so much and spends all his time trying to get them to safety and get his daughter medical treatment she needs. He has a kind heart and helps other people, even when he needs help so badly too (Vetted #229)

Ghada @ghadaanqar A 32 year old man with a bachelors degree and a great job and a promising future, whose career was taken from him by the bombings. He provides for many other people, despite this. (Vetted #6)

Hani @haniyassersposts Hani is a young palestinian with a degree in social work and dreams of helping others and making a difference in his community. He has always shown me kindness and hope, even in his horrible circumstances. (Vetted #5)

I hope you will share this post and donate to help them, they really need and deserve help

[machveil]

vague concept that isn’t fully worked out, but like, you guys will probably think it’s good: Roommate!Reader telling Roommate!Simon Riley they’ll be gone for a week to visit friends/family. Simon is all ‘thanks for the heads up’, he’s still at base

Roommate!Reader’s plans fall through and they figure, eh, Simon doesn’t need to know they’re actually at home still

Roommate!Simon Riley whose leave is delayed because of paperwork or something, asks his best mate Johnny to stop by the apartment to water the plants (he doesn’t want your shared custody babies wilting while you’re gone). tells Johnny where his spare key is hidden. Simon has not introduced you to Johnny yet

Roommate!Reader who wakes up from a nap and goes to the kitchen for a cup of water. freezes when they see this giant guy with a mohawk digging through their cabinets (Simon said he could help himself to some snacks). Reader who freaks out and locks themself in Simon’s room because it’s closer

Roommate!Reader calling Simon, frantically telling him there’s a man in the flat, gives him a choppy, “I’m at home, my plans fell through— Simon, what do I do?”. Simon reassuring them that he’ll take care of it, hangs up to call Johnny because he should be around. Simon calling Johnny to tell him a man broke into the flat and his roommate is, in fact, home

cue Johnny stalking around the flat thinking there’s another man somewhere, ready for a fight

this is resolved when Reader sees a shitty photo of Simon and the 141 at a bar, the man who was digging around for chips looking awfully familiar

[khaire-traveler]

I'm a big supporter of "the gods love you, regardless of how much you're able to do to worship them", but at the same time, it's difficult to forge a relationship with any deity (or even other people) if you don't allow yourself to be known by them. If you don't have moments of vulnerability, moments of silliness, moments of small joy even, then it's difficult to forge relationships or take them to a deeper level. Loving gods (or even other people) can be a scary thing for some people (hell, it was for me), but if you don't allow your heart to be exposed, even just a little, then you're not going to get back as much as you're hoping to.

Anything that's worth anything in life is going to require some level of risk, as terrifying as that feels sometimes, and in my opinion, having a deeper connection with a deity is one of those things that's worth the risk.

My point isn't that we aren't loved by the gods if we don't do a ritual everyday or pray every hour; my point here is that we cannot deepen our bonds if we aren't willing to dip more than just our toes into our deity relationships. Love your gods, and know that you are loved, but they can't really help you if you won't let them in, you know?

[16novvs]

in this together ˖ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

arcane season 2 spoilers!

councilor!sevika had a particularly rough day and her assistant (you!fem) not only stands up for her, comforts her, but also encourages sevika that everything is going to be alright. angst with comfort!!!! AND FLUFF???i honestly made this to cope with how the arcane ending fucked sevika over.. my beautiful wife T_T hope you enjoy!!

1.5k words (currently editing)

You had been there during Silco’s reign, working alongside Sevika, managing the details and data that went unnoticed by others. After the fighting ended, you followed Sevika into a new chapter as her assistant, trading the chaos of war and survival for the stream of governance.

The council chamber was as cold and unwelcoming as ever, the polished surface of the circular table reflecting the sharp, impassive faces of Piltover’s councilors. Sevika sat stiffly, her broad frame filling the chair that felt more like an insult than a seat of respect.

You sat at Sevika’s side, trying to take notes and keep track of the conversation as best you could, though your attention was split between the meeting and Sevika herself. You could see she was trying to shrink into herself. To others, she may have looked stoic, but this was your Sevika. You could tell she wasn’t comfortable at all. To make matters worse, Sevika had left her mechanical arm at home. Weapons weren’t allowed in the council chamber bullshit, and that left her feeling annoyingly vulnerable. Next meeting, you will encourage her to wear it regardless of what they think.

Today’s meeting was completely and utterly nonsensical. The past few weeks, the council members had been running in circles, with the main focus being on making Piltover and Zaun into a true partnership between the two cities. Sevika didn’t care about that, and neither did you. What you wanted were resources: systems in place to get kids a proper education, to get the homeless off the streets, to provide proper jobs and healthy diets. You both wanted Zaun to become a place one could live in, not fight to survive.

Sevika’s patience had worn thin hours ago, but she stayed, gritting her teeth as Piltover’s officials changed the topic every time her concerns for Zaun came up. They cloaked their disregard for her in polished semantics and false promises, but Sevika saw right through them.

You, on the other hand, were practically fuming. You’d stopped writing a while ago and didn’t care to hide the contempt on your face anymore. You’d think the world nearly ending would be enough to make people change their ways, but I guess not. Before you could continue your inner monologue, your thoughts were rudely interrupted by some pompous ass sitting next to Sevika.

“You know, Sevika,” he said, leaning in close and taking advantage of the bustle in the council room, “I admire your… confidence to sit here today. It’s rare to see someone rise so far above their means. It’s almost inspirational, really.”

Sevika didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing at she processed the veiled jab. You, however, understood it right away and couldn’t hold back. Your hand slammed the table between the two of them, a sharp noise ringing through the room.

“With all due respect,” you leaned in, your voice calm but sharp, “if Councilor Sevika hadn’t come to rescue this craven city, half of you would either be slaughtered or under the Herald’s control. If you truly admire her, maybe you should show it by addressing the issues at hand instead of throwing thinly veiled insults.”

The Piltover councilor blinked, clearly not expecting a response from you, let alone one with such bite. Across the table, a few of the other assistants exchanged glances, some looking shocked, others impressed. Sevika’s head turned slightly toward you, her eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. You could see the tension in her shoulders ease just a little, the corner of her mouth twitching in what could almost be a smile.

“Well,” Shoola, another councilwoman, said, clearing her throat, “Perhaps we should move on.”

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of tense exchanges and unresolved issues, but Sevika held her head high, bolstered, you hoped, by your words. When the meeting finally adjourned, Sevika rose without a word, nodding to Shoola. You followed her out, the quiet tension between you growing heavier on the way home.

The apartment was dimly lit, the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the blinds. The heavy clunk of Sevika’s boots echoed against the floor as she stepped inside, her mechanical arm sitting limply on the coffee table. She didn’t say a word as she sank onto the couch, her head falling into her hand. You set your bag down by the door and crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. The council meeting had drained her; you could see it in the way her broad shoulders slumped and the faint tremble in her arm.

“Sevika,” you said softly, resting a hand on her knee. “Look at me.”

When she did, the sight broke your heart. She looked tired, worn down, like she was carrying the weight of Zaun on her shoulders—and she was. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Sevika refused to cry even when she found out Jinx was gone, and now the floodgates had opened. Your poor girl.

“Oh, come here, baby.” You planted yourself beside her, allowing her to sink into your embrace. And for the first time in a long time, Sevika finally let go. She cried for Jinx, for Isha, for Silco, and for Zaun. She cried because her strength, the one thing she’d use to make change, was useless here. She cried for the Zaunites who’d lost their lives fighting alongside her, and she cried because she was afraid it would have all been in vain.

You leaned back, cradling her head against your chest as she sobbed. With gentle hands, you traced soothing circles on her back, your soft reassurances and sweet murmurs helping to steady her breathing. The weight of her pain slowly eased as you held her. You stayed like that for a while, the sound of her muffled sniffling and quiet whimpers eventually fading into the stillness. When she was ready, Sevika sat up, brushing away the lingering traces of tears on her cheeks. You could see in her eyes that she felt lighter.

“Back in the council chamber,” she said finally, her voice low and gruff. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” you replied immediately, meeting her gaze. “They don’t get to talk to you like that. Not while I’m here.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, softness in her eyes. Then, to your surprise, she let out a short, dry laugh. “You’ve got guts,” she said, shaking her head. “That goddamn room is so stuffy.

You laughed. “It is, isn’t it?” you said trying to draw her out of the dark cloud that seemed to hang over her.

She didn’t respond right away, but she did slip her hand into yours, intertwining your fingers and caressing the back of your hand with her thumb.

You broke the silence gently, your voice steady and warm. “Sevika, you’re doing everything you can. I know it doesn’t always feel like it’s enough, but it is. Zaun has someone in their corner who truly cares—someone who fights for them every single day. That’s more than most people in that council can say.”

Sevika’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, her thumb brushing soft, absent patterns across your skin. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted in a whisper. “Silco, Vander—they always had a plan. Me? I’m just... figuring it out as I go.”

“And that’s okay, this is all new to you— to us,” you said firmly. “Silco and Vander weren’t perfect, Sev. They made mistakes—lots of them. You’re allowed to stumble or feel lost. What matters is that you care, and you’re still here, fighting. That’s exactly what Zaun needs.”

She let out a bitter laugh, her lips twisting into a faint, humorless smile. “What’s the point of trying when they won’t listen? When they look at me like I don’t even belong there?”

