#Ones that I’ve read excerpts from but never read all the way through—

[dailyrothko]

No, the Popularity of Abstract Art is Not the Result of a CIA PsyOp

If you are unlucky enough to move around the internet these days and talk about art, you’ll find that many “First commenters” will hit you with what they see as some hard truth about your taste in art. Comments usually start with how modern art is “money laundering” always comically misunderstanding what that means. What they are saying is that, of course, rich people use investments as tax shelters and things like expensive antiques and art appraised at high prices to increase their net worth. Oh my god, I’ve been red-pilled. The rich getting richer? I have never heard of such a thing.

What is conveniently left out of this type of comment is that the same valuation and financial shenanigans occur with baseball cards, wine, vacation homes, guitars, and dozens of other things. It does indeed happen with art, but even the kind that the most conservative internet curator can appreciate. After all, Rembrandts are worth money too, you just don’t see many because he’s not making any more of them. The only appropriate response to these people who are, almost inevitably themselves, the worst artists you have ever seen, is silence. It would cruel to ask about their own art because there’s a danger they might actually enjoy such a truly novel experience.

When you are done shaking your head that you just subjected yourself to an argument about the venality of poor artists plotting to make their work valuable after they died, you can certainly then enjoy the accompanying felicity of the revelation they have saved to knock you off your feet: “Abstract art is a CIA PsyOp”

Here one must get ready either to type a lot or to simply say “Except factually” and go along your merry, abstract-art-loving way. But what are the facts? Unsurprisingly with things involving US government covert operations, the facts are not so clear.

Like everything on the internet, you are unlikely to find factual roots to the arguments about government conspiracies and modern art. The mere idea of it is enough to bring blossom for the “I’m not a sheep” crowd, some of whom believe that a gold toilet owning former president is a morally good, honest hard-working man of the people.

The roots of this contention come from a 1973 article in Artforum magazine, where art critic Max Kozloff wrote about post-war American painting in the context of the Cold War, centering around Irving Sandler’s book, The Triumph of American Painting (1970). Kozloff takes on more than just abstract expressionism in his article but condemns the “Self-congratulatory mood”of Sandler’s book and goes on to suggest the rise of abstract expressionism was a “Benevolent form of propaganda”. Kozoloff treads a difficult line here, asserting that abstraction was genuinely important to American art but that its luminaries, “have acquired their present blue-chip status partly through elements in their work that affirm our most recognizable norms and mores.”

While there were rumblings of agreements around Kozloff’s article of broad concerns, it did not give birth to an actual conspiracy theory at the time. The real public apprehension of this idea seems to mostly come from articles written by historian Frances Stonor Saunders in support of her book, “The Cultural Cold War: The CIA and the World of Arts and Letters” (New York, New Press, 2000). (I have not read this 525 page book, only excerpts).

The gist of Ms. Saunders argument is a tantalizing, but mostly unsupported, labyrinthine maze of back door funding and novelistic cloak and dagger deals. According to Saunders, the Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF), an anti-communist cultural organization founded in 1950, was behind the promotion of Abstract art as part of their effort to be opinion makers in the war against communism. In 1966 it was revealed that the CCF was funded by the CIA. Saunders says that the CCF financed a litany of art exhibitions including “The New American Painting” which toured Europe in the late 1950s. Some of this is true, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, to know the specifics.

Noted expert in abstract-expressionism, David Anfam said CIA presence was real. It was “a well-documented fact” that the CIA co-opted Abstract Expressionism in their propaganda war against Russia. “Even The New American Painting [exhibition] had some CIA funding behind it,” he says. But the reasons for this are not quite what the abstract art detractors might be looking for. After all, the CCF also funded the travel expenses for the Boston Symphony Orchestra and promoted Fodor’s travel guides. More than trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes, it was meant to showcase the freedom artists in the US. enjoyed. Or as Anfam goes on to say, “It’s a very shrewd and cynical strategy, because it showed that you could do whatever you liked in America.”

For what it’s worth, Saunders’s book was eviscerated in the Summer 2000 issue of Art Forum at the time of its publication. Robert Simon wrote:

“Saunders draws extensively on primary and secondary sources, focusing on the convoluted money trail as it twists through dummy corporations, front men, anonymous donors, and phony fund-raising events aimed at filling the CCF’s coffers. She makes lengthy forays into such topics as McCarthyism, the formation and operation of the CIA, the propaganda work of the Hollywood film industry, and New York cultural politics—from Partisan Review to MoMA to Abstract Expressionism. Yet what seems strangely absent from Saunders’s panoramic history, as if it were a minor detail or something too obvious to require discussion, is the cultural object itself: The complex specifics of the texts, exhibitions, intellectual gatherings, paintings, and performances of the culture war are largely left out of the story.”

Another problem with the book seems to be that Saunders is an historian but not an art historian. For me, I sensed an overtone of superiority in the tale she’s spinning and most assuredly from those that repeat its conclusion. The thinly veiled message of some is that if it were “Real art” it would not have had be part of this government subterfuge. The reality is very different. For one thing, most of us know it is simply not true that you can make people devoted to a type of art for 100 years that they would sensibly hate otherwise. Another issue is that it’s quite obvious none of the artists actually knew about any government interference if there was any. Pollock, Rothko, Gottlieb and Newmann were all either communists or anarchists. Hardly the group one would recruit the help the US government free the world of communism. Additionally, this narrow cold war timeline ignores a huge amount of abstract art that Jackson Pollock haters also revile and consider part of the same hijacking of high (Frankly, Greek, Roman, or Renaissance) culture. If you look at the highly abstract signature work of Piet Mondrian and observe the dates they were painted, you’ll see 1908, 1914, 1916. This is some of the art denigrated as a CIA PsyOP, 35 years before the CIA even thought about it. Modern art didn’t come from nowhere as many would have you believe to discredit its rise. There was Surrealism, Dada, Bauhaus, Russian futurism and a host of other movements that fueled it.

Generally, people like to argue. On the internet, “I don’t like this” is a weak statement that always must be replaced by “This is garbage” or my favorite, “This is fake.”

It’s hardly surprising that the more conservative factions of our society look for any government involvement in our lives to explain why things are not exactly as they wish them to be, given the (highly ironic) conservative government-blaming that blew up after Reagan. In addition, modern fascists have always had a love affair with the classical fantasy of Greece and Rome. Both Mussolini and Hitler used Greece and Rome as “Distant models” to address their uncertain national identity. The Nazis confiscated more than 5,000 works in German museums, presenting 650 of them in the Entartete Kunst (Degenerate Art, 1937) show to demonstrate the perverted nature of modern art. It featured artists including Marc Chagall, Max Ernst, Wassily Kandinsky, and Paul Klee, among others. The fear of art was real. It was the fear of ideas.

To a lot of people on the internet just the mentioning a “CIA program” is enough to get the cogs turning, but as with many things, the reality of CIA programs and government plots is often less than evidence of well planned coup.

The CIA reportedly spent 20 millions dollars on Operation Acoustic Kitty which intended to use cats to spy on the Kremlin and Soviet embassies. Microphones were planted on cats and plans were set in motion to get the cats to surreptitiously record important conversations. However, the CIA soon discovered that they were cats and not agreeable to any kind of regulation of their behavior.

As part of Operation Mongoose the CIA planned to undermine Castro's public image by putting thallium salts in his shoes, which would cause his beard to fall out, while he was on a trip outside Cuba. He was expected to leave his shoes outside his hotel room to be polished, at which point the salts would be administered. The plan was abandoned because Castro canceled the trip.

Regardless of your feelings on this subject or how much you believe abstract art benefited from government dollars, Saunders herself quotes in her book a CIA officer apparently involved in these “Long leash” influence operations. He says, “We wanted to unite all the people who were writers, who were musicians, who were artists, to demonstrate that the West and the United States was devoted to freedom of expression and to intellectual achievement, without any rigid barriers as to what you must write, and what you must say, and what you must do.” Hardly the Illuminati plot we were promised.

In 2016, Irving Sandler, author of the book that started Kozloff tirading in 1973, told Alastair Sooke of The Daily Telegraph, “There was absolutely no involvement of any government agency. I haven’t seen a single fact that indicates there was this kind of collusion. Surely, by now, something – anything – would have emerged. And isn’t it interesting that the federal government at the time considered Abstract Expressionism a Communist plot to undermine American society?”

This blog post contains information and quotes sourced from The Piper Played to Us All: Orchestrating the Cultural Cold War in the USA, Europe, and Latin America, Russell H. Bartley International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Spring, 2001), pp. 571-619 (49 pages) https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20161004-was-modern-art-a-weapon-of-the-cia https://brill.com/view/journals/fasc/8/2/article-p127_127.xml?language=en https://www.guggenheim-bilbao.eus/en/learn/schools/teachers-guides/the-dark-side-of-classicism https://www.artforum.com/features/american-painting-during-the-cold-war-212902/ https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/modern-art-was-cia-weapon-1578808.html https://www.artforum.com/columns/frances-stonor-saunders-162391/ https://www.artforum.com/features/abstract-expressionism-weapon-of-the-cold-war-214234/ Mark Rothko and the Development of American Modernism 1938-1948 Jonathan Harris, Oxford Art Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1988), pp. 40-50 (11 pages)

[sgiandubh]

In Jake Norton's words...

Among domestic clearer political skies (yes, thank God, it's improving greatly!), it is with much interest that I read Jake Norton's first blog entry about the Everest trek with S and team. You can find it here: https://jakenorton.com/reflections-on-hunku/

Here are the excerpts I found most telling, but I do encourage you to read it all. It is genuine, it is honest and it is real. This guy does not need to sugarcoat anything, indeed - not that mountaineers were this particular type, either.

'An adventurous soul with a heart of gold', who 'rose to it all, never flustered or bothered, always interested and engaged and inquisitive.' Remember (ROFLMAO), this is not Tash, the Twitter Sparkle Lounge madame, speaking from her fangirling mirador at a random OL con. This is what a man with a 30 years experience of high-altitude trekking has to say about his unlikely, but enthusiastic travel companion. And to make the unintended (but honest) Slap-an-Idiot operation even more resounding, he then proceeds to explain why this is not even remotely an indulgent judgement of the character. He could not be clearer about it:

'And, to be honest, my little coffeeshop meeting was both to suss out his interest and let him meet me (and judge me) in person, but also, more importantly, to feel him out. Guiding for me is not simply an economic thing, transactional, but about time and people and experience. I’ve done too many “off-the-shelf” trips in the past to have zero tolerance for sharing the mountains with people whose goals and values are misaligned with mine. It took but minutes with Sam to know our worlds, while vastly different, were built upon similar ideas and ideals and approaches.'

He guided S the only possible way one must travel through Asia: with an open mind and an even more open heart. They deliberately ran away from five-stars accommodation (this blogger always combines the humble and the glam, with a noted preference for the genuine 'humble') and graciously responded to the local people's enthusiasm - something that will always be the most beautiful surprise to any traveler who successfully unlearned how to behave like a tourist:

'Unfortunately for Sam, I don’t really believe in the sugar-coated version of Nepal; fancy hotels and windowed views of life are little more than television with smell. I want people to see the real Nepal, wander the back streets, immerse in the smoky incense of dawn on cobbled streets, bells chiming and dogs barking, ambling through the visceral reality that is Pashupatinath, taking in the respite of Bodhanath, embracing the comforting chaos of alleys and backways of Lalitpur.'

Reading this made me both feel nostalgic and itchy. For even if you might find me enjoying high tea, in the Bangkok Mandarin Oriental's Author Lounge, my heart will always, always fondly remember the magical nights in a humble Hmong thatched hut at Ban Somsavath, somewhere midway from Vientiane to Luang Prabang. But that is personal and I wouldn't dare mix it up with someone else's experience, so I won't insist. What I can tell you, though, is that I absolutely believe S is honest when he says he will be back: for it is not the traveler that chooses Asia - it is Asia that carefully, deliberately chooses the traveler.

These sounds are mine. They will always resound loudly in my soul, for too many reasons to list here in tearing haste. Why did I add them, though? Because once your plane crosses the Everest, the magic begins in earnest:

[waxingrunes]

Ghostface Thriller

This was supposed to be my original fully fleshed out Halloween gig but I changed my mind at the eleventh hour to something else. I only have these very rough shallow sketches to offer that started the whole thing. Read on for a little texting excerpt of their conversation from this moment.

And for one single (quite tame?) Ao3 continuation.

Sirius: you know, this whole conversation is just proving more and more disappointing ghostie

Ghost: Why’s that.

Sirius: well

Sirius: the more you talk the more you

Sirius: this is gonna sound weird but you know when you can grow attracted to the way someone sounds without ever seeing their face? the way they hold themselves like through the screen, the way they talj

Sirius: talk*

Ghost: Are you about to tell me you’re crushing on me, pretty?

Sirius: i mean

Sirius: im telling you i think the way you talk is attractive and despite the damning circumstances you’re actually kinda smart

Sirius: you have to be to get away with the sick shit you do :)

Ghost: Mm, nobody’s made me blush before.

Sirius: me calling you a sick shit made you blush?

Ghost: And sent a jolt straight to my c*** little pretty.

Sirius: romantic

Ghost: Struggling to understand what’s disappointing about any of this.

Sirius: oh right

Sirius: well it’s just you sound hot but obviously you’re not actually you know

Sirius: hot

A moment passes where Sirius swaps the phone between one clammy palm to the other, doubting his turn of phrase with the radio silence that’d been dealt.

Staring at the bottom of the screen he waited another whole minute for the three dots to appear, which was excellent restraint in his books, before huffing out a breath through his nose and yielding.

Sirius: no ten wears a mask

Sirius: if you were as attractive as your fancy words make you sound you’d make it known

Ghost: You’re trying to unmask me through the phone and here I was thinking I was the pervert.

Sirius: doesn’t pretty get at least one photo

Sirius: of something? anything? to aid my crush :(

Ghost: Ask nicely.

