#again it’s what he’s Actually seeking

[lscullzthegreat]

Maedhros headcanons because I can actually be sad all the time

He did ballet (or whatever the middle earth equivalent) and he was good, really good. he transferred the skills he learned dancing into sword fighting until little by little he began to focus on fighting alone.

He's shockingly quiet for his size, he can enter a room unnoticed until he speaks, he's even snuck up on Maglor and Celegorm on occasion. The only person who's never been surprised by his presence is Fingon.

Oh my god his laugh, it's rich and warm, it fills a room lifting above everyone else's voice, its the first thing you hear from outside the room, when you've heard it once you'd do nearly anything to hear it again. (it was a far rarer thing to hear after angband and it went away entirely when the twins were sent to Gil Galad)

He stopped going by Matimo entirely after Angband.

Exactly three people have ever seen him genuinely angry, Celegorm (who walked away shaking and close to tears) after Luthien. Fëanor during a fight they had when he was younger. and Fingon over an argument neither of them speak about.

He loved both Elrond and Elros dearly but he was closer with Elros and he gave him the sword he would carry into battle for the rest of his life.

Celegorm was his baby, Maglor was too close to him in age, and he took care of the others when they were small, but Celegorm was the first one he thought of as HIS baby, that's what he held onto up to Doriath.

He had a soft spot for both Aredhel and Galadriel and spoiled them absolutely rotten anytime he got to see them.

he used to organize massive games of hide and seek for all of his siblings and cousins so they had something do while the adults dealt with state matters

(he tried to play with Elx2 when they were little and had to call the game off almost immediately, it reminded him too much of looking for two different dark haired twins years ago)

[thewindigo]

“Lockjaw”

sum. who knew you’re loving boyfriend okarun could be so… rough?

warnings. 18+ NSFW MDNI. aged up characters. ken “okarun” takakura x fem! reader, porn w/o plot, blowjob, hair pulling, facefucking, deepthroating, accidental overstimulation?, he gives you a facial😋

wc. 861

notes. sorry if there are mistakes! I legit just made a post abt writing this so it’s my first actual attempt at a fic. (he’s so ooc)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

“f-fuck..” he groans, as his tip continues to slide along the back of your throat, as your lips enclose around takakura’s shaft, you feel him shudder with delight. his hands bury themselves in your hair, gripping firmly but not too roughly. he gazes down at you with a mix of passion and desire as you swirl your tongue along the sensitive length of him.

"sososo good.." ken murmurs, his voice heavy with yearning. he begins to move slowly, guiding himself deeper into your warm, wet mouth. your eyes meet his, a silent understanding passing between you.

he starts to pick up the pace, his hips thrusting with building urgency. your fingers dig into his soft thighs, a muffled protest escaping you as he pushes ever deeper. the head of him hits the back of your throat, making you gag slightly.

"please I c-can’t.." he whines, his breath coming in ragged gasps. with each thrust, his fingers tighten in your hair, angling your head to take him even deeper. the musky scent of him fills your senses as you surrender yourself to the exquisite feel of him gliding over your tongue again and again.

you feel his movements becoming more erratic, his restraint slipping further as the pleasure mounts. he whines “oh god, your mouth feels so good..”

he buries himself to the hilt, the swollen tip hitting the back of your throat forcefully with each pounding stroke. tears sting your eyes, but you press on, determined not to back down.

the sound of his hips colliding with your chin echoes through the room, punctuated by the wet, slick noises of your joining. ken's breath hitches, his fingers twisting in your tresses as he gazes down at you with an intensity that makes your heart pound.

his pace becomes relentless, driving himself deeper, seeking that sweet release. unconsciously, your hands reach up to grasp his thighs. your lips part from him with an audible pop, a string of his essence stretching before snapping. his hands immediately grasp himself, taking over the rhythmic glide of what was just inside your warmth.

gazing down at you with hazy eyes, he strokes faster, his movements more primal now. with each pump, he watches yourself under him, seeking to push himself back to that ecstatic peak.

the room echoes with the sounds of his hand moving along his member. his jaw tightens, teeth gritted as he chases his high,

his once steady pace dwindles down to a sloppy mess as he reaches his peak, arching his back and whines as hot ropes of cum land on your face - warm and thick as he paints you with his release. you feel the wetness trickling over your features, marking you as his. the sight makes his brain short-circuit, drawing out deep, shuddering whimpers from deep within his chest. as the last drops of him fall away, you use your fingers to carefully gather his essence from your face, raising them to your lips and sucking them clean. the taste of him lingers on your tongue, visceral and undeniable proof of the passion shared.

with deliberate slowness, you turn your attention to the cock that so recently occupied your mouth. your tongue darts out, lapping up every trace of his cum, relishing the intimate connection. the salty tang mingles with the musky flavor of his arousal, driving you to savor each moment.

he watches this display with rapt fascination, his breath coming in short pants. the sight of you so consumed, so devoted to claiming every bit of him, is too much. you feel him shudder as you tenderly clean him, the intensity of the aftermath crashing down on him in waves.

finally, spent and overwhelmed, he brings you up to meet him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. the taste of himself still on both of you only heightens the intimacy. confused desire and tenderness battle within his eyes as he holds you close.

"Y-you..." he stammers out, still catching his breath. "f-fuck..”

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (6/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: After the events of the hot spring you take to avoiding Sylus. It goes well until your accidentally wander somewhere you shouldn't have been.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 2k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (7)

Read on AO3

“I am going to hurl myself off the mountain.” you muttered into your pillow. “I’m really gonna do it. I can’t go back out there and face him now. My only option is death now.”

You had been hiding back in your bedroom since that morning. You knew you technically had duties but you could not bring yourself to leave the room. When you thought about what happened back in the hot spring your entire body got heated.

It was one thing to have your own little forbidden fantasies that confused you but it was another to actually live them! You couldn’t act like Sylus wasn’t attractive. He was. If he were human then you probably wouldn’t be feeling so conflicted about it. But he is at least part dragon and while it looked like the only differences were cosmetic ones, you had not taken into account that there would be biological differences too!

He could really smell when you were aroused! That was beyond unfair! Now what were you supposed to do? Apparently if you got aroused you stunk up the entire mountain! You would reek and he’d know and how were you  meant to go about your normal duties knowing that at any moment you could have a sudden fleeting desire and he’d pick up on it like a hunting dog tracking a rabbit!

Then his offer to help! Dear gods above, you were going to get aroused again if you thought of the implications.

Maybe it would be fine. You could survive this. Knowing what you knew now the lust would eventually fade and things could go back to normal. He’d get bored of teasing you and--

No. He would not get bored of teasing you. It was stupid to think otherwise. But he may at least stop making blatant comments about it at some point.

With that in mind you decided to be brave and go back to your work. You were just going to do your best to avoid Sylus until you felt that you could be normal about this again. And avoid him you did. You crept through the tunnels like you were a thief in the night. The moment you heard him you darted in the other direction.

When it came to preparing meals you cooked them, shouted that the food was ready, and took off again. And you knew that Sylus could tell that you were avoiding him. If he really wanted to he would come seek you out wherever you were. For whatever reason he was letting you play this out. Perhaps he found it humorous or maybe he understood why you were doing it and was giving you that space. It was impossible to say which was correct.

All you knew was that the thought of seeing him made your skin alight and your legs tremble. Honestly, knowing that he could sniff out your desire made you feel aroused more often now. It was like when your foot was itchy but you didn’t realise it was itchy until you thought about it. If he had never said anything you probably would have been fine.

You didn’t know how long you could keep this up. Something had to give.

Then one day you were walking about the mountain when you heard Sylus coming down the same hall. You panicked and ducked into the closest room to you. At the time you hadn’t noticed the X carved over the archway.

You ducked inside, pressing yourself into the shadows waiting for him to pass. You stared into the darkness of the room and slowly your eyes adjusted. It looked like an empty spacious room. The only thing you could make out was the glint of metal further in.

Your curiosity got the better of you, no longer worried about Sylus coming down the hall and got closer. In the wane light you were able to make out what was there. It was an old chest. No shiny adornments on it or anything, just plain wood and iron.

Why was this in here all by itself? You glanced back at the doorway. You didn’t hear Sylus. He must have passed by.