“Then you make them listen,” you said, squeezing her hand. “You’ve fought for Zaun every step of the way, and you haven’t stopped. They might not see it, Sev, but I do. I see everything you’re putting into this, even when it feels like you’ve got nothing left to give.”

Her hand shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against yours as she slowly lifted her head. When her eyes met yours, the vulnerability there made your chest tighten. Still, you could see the faint spark of resolve returning.

“You always know how to say the right thing, don’t you, doll?” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Just telling the truth,” you replied, your own smile soft but steady.

“Come here.”

This time, you let her pull you into her arms, the familiar weight of you on top of her chest allowing her to relax. Her strong arm wrapped around your waist, the warmth blossoming against your waist and back.

“Thank you,” she said softly, nuzzling into your neck.

“Always,” you whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her jaw. “We’re in this together, I promise.”

For the first time in a while, she let herself believe things would be alright. Wrapped in your warmth, the weight of the world seemed to ease, just a little, as she sank into you and allowed herself to breathe.

so this was supposed to be straight up fluff but i couldn’t help myself w/ the angst!! i apologize if this felt rushed + i barely proof. i hope you enjoyed reading nonetheless and i’d love to read your comments on this if you have any <3

[joelsdagger]

‘tis the season || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

nothing new. nothing exciting. just some pwp. major shout out to my very freaky girl @dinandwhiskey, this fic was born due to our 4am conversations about fucking Our Old Man on viagra. and to my fellow ocean unicorn @joeloverture, for the encouragement, always. and to @pedrospatch, for being my eyes, and my biggest cheerleader, you have my heart. anyway – merry christmas eve eve & happy holidays ya filthy animals. may 2025 be ever so kind to you <33

pairing: dbf!joel x reader summary: you’re back in town for christmas, and it’s been months since you’ve seen your boyfriend, joel miller. and he decides to make the most of the brief window of time you have together.  or,  joel fucks you after taking viagra. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ warnings: [no-outbreak au], implied age gap [no mention of ages but reader is in college], secret established long distance relationship [that’s a mouth full] [that’s what she said], drug use, joel miller on viagra is a beast, pet names [baby, darlin’, sweetheart, kiddo], sexualization of the terms kiddo & old man, [mocking] dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink, brief mentions of smut that occurs off page [i.e: face-sitting, fingering, anal play, ass eating, a reach around handjob, f! & m! receiving oral], softdom!joel, unprotected piv, missionary, mating press, overstimulation [rip our girl she’s fighting for her life], dacryphilia, finger sucking, biting, smidge of a pain kink, creampie, squirting, joel fucks you while you’re on the phone with your father, mentions of christmas, (2) christmas puns [author apologizes in advance for said puns], probably [most likely] inaccurate and unrealistic descriptions to the effects of viagra [remember, this is fiction!!], omitting a few tags as to avoid spoilers!!, aaaaand lastly, they’re in love BYE! word count: 3.5k

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs on when i post my writing!

“Just one more time, sweetheart.”

You don’t respond, tongue-tied. The agonizingly slow drag of his cock inside you is too much, your mind is a blur. 

Joel’s been fucking you for hours. He’s made you come six times since you practically pranced through his front door. Twice on his face, once on his fingers, and three times on his cock. And now you’re overstimulated — cunt swollen and almost begging for relief — but Joel, driven by your high-pitched moans and strained whimpers, is unable to stop himself, working to make you come just one more fucking time.

It’s thanks to that stupid little blue pill his buddy slipped him that he’d been able to fuck you for this long. 

In truth, he doesn’t need it. He never needs it. He fucks you perfectly fine without it. But you’re home for the holidays, and you haven’t seen him or come successfully on your own since the beginning of the fall term, and Joel wanted to take advantage of that.

Send you back fucked so full o’me you’ll feel me in here for weeks, he’d groaned. 

Your drippy hole stretched out and clamped tight around the thick girth of him. It had been so long, your face contorted at the sharp sting, and a pained hiss escaped through his gritted teeth when he pushed the delicious fat tip of his cock past your puffy folds, splitting you in two. 

The warm walls of your cunt pulse around his shaft, your clit throbs against the wet thatch of thick hairs stippled gray at his base. You’re too sensitive, too tender, cunt stinging with every long stroke, but not in the way it makes you want to use your safe word. 

It’s just that Joel hasn’t let up. Two hours spent making you come and he hasn’t let up once. The only time he had given you some semblance of a break was when he got up, turned around, and sat on your face at your plea — your desire to show him how good he had made you feel all those times before. 

His cock in your hand, weak fist tugging away at his length while you lathed away at the tight little hole in the crease between his ass cheeks. Even then, Joel couldn't help himself; shoved three thick fingers into your puffy pussy — timing the thrust of them to the desperate pumps of your joint fists — jacking his cock in unison while you writhed beneath him, pulling another climax from you. 

Only when his sweaty thighs quivered around your body, chin tilted towards the ceiling and a stream of profanities poured from his lips, his body curling over yours as hot spurts of his cum painted your soft tummy when he felt your finger slipping past his puckered rim to the knuckle, had he given you a break. 

“Attagirl, just like that. Pretty little pussy’s gonna cum all over me. C’mon, baby, give it to me,” Joel’s voice is thick with arousal as he rambles above you, his hips expertly rolling into yours, head of his cock nudging that place incompetent college boys have failed to reach. 

“Joel—fuck—I don’t think I can—” You gasp frantically, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, arms wound tight around him.

He smirks with another deliberate roll of his hips. “Thought you said you could keep up. Isn’t that what you said? “Naw, I reckon you said, Try keeping up, old man, wasn’t that it?”  He mocks, imitating your words from earlier. Fucking bastard. 

A whimpering mess, your eyes pinch shut in response. 

“I can’t—” you croak, fingernails digging into his shoulders. 

Deft hands brush your hair back from your face. “You can. I know you can, baby.”  His voice softer, barely audible through the wet smack of his balls, smeared in the evidence of your earlier release, firmly slapping against the curve of your ass. The sounds obscenely echoing through the quiet of his bedroom. 

You whimper and try fruitlessly to nod. He knows you can, and he’s right. Your hips wouldn’t be grinding up off the mattress to meet his thrusts. You wouldn’t be feeling something roiling low in your belly.

“One more time, baby. Give me one more n’ I’ll let this sore little pussy rest,” he whispers, lips kissing away your salty tears. 

You nod eagerly. His hand reaches up to the headboard, fingers curling around it and locking into place, his other removes one of yours from his shoulder, pins it to the pillow above your head. And with his hand clasping your damp palm, fingers squeezing then interlocking with yours, he fucks you harder. 

The change in pace has tears spilling from your eyes and pooling into the shells of your ears. The wave swells, swells, swells —

Your phone screen lights up the dark room, buzzing on Joel’s nightstand. 

You freeze, neck craning in the direction of the vibration, eyes squinting and damp lashes fluttering at the bright screen, Dad, it reads. 

Shit. 

You gaze back up at Joel, wide-eyed, panic surging in your chest. Joel growls. “Don’t answer.” 

You don’t listen. You know your father, he’ll keep calling until you answer. Without saying another word, your hand comes up to the wooden surface in search of your phone. You take a few deep breaths, trying to quell the anxious heat swirling inside you, unplug your phone from the charger, slide a shaky thumb across the screen, and press the phone to the shell of your ear.

“Hey—” You clear your throat awkwardly, “Hey, Dad,” your voice breathy, tired.

You unstick your body from Joel’s, your free hand presses to his strong chest, a silent effort to halt his movements.

“Kid! I’m sorry to call you this late, but before you left for Eve’s, I forgot to let you know to be home in time for breakfast.” 

Jesus. That could’ve been a text. 

You sit up, scoot back into the pillows, while Joel sits back on his knees, wincing in unison as his cum-drenched cock slips out of your overflowing slit. Almost instantly, you feel a steady stream of his spend trickle out of your opening. He’d already managed to fill you to the brim three times tonight.

You fiddle with your bottom lip. “Breakfast? I thought we were just doing dinner.”

“Well, I thought since you’re only in town for a few days, we could go the whole nine yards. I missed our breakfasts together. I enjoy them, kid,” he says softly. 

Your bleary eyes flick back to Joel. The smug grin that graces his lips and the gleam of something darker in his eyes don’t put you at ease. He’s up to something, as always. 

You grumble, massaging your forehead. “Yeah, sure, Dad. I’ll be home by nine. Listen, I gotta—” 

“Oh! Speakin’ of dinner, I was thinking of inviting Joel over,” your dad says, plainly.  

Your heart stutters. “Joel? W-Why?”

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches, dark eyes glimmer with mischief. Two heavy hands find your waist, and he’s sliding you back down towards him. Slow and suspicious, one of his hands finds your knee, and presses it flush to the mattress. You both watch as his other hand cups the back of your other knee, pushing it back down to match the other, exposing you to the sex-tainted air. With his eyes transfixed on the slow trickle of his spend, his hand then wraps around the base of his cock, tip lining up with your aching hole. 

There it is. 

“Poor guy has been asking about you, kid.” And Joel glides the head of his cock up and down your puffy seam, collecting your mixed juices on his tip then taps the heavy weight of it on your perked clit twice in quick succession; Joel smirks at the wet smack. You jolt, thighs attempting to clamp shut, his firm grip on your knee tightens, keeping you open for him. 