Sirius readjusted, looking up to the ceiling as if he was going to find some sort of resolve there. What wasn’t yet clear, was whether it was the weight of the situation that was getting to his head and making his tummy swoop with this roleplay he’d voluntarily landed himself in, or, he really had a fucking crush.

Wetting his lips, he swallowed and was already blindly tapping out his response before his eyes fell to it again.

Sirius: please ghostie

Moments passed. Deadweight moments where Sirius convinced himself his shadow was moving on its own accord. In reality it was a handful of seconds but it felt like minutes, ticking by with the faint feeling of something hot dripping down the back of his throat.

Ghost: I don’t make a habit of sending selfies to my toys.

Sirius stared at the photo. It was his time to go quiet now, for reasons he planned to take to the grave; an event which may end up closing in sooner than anticipated if he plays his cards wrong.

Ghost: Tick-Tock, pretty. What you looking at?

The bastard.

Sirius: not much apparently

Sirius: i mean nothing i haven’t seen before apart from your legs

Sirius: never seen those out before

Ghost: You a leg man?

Against his will, Sirius giggled. Flushed in an instance from shame and shock and the feeling of very sudden self-awareness, but still had to swallow the tail end of it.

Sirius: am i going to get anything else more

Sirius: motivating

Sirius: i’ve been good all week and followed your orders

Sirius: i haven’t argued

Ghost: Oh, pretty. Come on now.

Sirius: okay but

Sirius: wouldn’t you get bored if i made it easy

Ghost: Clever boy.

Sirius squeezed his legs together, sinking further into the cushions.

Sirius: then reward me

Sirius: please

Sirius: please please please

Ghost: You’ll get what you want soon, but for now…

Another picture came through and for a sharp second, Sirius hesitated. It wouldn’t be his face, surely. He knew that and yet the moment felt pivotal either way as he hovered his thumb over the attachment and tried levelling his rattling heart.

He opened it, simultaneously losing feeling in his fingers and gaining it elsewhere.

Ghost: I wasn’t kidding about that jolt, not that hard yet but you’re doing a good job pretty.

Picture no.2

[toorumlk]

Hi I'm so freaking obsessed with your twitter.

Also what's your favorite Romione moment in the books and why?

ohohoho thank you, friend, i’m quite proud of some of the stuff i’ve posted on there B)

and as for my favourite romione moment in the books, when i read the question i first blanked out for a couple minutes, thinking of a bunch of smaller, sillier scenes. but then i remembered that i do have a favourite and it’s from chapter 11 of DH, when remus visited the trio at grimmauld place and filled them in on he goings on of the war -including the implementation of the muggle-born registry. ron’s response upon hearing this (after his immediate outrage) was

and it’s not just the hand holding and the “‘you won’t have a choice’ said Ron fiercely” that played out so vividly in my head like this:

but this scene demonstrates so perfectly the political weight of this pairing (muggleborn/blood traitor) which i think is the immovable narrative foundation of romione. all of their silly moments and idiosyncrasies aside, there is genuine narrative purpose behind this love. ron has always had an astute understanding of the blood supremacist politics of the wizarding world (need i remind that he was ready to curse shitco at the ripe age of 12 for calling hermione the in-universe slur) and just how wrong it is. ron is a pure-blood wizard and by design has so much privilege in this society bc of it, but by virtue of having parents like arthur and molly, he’s grown up knowing the importance of fighting against blood supremacist ideology. always.

so, after hearing about the completely horrifying muggleborn registry ("People won't let this happen," said Ron. "It is happening, Ron," said Lupin.), he immediately turns to his muggleborn best friend and love of his life and says “i’m making you a family member, i’m going to use the protection my family-name has and use it to protect you from the awful injustice of our situation, no you won’t have a choice but to let me help you”

i remember having such a… visceral reaction while reading this scene like holy shit .. these kids, THESE KIDS!!!!! this is the bone-marrow-deep love that makes me feel insane. this dynamic of the blood traitor/muggleborn always there, from CoS all the way to the epilogue. We get to see that romione is the story’s pure blood/muggleborn that finally made it (rip jily and tedromeda :(). we see it in hermione keeping her muggle last name after they get married (oh my god these two actually got married) and we also see it in the hyphenated Granger-Weasley (granger being first!) in their kids’ last names (oh my gof these two had TWO kids). they are a true symbol of change and progress in their world.

also this is one of those moments where i’m so glad that our only window to romiones relationship development is through harry’s narration because it so brilliantly shows the readers this blossoming love story instead of just telling us about it because harry obviously doesn’t have access to the inner thoughts of his two best friends, he can only witness them fall deeper in love. showing the audience acts of love is always more powerful and my god is this an act of showing your love to your beloved.

(and not to go on an unrelated tangent, but this is exactly why i could never ship my girl hermione w any DE or DE-adjacent character. no fucking way. not when the concept of a muggle-born registry exists in this universe, not when the antagonists in this story wish to eradicate people like her from their society. idk about the rest of y’all but im going to keep taking the narrative seriously bc the worldbuilding obviously has real world ties/implications and i like engaging with the canon. tangently to the tangent, i saw someone (a ron basher) on twitter say that ron, OUR RON FROM THE ABOVE EXCERPT, was “one bad day away from becoming a death eater” ohhhh ohhh i ought to beat you with sticks bc HUH? this is the same kid who said he would’ve boarded the train back to kings cross if he got sorted to slytherin, the house notorious for birthing DEs, at the tender age of 11)

anyways, all this to say is that romione is incredibly, realistically, materially romantic and i love them and i love their love <3

[dramas-vs-novels]

Love Sky Excerpt: Sky and Prapai's First Time Together as a Couple

** Just be aware: Sky is occasionally referred to by his Thai name, Naphon.

Love Sky Excerpt: Sky and Prapai's First Time Together as a Couple

“I’m not worth doing all this for. You can give up now.”

“No, and you are worth more than you think. Just letting you know, I’m highly expensive; that means you are even more expensive.”

This is another time that the kid bites his lower lip like he’s lost for words, and then he asks straightforwardly, “When will you get bored of me?”

Prapai turns to look at his face, then he sees the usually cold kid staring back with confusion in his eyes. He walks over and touches the other one’s cheek gently, feeling the softness that makes him want to rub his own cheek against it. He likes that Sky doesn’t turn away this time; the kid is probably used to his touch by now.

Then he answers just as straightforwardly, “Do you want the truth, or sweet talk?”

“Have I ever asked for sweet talk from you?”

The man cracks a laugh. He is also attracted to Sky’s honesty.

“Okay, the truth then. I don’t know, Sky. Unless the time comes, I wouldn’t know.” He’s fair enough to be honest too. “But right now, at this moment, I am not bored. I especially have fun spending time with you. Even when my brother was sick, I never took care of him at all. That’s how highly I prioritize you.”

“But you will get bored someday,” Sky lets out. The listener’s smile fades away as if he catches something in the words.

“What are you afraid of?”

“...”

The kid shuts himself up, then looks the other way, but Prapai pulls his cheek back gently.

He guessed it right, this kid must have run into something major that caused big trust issues. Cases like this are hard, but he’s prepared to take that hardship, unlike his behavior before. Especially when he sees the confusion in those eyes- he wants to get rid of it. When he sees Sky’s fear, he wants to hold him tight and comfort him.

“It’s alright, kiddo.”

I’ll never leave you.

Suddenly, one sentence pops up in his head. The man frowns and almost falls because of it.

Pai, how much do you like this kid?

But the big giant doesn’t have time to consider the flashing feeling, because the kid on the bed pulls his hand off, and does something that shocks even Prapai.

The kid quickly takes his tank top off.

“Okay, I give in.”

Not only that, he even tries to pull his shorts off, but Prapai grabs both his hands.

“Hey! Wait, wait. What does that mean?!” when he focuses, he asks in a deeper voice, holding a tight grip to the wrists. Sky looks up to exchange stares, and he cannot read through those doe eyes, he can only hear the boy’s serious voice.

“‘I give in’ means I give in. I’m not stopping you now.”

“Wait, Sky. I’m not doing all this just because I want to have sex with you. Okay, okay, don’t give me those eyes. It’s true that it was my initial thought, but not anymore. I came here because I’ve missed you. If you want to return the favor, then small kisses would do. No, I’ll taste your whole body. Ah! I’m making it worse. But I don’t just want your body, I just…”

Grab!

“Humm!” Prapai rants unlike his usual self, because the more he tries to correct himself, the worse it looks, so he keeps on going. But the kid doesn’t want to hear more. Sky pushes himself up and presses his lips to Prapai’s the way he wanted, and not just one single kiss, but he crushes the lips so hard that even the confident man is losing his way.

Suddenly, Prapai wraps his arms around the soft waist, or else someone might doubt that he’s experienced. The warm lips also respond to the soft tongue that’s playing with his lips in the most adorable way. He sucks it hard and tastes those beautiful lips, and then he goes back inside the mouth. The touch of intertwining tongues almost makes two become one-the kind of touch that makes Sky moan in his throat and grab the back of Prapai’s shirt tight.

Prapai backs away when he is satisfied, looking the other one in the eye, and then he hears something that sets him on fire.

“Can you shut up and just fuck me already?”

Thud!

Who can stay cool in a situation like this?!

So, the tall man pushes Sky onto the newly changed sheets and straddles over him masterfully. The eyes that mostly look like those of a playboy are now filled with wildfire; they’re hot, intimidating, and full of desire. Especially after seeing the consensual face and challenging tone from someone he’s been wanting for four months, there’s nothing holding him back.

“You sure?” The one who’s supposed to be going in like a hungry tiger still asks in a deep voice. The one on the bed reaches over to touch his face.

“Do you not want to?”

At that moment, Prapai smiles viciously. He brushes his fingers from the kid’s shoulder to the chest, watching him get goosebumps. The kid tries to keep a straight face while staring back. Then Prapai bends over to kiss those lips.

“Yes, I do.” Prapai presses his lips on the other one’s cheek, and then he moves to the back of his ear and sucks it a little, making the one under him flinch. Then he says,

“But I will take your body and your heart.”

“I’m not…”

“Shhh.” Before the kid can disagree, Prapai puts his finger onto the lips. He stares at those lips, gently rubs them, then he pulls the lower lip down and sees a little smirk. His eyes shine as he licks his lips and kisses Sky once more.

It’s a soft kiss, but the heat increases every second. The sound of saliva echoes throughout the whole room.

“Ah… ah… um…”

Prapai lets Sky catch some breath while he takes advantage of the corner of his neck as much as he wants. He presses a huge kiss and sucks that skin until he feels the one under move and tremble, confirming his thought that Sky’s body is incredibly sensitive.

“Ummm!” Sky turns his face the other way when he drags his tongue to the bridge of the shoulder, while both hands are touching all over the warm body- the side, the waist, and his butt that feels good in Pai’s hands. His mouth also does an excellent job at one of the nipples, just a slight touch but…

Gasp!

The kid shudders, making the big one smile.

“Do you like it when I do this? Phew!” he blows the warm breath at a nipple, making it harden. He sucks it more until Sky’s back arches as he grips his hair tight. Prapai uses another hand to rub the other nipple softly, while Sky loses it even more.

“Are you just… going to play… with my nipples?” Sky asks while breathing hard, making the other one laugh.

“I’ll play with this too.”

Grab!

“Hmm!”

“Ah, it’s wet already.” Prapai touches the lower part of Sky, looking down to see his shorts with a wet spot. The sharp eyes are even brighter when he sees the cute boy covering up his face with one hand.

“Can you not talk so much?”

“Have you not been jerking off at all?” Instead of staying silent like Sky suggested, Prapai hears his raspy voice whispering back. He pulls the intimate part out of Sky’s shorts and holds onto it, then he starts rubbing against it. That’s all it takes for the other one to grab Prapai’s hair even harder. His face that is partly hidden under one hand flickers in a spasm.

“What do you say? Have you not missed me and relieved yourself sometimes?”

Other than the nipples, he senses Sky’s ears are also sensitive.

“D-don’t play with my ears.” The more Sky tries to stop him, the more fuel he adds to the fire. Then Prapai sucks the kid’s soft ear harder, not allowing him to turn away. At the same time, he strokes the sensitive part in his hand faster as he listens to the restless breathing of the kid who’s trying not to moan.

“Come on, moan for me.”

“Hmmm. Psy… cho…”

“Yeah, I’m a psycho.”

“Ahhh!!!”

Prapai takes the insult happily. The sweat covers his whole back. The heat rushes to his lower part, but he still puts pressure onto the intimate part in his hand. He stares at the kid who’s widening his eyes, moaning uncontrollably, and moving his hips closer without shame. Showing a pleasant face, Sky now uses both hands to cover his face as his body shivers many times like he’s at his limit.

Grab!

“Ah! Pai, le… let go.”

Suddenly, the tall man grabs both of Sky’s hands and puts them above the kid’s head, pressing them down on the pillow. He sees the red face and blurry eyes full of pleasure. The swollen red lips shudder. He can’t help but lick the side of the boy’s neck and his Adam’s apple, and that makes Sky moan hoarsely, while another hand is still rubbing hard.

Sky is almost there, and he wants to see the happy face that results from his hand.

“...more…”

“What?” Prapai pulls back from his neck to see the shaking lips, and he almost explodes into pieces when the other one replies.

“Hard… do me harder.”

God damn! Where did you learn to seduce?

Thrust! Thrust! Thrust!

“Ah! Ah! Hmmm… No… No… Hmm!”

Prapai intended to tease a little more, but he instead gives it harder and more frequent strokes while his sharp eyes stare into the face that normally looks cold but is now filled with emotion- with the teary eyes, the face covered with sweat, and even a moan when Sky lets out the white fluid all over his hand.

The one under him lies breathing heavily, while the one on top is fighting with his thoughts.

Go ahead, Pai. Ditch the pants, dive in, show possession over this body… But I want more than just this body.

Two voices are fighting, and he mutters in a groaning tone.

“The bathroom!”

Grab!