Slowly you hefted the lid, the hinges creaked loudly as if they had not been moved in years. Perhaps they hadn’t. You had to squint and angle the chest towards the light from the doorway but you could make out a few things inside. Most of it was some old books and clothes but there were two things that caught your eye. One was a large piece of what looked to be an eggshell and the other was a shining gold pendant. Pendant was the wrong word. The disc you held in your hands was as wide as a dinner plate on a chain as thick as a rope.

It was dazzling. It almost seemed to glow in the darkness, a thin shine of red coming off of it. The design on the face was simple but masterfully done. Swirling designs crisscrossed the surface into some looping star shape.

Why would Sylus keep something like this in here and not the hoard room?

“Are you done snooping?”

Shit!

You froze, dropping the pendant back in the chest and closing the lid. Sylus was standing behind you, silhouetted in the door. You couldn’t see his face against the shadows but the ice in his voice was indicator enough that he was pissed. “I told you not to come in here.”

“Sorry.” you blurted out. “It was an accident.”

“And was it an accident when you went through my things?” he stalked further into the room.

“No…I just saw the chest and my curiosity got the best of me. I’m sorry. Really I am.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it. Now get out.”

In all the time that you had been here, this was the only time you had heard him genuinely angry. Your heart clenched and you held your arms close to your chest.

“Yes, master.” you squeaked out and fled the room as fast as your feet could carry you.

You did not see Sylus for the rest of the day and this time it wasn’t because you were avoiding him. He had disappeared from the mountain again. The room, when you walked past it later, had been blocked off with a mountain of rubble. Whatever that room was, whatever was in that chest meant, it was clear that Sylus did not want you in there again.

You felt guilty about looking through his things. There was no excusing your actions and if you had been smarter about it you would have never touched that chest. You would have recognized you were in a room you shouldn’t have been in and left the moment you were sure Sylus was gone. But now he was angry with you and you did not know how that would affect things between you.

This was arguably worse than the whole masturbation debacle. At least you knew where you stood with him regarding that. Now, you were scared. Not of him. You didn’t think he would hurt you. But you were worried that he would put you at a distance now. What if all you ever were to him from here on out was a servant? What if he decided he didn’t want you around anymore? Would he send you back to the village?

“Damn it.” you sighed. “I have to talk to him.”