You pinch your eyes closed and curse under your breath. 

“What was that, honey?” 

Your eyes snap open, and you scramble to recover, “N-nothing, I just–” You clear your throat again. “Sorry. What were you saying, Dad?”

Joel chuckles lowly as he leans forward on top of you, pressing his broad frame in on you, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Chest to chest, belly to belly, pelvis to pelvis, tacky skin against tacky skin, once again as before. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, and with his mouth at your other ear, his tongue darts out to lick at the salty droplet there before suckling ever so slightly on your flesh, you bite back a moan. 

Your dad, oblivious to your current state, continues, “Oh— Joel’s been asking after you. Think he’s getting sick of your old man if I’m honest. He keeps telling me he misses having you around, always goin’ on about how you’ve grown up right before his eyes…”

He can hear him. You know he can by the feel of the corner of his mouth curling up into a grin, teeth grazing your carotid now. He lifts his head, dark gaze meeting yours while his massive hands cup your tits, caressing, squeezing, kneading, while muttering, Goddamn have you grown up. 

Your cunt flutters around nothing, and you sigh into the phone; your dad doesn’t hear it through his rambling. You don’t register what he’s chatting away about because then, Joel’s nose nuzzles into your neck, traces a line up, up, up until his tongue snakes out and meets the curve of your earlobe. Licks the meat of it into his mouth and takes it between his teeth, your whimper cuts off into a moan when the bite turns sharp.  

His fingers fiddle with your nipples. “Naughty little thing,” Joel taunts, warmth of his breath fanning across the hinge of your jaw, “You liked that?” 

You keen and nod, his hand dips south between your bodies, wrapping around the base of his length, notches the too-wide cockhead at your too-small hole. You turn your head, pressing your mouth to the scruff of his beard, muffling the whine he elicits from you. 

Joel pushes inside, takes a moment, and just to mess with you — he fucks his tip in and out of your drooling hole in small pulses — once, twice, thrice — teasing you, making you moan. He tilts his head, nosing your cheek, breath hot and voice deep, “Listen,” he commands.

Absentmindedly, you tilt your phone away from your ear, away from your dad’s mumblings. You strain your ears to obey him. In and out, in and out. The squelch of your sticky wet reverberates  against the four walls of his bedroom as the blunt head of his cock moves in and out. 

In. And out.  

“Fuck,” you mutter, eyes flitting down to watch his cock impale you. 

Your dad’s voice cuts in through the fog, redrawing your attention.

“Sweetie? You okay? What’s wrong?” 

Your eyes widen. Shit. “I’m–I’m–fine, I– I j-just stubbed my toe. Dad, I really can’t t–” You stammer, and Joel chuckles lowly. 

Your stuttering emboldens him, taking it as an invitation to torture you further, and with his lips against your ear, a breathy moan escapes from his lips as Joel feeds you his cock, slowly working himself back into your spent cunt. So painfully slow that he ensures you feel every ridge and every vein, and in turn, he feels every inch of your warm, velvet walls sucking him in as he eases himself into you. Used cunt clamped tight around him as you welcome him back in — inch by torturous inch. 

He stills once he reaches resistance, and you bite your bottom lip hard enough that you taste copper, suppressing the moan climbing up your chest as his tip knocks your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush to your ass — finally bottoming out inside you.

He ruts into you once, tip bumps your cervix again — goading you, and you gasp in return, fingernails indenting his shoulder, half–moon crescents marking his skin. Beads of sweat roll off his forehead and onto your face, mixing with the warm tears now cascading down your face, and your tongue darts out to taste it. The flavor of him — his sweat, his musk — only feeds the dizzying blur that is your mind. But through the foggy haze and the lewd, wet slap of flesh against flesh, you think you can hear your dad saying, You really need to quit the habit of walking around in the dark, kiddo.

And you think you’re nodding, an endless litany of, yes, yeah–yeah slipping past your lips, as you rush your way through the phone call with your father, uncaring. Only interested in the shifts of Joel’s hips, slowly fucking into you in measured thrusts.

Joel tuts. “Such a dirty fuckin’ girl, gettin’ off while speakin’ to her daddy.” And your grip in his hair tightens, walls tensing in response. “Attagirl, keep squeezin’ me like that. You gonna show me just how naughty you are for me, hm? Gonna let me have it with him on the phone? Gonna cream all over my cock, naughty girl?”

You nod your head numbly, mouth dry and unable to speak with the tip of his cock prodding at the soft spot inside you on every languid stroke, hips swaying back and forth.

The wave begins to crest, and despite your eager nodding at Joel only a second prior, there’s no way in hell you’re really going to come on your boyfriend’s cock — your dad’s best friend — while on the phone with your father. 

Your voice claws its way up your throat, “D-dad, I’m — mmm — sorry I really have to g–”​ You think your thumb presses the red button, but your phone slips from your hand, dropping to the carpet with a muffled thump, and it’s too late to check if you’ve fully hung up on him, and frankly, you’re too consumed by your lover to care. 

Grinning with pride, Joel pulls back, cock halfway out of your pussy and your hands grasp at his shoulders. 

“Joel— f-fuck–please,” you beg, your resolve melting. 

He clicks his tongue. “Na-uh, try again.” 

“D-d-daddy–please,” you whine. 

“D-d-daddy,” he mocks above you. “Say it, pretty girl.” He knows, but he wants to hear you say it. 

“Harder. Please, daddy–I–I wanna come, please, I wanna come,” you mewl, voice all whiny and petulant.

He says nothing. Without pulling out of you, his long fingers wrap around to grip the backs of your knees, pinning your thighs to your chest, knees to your shoulders, feet dangling in the air beside his beautiful head, folding you in half. Then, he moves to plant his feet flat on the mattress, propping himself up, hands on your thighs to steady himself. 

You’re already a mewling, writhing mess underneath him as he fucks in and out of your wasted cunt — it doesn’t take much longer for you to get there. The air fills with sounds of the headboard hammering against the wall and filthy, sloppy sounds of where you two are connected as he bashes into you with arrant primal vigor.

The new angle has him hitting a point inside you, deeper than you ever thought to exist. And still — the wave doesn’t break. With his eyes locked on yours, you know he can tell. He can always tell. He’s made you scream his name enough times since the beginning of your many clandestine meetings last summer to know when you’re teetering on the edge. In need of more. 

And for a moment, you think you can see it in him. Hazel eyes practically glint against the pale moonlight that spills into his bedroom. Joel bares his teeth in a cocky grin, his hand releases one of your thighs to cup your face, thumb parting your plush lips when he says, give it to me, kiddo, soak your old man’s cock. 

Oh fuck. 

Your eyelids flutter shut, your head falling back onto the pillows, hands clutching and pulling at tufts of his grizzled curls. Lips closing around his thumb wedged in your mouth; licking, sucking, biting into his flesh, as the crest finally breaks and washes over you, taking you under the rogue waves.  

But Joel still doesn’t let up. One more time, my ass. 

He’s insatiable. And he shows you just how insatiable he is when his thumb slips from your spit-smeared lips and reaches between your bodies, the pads of his fingers expertly thrum at your sensitive clit.

Your face twinges up at the intense, almost painful pressure as he pinches your clit between his index and middle fingers, hard. The swing of his hips speeds up, cock relentlessly beating your sore cunt. The sight of his girth, disappearing and reappearing as he pounds your pussy at a punishing pace, and his fingers twisting your swollen clit has your belly pulling taut and snapping within the same beat. With a broken shout of his name, you gush around the root of his cock, dripping down his balls. It’s warm and sticky when it seeps down, past your tight ring of muscle, soaking his blue sheets and turning them the shade of charcoal gray. 

Joel coaxes you through your seventh–eighth toe-curling orgasm of the night. An endless stream of sweet nothings spills from him — good girl, that’s it, kiddo. I know, I know, it’s so much, I know – fuck– such a good fuckin’ girl, as he fucks you through it. 

Your sloppy cunt clenches around him, and with his cock choked tight, deep within your bruised walls, he follows soon after. Growls raggedly as he unravels, and his own orgasm rolls through him, decking the hall of your weeping cunt with warm, milky ropes of cum for the fourth time tonight. 

Joel collapses onto your sticky chest, placing open-mouthed kisses to your dampened face — your cheek, your nose, your forehead, while he pumps you full of his seed, abiding by his promise. And when he’s done, his sweaty forehead drops to yours for a moment. The waves now a steady ripple through your body as you come down.

After a moment, he lifts his head, and in retaliation for giving you what was possibly the best fuck of your life while on the phone with your father and nearly exposing your tryst, you bring one of his hands to your face, hollow your cheeks, and suck his thumb while looking up at him with wide and falsely innocent eyes. 

He licks his lips but manages to pry his post-coital eyes away. Instead, his cum-soaked cock slips out of your tired, leaking cunt. When he leans back, you swallow a moan, catching sight of the aftermath of your many arousals in his pubic hair. Graying curls swimming in a pool of your combined releases that drips down his thighs. A thin strand of your shared pearlescent spend shines in the soft moonlight, stretching from his balls to your folds, still connecting the two of you as he pulls away. 