Before the tall man leaves as he wishes, Sky grabs his shirt and asks a question through his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to trust me that I don’t just want your body,” Prapai replies calmly, while his lower part is about to explode. Especially when there’s someone lying in sweat in his own fluid, it turns him on even more. But instead of thanking him, the kid holds his shirt even tighter and uses the other hand to take his pants off.

Grab!

“Hmm.” This time, even though he’s already made a choice not to do it today, he has to swallow it down when the boy turns to the headboard and places his hands on the sheets. And apologies to you, the way the kid arches his butt up allows him to see what he wants to see- the beautiful bum and a soft, tight hole.

“Sky,” Prapai calls him as a warning, but the kid who anyone would have thought was innocent reaches over to open a drawer, and that position lets him see even more!

Calm down, little Pai. It’s not helping when you are the size of a giant right now!

Not long after, a box of condoms is thrown on the bed, followed by lube, Sky doesn’t hesitate to pour the liquid into his hand and reaches behind, inserting his fingers slowly but masterfully into the hole.

Everything happens in a few seconds, but it tortures the watcher for eternity!

“Fuck!”

Prapai suddenly swears. He grabs the lube and pours it into his hand. His initial plan is out the window as he removes Sky’s fingers and inserts his instead, feeling the touch that tightens over his fingers so much that he wants to put something else in instead.

“Hmmmm.”

The lean body grabs the headboard, arching his body to prepare and moaning in willingness.

It’s wet, hot, and tight inside. Prapai moves his fingers faster and listens to the moan that echoes louder as much as he wants the other one.

“Pai, put it in.”

God damn it!

Squish!

“Ugh, ah. Ahahhh. Ahh!!!”

There’s no need to repeat it, Prapai puts a condom on his son which has enlarged quickly, and then he dives right into the softness inside the kid who’s screaming while taking it in. Though he used all his patience to hold it inside and let the other one adjust- let Sky get used to it- the one under starts moving his hips and pushes him deeper seductively.

“It doesn’t hurt… put it in…”

“Don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow!!”

The listener gives a hard kiss on the kid’s neck and bites down. He roars over the warm skin, then he dives inside the heat. It doesn’t take long for the lean body to jerk every time he reaches the spot.

Grab!

“Hmmmm. Deep. Pai, it’s so deep!”

Prapai puts one arm on Sky’s shoulders and brings the kid into his hug. Now the kid has only two knees against the sheets. He grabs Prapai’s arms to hold his body, then turns his red face to kiss the man.

See? How can Prapai tolerate this?

The tall man thrusts even more violently, harder. He kisses the bruises on the kid’s neck and touches the nipples while rubbing Sky’s intimate part with another hand.

“Pai… Hard. Harder.”

Last time, he almost went crazy to death. This time, when he hears his name, he feels like he’s in paradise.

The tall man pushes Sky to make him lay the front part of his body against the bed, but he doesn’t do it right away. He grabs Sky’s ankles and flips the boy to face him while pulling his hips closer with another hand. He can hear a moan that sounds like a cry. Sky looks up at the tall man who slicks his wet hair, showing the madness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I can’t hold back now.”

As soon as he says it, Naphon could almost scream with the overwhelming sense of pleasure when the tall man shoves in again- this time so roughly that he can hear the bed move in sync with the rhythm of their bodies clapping against each other in the most indecent way- the wettest and craziest friction. All Sky can do now is to hold onto the other one’s neck, wrap his legs around the waist, and move along.

Sky can no longer take it.

“Pai. Please… Please!” he whispers in a heated voice, turning his face side-to-side when the pleasure rises to the top. The fluid splashes over their stomachs while his body twitches from the warmth inside.

Amidst the sound of their breathing, Sky still mutters the same word.

“Please.”

“Please what?” the big one asks.

The kid wraps his arms around Prapai’s neck harder, saying it like he’s about to cry.

“Please, get bored of me soon.”

The man doesn’t look away, he just replies, “Oh?”

“Hmm.”

But the tall man says nothing and just kisses the kid. HE doesn’t tell the other one that he won’t get bored soon. Instead, he’s falling head over heels… for the kid who keeps telling him to get bored. But those eyes have already caught Prapai’s heart.

What the kid really wants to say through those eyes is, ‘Please don’t get bored of me.’

Those begging eyes that make Prapai hold him even tighter.

[cheeseplants]

Let Me Tempt You: Fic

Art by @and-his-hands-were-24-crows!

Happy Holidays @and-his-hands-were-24-crows. This was written as part of the @goodomensafterdark Secret Santa exchange.

Prompt: Roman Ineffables

Inspired by their art above.

Chapter one - a lot of gratuitous oyster-eating.

Rating: E

Word count: 4,160

Read here on AO3

Summary

Aziraphale takes Crowley out for oysters. They are known aphrodisiacs after all.

---

Excerpt

“So, oysters?” Crowley clicked his fingers, and a waiter in a long white toga appeared as if from nowhere. He placed a large metal plate in front of them both. It was piled high with oysters, shimmering like silvery half-moons under the lamplight. Next to it was a huge yellow sliced lemon and piles of salt, sought after in Rome. “I’ve never had one before.”

“They are a fine delicacy, not much on the eyes, but it’s like tasting the depths of the sea. Most people try to chew them but you need to swallow them whole.” Aziraphale said, thankful for some time to draw the demon’s attention from himself.

“Is that so?” said Crowley, though Aziraphale couldn’t miss the way his throat bobbed when he said the word swallow. He ignored the pulse of desire that swept through him. They were here to eat. If he had spent more than one night with his eyes shut, imagining the demon spread out before him like a buffet, that was no one's business but his own.

“Mm-hm.” Aziraphale picked up the hard shell, a creamy casing with speckles of black and brown. The smell took him back to the first hit of salt in the air after days of tracking Adam and Eve through the endless sands beyond Eden. The sound of an unknown surge, a noise more powerful than any stream in Paradise, like a thousand waterfalls falling at once. Then he saw it, a blue expanse that went on forever, birds flying and diving into the spray a few creatures large, almost like monsters slicing the edge of the sea with blades, and disappearing below. So much wilder than the babbling brooks he had become accustomed to. He had dropped to his knees and wept, only comparable to seeing the stars burst into life, not that he would tell Crowley that.

He squeezed half a lemon slice onto the oyster and lifted it to his lips. Crowley’s gaze pierced him like an arrow. He wasn't used to being looked at in this way. Aziraphale had become so used to blending in – with humans, with other angels. Acting as a chameleon, standing by to appease whoever he was near. It was rare that he was the centre of attention.

Aziraphale raised the shell and opened his mouth to swallow it whole. It hit the bottom of his lip, and it tasted of salt and crashing waves. Crowley daring him to jump in, ever the tempter, as the cold sea lapped against his chest for the first time. Curling up in the pitch-black cabins of the Ark, hearing the roar of water smashing along the sides, and a hundred animals braying night after night. A hand, long and slender on his shoulder, a calm that rode with him to the first rainbow, to a world renewed. 

It slid down his gullet, and he heard a gasp. He opened his eyes, and Crowley was bent forward, pearl-white fingers contrasting with the deep ruby of his wine. Even behind those ridiculous glasses, Aziraphale saw hints of pupils blown wide.

“Was it good?” Crowley rasped.

Aziraphale wanted to ask him the same question, as their knees had edged ever-closer, soft fabric brushing below the table.

“Very.” Aziraphale’s breath was shallow and hoarse. He dabbed a little of the salty residue from his lip. 

Thanks to my lovely betas and cheerleaders @on1occasionfork, @happynachohologram, Sensible Squirrels, Yes_its_unholy & NooRose93.

[estrellami-1]

Keep You Company

So this happened because 1) I was babysitting and the little girl wouldn’t sleep until I laid in bed with her and my heart has NEVER been more full and 2) my dad’s an audio engineer with a home studio and my mom will just???? Sit in there with him????? He’s got a couch for when clients come over but 90% of the time if I can’t find either of my parents they’re both in there. I love my mom but I swear she’s tone deaf. Not to mention if any of you have heard someone else work on pitch correction you KNOW how annoying it can get after roughly .3 seconds. But she sits in there completely content because they just???? Want to be near each other????? After close to 30 years of marriage????? Where can I find someone who loves me the way my parents love each other. And the way Steve and Eddie love each other. Please.

Also side note if any of yall read Little Love I’m tempted to make this a future excerpt 👀 different name bc who knows if anything’s gonna come of this. and Joanie’s name comes from Joan Jett anyone who got that gets a gold star ⭐️ also Joanie is either 4 or 6. Idk which. But she’s one of those ages. Which if you know anything about kids you know there’s somehow no difference and yet every difference in the world between those two ages.

“Night, Daddy,” Joanie says, moving into Eddie’s studio to drop a kiss onto his cheek. “Love you.”

Eddie startles away from the computer screen, blinking as he realizes just how late it already is. The clock on his desk blinks 9:08 in red, incriminating flashes.

He smiles at his daughter and throws his arms around her as he stands, hugging her to himself and whirling them around the space, careful around the low coffee table. “Goodnight, my little rockstar!” He crows, peppering kisses to her cheeks and forehead, feeling laughter bubble up inside him in response to Joanie’s giggles.

“Daddy!” She shrieks, but doesn’t try to pull away. He laughs and finally puts her down, pressing one last kiss to the crown of her head as he kneels in front of her.

“Night, Joanie-bug,” he murmurs. “Sorry I’ve been stuck in here all day. I wish I could just play with you all day instead.”

He boops her nose and she giggles. “What are you doing?”

Eddie hums and picks her up, moving closer to the computer to save his project. “Well, y’know how Daddy’s in a band?”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Well sometimes, Uncle Gareth gets a note wrong.”

Joanie giggles. “Only Uncle Gareth?”

“Only Uncle Gareth,” Eddie agrees in a super-serious way that they both know he doesn’t mean.

“And sometimes Daddy forgets how not to be a perfectionist,” Steve adds from the doorway with a smile.

“Also very true,” Eddie nods, putting his computer to sleep. “But I did a lot of work today, so hopefully I should be done soon. How about for now, I do bedtime clean-up routine, and Papa can read you your book?”

“M’kay,” Joanie says happily, because she’s a heathen and prefers Steve’s storytelling skills over Eddie’s. Eddie wants to bite her cheeks, she’s so cute, so he does, takes a big chomp and makes a dinosaur noise that has Joanie shrieking and laughing.

“Okay, munchkin,” he says, swinging her around onto his back and trotting through the house, purposely jostling her. “Beddy-bye time, which means it’s time for teeth brushing!”

“Can you sing the song?”

Eddie fights back a groan. Somehow, he’d forgotten this was coming. “Sure thing, Joanie. Let’s get some toothpaste on that brush, alright?”

They do, and Joanie looks at him expectantly. “Sing it, Daddy! Sing it!”

“Brush your teeth, up and down. Brush your teeth, ‘round and ‘round. Brush your teeth from left to right, brush your teeth in the morning and night.”

He goes through the entire song, helpless to the smile that grows as Joanie bops happily along to his singing. “Okay, baby bug,” he says finally, standing behind her with a brush. “How d’you want your hair tonight?”

Regardless of the rat’s nest it will be in the morning, Joanie refuses to sleep if her hair is at all in her face. Steve and Eddie started with simple braids until she discovered the magic of YouTube tutorials, which makes the bedtime routine both longer and less mundane.

“Two Elsa braids,” she says, resolutely not learning the proper name and instead using the one Eddie had jokingly said once.

“Two Elsa braids, coming up,” he says, because it’s cute and he’s not going to dissuade her.

“Can we do beads?”

“Beads are a daytime hairstyle, ‘member, munchkin?”

Joanie pouts at him in the mirror. “But they’re pretty!”

“They are pretty, but they won’t stay while you sleep. They’ll fall out, and then you’ll wake up in the middle of the night ‘cause you’re laying on beads, and you’ll wake us up, and then we’ll all be cranky.” Not that that exact thing had happened.

She narrows her eyes at him, trying to find a way around it, then finally huffs and agrees. “Okay.”

“You’ll look pretty even without the beads,” Eddie promises her. “And Elsa doesn’t have beads, remember?”

“Yeah, but Daddy, Elsa’s got magic powers!”

“That she does.”

Joanie pretends to shoot Eddie with her Elsa powers, and Eddie freezes in the middle of the first braid. “I can’t move,” he says, not moving his lips. “You froze me!”

Joanie giggles. “Unfreeze, Daddy!”

He dramatically relaxes and sighs. “Oh, good! Thank you!”

He finishes doing her hair and chases her into her room, where she picks out her pajamas: a pink shirt with ballet-dancing kittens, and a neon-green pair of leggings. “Bold choice,” Eddie comments. “You wanna do it yourself? Or do you want me to help you?”

“I wanna do it,” Joanie says, just like Eddie knew she would.

A few minutes later, she huffs, frustrated. “Daddy, help,” she asks, just like Eddie knew she would.

He helps rescue her from her shirt that had somehow become sentient long enough to wrap around her head, then gets her pants on and tucks her into bed before pressing a long, loud kiss to her forehead. “Nighty-night, Joanie-bug,” he murmurs. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Joanie giggles. “Only Joanie-bugs allowed in my bed!” She declares, and Eddie chuckles. “That’s right.”

He moves toward the door where Steve’s waiting to press a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “Sorry I was so busy.”

“You were working,” Steve murmurs. “It’s fine. I’ll come join you when I’m done, m’kay?”

“I’m gonna be in the studio for at least another hour tonight, babe,” Eddie says apologetically.

“Then I guess I’ll come keep you company.” He presses a quick kiss to Eddie’s lips before shoving him out the door. “Go work, I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Sir yes sir,” Eddie salutes, marching back to his studio.

The next time he surfaces, it’s to a tugging at his sleeve. He blinks, glances at the clock—10:37—and turns, ready to apologize to Steve, only to see Joanie.

A quick look reveals no Steve anywhere in the studio, so Eddie thinks he’s probably in bed. “Hey, munchkin,” he murmurs, picking her up and setting her in his lap. “We put you to bed an hour ago, what’s going on? Bad dream?”