You searched the mountain but like you had suspected earlier, he was missing. Probably gone on another flight. You went to the entrance and sat down. He’d come back at some point and you’d be waiting.

~~~

Sylus had been trying to give you the space you so desperately wanted after what happened in the hot spring. You were embarrassed and nervous, he expected that. But he had been sure you would get over it in time. So he let you hide and run, partly amused by how nervous you were.

Then he had caught you in that room. There were few places he didn’t want you treading, most of them were for safety reasons. The room that you went into though trying to hide from him was one that he had marked off for personal reasons. What he kept in there was for his eyes only. At least it was until you opened that chest.

He had seen what you were holding and all he wanted was for you to drop it. Forget everything you had seen.

When you looked at him…what he saw…what he smelled even. You were scared. Scared of him. The sour stench followed you out of the room. He didn’t want that. You were never supposed to be scared of him.

He went to the chest, checking the contents inside and slammed the lid shut once more. He then blocked up the entrance so no one could enter again. There was no reason for anyone to be going in there. Never again.

That sour stench of your fear was still in the hall. “Damn it.” he didn’t want to be here when the mountain smelled like this. It only reminded him of that terrified look you had thrown at him. You had looked so helpless, so small. The only time he had seen you look half as scared was when you first came to the mountain in that ridiculously extravagant dress and the makeup that had sweated off your face. But then, that fear had never been directed at him. You had always been so strong and so brave about everything that happened to you.

With one look he was scared that he had destroyed the trust you had put in him. What if you wanted to return to the village now? If you were truly that unhappy he would let you go in an instant. But the mountain would be so quiet without you. He needed to correct this before you were too far gone. But he also needed to clear his own head first.

He stayed out in the sky, flying without direction. He hadn’t noticed how long he had been gone until the sun started to set in the sky. He immediately turned back, hoping that he could catch you before you went to sleep.

It was dark when he returned. The mountain no longer smelled of your fear. And to his surprise, there you were.

You were at the mouth of entrance, propped against the stone wall, eyes closed as you slept. Had you been waiting for him?

“You didn’t need to wait out here,” he murmured to your sleeping face. He shook his head and gently scooped you up into his arms to take you back to the bedroom.

He had just gotten you back to the bedroom when you started to rouse, your eyes opened and squinted up at him. “Sylus? Where did you go?” you said through a yawn.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m back.” he set you on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” you rolled over to keep looking at him.

“I know you are. Go back to sleep.” he pulled the blankets up around you. He turned to leave but you caught him by his hand. “What is it?”

“I really am sorry. I don’t know what it was about that room or that chest that you didn’t want me to see but I do feel bad about going through it. I just…” your hand gripped his tighter, “I guess part of me looked through it because I wanted to know more about you.”

Sylus had not been expecting this. “What do you mean?” he asked, kneeling next to the bed so you were eye level.

“For as long as I’ve been here the most I feel I know about you is your name.” you said. “I don’t feel like I know anything else.”

“You wish to know my past?”

“Not even that.” you sighed, “I just want to know you. If I am to spend the rest of my life here, I may as well know the only person I may ever get to talk to.”

The rest of your life…

You weren’t asking to go back to the village. That’s all that mattered to him.

“That is fair enough.” Sylus said. “You may ask as many questions as you want, in the morning though. Then we can both get to know one another better.”

You smiled, it was sleepy and small but you had smiled at him. “Good.” your eyes closed again.

He looked down and saw your hand was still curled around his claw as you drifted on back to sleep. “What a strange little human you are.”

[afinestoutlove]

TL;DR Joe Locke is a really good actor

I accidentally came across a couple people saying Joe Locke isn't a good actor and like... what tf were you all watching?? Cos it wasn't what I was watching, he's so fucking good!! (I can only talk about Heartstopper here cos I haven't seen much of him in other things, but given these posts were related to Heartstopper...) I think this is firstly straight up (ha!) homophobia, with a side helping of shitty masculine beauty standards. I think it also comes down to the story Joe Locke is acting being something people are super uncomfortable seeing, and his success at telling it makes them uncomfortable in a way they don't want to deal with.

Homophobia first. These are almost always people who like Nick/Kit Connor, and that's not a coincidence. Nick/Kit fits very neatly into normative masculinity (although you know I have things to say about that around Nick's character), so people who haven't done the work to recognise their homophobia don't feel so weird about him. (He IS a great actor, but not "better" than Joe, or any of the other actors in the show. He just has a different story to tell that some people find easier to digest.) But Charlie/Joe Locke reads as more "stereotypically" gay, and no matter what BS reasons people come up with for not liking him, it almost always comes down to "he makes me uncomfortable because GAY".

Masculine beauty standards are so related to homophobia, because what we construct as an attractive man is so linked to heteronormative masculinity - tall, muscular, strong etc (let's not forget white, although that's less relevant to this discussion). Charlie/Joe not only falls outside these standards, but he's shown in the story as still being desirable. I love that about this story, because people who fall outside the very narrow beauty standards in Hollywood are still desirable to a lot of people - including people like Nick who meet those beauty standards. We see this happen in public couples all the time, tons of people suggesting that the partner who is further from conventional beauty standards is somehow a bad person, or is "tricking" the more conventionally attractive one. (See all the years of people trying to suggest Hugh Jackman is secretly gay because they thought his wife wasn't pretty enough and therefore must be a beard, it's so fucking gross.)

Finally the whole "character makes me uncomfortable" thing. Charlie Spring's story is super important and it makes people feel things that, if they haven't done their own work, are going to be super uncomfortable. Again, this is tied to homophobia, because Charlie's story challenges masculine norms about what counts as strength, what men "should" be like, etc. He has an ED, he has anxiety, he requires and seeks help, he forms affectionate and strong relationships and needs them to be healthy, etc. These are things men "aren't supposed to do" (and Nick only gets away with it bEcAuSe He'S hOt, that's it, that's the whole reason). People read Charlie as manipulative or selfish or whatever because he's not acting the way they think men "should" act. It's not based in Charlie's character - he is none of those things. But they want to read it that way because to actually recognise what makes them uncomfortable about Charlie would require them to unpack their own homophobia and bullshit masculinity standards.

Anyway, the short version is: I think people need to stop confusing "character that makes me feel uncomfortable feelings" or "person who is unconventionally attractive" with "can't act" cos y'all are very confused.

[gaywarcriminals]

YQY getting hit with truth serum so he has to confess The Secret to SJ is definitely a thing, because jesus fucking christ ANYTHING to make that man talk, but I think the potential for an even larger audience is fantastic.

A scenario like SQQ's trial. Things are dug up. Other things are implied or even fabricated. YQY is on trial. He's presented with some kind of truth serum. He refuses to take it until it's clarified that it won't compel him to speak, just prevent him from lying. He takes it.

They were lying. It absolutely does compel him to answer any questions asked of him. And the results are completely unhinged.

The Xuan Su thing doesn't even come up. It doesn't need to. In an attempt to paint him as scheming and ambitious, he's asked why he became sect leader.

"So I can give Xiao Jiu whatever he wants."

The assembled crowd: ?????

Is this Xiao Jiu a....mistreess? A son? What the hell. Questioning continues, and Yue Qingyuan's insanity is put on full display.

"What if 'Xiao Jiu' wanted to be the sect leader?"

"I would make him the sect leader."

"Surely the other peak lords of Cang Qiong would object. What would you do, then?"

"Whatever I had to."

Whatever they were originally asking about gets seriously derailed as they realize that this guy, arguably the most powerful cultivator in the world, is singularly obsessed with a person he calls 'Xiao Jiu.' Why did he seek power? Xiao Jiu. What is his ultimate goal? Xiao Jiu.

It's also starting to seem like maybe Xiao Jiu isn't exactly a willing participant.

"What does Xiao Jiu ask you for?"

"To leave him alone."

Okay. So his attentions are unwanted. Yikes.

Further questioning reveals that this mysterious person seems to hate Yue Qingyuan, but is regularly subject to his attentions anyway.

The one question he won't answer is 'who is Xiao Jiu.' He's bleeding from the mouth and eyes, but he just shakes his head or says, "He told me not to call him that."

In the audience, no one noticed Shen Qingqiu's total bluescreen, because honestly? All of the peak lords are feeling pretty lost for words right now.

I dunno, I just think it's specifically interesting to a) have a public reveal that this man is a lunatic, and b) have SQQ find out the depths of YQY's devotion without being able to get the answer he wants most.