Joel misses it, something else pulls his attention. His gaze shifts to the clock beside your head. A hint of a smirk passes over his lips. 

“You’re lucky it’s Christmas, darlin’,” voice low, dangerous. 

Your head snaps in the same direction. It’s past midnight. You smirk in turn and pull the comforter up to hide it.

You feel him shift over you, elbow popping loudly as he reaches for what he’s looking for before he moves to sit up beside you, back against the headboard. His hand pulls the comforter back down from your face, and you roll over and sit up on your knees to face him. 

His other palm opens, wordlessly presenting you with a single twig of some plant. One with moss green, teardrop–shaped leaves and plump, round berries, waxy and opaque in color.  

Mistletoe.

You take the meat of your bottom lip between your teeth, stifling a laugh that threatens to bubble through you. Because of fucking course he would. 

Though, the soft laugh is short-lived. His broad hand waves the mistletoe over him, but not where it should be. Your gaze follows the movement of his hand, and your mouth falls agape. Your eyes snap back up to Joel’s, and his wicked smirk broadens.

Joel Miller — naked as the day he was born and splayed on top of his messy sheets — dangles the mistletoe over his length, still hard as a rock and stirring in his other hand.

But it doesn’t stop there. 

Beneath the mistletoe rests a lump of bright red and velvety felt; a fluffy white cuff rounds the brim, and a matching fuzzy white bobble hangs at the end of it. 

A Santa hat perched jauntily on his cock.

You shut your mouth and swallow thickly, already feeling that familiar ache at the apex of your thighs, and you clench around emptiness, a stream of his seed dribbling out of your overstuffed cunt and further soiling his bedding. 

“But it ain’t a Merry one till you give Santa's big sack a few kisses.”

[solarcitymelodies]

Freeing @chiimeramanticore 's thoughts from the tags because I think this is a really good addition

making art is so fucking hard. wheres that defunctland quote

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

I need someone to write a fic about Ekko properly learning about Silco and Vander's backstory in the Best Timeline™ (S2ep7).

Just... idk. Benzo going "how the hell do you know about what Vander did to Silco, I never told you this", and Ekko staring at him completely dumbfounded, like "what do you mean, what Vander did to Silco?!?"

And then... Ekko having to process the fact that this man he has (rightfully) hated his whole life was really just some guy, even a somewhat decent guy, who was turned into a monster at the hand of the man he has spent his whole life idealizing as this perfect paragon of virtue and goodness.

(And then having to look back at Vander and Silco giving each other heart eyes across the Last Drop, and thinking to himself "damn, these bitches crazy")

[enhard]

⋆˙⟡ monster | lee heeseung

: when two rivals in an entertainment company turned late-night lovers, no strings attached… or is it something else?

pairing: ceo!l.hs x fem!reader

CW: smut, enemies to fwb to lovers trope??, pwp (3 smut scenes omg), hate sex, age gap: heeseung is 29, reader is 24, usage of condoms, riding, oral sex (both receiving), cum eating, some pet names, insults?, lots of profanity lmk if i missed anything

notes: couldn’t stop thinking about this while listening to monster by gaga. crazycrazy

wc: 7.3k words (MDNI)

There was only one thing you hated more than useless things in your timetable. It was the asshole of the whole company, Lee Heeseung. The more conversations you heard his name in, the more you despised his existence.

His ego was so high it could hit a plane, the way he would talk about his compositions made you wanna throw up. He praised himself so much, and you started wondering if he was just a huge narcissist or if we were insecure of his writing skills. Luckily, you never saw him around often as you were really caught up in your own work. Having to compose songs all the time for singers was not an easy task. Your chairman was an even bigger asshole than Heeseung, always giving you all the work. You had to not only compose songs from start to finish, but you also had to edit and mix the voices, help the singers use the right tones and so much more stuff that wasn’t originally included in your job plan.

Usually, you would stay at the office overtime, your eyes darkened with tiredness. It was a miracle you haven’t fallen asleep all this time.

 You looked at the time,

 [01:54 AM]

“Great.” You sigh. Your shift ended at 12 AM. What the fuck are you still doing here? It’s quiet in the whole building, only clicking sounds can be heard from your keyboard. You’re all alone with a few bodyguards left in the company. You groan, your head pounding from the intense light of your pc. All you want now is to get back to your apartment just to greet your cat Juno.  He’s your only best friend in this cursed city of New York, he’s a soft and fluffy black and white cat, with heterochromia eyes, left eye blue and right eye brown. You talk to him all the time, even though he can’t hold conversations he’s the best listener you’ve ever encountered. Better than your ex-boyfriends, that’s for sure.

As the clock reads [02:29], you’re more than ready to go home. You gather all your things, wish a great night to all the security people there and finally get out of that stupid building. You get your car keys out of your bag, driving home in your black i8. When you get home you feed your cat, finally plopping in your bed and falling asleep instantly.

You woke up due to your phone ringing at around 10 am with the hugest headache you’ve had. You palm your forehead, grabbing your phone with your other hand. Your co-worker, Yena, is calling you. You pick up as fast as you can, moaning into the phone due to being exhausted out of your mind.

“Yeah… Yena hey….” You say with half a mouth.

“Hey girl, are you coming to work? Today’s the showcasing, have you forgotten?”

Oh, fucking hell. You totally forgot.

A showcasing happens when all composers need to show the work they did in a few months’ time. You need to turn in all the songs you’ve made in this time, whilst competing with your other co-workers to be the best one, getting the title of the best songwriter of the month. Your company likes making leaderboards, only adding onto your stress of being the best. Of course, last month’s songwriter was Heeseung, but you thought the judges were so biased over him… you knew you could take him down this month.

“Right… I’ll be there soon just let me get ready.” You say, already dreading the idea of getting out of bed.

She hangs up, letting you wash up quickly. You fix up your hair, put on your suit and do a bit of makeup. You get your badge with your name on it and out you are. By the time you arrive at the company you’re already late… the higherups there scolding you for it.

“Please try to make it on time, you know how important this is.”

You sigh. How could they expect you to be there early when you went home at almost 3 AM last night?

“Okay, okay I’m sorry. I’m here now.” You add.

After you come out of your office to get your suitcase that had your files, you bump into the last person you wanted to see there. He throws you a cheeky smile, not even apologizing for giving you a shoulder.

“Oh, if it isn’t the famous miss L/n! Ready to get your dreams crushed by my songs again?” you scoff at him, crossing your arms. “Yeah right, like I’d let a scumbag like you take my title. I don’t have anything to prove to you, stay in your lane.”

He raises his eyebrows at your response, as you would normally walk away if he told you anything. “Oh is it miss complaint now? Let me actually show you how this job is done, im your ceo for a reason.” he suddenly stops smiling to give you a glare.

“You don’t intimidate me Mr. Lee, right on the contrary, you make me want to laugh.” you say and turn around, not wanting to waste your time with such a man. His sleek smile creeps back onto his face as he walks into his own office.

A few minutes later, you get back to the front, everyone already waiting there with their work. You stand next to Yena, holding the tank of papers in hand tightly.

Yena could tell you’re nervous, so she extended one hand up to yours just to squeeze it, calming you down a bit. Your other co-workers were not a threat at all, but Heeseung was the one person you wanted to bring down. You wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face. After much judging and testing, with recitals and rehearsals for the songs, the judges finally decided the points accorded to the candidates. The others already had way too little points to worry you, but you, Yena and Heeseung were left.

“Choi Yena, 127 points.” She sighed of relief. A sizeable number overall, but now it depends on what you and Heeseung did.

“Lee Heeseung, 140 points.” His eyes widen. There is a chance that you might win. You might take him over… You might take his place. No way, right?

After a good minute of silence, they finally list your points.

“L/n Y/n, 139 points.” You almost fall to your knees. Out of all chances, how could this happen to you?? You close your eyes and cover your ears before you go insane.

You let him win, again.

“Therefore, our winner this month will be Lee Heeseung, the winner of the last 3 months as well, Congratulations!” all you hear is buzzing in your ears. You grow sour of his name, of his voice, his face. You can’t stand his dumb mouth, dumb face, dumb voice. You can’t stand him at all, and you would do anything to see him fired or something. You know that won’t happen and it drives you crazy. Heeseung smiles, taking his prize in hand once again, his portrait remaining on the fame wall. He shakes hands with the judges before taking a good look at you.

You cannot look at him anymore, you just lower your gaze trying not to burst into tears. You worked so hard for this, yet he took away all your hope for a win. You storm out the room, sitting down at your desk to throw your head down on the wooden table.

One point. Seriously. This is ridiculous.

Well, you take a deep breath and continue with your shitty day. At some point in time, you get a knock on your office door. “Come in.” you say as you raise your eyes up to see who it is. “Oh Yena, hey.. sorry for not saying anything earlier…” you bite your lip.

“Don’t consume yourself over it, hey, that dude is a douche, okay? Do not let him get to you. You are better than him anyway.”

“Am I though? I mean… What if he is simply better than me. What if his songs are better than mine? What if his lyrics have more meaning than mine?”

“He is not better than you, and even if he will be proven to be, which I doubt, don’t ever let him know you think that.”

“I can’t be a narcissist just like him, Yena. If I am not as good as someone, I will take the responsibility on my shoulders and admit it.”