Joanie shakes her head before resting it on Eddie’s shoulder. “Papa’s snoring.”

Eddie blinks. Steve does snore, but not loud enough she should be able to hear it from her room. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Did he fall asleep before finishing the story?”

Joanie nods against his shoulder, and he sighs as he cuddles her closer, once again saving his project before completely shutting the computer down for the night. “M’kay, Joanie-bug, let’s go get Papa into his own bed.”

“Daddy?” She asks on the way to her room.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Why’s Papa so tired?”

Eddie sighs. “He’s a teacher, sweet pea. He does a lot all day. And he loves his job, but it is very tiring. Then he comes home and cooks, ‘cause he’s better at it than I am. And there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be done around the house.”

Joanie’s quiet for a second. “And me?” She finally asks.

Eddie’s heart stutters painfully. “No, baby,” he murmurs. “Your Papa and I love you, so much, okay?”

“Okay,” Joanie agrees, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you too, Daddy.” After a few seconds of thought, she says, “Are there cooking videos on YouTube? Like for hair?”

Eddie blinks. “To learn how to do it? Yeah, I think so.”

Joanie nods. “You should watch those. And cook for Papa.”

Eddie chuckles. “Maybe I will,” he agrees, stopping short in the doorway to smile at the sight in front of him.

The bedside lamp is on and Steve, glasses askew, is halfway on the bed, on top of the covers. The book is open in his lap, hands still holding on to the sides. He is, as Joanie had said, snoring.

Eddie kisses Joanie’s forehead and puts her into bed beside Steve before taking the book from Steve’s lax hands, shutting it and putting it on her bedside table before kissing Steve’s forehead. “Stevie, baby,” he murmurs. “Wake up.”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunch and his eyes flutter beneath his closed lids before he takes an extra-deep breath and his eyes open. “Eds?” He murmurs. “What’s wrong?”

“You’ve gotta get up,” Eddie murmurs. “This isn’t your bed.”

He watches as Steve processes his words then looks around. He sees the confusion morph into understanding when he sees Joan. “Oh,” Steve murmurs. “Sorry, Joanie.”

“‘S okay, Papa,” Joanie answers. “You should go to bed.”

Steve chuckles tiredly and kisses her forehead. “I am, right now,” he promises. “Night, Joanie.”

“Night, Papa. Night, Daddy!”

“Night, Joanie-bug,” Eddie answers, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist, half as a hug and half to help his husband stay steady.

“Sorry, Eds,” Steve murmurs. “Meant to join you.”

“It’s alright,” Eddie promises. “How about tomorrow I take Joanie out early for breakfast and let you sleep in?”

Steve frowns. “But you have work.”

“I’ve done the majority of it already,” Eddie answers. “You could take her out tomorrow afternoon if you want. Or just have a movie marathon here. I’ll finish up what I have to do. Tomorrow’s Saturday, right? So I’ll finish tomorrow, then Sunday I can make waffles for all of us. How’s that sound?”

Steve hums. “Good, ‘sides the you cooking part of it.”

“Oh, you little shit,” Eddie says delightedly, pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Just you wait, you’ll understand the power of YouTube tutorials.”

Steve chuckles, quiet, tired, but no less full of love. “I can’t wait.”

Permanent Taglist (which I’ve been COMPLETELY terrible at I’m so sorry I promise I’ll try to do better): @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Merry Little Christmas

Druig x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Prompt: @the-sunflower-room “can’t stop thinking about druig and have yourself a merry little christmas- so cozy 😭🙏🏻”

Note: This was actually requested last year, I believe, but I’ve always wanted to write it. I’m sorry it took me so long to get around to it, but I hope you like it! Happy Holidays, everyone <3

Warnings: None! Just cozy Christmas celebrations <3

Word Count: 1.6k words

Reader Is: Gender Neutral!

Druig was never one for holidays. He wasn’t a scrooge, per se, but, as an Eternal, the seasons came and went so quickly. Years were mere blinks to a being who was thousands of years old. However, the look on your face as you put the ornaments on the tree made something stir around his heart, he had to admit.

He was sipping cocoa from a mug with a snowman on it, one from your vast collection. Kingo was in the kitchen, mixing up beverages, which was why he sensed a bit of liquor in the chocolatey beverage. It was still good, obviously, but he definitely blamed that for the rosy hue his cheeks had taken on.

Definitely not the cute little reindeer antlers you were wearing. Definitely not the way your laughter sounded from across the room.

All of the Eternals were there. A rare feat, but with the danger defeated, for now at least, it was cause for celebration, a time to be with family. It was your house you were all celebrating in, a large place tucked away in Northern Michigan, which, at this time of year, was absolutely covered in a thick layer of snow, more and more fluffy flakes coming down as the moments passed.

You spent your time as a writer. One of the most prolific of your time, the reviews said. But then again, you did have a thousand year head start on the rest of them.

Druig would never admit to it, but he had read them. All of them, every single one. He’d borrow them from libraries, read excerpts in bookstores, but Makkari had a collection of them, too. She was your most loyal beta reader. Therefore, when one went missing, she always had a pretty decent suspicion of who the culprit was.

And he wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure most of your love interests shared a certain resemblance with…well, him. He didn’t like the way it stirred around in his chest, the way it made him feel so warm and…hopeful. But then again, he’d never asked you what you felt.

“(Y/N), where are your Christmas records?” Phastos asked, standing over with his husband, Ben, as they dug through a crate of records.

“Oh! I forgot to bring them down, I think. I’ll go grab them. I needed to get the topper anyway.” You stepped down from your stepladder and handed the ornament in your hand to Sprite, who was sitting on the floor under the tree, shaking gifts. Typical.

Druig watched as you left, eyes glued to you. Which was why he didn’t notice when Sersi had joined him, standing right beside him.

He gasped, mug rattled, but not to the point that he spilled any on his sweater. He cursed and looked over at her. “What?”

“You look rather festive, Druig. I thought you didn’t care for holidays.”

“I thought so too…” He muttered into his mug, taking a long sip.

“Right. Well, I think I saw some mistletoe in that box of decorations. I can put it up if you’d like?” She asked, that glimmer in her eyes that she got when she wanted to meddle.

Druig thought on it, as he heard your footsteps coming back down the stairs. He met her eyes and that was all that was needed. She nodded and set across the room, plucking it out of the box, along with a length of fishing line.

“I found it! The Muppets and John Denver!” You said excitedly, presenting another crate of records, this one all Christmas. “And some other stuff.”

“May I?” Phastos asked.

“Yeah, of course.” You handed them over and walked back over to the tub of ornaments, searching for a very special one. It was a large mug of cocoa with eleven marshmallows in it, each one etched with the name of an Eternal. You smiled softly and tucked it into the branches of your artificial tree, curling the fake pine to support its weight.

“Where did you find one with so many slots?” Druig found himself asking as he crossed the room to stand behind you.

“Had it custom made.” You replied, turning to face him.

“It’s beautiful, (Y/N).” Ajak complimented warmly from her seat by the fire.

“Thanks. Thought we needed something like that.”

“What are these?” Sprite asked, digging through the other box and pulling out a stocking with Thena’s name embroidered on it.

“Stockings.”

“You had those made, too?” Ajak asked, getting up to see for herself.

“Well, I did them. The embroidery, at least.” You admitted with a shrug, motioning to the hooks under the mantle. “We can put them up, if you want.”

Makkari nodded and grabbed the stockings, putting them all in one clean row in a blur of red and green. She stood next to Druig, elbowing him and tilting her head towards his stocking, which she’d put on the end.

Right next to yours.

He nearly choked on his cocoa. So did everyone know, then? Sersi, Makkari, who else? Kingo, no doubt.

“You alright there, Druig? Looking flushed.” Ikaris jabbed, that wicked gleam in his eyes.

Alright, then, yeah, it was everyone. Everyone but you, it seemed.

It was as if a stormcloud manifested above his head. He shook his head and stalked off towards the kitchen. He didn’t know much, but he did know a cookie would make him feel better. Snacks always seemed to. And there was no shortage of them, especially now, when you and Gilgamesh had baked nearly twelve dozen batches of them. Gingerbread, snickerdoodle, sugar cookies shaped like trees, chocolate chip, oatmeal no-bakes.

He reached for a sprinkle-covered tree and bit off the tip of it, the frosting sweet. The oven started beeping and you rushed in, arming yourself with an oven mitt before reaching in for what he assumed must be one of the last trays. Oatmeal raisin, it looked like.

“Do you need any help?” He asked, staring as you straightened up and brushed the hair out of your face.

“Oh! Thank you, Druig. I’m all set, though. Are they good?”

“Are what—” He looked down at the half-eaten tree in his hand. “Oh, yeah. They’re great.”

“Awesome.” You grinned. “New frosting recipe.”

“Well it’s perfect, whatever it is.” He leaned against the counter, that boyish smirk on his face. He wasn’t sure what came over him, then, but he had to get it out. “It’s great, by the way. That new book of yours.”

“You read it?”

“I read all of your books.” He confessed. “I think this one’s your best.”

Your heart raced as you met his eyes. Surely he knew, right? He had to. That you’d been writing about him for centuries. When he’d left all those years ago, hundreds of years ago, he’d taken a piece of your heart with him, a piece you’d only found in fiction, it seemed.

“Thank you. It…it means a lot to hear you say that.”

“Can’t wait for your next one.” He winked, plucking up a second cookie and leaving the kitchen before his tongue got him in any more trouble than it already had.

***

Later in the night, when almost everyone had gone to sleep, you were up, wrapping presents in front of the fireplace, folding the paper neatly, complete with name tags and perfect little bows.

You’d switched records. It was an older one, the Rat Pack.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…Let your heart be light…

The words were smooth, glided right out of the speaker. Snow was still coming down in droves. It was good you had nowhere to go, otherwise you’d be snowed in. Well, if your family didn’t have every superpower known to man, you would be anyway. You were glad they were there.

You were glad they were home.

“Can’t sleep?” Druig’s voice startled you from your reverie and you turned around, grateful his present was already wrapped and under the tree.

“Not until I get these wrapped.” You told him.

“Christ, you really do go all out, don’t you?” He chuckled, crossing the room and sitting on the floor beside you, yet another cookie in his hand.

“I think I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. Keeps me…in synch. The routine of a year, you know?”

“Mmm.” He hummed, nodding, face alight in the warm oranges of the flames. “I didn’t see it that way until…recently.”

“Until right now?”

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckled, watching as you carefully wrapped the last one, taping every edge perfectly and putting a tag on top, printing Sprite’s name with a pen. “What’d you get her?”

“You’ll have to find out tomorrow morning.” You told him, shifting to slide it under the tree with the others. “What did you get her?”

“It’s a surprise.” He grinned as you settled in next to him.

“Is it a surprise to you, too?”

He gasped, offended. “I got presents for everyone!”

“I believe you.”

“Sure you do.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “Say, ehm, (Y/N), I’ve been wondering…”

“Mistletoe!” You gasped, staring straight up at the ceiling where, sure enough, a string of mistletoe hung, glittering in the low light. “Who put that up?”

“Well I’ll be…” He breathed, staring up at it, too, heart racing faster than it had in any battle. “What…do you suppose we do about that?”

“I have a few ideas.” You slowly brought your gaze down, meeting his eyes.

He may have been the telepath, but you could tell the only thing on his mind was you as he leaned in, thick eyelashes fluttering shut as his lips met yours, pink and plush and warm. You kissed back, not leaving a single doubt in his mind that you wanted this, wanted him. Your hand rose to his flushed cheek, holding him close as his arm wound around your waist.

The grandfather clock struck midnight, and he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours, noses flush, eyes on you, glimmering with a million words unspoken. He did have a few, though. “Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

“Merry Christmas, Druig.”

[universe-friday]

EXCERPT #50:

Hello. I hope somebody is listening.

[…]

All Thalia left me was this photo.

Other than that, there was a single message on the back reading, “1508 Tomsby Street. Ask for Solus. Be careful. Thalia x.”

So I went. What other choice did I have? I had to find out who this person was… Who this ‘Solus’ was. And why they knew Thalia- Sorry, no, find out why they are creating these sinkholes. [Cough], anyways…

I made my way to Tomsby Street – notably the street with the telephone box I used to hide in. The same one I met Nightcrawler in, if you recall from so long ago, old sport.

1508 Tomsby Street was the basement of a building I had passed so many times. One of those desolate buildings the government urges you not to enter. I’ve explored so many of these buildings during my time in the City, particularly during my search for Thalia, but I never approached 1508 Tomsby Street.

I think the place was littered with zombies the day I came across it. I didn’t have the energy to fight them all at the time. My mind was elsewhere.

The basement door was one of steel, with one of those sliding peepholes. It was there a pair of eyes met my gaze before I had even a chance to knock. One eye green, the other hazel.

I waited for the figure to ask me for ‘the password’, as I presumed that’s how this usually went. However, I quickly realised that I didn’t have a password. All I had was a name.

I hurriedly told them I was looking for Solus. The eyes replied with a low hum, almost with a tone of curiosity. Suddenly, the door creaked open heavily, revealing a dimly lit hallway in its place.

As I entered, I went to thank the mysterious doorman until I noticed there was no one there. No evidence of where the figure went, just the empty space behind the door to show their absence.

The hallway was short, I must’ve taken less than ten steps until I was stood in this concrete room, with lights flickering menacingly in every corner. A desk was stationed in the centre, stocked with monitors on top of monitors and paper piles taller than the screens themselves.

Behind everything was a pin board, with red string frantically drawn across it, seemingly piecing together a mystery I couldn’t quite see.

Through the smallest gap in the computer screen, I saw a figure. I hesitantly asked the room, “Solus…?”

The person stood up, slowly, and carefully as I took notice of their appearance. Dark hair that swooped down across their face and rested perfectly behind their ears. Eyes which stared right back at me. One green and one hazel.

It was then that a smirk began to crawl across their face. They replied, grimacingly, “Who’s asking?”