This would drive SJ absolutely insane. On the one hand he’s happy that YQY isn’t spilling every little detail of their past for these vultures to pick through, on the other hands where the fuck is this coming from??? What sense do these answers make in the mouth of the man who abandoned him? If it was anyone else saying these things he’d be wildly uncomfortable, but this is just confusing (if he were to really sit with his feelings, he might realize that any immediate sense of revolution was swept away by a long-dormant sense of possessiveness). He intends to grab YQY and shake him as soon as YQY stops giving the OPM grounds to charge him with stalking or harassment or something, and YQY will just give him guilty eyes because he things SJ is mad about every he said on the stand 😔. Actually scratch that for qijiu’s benefit the potion should still be in effect, so the moment they’re behind doors SJ can furiously ask why, if YQY doesn’t despise him, he saw fit to abandon him back then and every day since their reunion. YQY can try to hold himself back from speaking to the point of coughing up blood again, which only enrages SJ further, and eventually YQY is forced to speak his explanation through his rough and bloodied throat. SJ is have every single emotion today and has a 50/50 chance of learning what YQY’s blood tastes like (for normal kissing reasons. Normaler than usual).

On a different note, I felt palatable anxiety reading the first part of the ask because I thought you were going to say that YQY confessed about Xuan Su in public, his greatest weakness and a questionable/unnatural feat of cultivation that he could well be criticized for. I legit think that if that happened SJ would consider killing everyone else in the room to stop the secret from getting out— he doesn’t have time to process all the complicated emotions from what YQY just told him, he only knows that’s it’s intolerable for YQY to be this vulnerable in front of people SJ distrusts or despises.

[bookie-bookdust]

Stupid things Sebastian Sallow would do to get you to talk to him after a fight

We all know the silly Slytherin doesn't know how to shut his mouth. So fights are a given. But what would he do to get you to speak to him again? Time for another round of shitty headcanons (if you could even call them that lol).

Tightens all the lids of every jar in your home.

Eavesdrops on your interactions to use as leverage.

Hides all the books. The fucking books!!! Mr. Walking-Library-Sallow over here 100% confident you'll seek his help, meanwhile you'll just go to the book shop.

Releases a baby spider into the house (and regrets it immediately when he's too afraid to heroically catch it for you).

Just begs. The boy begs.

Steals your wand.

Hides said wand and helps you look for it.

Sets something important on fire. Like the kitchen.

Somehow gaslights you into apologizing and then relenting immediately when you call him out on it.

Pouts.

More pouting.

Tightens his fists at his side like a toddler.

Blames a third party in an attempt to get you to side with him.

Depending on what Seb you got into a fight with, he might imperio you or obliviate your memory hehehe.

Follows you around and attempts to assist with every minor event so you owe him.

Waits at your door/common room door, making anyone who passes by uncomfortable with his glaring.

Sends so many goddamn owls. They never stop. There's a parchment shortage. No one has been able to write to their loved ones in weeks.

Literally in your house like Edward Cullen demanding to speak to you. Yes he climbed up a tree and through the window. Yes there's a twig stuck in his hair. Please, just stop screaming and hear him out.

Actually attempts talking to you (and ends up in another fight).

[rewritingtales]

"careful  what  you  wish  for.  if  a  big  enough  group  bands  together,  you  might  have  some  actual  trouble  on  your  hands.  not  that  you're  going  around  seeking  trouble,  but  if  i  was  a  part  of  a  trio  of  brothers  that  you  attacked  i  might  be  cooking  something  up."  if  the  brothers  come  knocking  on  his  door,  he'll  actually  tell  them  to  leave  him  alone.  no  zeke  meant  no  help  for  rory.  the  old  man  certaintly  doesn't  know  how  to  raise  or  help  a  young  wolf  all  by  his  lonesome. 

he  needs  zeke. 

vilem  tilts  his  head  as  he  thinks  about  it.  on  one  hand,  it's  unfair  because  he  has  all  of  the  knowledge  that  he's  gained  years  later.  on  the  other  hand,  he  remembers  being  really  aroused  by  the  wolf  and  that  beating  out  any  other  sense  of  logic.  if  he  had  told  him  in  the  heat  of  the  moment,  during  foreplay,  perhaps  he  wouldn't  have  cared  too  much.  once  his  dick  is  hard  he  needs  to  release  somehow.  whether  it's  in  a  monster  or  human.  the  weakness  of  being  human!  “we'll  never  know.  i  never  got  the  chance  to  react  to  it  until  after  we  had  already,  well,  you  know.  there's  no  use  in  revisiting  that  anyway.  maybe  i  would've  just  fucked  you  harder  since  i  know  that  you  can  handle  it.”  he  chuckles  softly,  a  snort  slipping  through  his  lips  but  being  quieted  as  much  as  possible.  zeke's  right,  it  shouldn't  matter.  still,  the  farmer  has  his  faults  just  like  everyone  else.  “but  it  does.”  he  nods  a  bit,  not  wanting  to  get  in  between  the  man  and  his  respect.  “do  you  ever  think  there's  going  to  be  another,  at  least  in  these  parts?  maybe  someone  you  turn  is  going  to  be  even  bigger  and  badder  than  you  are.”  although  he's  really  not  interested  in  being  around  long  enough  to  see  that,  he  still  ponders  that  every  now  and  then.  “do  you  want  me  to  comb  my  fingers  through  your  hair  while  i  lay  you  down  on  a  couple  of  blankets?”  again,  another  half  joke.  apparently,  since  vilem  can't  talk  to  the  animals  nor  the  crops  his  part  is  quite  easy.  as  much  as  he  can  see,  they're  all  alright,  so  he  just  cuts  down  some  of  the  ones  that  are  good  for  picking.  there's  some  evening  primrose,  tobacco  leaves,  night  phlox,  and  moonflower  that  smell  just  good  enough  to  pick.  the  farmer  puts  them  all  in  the  basket  before  moving  over  to  the  fruits  and  vegetables.  some  corn,  broccoli,  tomatoes,  strawberries,  grapes,  and  peaches  are  also  ready.  he  brings  the  basket  back  and  notices  that  zeke  is  all  wrapped  up  too.  “if  you  think  i'm  picky  and  needy,  you  haven't  seen  the  half  of  it  yet  on  the  farm.  i'm  done  with  the  crops  though.”  vilem  leans  the  basket  over,  showing  it  to  zeke.  “thank  you  for  your  help.  do  you  want  me  to  make  a  little  basket  for  you?”  does  a  wolf  even  eat  fruit  or  vegetables?  “you  can  just  wait  here  for  rory.  it's  getting  late.” 

"my  victims  can  try."  there  ...weren't  many  alive,  maybe  even  less  than  he  imagined  given  that  knights,  hunters  &  woodsmen  were  out  for  their  hides.  he  may  be  able  to  protect  little  rory,  but  he  couldn't  protect  them  all.  protecting  anybody  wasn't  his  job  either.  nobody  protected  him,  so  why  should  he?  he'd  lived  a-many  years  in  this  forest  to  work  his  way  to  the  top;  he  wasn't  always  the  big  bad  wolf.  once  upon  a  time  he  was  the  tiny  bad  wolf  puppy  &  that  little  puppy  got  hurt,  so  it  learned  to  adapt  to  be  one  step  ahead  of  everybody  else  (humans).

zeke  doesn't  trust  humans.

or  anybody  really.

he  never  did,  but  every  time  he  went  one  step  closer  to  opening  up  to  the  idea  to  try,  someone  cut  him  &  he  pulled  away  further  than  before.  he  also  didn't  believe  humans,  including  vilem  telling  him  he'd  have  been  fine  knowing  what  zeke  was  back  then.  fucking  lie.  he  still  hated  his  kind  despite  a  loved  one  being  pretty  much  the  same  thing,  so  years  ago?  zeke  would've  been  kicked  out  on  his  ass  with  arrows  in  it  before  he  could  say  moon.  not  that  it  mattered  much  now,  especially  because  zeke  didn't  regret  it.  well,  the  not-telling.  the  hooking  up  he  definitely  regretted.  big  time.  "i  don't  believe  you.  easy  to  say  now,  but  you  chased  me  out  like  i  ate  your  dog's  puppies."  zeke  would've  been  on  his  way  home  before  he  took  off  his  shirt.  nah.  he'd  done  the  right  thing.  "besides,  shouldn't  matter  what  i  am."  because  what  he  was  didn't  change  anything  about  what  they  did.  eh  no  use  in  crying  over  spilt  milk.  "i  earned  the  title  and  the  rest  respect.  or  fear.  i  deserve  to  be  smug  about  it."  he  knew  he  was  different  from  most  &  if  you  asked  him,  that  was  a  good  thing.  he  was  sure  there  were  things  out  there  able  to  best  him  -  maybe  even  easily  so,  but  until  these  being  came  knocking  down  his  door,  he  pretended  like  there  weren't.  "comfortable,  huh?  who  makes  sure  i'm  comfy  enough  to  sleep?"  zeke  huffed,  eyeing  the  other  shortly  before  trotting  off  with  the  bag  of  food  to  do  as  told  &  promised.  feeding  them  was  easy,  but  the  comfortable  part?  he  wondered  how  vilem  did  that  daily.  the  wolf  made  sure  to  ask  everybody  if  they  were  comfortable  enough;  most  were,  but  some  had  very  special  needs  &  wants.  one  sheep  wanted  to  cuddle,  one  of  the  cows  demanded  a  bedtime  story,  two  of  the  chickens  wanted  their  bellies  scratched.  he'd  never  regretted  being  able  to  speak  to  animals  before  today.  when  everybody's  wishes  were  fulfilled,  he  returned  to  the  house,  empty  food  bag  with  him.  he  stifled  a  little  yawn  when  the  other  joined  him,  "thought  i'd  be  a  lot  faster  than  you,  but  your  animals  have  wants.  you  all  done?  need  any  help  with  the  crops?"

[mangoshorthand]

A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch5 Final Chapter!

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

<< Read Chapter Four

Chapter Five (Rated E, 4.9k words)

The End of It

You awoke on Christmas day with a feeling of unreality. Was any of it real? Was this real?

Yet the bedsheets were your own, the bed was your own, the bedroom was your own. And, as what happened solidified in your mind, you realised that, best and happiest of all, all the time ahead of you was your own. 

Time to make amends, time to build some bridges, time to live your life. 

Today, you had three things to do. As you jumped in the shower, you imagined each of them with a smile. The first was so simple, the second so overdue, and the last so needed. 

The first two could be completed almost immediately so, fresh out of the shower, you immediately set about choosing a nice outfit for the day. 

As the wardrobe door creaked open, you smiled again. It was a beautiful wardrobe, big enough for a grown man to hide in before taking you on the trip of a lifetime. For that, you’d love it as long as you lived.

Dressed, you cantered into the living room intent on another piece of furniture. The old bureau had been left virtually untouched since the apartment passed into your name. You laid hands on it, smile trembling with emotion, and felt beneath your palms before you unlocked it.  