“See you’re already better than him, he would never” She laughs. You laugh back, although in your soul goes a fight between your ego and sincerity.

. . .

After the day ends, you finally go home early, not giving two fucks about what they might say or think, it is your right after all. Too bad that you get a message you dreamed of never getting, too bad it happened.

HELIX ENTERTAINMENT

“Good evening, members of the company. We are delighted to announce that tomorrow there will be a collaboration project between each other. The groups are arranged by the organisers, and they follow the lines of:

Now scrolling through all the pages, you search for your name. Oh, what are the chances.

Lee Heeseung & L/n Y/n”

Of course this had to happen, it would not have been you if it were not for your amazing luck.

“Oh, suck on it seriously.” You look at your phone in disbelief, while making yourself tea. “Juno can you believe this? This man is going to ruin my image and my life. I can’t stand him anymore I swear I might kill someone if this keeps happening.” Juno meows, probably because he wants a bit of peace, but you still took that as an agreement to what you said. “I know, I know. I guess it will be okay… hope he doesn’t ruin my career for life with this. I do not trust him.”

The next day, you shake your head while getting out of your car, glaring at the tall building with huge windows. You always glare while looking at it, but somehow this time was different. It wasn’t because you hated your job, it was because you had to see your partner. All the people who greeted you in the halls got a cold response, or no response at all. Might have been a shitty thing to do but honestly you weren’t in the mood for anything anymore. You just wanted this day to be over.

When you get into Heeseung’s office, seeing him rummaging through his papers, you just stood in the doorway… waiting for him to finish his work. He raises his head to look at you, his mood getting insignificantly worse when his eyes met yours. Before he gets to sigh, you cut him off.

“The feeling is mutual. I usually try to act nice, but I just cannot stand you no matter how hard I try.” You cross your arms while he goes back to his papers. “Then take a seat.” He responds in the coldest way, only making you furrow your eyebrows at his tone. “Okay damn…” you say under your breath while grabbing a chair to sit in front of his desk.

There are a few moments of silence, but you decide to ask him about the collaboration, same reason you’re here right now.

“Heese-” “It’s Mr. Lee for you.” You clear your throat annoyed. “Mr. Lee, I am only here to ask you about what we must do, can we focus on that?”

“Why would I make a project with someone as bad at writing as you?” he looks up at you again. You bite your cheek, barely being able to stand him anymore. You just look down to your thighs, grasping your palms together anxiously. Yuna told you to never be weak in front of him, but how could you not when he was so right?

“Please refrain from insulting my work and just take the organisations words, they put us together for this, so we need to do it.”

“If I let you work on this, you will just embarrass me in front of thousands of people. How about you just let me handle this? Go home, enjoy your days off. I’ll give you the credit.”

“You cannot just do everything alone; I do not care about days off I just want to work on this too. Please Mr. Lee.”

That is the first time he’s ever heard you say please to him. He hated your presence just as much as you hated his, why must you be at each other’s throats all the time? Simply because of rivalry or did other frustrations arise from both parties?

He licks his lips, finally giving in. “You can work on it with me Y/n. Just don’t disappoint me.”

“I promise I won’t. This matters so much to me.”

You follow him to his studio; he lets you get in first and that is when he locks the door behind you. You both sit down next to each other while you work on the song. He keeps acting weird throughout the recording and editing process, changing poses multiple times in a few minutes, sighing and fidgeting with his fingers. Halfway through the song you place your hand on his while looking at him. “Mr. Lee, are you feeling okay?”

That is when he sighs, snatching his hand away from yours and turning the pc off. He turns to you, keeping his eye contact consistent. “Y/n… i’ve just been feeling frustrated. Just forget it. Let’s focus on the song.”

Now you cannot say that you care about him, but you’re still curious to see what this is about. “Oh, is that so? Frustrated in what kind? Someone like you has feelings?”

He glares at you. “Not in the way you’d think, anyway.” You tilt your head. “But how? Tell me now, i’m curious.” “Maybe you should learn to keep your mouth shut, it’s none of your business.” “Just because you’re my superior does not mean you gotta talk to me like that, bastard.” He clenches his jaw. “Oh, that’s it.” He suddenly grabs onto your neck, pulling you closer. He’s still so gentle but it’s enough force to make you struggle to talk. “Is this what it’s about...? A... are you sexually frustrated…?” You tease. He releases the grasp on your neck and looks down at his hands. “I.. I’m sorry. It’s hard being alone when you’re pushing 30 you know.”

You had no idea what was happening right now, but you definitely enjoyed the attention you got. You were equally as touch starved as he was, and it was making you want more.

“You know, we could do this. But I really don’t like you dude.” You raise your eyebrow at him. He nods. “You don’t make yourself all that approachable either, would you really be down? I mean, just… fuck buddies… nothing else?”

“Mr. Lee, you know we both aren’t ones for relationships. But what’s in it for me?” “Oh, you want payment now?” “Well, you knew I wasn’t gonna give you myself for free, did you?” He laughs. “Fair, then how about I give you a raise?” “Mm… Anything else?” He rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay uhh. A raise and no more staying overtime, you get paid if you leave work early and… free coffee for life.” You ponder a bit. “Alright, I accept.” “Oh, not so quick, you need some rules to you too. For this to work you have to come help me anytime I need you.” “Libido that high, huh?” He shushes you and you giggle.

“Well okay, but if you’re really frustrated right now, shall we start today?” He looks back at you, visibly cringing from you being so direct with him, but he doesn’t mind. “I mean if you’re down.” “I am, but do you have any condoms?” That’s when you see him reaching for his wallet, taking out about 3 condoms out. Your eyes widen a bit, smacking your lips at his professionalism. “Oh, wow you’re ready.” “3 is a bit much…” “Who knows, i’ll end up using all of them and then end up going raw cause we are left with none.” “Yeah, don’t know about that.” “Im messing with you, dumbass.” He rolls his eyes, letting you get on top of his lap. Your lips finally make contact with his, getting to taste him in your mouth, the feeling lingering down to your stomach.

As you begin making out, your hand travels down to his forming bulge, squeezing and massaging it to the best of your abilities. As you’re doing that, he squeezes your ass with his palm, making you flinch from the sudden pressure. You playfully slap his face, pulling away from the kiss a bit. “You’re such a dick.” “I know, wanna feel mine already?” You give him one last kiss before pushing his head back on the chair to kiss his neck, insisting on his prominent adam’s apple. You suck on his sensitive skin, forming hickeys along his whole neck. “Fuck, Y/n, you’re not bad at this.” “I know, but you are.” “Oh shut up, I barely got to do anything.” You sigh, pulling away from his neck. “Let me ride you, m’kay?” “Do whatever you want to me.” He smiles coyly. “Could I kill you?” You pout your lips. “Not until you get your raise.” “Oh, fuck off.”

You start with unbuttoning his pants, not even taking them off before placing your hand on his boxers. You press his dick a bit, his groan appearing right after. “Mhm, that’s what I love hearing.” You nod to yourself. “Right from my mouth?” He teases too. “Oh, you know what I mean, I might need to stuff yours, so you shut up more often.” “Could you stuff it with your pussy?” That keeps you quiet for a bit, his response making you clench around nothing. “… I might, if tape doesn’t work.”

You don’t even take his pants off when you pull his boxers down with his half-hard dick springing out. You grab the base, stroking it a bit to get it as erect as you can. “You’re so big.” You point out. He just smirks, looking at you up and down. You leave his dick alone for a bit just to take your panties off, as you were already wearing a skirt, the embarrassing wet stains on them being visible for Heeseung to see as well. “You got this wet already? And you’re the one saying i’m horny.” “Shut it.” You throw your panties to the other side of the room, finally ripping one condom out the packaging, putting it well onto his dick. After you give him a few more strokes you position yourself on his dick, slowly lowering yourself on his length. It takes you a few good seconds to adjust, then you slowly move your hips back and forth on him. He already throws his head back, the feeling being so familiar yet so distant. Your walls clench around him every time you move on him, the feeling already getting unbearable. You change your routine a bit, starting to bounce instead of grinding, the sound of your thighs touching echoing through the room. You try leaving out as little moans as you can, but it’s still impossible for you, as it feels so good. You leave out small desperate noises as you bounce on him. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.” He smiles up at you. You glare again. “Fuck you.” While speeding up. “This.. doesn’t mean anything. I’m just.. helping.. you get rid of a boner.” You say out of breath. “And it’s working, keep going.”

You ride him as well as you can, his swollen tip getting so deep inside you it’s hitting your sweet g-spot. He needed to fuck with someone desperately, the fact that it was you was pure coincidence. Your mouth parts, leaving sounds that only his ears can hear. “Holy shit… I might cum soon… please” you cry, grabbing onto his shoulders with your nails bedded into his skin. He looks up at you, his hand resting against your ass, giving it a few squeezes here and there. “You’re gonna cum for me? Hm? Come on, cum all over me” He whisper shouts, helping you bounce on him faster and faster.

The knot in your stomach quickly snaps, your orgasm washing down over you with a few loud moans. You cum all over his dick, with each thrust forming a white ring at the base of it. “Your pussy so good, Y/n… I can’t take it any…more” he grunts, throwing his head back more with each bounce of yours. “Cum already, come on you’re... doing so well” you encourage him, and he immediately obeys, his semen spilling into his condom, making it fully white by the time you pull away from his lap. He pants and moans before you finally take the condom off his dick, the cum spilling back onto it. You stroke him a few more times, getting your hand messy but that finally makes him lay on the chair more relaxed, his high calming down.