[...]

[irb-pascalito-99]

Let Me Paint You

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: After posing for a painting Joel decides he needs to do some painting of his own.

Warnings: oral f!receiving and m!receiving, edging, unprotected p in v sex, riding, sex on a canvas

A/N: This is an excerpt from chapter thirteen of my fic Always an Angel, Never a God. To read more please visit a03.

After dinner we wash the dishes and settle in the living room to pick a movie for the night. Joel is thumbing through our collection of DvDs when a knock sounds on the front door. Both of us freeze, unsure of who could be stopping by right now.

We exchange a look as the visitor knocks again. I go to the door while Joel makes his way up the stairs. I wait until I hear a door close upstairs before I open the one in front of me.

On the front step Maria stands with her hands in her pockets. The evening sun casts an orange glow upon her as it starts to sink in the sky.

“So you are alive,” Maria jests, a smirk spreading across her face. “I’ve been texting you all day. I was trying to see if you wanted to hang out since Ellie is off on that school trip, but I got worried when I didn’t hear anything back. Why haven’t you responded?”

My chest tightens. I haven’t even looked at my phone since I got home last night, abandoning it with my purse and keys in the doorway the second I got home. I try to think of an excuse as to why I couldn’t respond while Maria peers into the house behind me.

“I’ve just been really busy with things today,” I say, fiddling with my fingers. I pull the door closer to me so she can’t see inside. “I’ve been cleaning and painting. Just enjoying the alone time, totally spaced my phone I guess.”

Maria’s eyebrows scrunch together. She tries to look behind me again and then looks back at my face as though she’s trying to decipher whether or not I’m lying.

“So there’s nobody else here?” Maria asks. I try to keep my reaction small so she can’t catch on to anything. “Because normally your car is in the garage but it’s in the driveway now, and you’re acting kind of strange…”

I see my car in the driveway behind her. We had moved it out there to make room fit the truck in the garage. I put a palm to my forehead and feign a reaction as if I’m just now remembering it’s out there.

“I must have forgot to move it back. I was cleaning the garage earlier and had to move it out there.” I can tell Maria doesn’t buy the lie.

I don’t know why I’m trying so hard. Out of anyone Maria is probably the one person I can tell about us, but there’s something I like about hiding it. It’s like in keeping this secret, I keep a piece of Joel for just myself. Keeping it a secret may have started as a way of protecting Ellie, but it feels as though I’m protecting Joel and I as well.

From my experience, love is hardly ever simple or kind. Love is heartbreak, and the outside world can only break what we have. I like our secret, and even though it’s just Maria on my doorstep I will do whatever I can to keep our small piece of the world separate.

“Well, I’m sorry you drove all the way out here but I’m kind of in the groove right now with this painting,” I say.

Maria’s eyes flick up to the stairs. She doesn’t ask any other questions though. She nods, says her goodbyes, and drives away. When her car disappears I close the door again. Joel is silent upstairs.

I go to my bedroom first, expecting him to be laying on my bed or standing by the window, but he isn’t there. I check the bathroom as well. When I find no trace of him I make my way to the art studio.

I find him standing there, observing some artwork stashed away in the closet. His fingers gently brush against the top of the canvases as he moves from one to the other. I tread lightly across the room and brush my hands softly against his back. He jumps at the touch, quickly putting the paintings back in their place.

“You’re being nosy,” I say playfully as I wrap my arms around his chest. He stiffens under my touch, clearly feeling guilty for being caught snooping through my stuff.

“Sorry, saw Maria through the window and then the closet door was open so I was just curious. Figured you’d be talkin’ for a bit.” I peek my head around his shoulder to see what he’s looking at.

The first painting in the stack is a woman in a rowboat with a faint lantern glowing in the distance. I forgot this is where I chose to store my mother’s work. I still have a hard time looking at it.

“Did you do these?” Joel asks. I shake my head.

“Those were my mom’s actually.” I bury my face in Joel’s back, trying to seem as unbothered as possible.

Joel hums in response and looks at the paintings again. I suppose this is Joel’s first interaction with who my mother truly was. He knows she died in the accident. He knows she was an artist and Frank’s friend, but I never really talk about her life.

“She was really talented,” Joel says.

“Yeah, she was,” I say. I rest my chin on his shoulder, looking for a way to change the subject.

Joel ponders a thought for a moment as I admire the way the evening sun casts a beautiful glow on his tan skin through the open window.

“Can I paint you?” I ask. I feel Joel’s body jolt as he chuckles beneath me.

“You already have,” he says with a smirk. He points to a couple of paintings hidden in the back of the closet.

Anything I paint of Joel has to either be obscure, or hidden so Ellie doesn't find it. I’ve been able to paint him from memory, but it would be nice to have a visual for once.

“No, I want you to model for me.” Joel shifts uncomfortably as I run my hands along his arms. “Please, just for a little bit. The lighting is so good right now.”

Joel huffs, but nods his head. I happily grab the chair from Ellie’s desk and place it in front of the window. He grumpily sits down and allows me to position him the way I want. I put one of his arms around the back of the chair and the other resting on his knee.

He stays still as I pick out my colors and get the canvas ready. It isn’t until after I’ve painted his form and begun to work on the details that he starts to get antsy. He moves slightly in the chair, apologizing when I shoot him a look. His eyes wander the room as I paint the highlight of the golden sun on his cheek.

“What was she like?” Joel asks, breaking the silence in the room.

“Who?” I ask, keeping my focus on my painting.

“Your mom,” he responds. I freeze with the brush against the canvas.

It’s not that my mom was a bad person, but I find it hard to talk about her now. Talking about her is a reminder of what I’ve lost, and I hate to dwell in those feelings for long which is why I’ve been avoiding the topic.

This time there’s no way out. Joel waits patiently for my response, not moving from the position I’ve sat him in. I shift in my seat and clear my throat as I try to think of a way to explain who she was.

“She was really creative,” I start. “She never found something she couldn’t make herself. She was funny, and smart, and very supportive of Ellie and I in whatever we wanted to do.”

I smile at the memories of her, picturing the way she would pick Ellie up after a fall and sweep her into her arms.

“She loved deeply,” I continue. “She was strong in whatever she did. Which also meant she felt emotions really strongly, whether that was love or sadness or anger. I saw a lot more of that when I got older. After Ellie was born, her and my dad started fighting a lot more…”

My throat begins to become thick with emotion, so I clear it and focus on the light again. I work on getting the shadows correctly on his jaw, trying to ignore the way his eyes linger on my reaction.

“What about your dad?” I drop my paintbrush on the floor as Joel speaks again. I curse under my breath as I go to pick it up.

Talking about my mom is hard enough, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with my dad. I don’t know how to understand, let alone explain the two versions of him that exist in my mind. When I was small he was kind and playful, gone a lot but always present when he was there. Later in life, after he stopped traveling for work, he was irritable and withdrawn. He wasn’t mean, but he dampened the mood in the room.

“Can we just,” I take a breath as I stand up to paint again. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to focus right now.”

Joel’s eyes soften, noting that the mention of my father must have been too far. He remains silent as he watches me work for a little longer, but something is off now. The art becomes more mechanical and methodical than before. The brush doesn’t flow as it did. Joel must notice the difference too, because he shifts in his chair.

I begin to protest when he stands up from the chair I’ve sat him in. The lighting will be gone before he settles again. He tunes me out as he grabs the biggest empty canvas he can find and lays it flat on the ground.

“What are you-“ Joel grabs my palette from my hands next, placing it on the cart next to my easel. He cuts me off by placing a gentle kiss to my lips as his hands grab the hem of my shirt.

“It’s my turn,” he says. “Let me paint you.”

He pulls my shirt over my head, sucking in a breath when he exposes my bare chest and stomach, and then continues to undress me. His fingers grasp the waistband of my leggings. He pulls them down my legs, waiting on his knees for me to step out of them.

He puts my leggings in a pile on top of my shirt before kissing up my bare legs. I throw my head back and sigh at the feeling while his fingers climb up to my hips. He pulls my underwear down as well, leaving me completely bare in the middle of the room. Something about this feels more vulnerable than when we were on the stairs or in the kitchen. I’m suddenly aware of how exposed I am.

I shiver as he kisses his way back up my body. When he’s standing again he kisses my lips and then pulls back to look me over. His eyes gleam with desire as they graze over every inch of my body.

Joel is still wearing all his clothes. My hands reach forward to grip his shirt. I need us to be even. I can’t have everything focused on me right now, but that’s what Joel has decided.

He pushes my hands away and picks up a paintbrush. I watch him anxiously as he dips the brush in the bright yellow paint on my palette before turning back to me. I pinch my eyebrows together as he walks behind me.

My body jolts at the feeling of the cold liquid trailing down my skin. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I can feel the tickling sensation of a paint brush against my skin. He spends a while doing it, coating my entire back in an assortment of colors. When he’s done he walks me back to the canvas he placed on the floor.

“On your knees darlin’” he says, the paintbrush in his hands. I follow his instructions embarrassingly quickly.

Once I’m on my knees he delicately directs me backwards so I’m laying on top of the canvas on the floor, then he stands again. I begin to pant as I watch him load the palette up with colors again. He glances back in my direction quickly and then takes his shirt off. A tension builds in my pelvis as he takes off all of his clothes except for his boxers.

He brings the palette and brush back over to where I lay on the floor, putting them on the ground before kneeling in front of me. His eyes wander slowly over my body again. He mutters something I can’t quite hear under his breath while he picks up the paint brush again.

Gently he strokes the brush down the middle of my chest. I squirm at the feeling, the paint on my back smearing along the canvas as I do. A devious look appears in his eyes as he continues to run the brush along my chest and stomach until it runs out of paint. He loads the brush up with red next then starts with my left breast.

The bristles brush along the top of my breast until he reaches my nipple. I let out a whine as he swirls the brush along the sensitive nub. When he’s satisfied he chooses another color for the other breast, bright purple illuminating my skin as my chest begins to heave. I can feel the slick collecting between my thighs. I desperately need his hands on me which only makes him go slower.

When I’m completely covered in paint Joel puts the brush back down on the palette and sits on his knees to admire his work. I squirm again and desperately attempt to squeeze my legs together to ease the tension. My desperation only seems to darken the lust in his eyes. I try to sit up and reach for him, but he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head.

“Joel, please,” I whimper. His face hovers above mine, a cruel smirk spreading across it.

“Stay there babygirl,” he whispers and releases my hands.

I watch with heavy breaths as he moves back on the floor. His hands push my knees apart to expose my core to him. He groans at the sight of my glistening center.

“So fuckin’ wet baby,” he growls. He swipes his thumb across my folds causing me to jump. “You keep your hands up there sweetheart, don’t move ‘em or I’ll stop.”

I nod my head quickly, my hips gliding back and forth on the canvas as I wait for him to touch me again. He licks his lips before laying on the ground. His hands grip my thighs as he pulls himself up to my center. I feel his breath against me first, a rush of warm air causing the tension in my stomach to jump.

He presses a delicate kiss to my clit, teasing the sensitive bud, and then licks a stripe up my center. I moan and squirm again. His lips smile against my core as he pulls himself closer and thrusts his tongue inside me.

A loud guttural moan escapes my lips as he begins to feast between my thighs. I desperately grasp the edge of the canvas to keep my hands from grabbing him as he curls his tongue inside me. I could almost come from that alone, all the tension from his teasing building into a pit of pleasure in my core. I can’t control the way my body thrashes against the canvas as he moves his tongue to flick against my clit.

“God, Joel,” I moan. He picks up his speed, eating me as though it’s his last meal on earth. I’m already so close to the edge when he moves one hand from my thigh to press two fingers inside me.

I scream as he thrusts them in and out, my grip on the canvas tightening. I squeeze my eyes shut as the pressure builds. He crooks his fingers so they press against the sensitive part inside me. The rush of sensitivity as he does so is what causes me to break my resolve. Without thinking, my hands release the canvas and bury themselves in his hair.

Joel immediately pulls away, tutting his tongue as he crawls back to his knees. I whine again and attempt to pull him back to me as I squirm.

“Please, I’m sorry. Please, don’t stop,” I beg. Tears escape my eyes while I squeeze my thighs again, so desperate for the release that just barely escaped me.

“Oh princess, you make this so hard.” Joel says. He reaches a thumb to my cheek to wipe the tears away. “One more chance sweet girl, roll over.”

I look at him questioningly, but I’m too far gone to argue. I roll onto my hands and knees, the paint causing me to slide a bit on the canvas. He leans back and watches as I get myself ready for whatever he has planned next. I hear him shuffle behind me, but I can no longer see what he is doing.

When I’ve stopped moving his hand moves up my leg, gripping my ass for a moment before pulling away. I gasp when I feel his hands return with a sharp smack to my ass. Then he pulls my cheeks apart and moves forward.

He must have taken off his boxers when I turned around because I can feel his bare length push against my dripping folds. I bite my lip as he slides it against my center.

“You want this baby?” I nod, biting my lip so hard I can taste the blood filling my mouth. He moans as he presses himself forward, filling me once again.

I stay completely still while he pushes into me, focusing on the burning stretch until I feel his hips flush with my ass. I keep my hands rooted on the canvas as he pulls back again, but when he thrusts in harder than before I slide and collapse on my stomach. Joel goes down with me.

His chest is pressed against my back, his hands keeping mine pressed against the slippery canvas as he pulls back and thrusts into me again. We moan in unison as he continues his thrusts. My body sides across the canvas with each one and his slides against mine.

The whole thing is messy and slippery, a combination of sweat and paint with loud moans echoing down the halls. He kisses my neck, leaving marks on the skin, as my climax begins to build again. My walls clench around him, signaling how close I am. He thrusts harder, his fingers intertwined with mine as he slides my body up and down.

I’m staring out at the pink and purple sky through the window when orgasm crashes over me. My walls flutter around Joel as I scream. His low moans rumbling through his chest while he continues to thrust into me. When I come down he pulls out and directs me to get up.