There it all was: keepsakes and framed photographs stacked or stowed away in inner drawers. Your hand went automatically to the topmost drawer, where you knew you’d find what you were seeking. You remembered carrying it numbly back from the hospital and locking it up tight; locking away the fact she was gone.

You picked up her necklace and held it to the light. The silver encrusted with rhinestones still looked like diamonds to your eyes. It sat on her collarbone, twinkling in the light day after day. The pendant was one snowflake-delicate flower hanging from another, leaf detailing leading off them to form Y shape up each side of the chain. 

It was her all over, and you kissed the pendant in your hand. 

“I love you, Grandma.”

Your heart fluttered with the small moment of feeling, and then soared as you fastened it around your own neck. It was like a talisman: with its comforting weight against your chest, you could honour the past, live for the present, and look with new eyes towards the future. 

The first of your three tasks done, you set about the second, pulling out your phone and sitting down to compose a message to Robbie.

When you rang their doorbell later that morning, intent on your third task, you bounced nervously on the balls of your feet, bottles clinking in the stuffed-full bags by your sides. 

Sloane answered, and you faltered, remembering what you heard her say yesterday, but when you looked at her face, she seemed more surprised than anything.

“Happy Christmas,” you said, smiling a little awkwardly.

She returned your greeting with a slightly cold smile. 

“Is Luther in?” you asked, “He invited me today, but I was pretty rude to him so…”

You tailed off, and her expression softened slightly.

“I brought booze.” you joked tentatively, “A peace offering.”

Sloane smiled then.

“Come in, it’s cold out there. He’s in the kitchen.”

“Cooking since five AM I bet?”

She gave a surprised chuckle.

“Yes actually. They’re been working their asses off. Just let me go get him.”

You gave her brief thumbs up and she walked briskly towards the kitchen.

You looked around affectionately at the Academy’s entrance hall. Far from being intimidating, it now felt like an old friend. 

Only a few seconds later, hurried footsteps announced Luther’s arrival.

“You came!” he cheered, bounding towards you. 

He was wearing an expression of pure, unbridled joy on his face and a comically tiny apron embroidered with poinsettias and adorned with frills. You held out your arms and hugged him.

“Happy Holidays. I’m so sorry about yesterday,” you said fervently, “I was such an asshole.”

“Forget it,” Luther replied, sounding as if life could afford no greater promise for the day than to have you here, “water under the bridge.”

“I don’t deserve you.” you said, hugging him harder, “Thank you so much for putting up with me.”

“I don’t put up with you, I like you.”

When you broke apart, you briefly hugged Sloane too.

“You’ll stay all day, right?” she asked, “And sleep over. We have so many spare rooms.”

Apparently her dislike of you wasn’t so deep that a decent apology couldn’t undo it all, and you were glad for that fact. You knew from Luther that Sloane was his perfect match, and you hoped to find a friend in her too.

“If you’ll have me, I’d love to stay.”

“Gladly,” said Five’s voice.

You broke apart from Sloane to find Five standing in the doorway, clad in his own frilly apron tied over his new sweater and drying his hands on a dishtowel. 

Though you said goodbye to him only a few hours ago, it felt like much longer. You felt renewed, joyful, and invigorated, and with it came a new perspective. Every person was a fellow passenger onwards through time, but only you and Five were united in having seen the destination and decided to change it.

Luther and Sloane exchanged a significant look as you and Five moved towards each other.

“Happy Christmas,” you said. 

The consciousness of what passed the previous night crackled between you, and you exchanged conscious, conspiratorial smiles.  

“Happy Christmas.” he replied, tucking the distowel in his apron pocket, “Nice necklace.” 

“Thanks. Nice apron.”

He gave a self conscious smile, and his arms gave a strange sort of twitch outwards, hands hovering uncertainly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.  

You took pity on him and hugged him, which he gladly returned. 

So far, most of your touches had been unconscious, unconsidered, or instinctive. This time, you made a conscious decision to kiss him on the cheek. It was platonic enough, but that didn’t stop Five’s grip almost imperceptibly tightening around your upper arm as shivers ran down his spine. 

The four of you entered the living room, where you were finally introduced to the people you’d seen last night. Viktor and his girlfriend Annabelle, visiting for Christmas for the first time; Klaus all smiles in his sequins; and Lila and Diego, joined at the hip. 

“You’ve been cooking with him?” you said to Five in an undertone the moment you got an opportunity, “That’s sweet.”

One corner of Five’s mouth rose in his lopsided smile.

“He’s a surprisingly good cook, actually. Taught me a thing or two.”

“I’m glad for you.”

“What are you two whispering about?” asked Lila, honing in on an interesting dynamic with the precision of a sniper. 

Five turned to her with the air of a father holding his patience with a bratty child. 

“Just making a pact to grin and bear it when one of you idiots inevitably suggests Charades after dinner.”

“Ooh! Charades!” Lila said, boisterously, “Yeah, great idea!”

“Uh. Charades?” grumbled Diego.

“Shut up, Diego,” she scolded, slapping him on the arm, “don’t be a killjoy.”

The day progressed as most family Christmases do: there was Christmas meal in which the potatoes were slightly overcooked (Five’s fault), little squabbles breaking out over the gravy, (Diego and Luther’s fault), and one serving platter broken in the production-line of dishwashing (a mortified Annabelle’s fault).

Afterwards you all retired back to the living room and, while Viktor piled up the fire and the family began to chat, someone mentioned drinks.

“I brought some stuff with me from Maggie’s,” you said, eagerly, “I thought I could say thank you for inviting me by making a few cocktails, if you’d like that?”

“You sure?” asked Luther, looking at you doubtfully, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re at work.”

“I’d love to actually,” you said, earnestly, “mixology never feels like work to me.”

You caught Five’s eye, but continued speaking as if to Luther.

“And I’m taking a step back in the New Year anyway. I’ve asked Robbie to manage the place for me.”

“Really?” Sloane asked, surprised, as you went to grab your supplies from the entrance hall. 

“Mm-hm,” you said, re-entering the room, “It’s long overdue. Robbie’s always wanted to manage, and I need to reevaluate what I want in life.”

“Good for you,” said Five, quietly.

You couldn’t help but look at him then. His approval felt good. Very good. 

“I wanted to try out a recipe idea I had.” you said, again deliberately addressing anyone but Five, “Tell me what you think: it’s whisky, cinnamon, maple syrup, egg white, and a dash of lemon.” 

You turned to catch Five’s eye as you finished, eyes practically sparkling with mischief: 

“I call it the Ebenezer Splooge.”

There was a polite chuckle around the room, and Five’s face worked very hard not to draw attention to himself. There was a blush high on his cheek, and his mouth gave a violent twitch.

“Hence the egg white?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady.

“You’re a quick learner,” you replied.

Five bit his lip, the line bringing back the memories you’d deliberately evoked; that night back in March when you turned his drunk ass down. It hit something inside him. 

Up until last night, he’d been content with masochism: drinking in your little touches whenever he could get them, enjoying the flirting and quietly dying inside every time you so much as poured a drink with that elegant poise of yours. 

He couldn’t do it anymore, not when he knew what it was to hold you in his arms, to feel your lips on his skin, to be party to your grief and revelations. It was better to look to love that he could have rather than pining after yours. It felt so near sometimes, yet, whenever he reached for it, it was inaccessible. 

The promised game of charades came and went. The booze flowed, and the atmosphere got livelier. It was all a whirl of caterwauled Christmas songs, champagne, and late-night turkey sandwiches. 

They were a friendly group, and it felt good to be among them. This was what Christmas was supposed to be, spending time with people who made you feel loved and welcome.  

By this stage, all of you had been dancing, and you flopped down on the couch beside Five, a stitch in your side. 

“I’m going to have to go to bed,” you said, grinning at him, “Klaus is going to tire me out!”

“He has that effect.” Five remarked, glancing fondly at his brother, “Want me to show you to a guest room?”

“Yes please.”

You said your goodnights, and when you were both out of earshot in the entrance hall, Luther turned to Sloane:

“I bet you fifty dollars Five doesn’t come back downstairs.” 

“It’s about time,” Sloane replied, grinning, “he’s been hung up on her for months.”

“How about you and I go upstairs?” he said, with a sly smile. 

“Soon, sugarplum,” she promised, and kissed him gently.

“So you’re taking a step back from Maggie’s?” Five said, as you mounted the stairs together.

“Yeah,” you said, with a gentle smile, “I woke up this morning and I just knew. I don’t want to sell the bar, but I don’t want to spend my life chained to it either.”

“So what’s your plan now?”

“The plan is no plan,” you beamed, “I’m just going to build my bridges, follow my heart, have some fun, and see where it leads. I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Five was silent for a few moments. 

“And where’s your heart leading you now?” he asked, uncertainly. 

“No idea. I guess we’ll see.”

He stopped and opened a nearby door.

“Does this room work for you?” he asked, casting an eye around to check its suitability. 

“Are you in love with me?”

He blinked once at the unexpected question, and then answered without hesitation or preamble, as if he was simply giving you the time.

“Yes.”

Your arms, legs and sex tingled with the admission.

This was it. You were done with self denial and done with pushing people away. Five was everything you wanted right now, and you wanted to pull him as close as two people could be.

“Then spend the night with me.”

His mouth fell open, and he let out one or two disbelieving breaths. You took each of his elbows and pulled him closer to you.

“This is…unexpected,” he said, and swallowed. 