“Damn it you’re good.” He says while smiling, his head thrown backwards. “I know, that’s why I agreed to help you.” You slightly grab onto his neck, giving it a few playful kisses. “Now should I send you back to your work? You’re finished here.” He teases. “Oh right, right. Maybe I should focus on my actual work, rather than this work.” You say, grabbing onto his dick one last time, leaving it alone after wrapping your hand around it.

He grabs your wrist, flicking it away now. He looks up at you while raising his eyebrow. “Get the fuck out of here.” You scoff at him, cleaning yourself up a bit and fixing your clothes back on before turning around to leave. “Suck my pussy.” You say annoyed while heading to the door.

As you open the door you hear a “Might do that too” and that’s when you get out the door, leaving him a middle finger before closing the door behind you.

Heeseung finishes the project for both of you, and you end up winning it together. Of course, he kept reproaching you that you won because of him, and you got into a heated argument that you just stopped talking for weeks. So first he says he’ll do it for you but when you do… he argues that he did all the work?

What an asshole.

After another day of no contact at all, you get passed a flyer at work, so you quickly read it.

“It gives us immense pleasure to invite you to a special gathering in honor of Lee Heeseung & L/n Y/n to celebrate their remarkable achievement of winning the collaboration project contest first place.

Date: [7th of December]

Time: [7 PM to 12 AM]

Venue: HELIX ENTERTAINMENT VENUE & BAR

Dress Code: [Semi-Formal]

We look forward to celebrating this special moment with you.

Warm regards,

HELIX ENTERTAINMENT”

After reading, you immediately put the flyer down on your desk, covering your face with your hands. “I don’t wanna see that man ever again.” You avoided him for a few weeks, how could you meet again now? You sigh to yourself, thinking that it’s just one day, it’ll be over, and you can continue ignoring him again.

On the day of the event, you buy yourself a nice and luxurious royal blue dress, it’s long and it hugs your body so well. It has a pretty big cleavage, but you know you looked attractive in it anyway. You get ready, grab your hand purse, and get to the venue. As you enter the big ballroom you notice Heeseung right away, talking to some higher ups while having one hand in his pocket, and the other in the air, moving it around while talking. He’s wearing a tight black suit on, with a deep v-neck that perfectly shows his collarbone. His hair a dark velvet and slightly gelled. You would be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive. He always wore that dark aura to him, and that pissed you off. It’s like he was pulling you in despite you trying to pull away. Even if you said you hated him, your palms got sweaty when you saw him, your heartbeat got faster and you eyes slightly widened whenever you saw him. It wasn’t because he was your boss, it wasn’t because he could fire you at any moment… there was something else. And he knew it.

You breathe in one last time before going up to them. As soon as Heeseung sees you he can’t stop looking at you. How perfect you look, you elegant you came here yet so sexy. The way your boobs sat in your dress and how they looked at Heeseung first, that’s what he claims anyway. You don’t say anything to each other, you barely dare to make eye contact. But at one point the others leave your conversation, saluting both of you for now... And when you expect it least, he pulls you aside.

“Are you trying to tempt me with those tits?” He whispers. “Excuse me?” You look at him, eyebrows furrowed in a mix of confusion and anger. “I mean, look at you. Who did you come here for? Where are you going after this? Is there anyone else with you?” He launches this set of questions so weirdly, making you cross your arms which makes your boobs squeeze even tighter against each other.

“I’m here alone, Heeseung. I just liked this dress and came here with it. What’s your problem, even if I dressed up for someone?” You look angrily at him. “Because nobody can see… all of this… except for me. You’re my fuck buddy remember?”

“So? I thought friends with benefits meant something else for you. Don’t care what you think about my outfits. Just stop staring weirdo.” You rest your arms alongside your body, before turning to leave. He grabs your wrist, pulling you close to him. “Look, I don’t want to be constantly ignoring you. Can we be just like we were before?” your lips part. “You mean…. hating each other?” he sighs. “You know what I mean. Hating each other but helping each other with things.” You click your tongue. “Oh yeah, speaking of that… you never gave me my raise… or my coffee.”

“What? you can take as much coffee as you want, and I want you to help me with something before I give you the extra money.”

“And what’s that? amaze me.”

“Could you act that you’re my fiancé for tonight?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

“I don’t want you around me, at all. But It’s so annoying when people keep asking why i’m not married at my age.”

“Did you tell them that you’re a bastard? and that’s why you’re single?” you look at him pissed.

“Oh fuck off, just tell me if you want to help me or not.” you contemplate. “Maybe. If I finally get my raise, and some good sex out of you.”

“It’s on then. Let’s go meet some people here, they’re old and rich perverts but they give hella good sponsors. You might wanna cover up. I don’t want them looking at you.” he grabs your waist. “What a coincidence, that sounds like a perfect description of you in a few years.” you roll your eyes, walking with him while struggling to put on your jacket.

“Hello, Mr. Lee, and who is this beautiful lady?” they start right off the bat looking at your body and all, despite covering yourself as well as you can. You feel so uncomfortable with them but Heeseung makes sure to cover you with his body instead. “This is Y/n, my dearest fiancé. She’s a bit shy, so please talk to me instead.” You throw a slight smile while looking at him, his gesture making you really happy.

After you were done with these men, you leave to a more reserved area. “I can’t believe i’m saying this but… thanks for having my back earlier.” “Don’t fret, I saw how uncomfortable you were. Hate you or not, I can’t see you with that expression on your stupid face.”

You take your jacket off while nodding your head. “Wow, what a compliment from you mr. Lee. I acted enough; now can I stop being your dog following you everywhere?”

“Of course, you can leave too if you’re busy.”

“Hey, what about my payment? remember?”

“You want your money now? What do you wanna buy? I’ll give you my card.” He says, pulling out his card to hand it to you. “My pin is 1510. Use however much you want.”

That just stunned you. “W-What no I don’t need to buy anything. Keep your card…” you push it back to him. “I meant… you know.”

“The good sex part?” he says softly.

“Yeah. That.” you say a bit embarrassed now. “Stop making it so awkward, you’re being too quiet for your own good.” you continue.

“Why do you think that? Is my mouth too big to keep quiet?” he smiles. “Obviously, you never seem to shut up but right now you’re eerily quiet.” “I’m just thinking whether I should just eat you out like you deserve or fuck you too on top of that.” His response already gets you hot and bothered, not caring about the people who might be there or might pass you two. You get even closer to him, sliding your hand down his v-neck to touch his pecs and collarbone. “What’s stopping you from doing both? Please Heeseung. It’s my turn to be needy is it not?”

“Of course, it can be your turn whenever. Surprised you’re craving my pleasure when you can’t stand me.” “You’re still fucking hot with this suit on, personality or not.” He smiles, pulling you into a heated kiss, the butterflies rummaging through your stomach. You grab onto his hair, pushing him a little while making out. You pull away after a bit, finally unbuttoning his shirt. You touch him all over his body, barely being able to stop.

“Did you always look this good?” you say, moving your hands on his abdomen. “Were you always this desperate for me?” he smiles, letting you do whatever you want, until he begins undressing you too, sliding that dress off you in a hurry. He slips your bra off taking one tit into his mouth while kneading the other. You let out desperate sounds, wishing he would just eat you out already. His breath hot against your nipple makes your whole body shiver, inevitably making you whine. “Heeseung just suck on my pussy like that please stop teasing me damn it.”

He laughs against your skin, giving your boob one last kiss before pulling away. “Okay, okay, sit down on this couch.” You do, and he gets on his knees to slide your panties off. He makes you spread your legs for him, keeping them apart with his hands. He starts off with small kisses around your core, taking his time enjoying his meal afterall. “This is the second time you’re dripping wet for me, is it a pattern now?” you grab onto his hair to keep him there. “Shut up and just help me get through this.” He listens, starting to eat you out to the best of his ability. Hollowing his cheeks, shaking his head to suck on your folds. He puckers up his lips to kiss you all over, giving it a few sweet licks all over the slit. Once he reaches your clit, he glues his mouth on it, sucking on it leaving the nastiest sounds known to man. While he’s focusing on your clit, he sneaks his fingers to your wet hole, sliding one finger in at first, pounding it into you at a steady rate. You cannot stop moaning loudly, the pleasure being too much for you. He inserts another finger in, curling them inside you, reaching your g-spot easily.

“Oh, right there, Hee. Don’t you dare stop or you’re so dead— oh my fucking god that’s so good.” His hand speeds up, he pulls his mouth away to flick his tongue on your bud faster and faster; matching the rhythm of his fingers. “Fuck!” you cry out. “Heeseung i’m gonna… cum please … keep going.” You lose your mind. He speeds up even more, destroying your pussy with his fingers, actually giving you hope that he’s gonna let you finish. Once you get as close as you’ve ever been, he pulls out and away completely, making your body shake. You groan suddenly opening your eyes in disbelief. “What the fuck..?” you say angrily. “You thought I was just gonna let you cum like that from something so simple?” You glare. “You’re so fucking annoying, I had such a good orgasm forming.”