He lays down on his back, moving me to climb on top of him. I position my knees on either side of his hips and watch his face twist in pleasure as I sink down on his length. The both of us are covered in paint now, a smattering of colors bleeding together on his chest as he grips my hips.

I throw my head back as I bounce in his lap. He feels so good at this angle. I can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as I slowly rise and lower my body onto him. It’s my turn to tease now.

I try to keep my pace slow, to torture him just a little bit, but it becomes difficult when I feel the pleasure bubbling up inside me again. I can see in his eyes he can tell I’m close again.

His hands move up to squeeze my breasts as I ride him. I feel his fingers pinching my paint covered nipples and moan. I’m not going to last long. He starts to thrust up as well, meeting me halfway as my hips start to lose momentum. My hands press against the canvas as I attempt to keep my pace with my climax looming over me.

“It’s okay sweet girl, come here,” he says. I lower my chest into his and let him take over. He thrusts hard into me a couple of times before I shudder again. “That’s right, let go. Come on.”

I clench around him one more time before letting go completely. He swallows my moans, kissing me deeply while he continues his thrusts until he can’t any longer.

“God, I’m gonna-“ he thrusts again and then stills. “Get up, you gotta-“

Joel pulls me off of him quickly. I climb down his body to take his pulsing member in my mouth. I swirl my tongue around the head, and that’s all he needs to release his load into my mouth with a deep moan. His hips twitch as he lets go, spilling into my mouth. When he finishes I sit up and swallow his load.

“Fuck,” he groans. I smile back at him. He carefully stands up, doing his best not to slip on the canvas.

We both stand back and look at what we created. It’s a mess of color, still wet with no clear reasoning behind any of it. There are places where the colors blend so much that they’ve become a muddled brown or gray. In other areas bright shades of color shine through virtually untouched.

“Damn, I really thought I did something there,” Joel says with his hands on his hips. “Kinda just looks like a mess though.”

I lean forward and kiss a patch of skin on his shoulder untouched by the paint.

“I don’t know, I kinda like it.” I say. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close.

“Well, you’re the artist,” he says before pressing a kiss to my hair.

We abandon the idea of a movie completely, choosing instead to bathe together so we can wash the paint off our skin. Joel’s hands are gentle as they wash my body, the colorful water pooling at our feet. He let the water run cold against his back as he pushed his fingers inside me again, slowly working me up until my body spasms again.

The rest of the night we stayed in bed, talking and fucking until we fell asleep.

Read more on a03: Always an Angel, Never a God

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Love; for the First Time

Summary: Y/N's first time with Dean may reveal other firsts for both of them.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Fingering, Thigh Riding, oral (m/f receiving), hint of overstimulation, virgin!reader, age gap, loss of virginity, unprotected P in V sex, fluff, angst if you squint, Dean being the sexiest motherfucker ever.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 3,843

A/N: Okay, so here is the Masterlist for the whole First Time Series even though it's not a traditional series. But the stories are definitely more enjoyable if they're read together/in order. But if it's your preference, you can still read them on their own. I've started this one with a small excerpt (in italics) from the last part, since the story picks up exactly where it left off.

A/N 2: For all intents and purposes, this is the final chapter of this little one shot series. But I have a tendency to revisit my couples, so I may return to them in the future, you never know. But for now, I hope you've enjoyed this slightly odd "series" that isn't really a series. Lol!

The beautiful divider at the bottom was made by @talesmaniac89

“Please Dean.” She begged, dropping her forehead to his shoulder and rocking herself back and forth on his thigh. “I need you. I need…need…”

Dean tipped her chin up so she was looking at him again. “What do you need, Y/N? Say it.”

Her stomach clenched tight at the look of fierce desire on his face; she knew it was only echoing her own expression. With all the boldness he’d taught her and all the confidence he’d instilled in her, she lowered her hand to cup the hard bulge behind his zipper making him grit his teeth and growl.

“I need you, Dean. I need all of you. I need you to fill me up. I need you to touch me and make me crazy. I need you to make love to me. I’m ready.” She ground down against his thigh again, and her voice was ragged. 

“I’m so ready.”

Y/N watched Dean’s eyes darken, and his jaw clench. His voice was low and ragged, desire making it rough. But his words were reassuring, kind, loving - as they always were.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? You know there’s no rush, no pressure. I can make you feel good, make you fall apart, get you to scream my name even without going all the way.” He said the last with a grin, but his eyes still burned.

Y/N smiled and kissed him, commanding and controlling the kiss, so that Dean hummed in a tone of surprise. She pulled out of the kiss and rolled her hips, grinding down against his thigh again, catching her bottom lip in her teeth as pleasure shot through her body. She continued to ride his thigh, hips rolling, as she spoke breathlessly. 

“I know you can, Dean, and I wanna take anything and everything you give me. But I wanna…” She leaned her forehead against his and stared deep into his emerald eyes so he’d know she meant it. “I also wanna give you me. All of me.”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid, I’m not scared or nervous. I’m just on fire, and I need you, more than I’ve ever needed anything - more than breath.” She rolled her hips against him again, hard and desperate, bunching her hands in his dark gray Henley, and speaking against his plump lips. “Make me breathless, Dean.”

She exhaled into his mouth, and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. Dean growled and then captured her mouth, plunging his tongue deep inside, nearly reaching the back of her throat. She whimpered slightly and his hands tightened at her waist. His mouth and hands flew across her skin. He pushed her shirt up over her head, tossing it to the ground before he dipped his head and nipped at the puckered bud of her nipple through her lacy bra.

Seconds later, he flicked open the hooks at her back, and ripped the garment from her body. His hands slid up from her waist, passing over her sides and then spanning her upper back so he could hold her in place against his mouth. He laved her breast with his wide tongue, before sucking on it deeply, and causing her to let out a harsh groan.

With her head thrown back she wrapped her arms around his neck and rode his thigh, drenching his jeans through her panties, her denim skirt now bunched around her hips. Dean moved one hand down from her back, shoving it between their bodies, and pushing her sodden, cotton panties against her sensitive clit, making her cry out again.

“God, Dean.” She rasped out. “Uhn, please, please.” She chanted into his ear. “I need you.” She repeated. Dean shifted to her other breast and bit gently into the soft flesh, making Y/N shout out in surprised ecstasy, and dig her nails into his back muscles, rippling beneath the dark cotton of his Henley.

“Dean!” His name was just a keening moan, and she felt him harden even more beneath her; his cock straining behind his zipper. It must have been painful but, ignoring his body’s rigid heat, he pulled away from her breast, and set his big hands on her cheeks to pull her into a kiss that once again left her breathless.

He shifted in the seat, scooping her into his arms, so he was holding her like a bride as he rose from the chair and walked slowly down the hall towards his room.

When he got there, he set her on her feet, and turned on the light. He wasted no time in shedding his clothes. She watched intently as inch after tantalizing inch of his skin was exposed to her hungry gaze, until he was naked and glorious in front of her. His cock was tall and thick, resting against his stomach and Y/N bit her lip, unable to look away. 

She wasn’t scared, she trusted Dean completely, but she was curious, because he simply seemed too big to fit into her body. Where was he going to go?

Dean’s voice was gravelly and tight. “Do you want to touch me, baby? You can if you want.”

Y/N nodded and then caught his eye; his expression said he was holding himself in check. His jaw ticked, and his muscles were strained, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. She walked forward and reached out her hand to wrap it around his cock. He hissed and then groaned as she rubbed her thumb across the slit that topped the head of his cock. As she pressed there, a bead of white bloomed and then dripped down over his velvety skin. She circled her thumb around his spongy head, spreading out the slightly sticky liquid evenly.

Experimentally, she tightened her grip slightly and slid her hand up and down his erection. Dean’s hips bucked forward, seemingly of their own accord, and the hot, hard shaft in her hand throbbed, making her mouth run dry.

She continued to explore his body, running her hands over all his skin, and moving behind him to pet and massage all the beautiful muscles that rippled there. Feeling bold and encouraged, she ran her hand over his plump backside, squeezing it as she walked back around to the front of him. It was firm but giving beneath her hand and the feel of it made her heart race.

As she looked back up into his eyes, she reached forward once again to grip his cock, entranced as she watched a vein bulge in his neck as he strained hard, desperately keeping himself in check while she touched him all she wanted. She shook her head in awe.

“You’re so unbelievably beautiful, Dean.” She leaned forward, his dick still throbbing in her hand, and pressed feathery kisses across his chest. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “So, beautiful.”

Dean smiled warmly even as she felt his heart pounding beneath her lips. “I pale in comparison, sweetheart.” He said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Y/N smiled shyly and stepped away from him to shed her jeans and panties. She stood before him naked, and the blatant want and desire she saw in his face made her body glow.

She took up his hand and then pulled him after her. She turned to face him, walking backwards towards the bed.

“Make love to me, Dean? Please. Please show me everything.” She pulled his other hand into hers and placed them both on her breasts. She arched into his hands, and wrapped her fingers around his thick wrists. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I’m so grateful for your patience, for your good heart, and for the way you make me feel so safe.”

She ducked her head. “Maybe this isn’t the right time to tell you, but…I love you, Dean.” She looked up into his unfathomable gaze and admitted the truth. “I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and Y/N wanted him to understand something. “Please don’t think you have to love me back. I don’t want to scare you or pressure you. But everything here in this place, between us, has been based on truth, on saying what we feel, and leaving no space for lies. So…I just felt I owed you the truth.”

Dean’s expression clouded over for a moment, a deep furrow settling on his forehead, making a line appear between his brows. He reached out to run his knuckles gently down her cheek, shaking his head.

“It’s such a bad idea to love me, sweetheart.” She saw fear spark in his expression before he stepped closer and cupped his hand under her jaw. He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip and closed his eyes.

“But I won’t lie to you here either.” He opened his eyes and bent his head forward to pull her top lip into his mouth and suck at it gently. He let it go and dropped his forehead to hers, letting their breath mingle for a minute more before he spoke, so softly she almost couldn’t make out the words.

“I love you, Y/N, all of you and completely.” He shuddered slightly and the fear entered his voice this time. “It scares the shit out of me, and I need to warn you that there might always be a part of me that’ll be sure I’m gonna lose you.”

Y/N tried to speak at that, but he pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head. “No, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m just telling you because…well, because no lies, right?” He shrugged. “I’ll work it out. And every day you're here beside me will be one more day to push away the fear.”

She nodded and tears sparkled on her lashes before spilling over. This moment was more than she’d ever hoped for, and as Dean settled his hands on her hips and pulled her against him, she felt the heady combination of love and want, lust and tenderness wash over her, making her dizzy. 

Dean ran his hands over the swell of her hips and down over her backside before he wrapped one arm around her waist and reached his other hand between her legs from behind, pressing gently at her entrance and making her legs give out. If he hadn’t been holding on to her, she would have melted into the floor. 

She threw her head back and let out a guttural moan as he eased his thick finger inside her. Dean took advantage of her exposed neck to lay a trail of blistering kisses across her skin. He licked and nipped at her pulse and Y/N felt like she might burst into flames as she rode his hand. She instinctively lifted her leg up to wrap around his hip so that he could sink further into her body. He added a second finger and pushed them both in deeper, pumping them faster, as she clung to his neck and panted, dewy and warm across the tattoo on his chest.

He scissored her open on his fingers, stretching her with a pleasurable burn, before pressing his fingers back together and pushing hard on the sweet spot inside her, the spot that made her see stars, and nearly pass out from pleasure. He pressed it repeatedly, until her thighs trembled and she clenched hard around his fingers, ripples of rapture spreading out across her body.

She fell, boneless, against him, and he scooped her up again to lay her out on the bed. Instead of laying beside her as he’d done in the past, though, he climbed onto the end of the bed, shuffling forward so that he knelt between her feet. He let his fingers trail lightly over her soft curls, and caught her eye.

“I wanna kiss you,” he dipped his middle finger into her folds, causing Y/N to lick her lips, her breathing picking up, “I wanna kiss you, here.” The rough pad of his finger pressed against her clit and Y/N raised her hips, trying to get more friction. But he pulled his hand back and simply stroked her sex, giving her only a tiny bit of pressure when she desperately wanted more.

“Can I kiss you there, Y/N? Can I taste you? I wanna see the view from between your thighs when you come. I wanna take you apart and feel you explode on my tongue. Want you to dribble your juices down my chin. Say yes - tell me I can devour you.”

Y/N listened to the heated, intimate, and arousing words that were dripping from his lips and all she could do was nod, and croak out her agreement. “Yes. Yes.” She said quickly.

“Good girl.” Dean said warmly, rubbing the delicate skin of her pussy, and scratching his blunt fingernails through her curls. 

He sank down onto his stomach, and his face disappeared from her view just seconds before she felt him lick a stripe, wet and messy, through her folds. She let out a completely shocked shout, having no time to recover from the unexpected delight of his talented tongue, before he was pulling her bundle of nerves between his lips and sucking lightly.

This time she screamed and clawed at his shoulders. It took him less than thirty seconds to rip her second orgasm out of her. But he didn’t stop there. He took her over the edge again and again, sucking, licking, nibbling at her sensitive flesh. The blankets and bedsheets beneath her were drenched and completely twisted from her thrashing body.

But Dean never slowed. His tongue speared her, it twisted in circles around her clit, the tip flicking back and forth against her. He pushed his fingers into her welcoming body once again, continuing to stretch her, pushing in a third finger slowly, inch by inch while his tongue licked patterns into her tender flesh. He did take her apart as he said he would, over and over. It wasn’t until she was a shaking mess, her body quivering and her throat raw from her shouts of bliss, that he finally moved his body up hers, settling his hips between her legs.

She could feel his heavy cock resting against her slick folds as he leaned on his forearms, his strong arms on either side of her shoulders, keeping her safe under his weight and within the shelter of his arms. He pushed her sweaty hair from her forehead and then trailed his forefinger down the bridge of her nose and then over her parched lips.