Your eyes immediately flew appreciatively to his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and when you raised your hand to touch his face, you were surprised to see a hard expression there. 

“I don’t want to be a one night thing for you.”

“You won’t be.”

“I don’t believe you.” he replied, resentfully, “You just said that your plan is ‘no plan’. You’re just throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks. I’m not going to-”

You silenced him with a kiss, pulling him to you by the collar. It was one you’d been holding back for as long as he had, and when your lips connected with his, you felt your body wanting to melt, permeate his skin and sink into him.

You could taste his last scotch on his lips, you could smell that maddening cologne. 

But he took you by the upper arms and pushed you away, firmly. 

“Five,” you pleaded, “Five, please. Please.”

“No. I’m not going to be some experiment for you. I’ve wanted you for too long to just be some no strings fuck. I’m done.”

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” you pleaded, shaking him slightly by the front of his sweater, “Pretty much since you first came into Maggie’s!”

There was a needy, beseeching tone in your voice. It would have embarrassed you before, but now it just felt good to wear your heart on your sleeve. He opened his mouth to object, but you spoke over him:

“I’ve been hiding from my feelings for years: hiding from Grandma dying, hiding from how I feel about you, and I’m done hiding!”

Five looked down at you, at your pleading face. 

To think you were literally begging him for sex - the stuff of his wildest fantasies - and he was turning you down.

He bit his lip again and looked up at the ceiling, away from you, and tried to think. 

This didn’t help quell your desire, finally released from its bounds after years of repression and cold showers. His neck looked unbelievable, all stretched and arched that way, and it took some restraint not to dive forward and taste his skin. 

“God, Five. I need you.”

He let out a little growl of frustration. 

“No. I need to know we have a chance at a future!”

The fragile note in his voice broke through your fever. Guiltily, you loosed your hold on his sweater and backed off. 

You closed your eyes for a second or two, and then spoke again:

“Okay. I understand. I’m sorry I kissed you like that.”

“It’s fine,” he croaked, sounding far away.

You put a hand on the spare bedroom door frame, signalling your intent to leave him alone. 

“I’m going to go to bed, but let’s talk in a few days, okay?”

He nodded, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

“Maybe we’ll go for dinner?” you added, tentatively, “We can take it slow. You’re worth the wait.”

He flushed at this, and his fingers moved restlessly at his sides.

You gave him an understanding smile, and then, echoing his leavetaking of the previous evening, you took one of his hands, raised it to your lips, and gave two delicate kisses to the backs of those fingers. 

“Goodnight,” you said, tenderly, “Thanks for today. And last night. Thanks for everything.”

With that, you retreated into the bedroom. 

But before you could close the door, he was over the threshold.

“I won’t last long,” he said, voice low. 

And, before you could process what he meant, he kicked the door closed behind him with a bang, pulled his sweater over his head and cast it away from him. 

If his voice smoldered, his eyes were aflame; being the object that gaze felt like being scalded by hot honey. It seared your skin. 

With a rush from your toes upwards, you threw yourself at him, sending him falling back against the door with another loud bang.  

His tongue was in your mouth: plunging, searching, tasting; teeth clashing against yours with the urgency of desire. You moaned into his mouth and sagged, weak with the feel of it, and he grunted in displeasure. His hand came to the back of your head and held you fast, pressing your face harder against his. 

Though you initiated the kiss, though it was you pressing him against the door, though it was you begging for this only a few moments prior, it was his passion that won out, leaving you wilting in his arms, eyes helplessly closed. 

At last he came up for air, loosening his hold on you and breathing hard.

He looked too full of lust for words, eyes were darting all over you, teeth exposed. You could relate, your pussy aching like a tuning fork struck too hard. 

You dropped immediately to your knees, hands coming up to fumble at his waistband.

He groaned in anticipation, head hitting the door as he slumped back against it, the mere prospect of being sucked almost undoing him. 

“You shouldn’t -” he gasped, sounding a little embarrassed, even through the lust-induced haze. “I’ll come. It’s been a long time, I’m already-”

But he gasped again when you took him, hard and heavy, into your hand. It was clear that he hadn’t been exaggerating; his white underwear and pink cockhead were already moist with leaked arousal.

His cock was thick, uncut, and long enough to exceed your grip by half. His shaft was curved and sculptural like his forearms; veins standing out attractively. It twitched invitingly in your hand and, as a little more precome dripped from the slit, you felt yourself gush into your panties.

“I want to taste you,” you said, looking up at him.

“And I want to give you a good time,” he said, fretfully.

“You will.” you smirked, lips an inch away from his tip. 

He answered only with another sound, and when you tasted him, he hissed, and bucked his hips immediately into your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “it’s hard to control.”

You only smiled and took him back into your mouth, tasting the salt of his arousal, the delicate musk of his cock, and yet drinking in his whines more greedily than either. 

“Oh fuck,” he choked. 

He was perfect: sensitive and desperate. He writhed, cursed, tensed, and whimpered: one fist contracting in your hair and the other against the door handle as he fought fiercely against the need to come.

You took pity on him then, content with having had him in your mouth for the few moments he could manage.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said, breathlessly.

You grinned up at him. 

“Then eat my pussy and calm down.”

His cock twitched, and he gave another small cry. 

“That didn’t help!” he yelped, agonized. 

You chuckled mischievously and stood, just he started to unbutton his shirt, kicking the pants and underwear off from around his ankles. 

Even this momentary delay to getting some part of your body back on some part of his was too much, and you cast your dress away as roughly as Five had his sweater. Meanwhile, he was wriggling out of his shirt, swearing as his wrists caught in the cuffs. Your fingers shook as you unclasped your bra and, as you struggled, his eyes fed on you.

“Can I take off your panties?” he asked. 

No sooner had you answered in the affirmative, finally succeeding in removing the cursed bra, Five was on his own knees, shimmying your panties down your legs, and helping you to step out of them.

“Against the wall,” he growled, cock protruding invitingly between his legs and bobbing with his movement. 

No sooner had you obeyed than his mouth was inches away from your pussy, helping one leg up onto his shoulder to give him better access.

He looked at you for a moment, fascinated.

“Holy shit,” he said, awed, “you’re so wet.”

“I’ve been wet since the hallway!” you breathed.

With that same expression of fascination, he dragged a single finger between your labia, from your hole all the way to your clit, collecting your juices, and then put it in his mouth. 

He let out a low moan as he sucked his finger clean, one hand darting lower to gently roll his foreskin back and forth. 

He looked up at you with a cocky grin at the effect he’d already had on you, the appearance of even more thick fluid evidence enough that you liked what you saw. 

He leaned forward, nose less than an inch away from you, and lingered there.

“Please!” you said, desperately. 

“Call this payback the Ebenezer Splooge,” he said, playfully.

“No! Please!”

He took another, momentary pause, and then mused:

“You do sound good when you beg.”

His tongue protruded, his breath hot and torturous against your inflamed, excited pussy… and then he paused there, tongue tip millimeters from your clit.

Just as one of your hands came to urge him forward by means of his hair, he gave your clit two or three experimental licks. 

You squeaked, hand finding a grip in his hair anyway, and he dragged his tongue deliberately up and down. 

“Oh fff-fuck.”

He hummed delightedly against you, and started to eat you out in earnest, kissing your labia, slipping his tongue inside you, and alternating between nudging your clit and sucking on it. 

You urged him on, trying hard not to moan too loudly, stroking his thick hair, and trying hard not to surrender too much of your weight to the wall as your supporting leg went weak. 

His face wormed its way further between your thighs, and his mouth closed around your clit, lips and tongue at work against you, eating you like a ripe fig; sucking your juices down his throat with a snarling, feral sound. 

As it turned out, Five didn’t need to worry about his lack of stamina: he might not last long, but neither did you. With only a few minutes of concerted licking, tongue swiping side to side, he only had to introduce a finger for you to keen, shout, and then come. 

You flailed and cursed as the pleasure slammed through you like a wave smashing you against the rocks. It floored you, and then that hot-honey was back, engulfing all your senses in a thick, shimmering molasses haze. 

As the feeling subsided, Five slowed his licks, kissing your pussy lips and easing you out of the orgasm with increasingly gentle attentions, mercifully avoiding your over-sensitive clit. 

When your breathing was back to normal, you unhooked your leg from his shoulder, and he looked up at you, face wet with your juices. 

“Good?”

You didn’t need to answer him, your fucked-out haze of an expression was enough. 

He smirked and stood so that you were on a level once more. He kissed you deeply, hands coming to cup and fondle each of your asscheeks and holding you up as you slumped bonelessly against him. 

“We need a condom.” you said, breathlessly. 

“Right,” he agreed, distractedly, setting you on your feet and bending to locate his wallet from his pants pocket. 

“Still in date,” he said, sounding slightly surprised as his trembling fingers located the rubber and opened the package, “I haven’t needed one in a while.”

“You can’t get STDs from the cable porn ladies,” you quipped.

“Shut up,” he smiled, rolling the condom down his shaft and leading you to the bed.

He sat down on its edge and looked up at you. 

Ride me,” he said huskily, “I promise I won’t take long.”