He caresses your cheek. “Stop pouting, let me make you cum forreal now, okay?” you still look mad, but you grab onto the hem of his pants, pulling them down in one second; his boner is quite visible already. You pull his dick out, stroking it while he gets a condom out his wallet again (Somehow he’s always ready). You keep stroking him, squeezing his tip with your fingers until he leaks precum everywhere. You stop that to pull his boxers down further, letting him put his condom on. He strokes himself a few more times before positioning himself to penetrate you. He slowly pushes his cock in, making slow movements at first, slowly speeding up to fuck you good. “You’re taking it so well, and you feel so good..” You hum, slowly wrapping your legs around him. “That’s amazing… keep going..” you whine, letting him fuck you til you lose your mind.

He slightly moans at every thrust, managing to get deeper and deeper with every thrust. You feel him so deep inside, hitting your g-spot again with his swollen tip. The sudden zap makes you grab onto his biceps with your hands, digging your nails into his skin while moaning louder. “Mhm…. That’s the spot. Don’t stop please…” He finally listens to your pleads, pounding into your sweet spot over and over as you leave red scratches all over his arms. Your hands move up to his upper back, scratching him like a wild cat. He hisses multiple times at the pain, but he lets you react this way just to see all your reactions to him destroying you once again. You tighten around him as you’re about to cum.

“Hee...please let me cum... plea—oh that feels so good please…” you say as you start crying, small tears running down your cheeks shutting your eyes forcefully. “Who’s crying on my cock now? You love getting fucked like this don’t you slut?” he says while speeding up even more, making you squirt on him on the spot. His words buzz in your ear over and over while you lose your mind completely. Your legs shake on his lower back, getting his dick wet with your squirt. “You’re so messy when you cum.” He groans, getting close to his release too. “Oh fuck you… you know you like it… cum already…. come on.” A few more thrusts in and he pulls out to take his condom off his dick. He gives himself a few more strokes before releasing strings of cum all over your stomach. He holds onto your thigh with his other hand while continuing to stroke himself. You look down to your stomach just to see, biting your lip at the scenery. “That’s a new one… you look damn hot doing it.” He slightly smiles at you. “Figured we’d both get messy.” You both quickly clean up the best you can, trying not to get caught by anyone despite how loud you both were the entire time.

“Is this the good sex you were talking about?” he says in a sly manner. “Obviously, if that even means something to you. If there’s one good thing about you it might just be that dick.” You roll your eyes at him. “Oh my, should I feel honored?” he says sarcastically.

You both get out of there, having no intention of staying after what both just did. He gives you the rest of the evening off and gives you your very awaited raise. He was generous with his numbers, that good time really helped. might despise you, or that’s what you think, but he took that raise seriously and you couldn’t stop smiling at your bank balance.

A few days later, you get a text at work from none other than Heeseung. You never gave him your number, so it was a surprise.

“hey y/n”

“Who is this?”

“the guy you fucked 2 days ago”

“ugh what do u want”

“i’m your boss, don’t text me that way”

“whatever, why are u texting me and where did u get my number”

“yena, i just wanted to give you some extra work today”

[1 attachment]

The photo he sent shows his lower body sitting on a chair with his legs slightly manspreading, a thick bulge layering on his dark grey pants while his left hand is gripping the said bulge. Multiple veins are seen branching down from his hand to his arm.

The moment you saw the picture your eyes scattered throughout the pixels in your phone without being able to stop. The photo he took was so damn attractive to you for no specific reason but the way his hand looked, the way you just knew that bulge in his pants was throbbing, begging to get out the tight bottom wear. Still, you decided to be a little cold to him as you always were.

“oh why should i help u? i already got my raise”

“do u want this to be your only one?”

You leave him on seen for a minute or two.

“where r u”

“in my office, tell my bodyguard i called you in here”

“🖕”

You get up, fixing your makeup a little before leaving your office to get to his. After you close the door behind you, you both have a moment of intense eye contact, just to break it off by looking down. “You got here fast. Missed me that much?” you smack your lips. “It’s not like you threatened me or anything.” He laughs softly. “You know you missed me already. Did you touch yourself to the picture I sent, too?” He slowly walks towards you.

“What? No. You’re not all that Heeseung. Your mouth moves too much though.”

“Oh yeah? Then let's see what yours can do.”

He grabs your chin, pulling it up so you can only look into his eyes. There are a few seconds of silence where your heart skips a beat… then in his lowest tone you hear him say...

“Get on your knees.”

He releases the grasp on your chin, letting you lower yourself, finally making eye contact with his bulge. “Aren’t we gonna get caught here?” He shakes his head. “No one can enter without my permission. No one can leave either, like you here.” He smiles. You squeeze your legs together at his words while sliding his pants and boxers off in one move. His hardened cock springs out, bouncing off his navel. You start with small pecks to his red tip, slowly moving down to his entire length. He looks down at you, admiring your sweet moves to bring him pleasure. “You’re adorable like this, did you know?” he chuckles. “Eat a dick.” He slaps your cheek. “Too bad you’re eating mine right now.” You glare up at him before taking his tip in your mouth, stroking him with your hand. You have your other hand resting on his right knee, as you bop your head back and forth little by little. He smiles at you, grabbing your hair into a ponytail just to keep your head in place and to be able to fuck your mouth a bit.

You unwrap your hand from around him cock, letting him completely take control, going at his desired pace. He moans at the feeling, throwing his head back for a second. “Fuck yeah... I see this mouth is better at doing things other than complaining all the time.” His thrusts are making you slightly choke on his dick, getting harder and harder to breathe. You grab onto his thighs, trying to at least make him slow down, but to no avail. It feels too good for him to stop now, your mouth wrapped so tight around his dick; sending him waves of bliss with each thrust. After a good while he pulls away, letting you breathe again. “I fucking hate you.” You say, looking up at him. “Don’t talk to your superior that way, brat.” He grabs the base of his cock, slapping the tip onto your lips multiple times.

You take him in your mouth again, bopping your head up and down faster than before. You try using your tongue against as well, caressing the sensitive spot between his tip and length with the tip of your tongue.

“That feels so good. Don’t pull away.” He whispers. You leave little hums to confirm that you won’t, letting him get closer to his release with those emitted vibrations. After a few more sloppy bops, he moans like hell, grabbing onto the back of your head to push you deeper onto him. “Y/n i’m— gonna cum… hold on…” he moans out, his eyes closed shut. You keep going, wanting him to cum right in your mouth. “Mmm…hmm.” Is all you can let out, before he cums deep in your throat, automatically swallowing all of it. He leaves out a small groan, pulling out your mouth after he’s done. A string of saliva links his tip and your tongue as he pulls away further.

“Good girl. You swallowed all of it.” You give him a little smile, standing up while wiping your mouth. “Might’ve been the best i’ve ever had, come here.” He says, grabbing your waist with his arms. He leans in to give you a genuine kiss, not a lustful one, definitely not. He keeps you in that deep kiss for a while, pulling away only to pull you in again. “Where... is this … coming from?” you chuckle a little, asking between kisses. “I don’t think… I can stand… completely hating… you anymore…” your eyes widen a bit. “Was my mouth that good?” you say jokingly, and he shakes his head. “Not just that, not just sex. You have a crazy charm to you, I don’t know if you can feel it.”

“That’s crazy coming from you Lee Heeseung.”

“I want you in my life Y/n, you can be mad all you want but it doesn’t change things between us.”

“You’ve already been in mine way too long.” You smile.

“Exactly, I want you to be so sick of me, no medicine would be able to treat you.”

“I guess we can make it work… you’re crazy hot, still might need to tape that mouth though.”

“Is that a secret kink?” He laughs.

“Oh, shut up.” You push him slightly. You can’t lie, being his girlfriend now was tempting, no matter how much you tried to hate him, he attracted you more and more without even realising. Every time he was in your presence your subconscious was happy to see him. Your mind played tricks on you, and you hated how much you adored him.

Dating Lee Heeseung, your boss, was one of the best decisions of your life. Turns out he’s sweeter than it seems, he would give his life for you, and you would too. You didn’t need anyone else, only your soulmate and your cat. You ended up moving in together, always cooking dinner together, going on vacations together and just enjoying eachother’s presence. He was such a sweet guy, something you never expected to see from such a man. Yena definitely judged you when she first found out about your new relationship, but quickly came along with the idea. Thing is, Heeseung acted this way with others but he was so sweet with you. He only loved you. His sparkly bambi eyes always stare at you with such admiration when you walk in the room. He can’t stop admiring you all the time.

I guess he wasn’t that bad after all.