She opened her mouth and sucked on the tip of it, before she let it go to smile at him. “You know,” she told him quietly, creakily, “the first time I ever saw you, I remember thinking that your hands looked so strong, like they could keep me safe.” She reached up to take his hand, and pressed all four fingers to her lips.

She shook her head, her eyes shining. “I had no idea just how right I was.”

Dean nodded. “I will always, always do whatever I have to, to keep you safe. I swear it.”

Y/N felt a tear slip down her cheek, happiness bubbling over. Dean sipped it from her skin, and then moved to kiss her, soft and sweet. He took hold of his cock and slid it through her slick; the contact with her overly sensitive clit had her biting her lip and pressing her head back into the pillow. 

Dean kissed the underside of her jaw, and spoke softly. “Keep your eyes on me, baby.” She looked at him, her eyes unfocused with lust. “I need to know how you’re doing.” She felt the spongy tip of his cock press bluntly against her entrance. “No matter what, if you need me to stop, I’ll stop, okay?” 

Dean’s voice was strained and his muscles were tense with unreleased tension and power, but she didn’t doubt him for a second; so she nodded to tell him that she was good. “I’m good, Dean.” She pushed her heels into the backs of his thighs urging him forward. “Please, come into me.” 

Dean groaned at that, and pushed forward.

Y/N felt herself stretch as he moved into her; there was a mostly pleasant burn as he opened her wide. He entered her slowly, giving her body plenty of time to adjust to him. She could feel the way his muscles vibrated with his restraint. As he finally sank into her to the hilt, he groaned savagely and buried his face in her neck.

“Fuck, fuck.” He mumbled. “You’re paradise, sweetheart. Hot, wet, paradise.” 

Y/N chuckled softly. She knew the feeling. Having Dean joined with her so intimately, to be so stuffed full of him, to feel him throbbing deep inside her, did indeed feel like heaven. She couldn’t imagine anything feeling better. 

Then he moved.

He moved slowly and shallowly, pulling back barely an inch and then pushing forward again. Again the stretch of him burned, but the friction of his hard cock gliding over her pulsing core walls made fire explode in her body. She wanted more, she wanted him harder, deeper.

He moved slightly again, easing her body open carefully, slowly carving a path for more vigorous movements as he slid out further every time. Until he was pulling out all but the tip before rocking his hips forward languidly. He gritted his teeth against his need to slam into her, trying desperately not to hurt her. 

But thrust by thrust, Y/N was losing any need for gentleness. It stung a bit, but she didn’t care, she needed him to ram into her body, she needed to feel him so deep, he’d leave an imprint, brand her, mark her. 

“Please, Dean. H-h-harder.” She gasped out. “Please!” She begged.

Following her urging he pulled out almost completely and then slammed himself back into her so deep she felt as though he was breaking her in half. But still she didn’t care. She wanted him to break her.

“Dean!” She shouted, her throat raw and scratchy, “Break me open!” She cried, half insane from her unfulfilled desire. But Dean heard the desperation in her tone, and knew it matched his own. So, he began to jackhammer his cock into her hot, dripping, body, watching her closely as her climax built and then exploded across her face. Her nails dug hard into his sides where she gripped him, and he shouted out his pain and pleasure, as he continued to ram into her with abandon. 

He was vaguely aware that she came again as he pounded into her body one last time, spurting into her, hot and thick. It felt like his orgasm wouldn’t end. He just kept shuddering and thrusting, pumping more and more ropes and of cum into her tight, clenching heat.

Finally his muscles gave way and he landed heavily on top of her. He meant to move off of her, but before he could muster the energy, she wrapped her legs tighter around his thighs, and her arms around his torso, keeping him where he was - head pillowed on her breast, listening to her hammering heart slow down in sync with his own. 

They laid that way for a long time, basking in the aftermath. Finally Dean worried he was crushing her, so he very reluctantly rolled off of her and out of her body. Y/N made a incoherent complaint that ended when he pulled her across his chest. They both dozed for a while, replete and more at peace than either of them could ever remember feeling.

Eventually they roused, Y/N kissing Dean’s chest as she drifted in and out of consciousness before finding his nipple and licking. Dean woke fully and growled, so Y/N woke too, and began to nibble his skin. And they began again.

They turned to each other two more times in the night. The last time, Y/N was too sore to take Dean inside again, so he just feasted on her instead, licking her soothingly, and undulating his tongue against the abused entrance to her body, dulling the throbbing there while still increasing her pleasure until she came on his tongue. 

Then he taught her how to take him into her mouth, how to suck him tightly, and how to pleasure him with her tongue. As his climax crested, he tried to pull away so he wouldn’t explode in her mouth, but Y/N wouldn’t let him, trying to swallow him down completely. She came close, licking her lips and scooping up what slid down her chin.

The whole night was spent in intervals of fierce rapture and idyllic tranquility. It was the most beautiful and soul-fulfilling thing that had ever happened to either of them. 

When they eventually fell asleep for good, they slept straight through until one o’clock in the afternoon. Dean woke up first, a delicious kind of ache in his muscles causing him to stretch long, and groan deep, rousing Y/N with his movements. Being unaccustomed to such vigorous night time activities, her body ached more, and her pussy was raw and tender. She hissed as Dean cupped a hand over her gently. 

Contrition shone in his eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m gonna go run you a bath, and we’re gonna make that feel better.” Y/N nodded, but pulled his mouth down to hers for a long, passionate kiss. 

They were gasping as she pulled away and grinned at him. “It was worth every owie.”

Dean grinned back and then began to get up, but Y/N sat up and pulled him back down beside her. She smiled at him, a little shy, but beaming. 

“Dean, I meant every word I said last night. And it was an absolutely perfect first time, I couldn’t have asked for anything more incredible.”

Dean smiled back and brushed his lips across hers. “Me too, sweetheart, me too.”

Y/N giggled lightly. “It was your first time too?” She said, pretending astonishment.

Dean chuckled, and then shook his head, his face becoming more serious. “It was actually.”

Y/N frowned at him, still smiling. “What?” she asked in confusion.

Dean looked down at his lap for a moment before looking back into her eyes. “It was the first time I’ve ever slept with someone…someone I love.” He blushed slightly, and Y/N couldn’t believe what she was seeing; her confident, sexy hunter looked shy and unsure for once. 

He cleared his throat. “First time I was with someone that I plan on making a life with.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly how this goes now.”

Y/N smiled widely and climbed into his lap to wrap her arms around his neck. “Well, looks like we have tons of firsts to explore together then.” She kissed him softly and then smiled against his lips.

“First time for everything, after all.”

@lyarr24

The End

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@deans-spinster-witch

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@deanswaywardgirl

@slytherinlyn314

@globetrotter28

@jensensgirl

@perpetualabsurdity

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@djs8891

@muhahaha303

@kayyay1219

@emily-winchester

@recoveringpastaaddict

@maximumkillshot

@mimaria420

@sacriceria

@envyaurora95

@lacilou

@jc-winchester

@spnwoman

@mimi-luvzyu

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only.

@carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

@alexxavicry

@nancymcl

@spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@jensensgotyoudean

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

@courtn92

@avanatural

@ellie-andthemachine

@this-is-me19

@roseblue373

@katbratsupernaturalwhore

@fanfic-n-tabulous

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Harry Potter

The Ordeal of Being Known by louisfake

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

Features fuzzy cartoon slippers, devious house elves, 90s music, and lots—LOTS—of memories. Ron is annoyingly hot, Hermione sees right through you, Harry is a powerful idiot, and Draco is a reclusive masochist that would buy an entire city if it would make a kid happy. (And Pansy is "5'2, I wanna dance with you, and I'm sophisticated fun.")

Super Mario Bros

Cooking Mama (Luigi)! by Little_RedHots_Riding_Hood

Luigi was having a perfectly peaceful stroll through the Toad Market - the sun was shining, he'd just found a lovely handmade blanket, and was on his way to the bakery before heading back to his and Mario's home.

Only... what was that sniffling noise from that dark, scary alleyway?

Of all the creatures he was expecting to find, the littlest prince of the Koopa Kingdom certainly wasn't it.

Star Wars

the tiger is out by elumish

Wolffe looks like he’s regretting having a second Jedi with them.

DC

Cryp-Tim by PrinceJakeFireCake

"The cons of dating Tim Drake were innumerous. For one, he was almost impossible to photograph, and so none of Kon’s friends at school actually believed he existed. His family was scary, horrifying really, and all of them seemed to find joy in making Tim regret ever being born. And Tim had charmed Ma and Pa Kent so thoroughly, they had ditched their shovel talk to instead coo at him and offer him pie and compliment him for fixing their tractor, so Kon was at a disadvantage when it came to intimidating someone with his family.”

Kon and Tim date. It goes pretty well, all things considered.

Tim Has a Hero Worship-y Crush on Every Robin Ever by PrinceJakeFireCake

"Tim as an adult was bad enough, Tim with no filter as a child was too much to be around."

Cork Board Contingencies by PrinceJakeFireCake

If you don’t use a cork board to obsessively plan contingencies for every possible way a date with your best friend can go, how can you go on a date at all?

Excerpt: “Are you free next Saturday?” Tim asked, pretty sure that Kon’s jumble of words was agreement that he wanted to date Tim.

“Maybe!” Kon exclaimed.

“Cool,” Tim commented, taking another sip of his drugged grape soda (“Dammit, Tim,” he mentally told himself. “Do not give in! Buy new grape soda! Stop drinking the drugged grape soda! I’ve shotgunned another can of drugged grape soda, haven’t I? Dammit, that makes five!”) then saying, “That gives me just enough time to pass out for fifty-two hours and plan our first date."

Immunology by JustGettingBy

Hypothetically speaking. Could a hybrid creature become suddenly not viable? Like say it survives being an embryo, makes it through growing up, and then just one day… stops? the text from Kon reads.

Tim’s heart spikes up through his ribs. Kon. What’s happening?

(OR Kon gets the flu. It becomes Tim's problem.)

Change of Plans by PrinceJakeFireCake

"Who’s your friend, Tim?” the voice asked.

Jason hissed. This was his baby! Not his friend!

“Sorry, sorry,” the voice hastened to apologize. “I mean, who’s your parent, Tim?”

AKA, who has the time to be a murderous crime/drug lord when there are kittens to adopt

Motion Blur by sElkieNight60

At Damian's school art showcase, Bruce realizes he needs to help Tim reframe their relationship.

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 84: Griffon Wing

Explicit | Cullen x Trevelyan | Hawke x Treveyan | WC: 400K + (WIP) | DA:I | Epic | Multiship | Slow burn | Fast burn | Complications While Saving the World

🤩 ***It's ITSOT's (and my) two year Ficaversery!*** 🤩

Chapter Summary:

Despite all the unsettling tensions that simmer, Rose and crew snatch Griffon Wing from beneath the Venatori.

Fic Summary:

Lady Rose Trevelyan is in over her head. Her attendance at the Conclave was only meant to distract her from her failures as a daughter. And then it blew a hole in the world. Marked by an unknown magic, armed with only a few relevant skills, Rose fumbles and fights her way across Thedas with a band of shockingly deadly oddballs dedicated to stopping— well, all of it. As apocalyptic forces conspire to break and remake her, Rose is snared between the tentative devotion of the Inquisition’s stalwart commander and the fierce love of legendary warrior Garrett Hawke, two vastly different men both haunted by hindsight.

Excerpt under the cut 👇

Hunched over the makeshift desk we share, Garrett writes, fresh curls of pencil rolling around as the whole thing wobbles under his arm. His bare, freckled shoulders are fringed by the saffron flicker of lamplight, his back hachured with the shadows of scars. He leans on his hand with a spiky fistful of hair, scratching on a proper piece of paper that he must have wheedled out of Varric. There’s an unopened bottle of Arlesans he’s been saving for something or other and a half-chewed toothpick is discarded on a crumb dusted napkin.

“What are you writing?” I ask, tugging my robe on over my shift. I slide my left hand over the bulk of his back and then claim a silky handful of his hair, the light of the anchor out of place as always. 

“Something secret,” he says, curling his work close to his body and peering up at me over his shoulder with playful suspicion. But he puckers his lips, begging.

“I suppose you’re entitled to a few secrets,” I say, bending to oblige him as I gather my loose hair over my shoulder. He turns back to it, tapping the end of the pencil on the table.

“If you must know, it’s for you,” he explains. “In an emergency.”

“For when I need a lift?”

Garrett lets out a breathy chuckle and twirls the little pencil between his fingers. “In case I don’t make it through the day.”

“Oh.” 

The reminder leaves me suddenly brittle and anxious. Love has crippled my ability to imagine his end, but I’ve seen enough ways to die that the notion dances around in the back of my mind. He turns on his stool and tugs me between his thighs, running his hands up my sides until my robe bunches.

“It’s a letter. Keep it as close as you like. In your armor. In your trunk. Just in case,” he says, setting his chin against my chest . “If you keep it close, you’ll never have to read it.” I comb his dark hair back from his face. 

“Then I’ll write you one too.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says, kissing my knuckles. “A little insurance, superstitious though it may be.” He reaches for his stained wooden pot of kaddis and holds it up. “Would you do the honors, Contessa, my love?”

“It’s going to look ridiculous,” I warn him with a smirk.

“And I’ll wear it with pride,” he says. Pinching my brow in grave concentration, I dab my finger in the sticky scarlet pigment and smear it from cheek to cheek. Garrett wrinkles his nose a couple times.

Someone flies through the tent flaps like the howl of a draft so quickly, Garrett stashes me roughly between him and the table. I peer around his shoulder.

“Carver, what the fuck,” hisses Garrett.

“I’m on the B team?” he says, red-eared and throwing his weight around like a Maker-damned bronto. “Fucking really?” I edge out from behind Garrett, shoulders square, parking an authoritative hand on my hip.

“Shit,” utters Garrett. “Carve, listen—”

“You’ve only got one bloody brute with a great axe and he’s on the second string too? Bloody daft.” he says. He snaps his head to toward me. “Is this your doing?”