Though already exhausted from your orgasm, the need to have him inside you overwhelmed it, and you nodded. He guided you onto his lap facing him, your thighs around his waist and his arms around your own.

As wet as you were, it was still a slow, tight slide down onto his cock. Five buried his head between your breasts with a strangled moan at the sensation, intense even through the condom. When you started to ride him, he was beside himself in no time at all, feet planting on the floor and pushing helplessly up and into you. 

It felt good; full and intimate with your arms wrapped around each other, eyes and mouths occasionally locked as you thrust into one another, meeting the other’s body and pushing as deep as you could go. 

It was his face that made your nipples harden, the feel of his strong, lithe body between your thighs that made you bite your lip, and his pelvis moving against yours that made you bend to finally taste his neck. 

“Fuck,” he said, roughly, “Gonna come already. Been too long - thinking about you - can’t believe we’re - oh sh-iii-t!”

He came with a yell, surging upwards in the grip of his orgasm, head thrashing and arms tightening reflexively around you. His thrusts became disorganised, messy and uncontrolled, eyes screwed up, teeth gnashing against the air, and neck once more arching in that delicious way. 

He collapsed onto the bed, panting, and you leaned forward to give him a final kiss before climbing off him and wriggling into bed beside him.

You stroked his hair idly as he came down from the high, regaining his breath and dealing with the condom. For a few moments afterwards, he just stared at the ceiling. 

“That was amazing,” you said.

“Yeah,” he replied, distractedly.

“All okay?”

“Yes,” he said, sitting up but not turning to face you, “I’m gonna go get cleaned up, but I’ll be back, okay?”

Sitting in his pajamas on his own bed, Five plucked another hair and inserted it into the briefcase on his lap. 

He’d get over you. If that really was a quick fuck while you rediscovered yourself, then that would suck, but he could face it and survive. What he couldn’t face was becoming that lonely man with the child-molester mustache. 

He had to know that it wasn’t inevitable. Because if that wasn’t inevitable, then it proved that the power really was still in his hands.

And maybe it even proved that he had a chance to make you love him back.

He set the briefcase to the same date as last night, braced through the static of time travel, and then immediately regretted not putting on shoes.

Snow was soaking through his socks. 

“Great,” he grumbled.

He was standing in the front yard of a little house, alone on a snowy country road, and a quick glance at the briefcase proved to him that it was the same night as before: Christmas Eve, ten years from the present. 

It was different, that was for sure.

He hurried as quickly as possible off the snow and onto its covered doorstep, where the light from the front window drew him to it. With a strange sense of deja vu (shouldn't he be standing beside an azelea?), he looked through. 

There was a small but cozy living room, a lit wood fire, a Christmas tree with wrapped gifts beneath, and himself. 

He was wearing the same sweater Klaus got him for this Christmas, his socked feet up on the coffee table and a book in his hand, reading contentedly. Instead of the pedo ’stache, he sported only a little scruff around his jaw. 

It was all he needed to see, and Five let out a deep sigh of relief. 

Alone he might be, but with that many presents beneath the tree, he at least had family coming.

It was almost perfect, he thought, as he set up the briefcase for the return journey.

But then something caught the periphery of his vision.

There you were, entering the room and handing him what had to be a glass of Ebenezer Splooge, garnished with a twist of orange zest. 

“Hi,” he whispered, climbing back into the guest bed beside you.

“Hey,” you replied, sleepily, shuffling up beside him and laying your head on his shoulder. 

For a few moments, he just enjoyed the warmth from inside and out. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, “that was amazing.”

“It was a long time coming,” you mumbled, “and when we wake up, we’re doing it again.”

“Good,” he said, breathing in the smell of your hair.

His future was all here in the here and now: his family downstairs, you held here in his arms, and his resolution to deserve it all by being good to you all.

And he’d do it too. He’d be better than his word. He’d be as good a friend, as good a brother, and as good a man as he could. Perhaps his siblings might laugh to see the change in him - all loved up and cheerful for once -  but he found he didn’t care. His heart sang: and that was quite enough for him. 

As he drifted off to sleep, the woman he loved in his arms, he barely heard your sweet voice as it observed:

“Your feet are fucking freezing!” 

The End

A/N: Did you think I was ending this without smut? Have you met me? Thank you for all your lovely comments and reblogs throughout this fic and all my others this year. They really do make the difference and constitute roughly 80% of my self esteem. Happy Christmas to all who celebrate, and here's to a better 2025, (slim hope, but bring on the revolution etc etc).

Scrooge and Bob Cratchit, or The Christmas Bowl by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[mrmanbat]

Saw that you reread Red Robin and wanted to ask abt ur thoughts on it all :3 that whole series is some of my fav comics ever- plus I own the full set lol. Favorite part? Something you didnt like? Thoughts about Tim's development and character throughout? Thoughts on the whole Ra's situation? Tim being passively suicidal lol. Or how Tim gets. Just so many bitches. All the bitches. Tim Drake canonically gets bitches. They really look at his failboy swag and go "Yeah I'd hit that" 😭 wheezing.

Anyway yeah, they're like my fav comics so what are your thoughts on them?

And Happy Christmas! Or Happy Holidays if you do not celebrate. Merry ChristmaHannuKwanzaa!

Happy Holidays! (sorry if this does sound cohesive- I wrote right after finishing a 17-page essay, and my brain is actually fried)

The RR comics are so nostalgic to me; they were literally the reason I even picked up a comic in the first place.

The comedy in them gets me every time like Damian accusing Steph of stuffing her bra, gold. And the unintentional stuff like giving Tim an ungodly amount of rizz is just so funny, I can't. Bros is literally a Casanova but can't enjoy it bc, yk, he's busy trying to bring his father back from what is essentially death.

He's just in a long downhill spiral, yk? And he just progressively gets worse throughout his run as RR. The scene where Tims accepts death but Dick swoops in to catch him, and Tim has to lie his ass off, saying that he "knew his brother would catch him," just really brings that point home.

It started off as "No one believes me about Bruce, I'll just have to take. things into my own hands," then it goes to "I barely believe myself about Bruce, but it's too late to turn back now," to "Fuck this, if I die I die- womp womp, too bad I won't be able to tell Dick 'i-told-you-so"'

Tim is self-aware of his self-destructive nature; he knows that all his friends and family are trying to get him to seek help, but he just doesn't care. To him, the mission is more important- batman is more important.

(Side note- Dick trying to get Tim to see a therapist is a lot more impactful than how Fanon twisted it into Dick-trying-to-send-time-to-Akham.)

I'm split on the Ra's thing. I love the concept; I think he was a good choice for the main 'villain,' and I think there was so much potential with Tim reluctantly having to work with Ra's. I just don't think it was done all too well by the writers. A good chunch of Ra's motivation didn't align with his character- at least, I don't think so. And the whole thing with his sister just feels so unnecessary and gross.

Overall, though, I flipping love these comics. They would be better if DC didn't, yk, undo all the cherecter development by making Tim Robin again, but whatever. You win some, you lose some.

[lucijawriteswords]

losing it | trevor zegras

summary: you and trevor have hit a rough patch recently, with covid and him being away and all, and everything comes to a head over his tournament.

warnings: 18+ SMUT!!! kissing, oral (m receiving). grossly emotional. some fluff. once again relatively tame. once again, unedited. apologies.

word count: 3.9k

A/N: hello hello! firstly, i cannot thank you all enough for your love. i’m absolutely floored. please, continue to let me know how you feel, who you want me to write about, what you want me to write about. it’s all for you anyways. for those of you who love whiny, obedient, indulgent hockey boys, this one is for you. for those of you who prefer the other kind: be patient with me. he’s on the way and he’s worth the wait. yes, the timelines probably don’t line up perfectly. yes, the logistics of everything are off. but you’re probably not here for that ;). i invite you to enjoy this little piece of me. until next time.

18+ below the cut

Z❤️: I don’t think u should come to the tourney

your entire body stilled as you read the message banner on the top of your phone screen. you had to be seeing things. your thumb was shaky as you moved it up to click on the notification. you blamed it on the train.

and there it was. you weren’t seeing things. trevor actually said you shouldn’t go to his tournament.

now, if it was any other tournament, you would’ve probably given in. said yes, settled for just seeing him on facetime. but this was his last time playing for the national team as a junior, a team he had grown up with, a team that was his family, and by extension, yours. you and trevor had been together for years, since you were both fifteen. his friends clowned you two endlessly for it, stating that there was no way it would work out in the big picture, that it was just a teenage thing, and it would end when you guys turned twenty.

you’d never even considered their words until now.

Y/N🌹: wdym?

awful answer, but you truly couldn't figure out what he meant. or rather, if he meant it.

Z❤️: Think I made it pretty clear when I said u shouldn’t come to the tourney. We have the whole covid bubble and I’m not gonna pretend its been sunshine and rainbows w us the past few weeks cause it hasnt

Y/N🌹: ok

Z❤️: Ok? U don’t care?

you scoffed.

Y/N🌹: i care trevor i just don’t wanna argue with you about this. ur obviously pretty convinced i shouldn’t be there so i’m not gonna try and change ur mind abt it

Z❤️: Ok then

Z❤️: I love you

Y/N🌹: i love you more. can we talk more a bit later?

read 4:13pm

you laughed bitterly, trying to ignore the tears stinging your eyes. the screen above the door signaled your stop and you stood, making your way off the train. the boston air was cold, seemingly clawing it’s way through your coat and hoodie and sinking it’s claws into your already wounded heart.