———————————————————————

a/n: thank you so much for reading this!! I spent a few days on it and it was definitely experimental. reblogging/liking would be very much appreciated < 3

[fahed-2]

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@artemis-pendragon @lesbian-hannibal @bulkhummus @sm0kebreaks @doubleca5t

@wuntrum @mysharona1987 @brucespringsteendotcom @pjharvey @doublism

@cigaretteuncle @jehadism @mrala @scodoz @youngmanhattanite

@clientsfromhell @wlwaerith @miametropolis @jujusjunk @satan-is-a-furry

@withthewindinherfootsteps @sapphling @wouldingwaul @ambidextrousarcher @fresh-bed-old-sheets

@starless-gaze @level10headhoncho @esperantokomencanto @thinking-about-giraffes @blogtruenorth

@coughloop @applebunch @boy-icky @notchainedtotrauma @moqawama

@niqabisinparis @communist-ojou-sama @fuzzypatrolfancowboy @rocking-space-dragon @forevergulag

@alexandrium @loversdesires @robotpussy @bludcrust @sesamie

@voidpumpkin @saharawitch @teabisexual @fusdoq @just-browsing1222-deactivated20

@tenderscience @antisocialxconstruct @mirrorhouse @capybara @s9sh9

@jesse-pinko @gojobait @thedyke @ilovenanu @void-flesh

@bitegore @pornogrind @rubyfunkey @muscosus @hexhomos

@spoiled-ojousama @rosamundpkes @cutecipher @familyabolisher @klawphish

@bimboficationblues @bootdork @lakevida @anglaised @hotvampireadjacent

@danashehab has been fundraising since may and is just over €15,000 away from their goal l. as stated in the screenshot people are starting to believe the rafah crossing will open so it’s important to make sure everyone has the funds in case they are allowed to evacuate.

thee shehab family consists of dana (13), sahar (14), mona (9), malak (5), yehya (1.5), fahed, (38), reem (32), and grandmother mona (60). they have been shadowbanned and deleted a few times. you can also find this family at @monashehab

EDIT AUG 24:

The family has had to raise their goal to cover their extended family’s evacuation fees since they are unable to make a new GFM.

The new goal is €85,000.

[vetted]

[spxllcxstxr]

While You Were Sleeping • J&V

(Gif not mine)

Request: recently discovering your arcane works has seriously made my week, your writing is amazing! if you're still taking reqs, can I pls request a jayvik x they/them reader fic? while viktor and jayce are sleeping soundly at night for once, reader surprises them by coming home unexpectedly. they're also a scientist but travels a lot for work, which leads them to be deeply missed by the two. reader gently nuzzles and kisses them until they realize that they're back! just a very sleepy and loving reunion with these three. I need some healing after the jayvik finale in S2 ;_; thank youu :) — anon

Summary: Coming back late at night from your trip, you didn’t expect to find Jayce and Viktor asleep in your shared bed

Warnings: gn!reader, implied scientist reader, it's just fluff guys lol, no dialogue until the last like third lmao

Word Count: 1.5k

A.N: title is a laufey song 🥴, I hope you enjoy!!!

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You sigh, heaving your heavy travel bags behind you as you climb up the stairs in front of you. Muttering to yourself, you curse at the amount of things you packed for your trip outside of Piltover. You hadn't gone too far for your research this time, and yet past you decided to pack your entire wardrobe and then some.

The keys to the apartment you shared with your lovers dangle precariously from your pants pocket. At first you thought about heading straight to the lab, considering that was where you would no doubt find Jayce and Viktor, but after days of travel, all you wanted was to be home. The two of them would eventually get home anyway, whether it be just passed midnight or just after dawn, so you determined that there was no harm in settling back in your apartment first.

The lights are off when you enter your apartment, the tick-tocking of the old grandfather clock the only sound echoing in the room as the pendulum swings back and forth. Papers filled with equations and scientific illustrations are strewn across every surface. You huff, rolling your eyes. Your apartment looked exactly as you left it weeks ago. Eyes finally adjusting to the familiar darkness, you also spot a few empty coffee mugs scattered all over and jackets draped across every chair. This was certainly home.

With your bags still in your hands, you continue through your decently sized apartment. You had this place memorized at this point, so walking through it in the dark was simple. You knew exactly where the couch Jayce picked out before even moving in was and where Viktor's oddly shaped bookcase was. The comforting familiarity of your home makes warmth spread through your chest; this was something you, Jayce, and Viktor created together from scratch--it meant more to you than any other place in Runeterra, even the ones vital to your research.

You head straight to your bedroom, the desire to fall into your own bed and drift off to sleep overwhelming at this point.

The room is dark when you enter except for the few white rays of moonlight filtering in through the window. Viktor's cane rests against the nightstand on his side of the bed, metal gleaming in the light.

You furrow your brows in confusion, Viktor being home shocking to you. The lab was practically a second home to Jayce and Viktor. Before dating them, they would spend almost every hour of every day there, tinkering with their inventions. Since starting the relationship, Jayce and Viktor tried really hard to break their habit of spending so much time in their lab, which they were largely successful at. With you away for weeks, however, you knew that they tended to take advantage of it and revert back into their previous mindset.

With the cat away, the mice will play, after all, as they say.

Still at the threshold with you bags at your sides, your eyes land on your two lovers laying in bed.

Viktor is curled up beside Jayce, who softly snores against your partner's hairline. You stop at the end of the bed, the tension in your shoulders easing up at the scene before you. Though two blankets cover them, the tips of Viktor's long fingers peek out from the top, showing that his hand is splayed lightly against Jayce's chest, right over his heart.

In the pale moonlight, your lovers look ethereal. The light drapes them in a silvery hue, the luminosity a stark contrast from the rest of the dark room. Jayce and Viktor, with their skin bathed in radiance, are oblivious to your tender gaze.

Smiling softly you feel your heart melt in your chest. This was what you especially missed on your travels. The beds you always wound up in were empty and cold. No amount of blankets piled atop your figure could mimic the warmth Jayce radiated, nor could any pillow replace the comfort of his chest against your cheek. Viktor wasn’t there to hold your hand in his sleep either. There were no golden or amber eyes brightened by the early sunlight gazing at you when you woke up either. You had grown accustomed to the comforting presence of your lovers over the years that you always forget how lonesome travelling could be.

It was a privilege to be able to travel across Runeterra for your research, you knew that; but the absence of your lovers late at night always made you dreadfully homesick.

Quietly, you move around the room in order to change into something better suited for bed. As you change, bags still abandoned near the door, waiting to be unpacked, your partners continue to sleep.

Changed into more comfortable clothes, you ease into bed, slipping underneath the blankets. Viktor continues to mumble incoherently while Jayce shifts, his snoring easing up like he senses your presence. You drape an arm across his chest, fingertips brushing against Viktor's. With your body pressed close to Jayce's, you place kisses along his jawline, the smell of his aftershave lingering on his skin.

Again, he shifts against you, head turning slowly to face you.

"Wha's goin' on?" Jayce sleepily mumbles, eyes slowly opening. The moonlight must be harsh on his bleary eyes because it takes a moment or two for him to fully grasp his surroundings.

His gaze locks onto your own, eyes widening as a grin slowly appears across his face. That small but noticeable gap between his two front teeth has you mirroring his smile tenfold. His brown hair is messy from moving around in his sleep, loose strands dangle in front of his face as he raises his head from the pillow.

"You're home early!" You can tell that he's just barely containing his excitement--he's hardly whispering and already shifting under Viktor's grasp in order to get closer to you.

Before you’re able to respond, Jayce’s lips are on yours, kissing you like his life depends on it. An arm wraps around your midsection, hand resting against the small of your back, and pushes you impossibly closer to himself. You can feel his heart beat beneath his white shirt.

“Gods, I missed you…” He says after pulling away. His eyes shine as he scans over your face as if he’s forgotten what you looked like in only a few weeks.

“I missed you too, Jay…” A hand rises to gently stroke his cheek, something he leans into.

A disgruntled noise erupts from behind your partner and you both turn to check up on Viktor.

Disrupted from his sleep, Viktor playfully glares at the two of you. To anyone else it would appear as though Viktor was absolutely livid with the rude awakening, but you and Jayce knew him better than anyone else; he was happy you were home safe, happy that he could feel complete once again.

"You two truly are incapable of whispering, hm?" His voice is deeper, accent thick with each syllable.

Viktor just looks tired, his pale skin is accompanied by dark bruises under each eye. It certainly looks as if he's spent every hour at the lab recently.

"Hello to you too, Vik. I missed you very much." You tease, leaning over Jayce to capture Viktor's lips.

"I missed you very much, sweetling..." He huffs, moving closer to Jayce in order to meet your lips half way.

Jayce settles on the bed between you, back pressed against the mattress and opens both of his arms for you and Viktor to cuddle into.

"You'll have to tell us all about your adventures---" Jayce starts, fingertips dancing lazily against your back.

"It wasn't like it was a vacation, Jay, I still had work to do." You cuddle closer to Jayce, the warmth radiating from his body making you yawn tiredly. Viktor, though dressed in a comfortable long sleeved shirt with two blankets on top of him, does the same, hoping to take all his partner's body heat for himself.

"Sure, but you were not stuck in the Academy's dungeon staring at the hex gem for hours upon hours upon hours..." Viktor sleepily trails off, his face already buried in the crook of Jayce's neck.

You pull the blankets up to your neck and place a hand on top of Viktor's, which rests on Jayce's chest. His fingertips are cold as ice, as they usually were. You feel your eyelids start to droop, each blink getting longer.

"Why don't we go to sleep, darling? You can tell us all about it in the morning. Maybe me and Vik could spend the day outside of the lab and get some fresh air." Jayce whispers, sensing your exhaustion.

You hum as he kisses the top of your head. He murmurs something along the lines of "goodnight" and "I love you," but it all becomes a blur as you drift off to sleep; finally in your own bed in your own home surrounded by your partners.

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