“Don’t…” warns Garrett, stepping to place himself between me and his brother once more.

Read the rest here | Start the fic here

DAFF Crew:

@warpedlegacy @rakshadow @effelants @bluewren @breninarthur

@ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer @crackinglamb

@theluckywizard @oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @melisusthewee @blarrghe

@agentkatie @delicatefade @leggywillow @plisuu @hekaerges

@queenaeducan @volkoss @compendiumcal

[eliteseven]

Absolutely love how you portray Tav and Shadowheart. Would you mind sharing some more domesticity HCs please?? They deserve that peaceful, full of love life so much 😭

🥹💕 thank you so much!!!! Sure, I would love to share a few nuggets of domesticity!

ShadowTav Cottage Domesticity HC’s (pt.2)

-Neither Tav nor Shadowheart have a “green thumb”. I think they’re both better at killing things, given how they’ve both spent the last decade 😅 but I feel like Arnell and Emmeline are just pure magic in the garden. They teach Shadowheart and Tav how to plant, water, compost, prune, and just generally care for the plants and trees. It’s like Emmeline’s little lessons in the kitchen. It’s a sweet way for them all to spend time with each other. Plus, every time Shadowheart’s parents remark that she’s doing something in just the same way she would have as a child, she lights up! 🥰

-Shadowheart and Tav starting a book collection 🥹 Shadowheart’s favorite smutty novels, a collection of Emmeline’s recipes, Tav’s favorite childhood books, writings that they came across in their adventures, books they pick up for each other on trips to Baldur’s Gate. They read together nearly every day. Sometimes, Tav reads while Shadowheart naps in her lap out in fields, under the sun. Sometimes Shadowheart gets a laugh out of her and reads her smutty excerpts while she makes supper in the kitchen.

-I’ve said this before but: Shadowheart particularly takes so much joy in decorating their cottage. Tav had her own quarters in her estate through childhood- but Shadowheart never really remembers a room being hers, let alone a cottage. She wants paintings! Color! Flowers, both alive, and of the dried and pressed variety! Little signs of their shared life together still make her eyes sting with emotion. Her clothes mixed in with Tav’s in the wardrobe (I HC they share everything🥰). Her equipment (sword, armor, etc) hanging beside Tav’s in their display. She never feels alone again. She has a home. She belongs somewhere, to someone, just at they belong to her.

-Shadowheart and Tav doing each other’s hair before bed. Or, perhaps, undoing is the proper term here- but I genuinely think this is a romantic, soft, domestic, meaningful ritual for them both. In days where Shadowheart wears her hair up; Tav lovingly undoes Shadowheart’s hair, part by part, runs her fingers through every silken strand. She rubs at Shadowheart’s scalp, gets her to unwind like a kitten, curling into her touch like she’s the warm afternoon sun. Shadowheart returns the favor- she loves Tav with her hair down. She brushes Tav’s hair and watches the stress of the day melt away from her shoulders. It’s something simple, really, but an act of sheer adoration for them both.

-Cottage maintenance, baby! A particularly bad storm has Tav (who…probably still isn’t the best at tinkering or fixing things bc…why would she be?) sitting on the roof, soaked to the bone, trying to patch a part of the roof that’s given out. Sure, they could put a pail under it and call it a day, but Tav is…Tav. It’s over Arnell and Emmeline’s little guest cottage, and she will be damned if she lets her in-laws sleep in the rain. She…can’t fix it. Not till morning, and not without assistance. But she and Shadowheart offer their room to her parents. Shadowheart comes and finds her in the rain, and I like to think…they just embrace it. Rain and all. It’s freeing. Probably stay out there till who knows when, just taking in the rain, embracing each other. Poetic cinema

-Tav comes a long way with the animals. She��s always liked animals, but I don’t think her past afforded her any chance to really have any pets other than her mount in the military (assuming she had one). It warms Shadowheart’s soul to wake up to Tav quietly whispering to Buttons about how busy their day is going to be, or racing Scratch and the Owlbear to the barn, or singing sweetly to Daphne while she brushes her. But seeing Tav holding the little ones: the kittens, the baby chicks, Buttons when he’s a pup…baby fever!!!!! Has Shadowheart down atrociously 😍

-not exactly a domesticity HC but needs to be said: they still train together. Tav will be damned if she lets her skill with a blade get rusty- especially now that she has a family to protect. Shadowheart, too- wits and blades always sharp, just for a different, kinder goddess now. Now, if they’re both sweaty and worked up and happen to simply jump each other’s bones afterwards, every time…. 😏 I digress

-bittersweet last one here: Tav is a human. Shadowheart will outlive her. She’s well-aware of this fact, and though she is living her best life, she worries for Shadowheart in the future. I’ve been playing with the idea that, every day, when Shadowheart is otherwise occupied, Tav slips away to write her a little note. Like a diary entry, almost- but for Shadowheart. Sometimes they’re brief thoughts, sometimes it’s as simple as telling Shadowheart how ethereal she looked that day, and how much Tav loves her. Tav saves these notes over the years as she compiles them. Hiding them from Shadowheart is one of the hardest things she ever has to do. But…one day, when Shadowheart is aching from the loss and misses her…well, she can open up this journal, or collection of notes, and fall in love with Tav all over again 🥹💕 Tav documents all these sweet little moments of domesticity, and they gain eternal life on that parchment. Shadowheart is free to relive their love and life together as often as she wants. I think she will always be Shadowheart’s home.

[blessyatoz]

longfic (+48k words and on posting) tags: pro-hero izuku midoriya, manager au, falling in love, humor read all on AO3 excerpt from chapter four: how to follow a Pro-Hero on patrol

The room was shrouded in darkness.

It was cold—the windows in Izuku's room were wide open, and no blanket covered him. He always left them that way: in case something happened, in case someone called for help, in case anyone needed him, he would hear it.

Hikage-san's Danger Sense would alert him to any significant danger approaching, yes, he knew that. But it was a habit, a routine he had developed. One that gave him a certain sense of security, somehow. So he kept doing it, always leaving them open, always feeling the cold.

It was more than the middle of the night, once again. He never got home before this hour in recent years. His alarm was set to go off in four hours and forty minutes.

He should be sleeping.

But here he was, eyes glued to the ceiling, replaying a memory from earlier today.

Yo, Uzuki-kun! I’m Marin, nice to meet ya!

A memory of Marin’s words to a little boy, at sunset, in the middle of a children’s playground. A sandbox.

He remembered how he had arrived there. It hadn’t taken long to resolve the emergency he’d been called to—he made sure everyone was safe, talked to the police, and returned to the park sidewalk where he’d left his assistant. He just hadn’t expected her not to be there anymore exactly where he’d left her.

But a quick glance at the horizon was enough to spot her, the tips of her pink hair giving her away from a distance—she was in a sandbox, apparently talking to some kids. He smiled. Kitagawa-san was naturally social (and a bit crazy fun, for sure, he thought with a chuckle) so she was probably playing with them.

Izuku then began to walk in her direction, but he stopped. He stopped behind some bushes when a group of boys came running out, looking terrified—they even bumped into him on the way.

None of them apologized or acknowledged his presence; they seemed too scared to notice, driven by a need to escape evident in each of their faces. All he heard as they talked among themselves was:

"That shitty quirkless Uzuki, he’s gonna get it when he’s alone!"

"Yeah! We’ll get him good!"

That got Izuku out of guard.

And before he could say anything (something that might change their minds, something that might make them less scared), the kids had already disappeared from his sight.

Then Izuku looked ahead, through the tall bushes. And he heard:

"Yo, Uzuki-kun! I’m Marin, nice to meet ya!" He saw Marin smile brightly, gently patting a boy’s hair. The little guy was crying. "So, what happened here, huh? Were those your friends?"

“Th-they are.” Midoriya heard the boy stammer and lower his gaze, sniffling again. The scene seemed strangely familiar to him. "T-they were making fun of me."

"Why’s that, huh? You seem like such a cool kid to me!"

The boy swallowed hard, looking away. As if he felt ashamed. As if he felt guilty.

He took a while to respond.

"B-b-because..." He seemed afraid to say. "I-I’m q-q-quirkless… Just because I wanted to be the hero in our play… S-Sorry, One-san. Sorry! I-I-I don’t wanna bother y-you!”

Strangely familiar to him.

“Nah, don’t worry, little guy! You don’t have to apologize to me! You not bothering me, okay?! You looked like you were asking for help! I’ve come anyway.”

Izuku felt a gentle breeze brush against his face—Kitagawa-san's words somehow touching him.

Like he was asking for help, huh? 

“S-sorry! Sorry, one-san!”

"Don’t say sorry, little guy. These guys are a bunch of jerks." Kitagawa-san, don’t swear in front of kids! Izuku thought automatically. But that wasn’t where his mind was really focused. It was on something else. On her all other words. On how she seemed to care. On how all of this was bringing back memories.

“Huh?”

“A bunch of jerks, that’s what I said. Those friends of yours are j.e.r.k.s,” Kitagawa-san continued, with an expression Izuku recognized as nothing less than comedic indignation. “How can they know you won’t be an incredible hero, huh? Impossible! You’ve got a whole future ahead of you, Uzuki-kun! What nonsense…!”

‘B-but they’re not wrong, Marin-onesan. I-I-I… I-I don’t have—”

“Don't have a quirk?” The boy nodded, a tear running down his nose. He looked like he was about to cry again. But Kitagawa-san was quicker, smiling that big smile of hers, the kind that Izuku couldn’t even count how many crinkles it created around her eyes. “And since when does that mean you can’t be a hero?”

The words seemed to jump out of Kitagawa’s mouth, like her body, her mouth moved before she even had the chance to think straight. As if she didn’t need it. As if she was sure of it.

All Might's first words to him pop into Izuku’s mind. Why?

I cannot simply say, ‘You can become a hero even without power.’

Was what he first said to him. Before all.

“B-but—”

“But nothing! Listen to your one-san! Isn’t this your dream?”

Izuku saw the boy nod, the tearful expression starting to fade from his little face. Kitagawa-san then carefully picked up the fabric from the ground and gently tied it around the boy’s neck. 

It was a cape. A green one.

“Then no one can say anything about it, gotcha?! No one can tell you what you can or can’t do! ONLY YOU! Don’t let those idiots’ opinions mess with your goal, okay, Uzuki-kun?!” Kitagawa-san was like a wall of confidence, unshakeable, with an unbreakable belief. The boy’s eyes sparkled with admiration, practically twinkling with stars. More than admiration—Izuku knew it: it was hope. “You’re not only can, you are going to be one hell of an amazing hero! I know that!” And Izuku knew, Izuku knew exactly what felt like to hear something that. The words he always wanted to hear. He had dreamed of it for too long as a child not to know. To have someone say that to you. To have someone encourage you like that, even when no one else believed in you. Just like All Might had done for him once, when made him his sucessor. “And then you’re gonna rub it in those idiots’ faces just how wrong they were!”

Izuku watched Marin make those ridiculous punching sound effects in the air, making the boy laugh.

“Yeah!” He cheered, throwing punches in the air.

“You’re gonna be the greatest hero in the world!”

“Yes!”

“And you’re gonna kick a ton of villain asses!”

“YEAH!” And then Izuku heard Marin’s laugh, loud, expansive, and contagious, the kind you could hear even from miles away.

“I believe in you!” Izuku heard Kitagawa-san say, and the All Might’s voice saying ‘You can become a hero.’ was the thing that came to his mind. “And I’m counting on you, okay? I’m, like, super clumsy and always getting into trouble. So in a few years, you better be ready to be my hero, okay, Uzuki-kun?”

Izuku listened.

What was that trying to leak from his eyes?

“I'll be, Marin one-san!” The sad expression had long since left the boy’s face. All that remained now was a smile—and a look of courage and determination.

Izuku watched them laugh quietly for a few moments, as if soaking in the comforting feeling of the silly, stupid promise they’d made. But Izuku knew that it wasn’t a silly promise. Not either stupid.

To that boy, it wasn’t.

Kitagawa-san had done something there. Something big, real. Like a real hero. Something that many heroes would never believe in or have the guts to do. That almost no one ever said it to him back in the past, just All Might. And that was more than—

He realized: what was that trying to leak from his eyes? Those were small tears. Tears. 

Why did he was about to cry? He didn’t know… He didn’t know how they had gotten there—they just… were.

At that moment, he heard Marin’s voice say in a strange and funny tone:

“Do you want ice cream?” He saw her offer a completely melted ice cream to the boy. 

One of the scoops fell comically to the ground.

“No.” The boy was emphatic—as Marin looked at him with a face that ranged between offense and indignation. Izuku found himself laughing softly, a bit silly, a bit shaky.

He was still an emotional mess, wasn’t he? Crap.

The boy waved towards something further away, and Izuku noticed it was his parents. The boy then began to walk away from Kitagawa-san, a smile of pure determination and confidence lighting up his entire face. He never took his eyes off her when he said:

“Thank you, Marin-onesan! You can be sure I’ll be an amazing hero and I’ll save you! Please wait for me! I’ll show you! I’ll show everyone!”

That was the memory of today. And Izuku remembered, Izuku remembered the whole scene perfectly. As if it had happened to him. Just like he remembered when All Might believed in him.

And Kitagawa-san says that he, Izuku, is the incredible one.

Kitagawa-san had been an even more incredible hero that day. Even though she didn’t know.

Suddenly, he noticed: he wasn’t as cold anymore.

The window remained open, always open—the curtains swayed and swayed slowly, the night breeze filling his room at home.

That night, Izuku didn’t have much time left to sleep.

That night, his alarm would go off in less than three hours now.

He was tired, exhausted.

But still, he drifted into sleep with a smile, a quiet warmth settling deep within him.

AUTHOR NOTES:

HELLO TUMBLR that's a tiny little except from my fic Izuku Midoriya/Original Female Character. We already have six chapters posted. Feel free to check out the all chapters and tags on AO3! Hope you enjoyyyy! Comments and kudos are appreciated, I just love to know what u guys are thinking about the shipp dynamic <3