you felt tears, cold on your face. you wiped them away quickly, scolding yourself mentally. get over it, it’s not like he broke up with you. it’s just a tournament. he’ll have more tournaments in his life.

your hand, already cold, seemingly rattled as it pushed the door open to your apartment building. once you were in the elevator, your keys seemed to evade you, playing a game of hide and seek in your bag. huffing in annoyance, you slung the bag off your shoulder, setting it down on the floor of the elevator and rifling through the contents harshly. finally, you located the bastards, seizing them triumphantly, trying with every bit of your being to ignore the usa hockey keychain with his initials on the back. the elevator door ground it’s way open and you stepped out as quickly as possible, muttering to yourself, “hate that fuckin’ elevator.”

the aforementioned bastardized keys jingled loudly as you shoved the correct one into the lock. you twisted it, pushing the door open with your other hand before harshly removing the jesting hunk of metal and tossing it away. the metallic thud and halting of jingling as it landed somewhere was therapeutic to your aching mind.

as you flopped down onto the couch, you realized that all you wanted was to lay down and go to bed. so what if it was only 4:30? it was cold, dead winter in boston, your boyfriend wasn’t home, and you didn’t have anything to do because you didn’t have to pack anymore. you should’ve felt relief, right? no responsibilities, half a month without in person classes, no plane tickets and masks and new, scary airport rules, no name tags around your neck and no girls giggling and groaning right behind you over trevor. but you didn’t feel relief. you’d grown to love the chaos, to understand it and want it. hockey was one of the most important things in trevor’s life, and he was one of the most important things in yours, so hockey became integral to your life too. you learned the ins and outs, befriended his teammates, went to practices and sometimes even dryland, just to see him to what he loved.

it had changed a lot over the past year or so, with him being drafted and then covid. he wasn’t playing in california yet, so there was that, but it was at the forefront of his mind, and you could tell. that’s not to say he wasn’t finding success in college hockey, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. you’d never brought it up until a few weeks ago, when he was about to leave to enter the covid bubble for the juniors tournament. it was the night before he left when you finally brought it up.

two weeks ago

“hey z?”

he lifted his head from whatever he was looking at on his phone. “mhm?”

you walked over and sat down on the couch next to him. “i just want you to know that i’m here for you and you can talk to me.”

his face immediately screwed up and you felt your stomach drop. “what? why’re you saying that? did i do something wrong?” defensive.

you steadied yourself with an inhale. “no, but i just wanted to make sure you knew. i can tell there’s been a lot on your mind recently.”

he scoffed. “yeah, whatever.” his gaze returned to his phone.

“whatever? trevor, are you being serious?”

“yeah, y/n, i am.” he shot back, his gaze fiery as it collided with yours again. “ i’m fine, i don’t know what your deal is.”

“i never said you weren’t fine.”

“no, but you said i don’t seem focused.”

you furrowed your brow and shook your head, incredulous. “i did not say that. i said you seem like you have a lot on your mind.”

“same difference. what, am i not paying enough attention to you? am i playing poorly? what’s wrong with me now, y/n? what am i failing at? god, you’re stupid sometimes.”

you were stunned, jaw slack as you took in his words. you saw the recognition in his eyes, noticed the way his mouth opened to retract his words and offer a shitty apology, the way his torso rotated towards you and he held up a hand as an ask for forgiveness as he was about to defend himself.

your response was automatic.

“i don’t know why you’re asking what’s wrong with you now because, if i recall, and forgive me if i don’t because i’m so stupid, i’ve said jack shit to you about how much attention you give me or how you play. do you honestly think i care? news flash, i don’t. i don’t fucking care how you play! i don’t care if you don’t score, or get an assist, i wouldn’t fucking care if you didn’t put a single point up all season! because i care about you. i care about if you’re having fun and feeling proud of yourself for how hard you work. i love being able to do it all with you, trevor, but if you’re going to call me stupid for caring about you, i can definitely let you do it on your own.”

it was his turn to be floored.

after a pregnant pause filled with his confused eyes searching your face and your eyes almost letting go of their tears, his voice cut through. “you’re breaking up with me?” you weren’t imagining the tremble in his voice or the watering of his eyes.

“no, trevor, i’m not breaking up with you.” you sniffled, wiping under your eyes with the cuff of your hoodie. his hoodie. “i don’t think i could do that even if i wanted to. i’m just saying you don’t get to be mean to me-” your voice faltered, tears truly flowing now. you tried to keep your sobs inside, feeling the cushion you were on dip as trevor scooted over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. you let go, cried into his chest, fingers clutching the back of his sweatshirt. you felt him crying too, the way his back shook and the wetness in the crook of your neck where his head was nestled. you shifted to be on top of him, legs straddling his, but there was nothing sexual about it. you just needed to be as close to him as you could be and you knew he needed you too.

trevor cried and cried and cried. you weren’t even hurt by what he said anymore. you’d known something was bugging him, that his mind wasn’t completely in it, but the way he cried- loud and hard and full of hurt- made you sad. it made you angry.

when you started to feel him twitch and hiccup, gasping for air in between sobs, barely getting air in, you knew your time in silence had ended. “baby, can you look at me?” he just squeezed you tighter and let out another sob into your neck. “honey, please.” he sniffled, reluctantly drawing his face away from your neck. your eyes filled with tears again at the sight of his face: lips and nose red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. you brought your hands to cradle his head, thumbs swiping gently under his eyes. he melted into your touch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, so quiet and tearful you weren’t sure you heard it.

“thank you.” you whispered back, bringing your lips to his forehead and kissing it lightly.

“you’re not stupid. you’re the smartest person i know. i’m just-“ he took a deep breath, willing the tears away from his eyes. “just been really hard lately and i haven’t had an outlet. shouldn't have said that to you. i didn’t mean it.”

“i know, baby. i’m not mad. just wish you hadn’t said it. do you wanna talk?”

he nodded. “yeah, i wanna get it off my chest.”

“i’m listening.”

“i just don’t know if i’m good enough. i’m scared i’m not gonna make it in the league and i’m not gonna do well at worlds. i’m scared i’m gonna let the school team down, scared i’m not doing enough for you or that you’re gonna stop loving me. i don’t know,” he finished with a big sigh.

your eyes searched his face as you formulated an answer. “well, one thing i can promise you is that i’m not gonna stop loving you. and you’re doing more than enough. why do you think that i would stop loving you?”

“i dunno. i’m just in my head.”

“so get out,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood even the littlest bit.

a small smile made its way onto his face. “ha ha.”

“i’m serious, trev. i’m not going to stop loving you. nothing could make me. even if, somehow, life leads us separate ways- and i don’t think it will- i will always have love in my heart for you.”

he nodded with a sniffle, absorbing your words.

while he was in a talking mood, you decided to get the other one out of the way as well. “why’re you so concerned about hockey all of a sudden? you’ve been playing great here, your coaches at camps in california had nothing but good things to say. what’s up?”

“i’m not really sure. i guess i’m just in my head again. i compare myself to other players. like, jack went fucking first overall. he’s not even playing in the tournament because he’s in the nhl. and the guys that are coming, like coley and turcs, they both went above me in the draft. i just- i don’t know. i have the same training and experience and everything as those guys but i feel like i’ll underperform once we all get to the nhl.”

you just nodded, unable to find the right words. you knew how trevor was with hockey. he got in his head and convinced himself he wasn’t good enough even though he was beyond talented.

“i’m sorry,” was all you could muster.

he shakes his head, hair bouncing. “don’t be. not your fault.” a yawn breaks from his mouth.

“tired?” you hum, placing your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, nuzzling into him. he lets his head fall sideways and rest on top of yours, his fingers lazily trailing up your sides. he hums an agreement and without another words carries you into the bedroom, sleepy apologies and ‘i love yous’ falling from both of your lips as you drift off.

now

breaking out of your reverie, you realized you were very cold. and your phone had stopped buzzing. standing up with creaky joints, you slipped your phone onto the wireless charger on the coffee table and flipped the heat up a couple degrees, padding into you and trevor’s shared bedroom to grab a sweatshirt.

tugging the garment over your head, you grabbed your favorite soft blanket from the end of the bed and made your way back to the couch to settle in and watch something.

a few minutes into your tv show, your phone screen lit up as it regained its charge, messages and snapchats pouring in.

from one person.

you almost broke the remote with how quickly you slammed the pause button, grabbing your phone with the charger still attached and clutching it tight, immediately opening you and trevor’s messages.

5:07pm

Z❤️: I can talk now if u wanted

Z❤️: Sorry to leave you on read we had a team meeting that I didn’t know about

Y/N🌹: it’s ok

Y/N🌹: should i call u?

Z❤️: Wait one sec

your brows furrowed.

Z❤️: Ok click on this

a banner appeared at the top of your screen from the wallet app:

New Boarding Pass from Southwest Airlines

your heart quite nearly fell out of your body. what kind of joke was he playing at?

Y/N🌹: trev r u serious

Y/N🌹: what kind of joke is this cause i’m not laughing

Z❤️: I’m going to explain everything rn

Y/N🌹: um hell yes you are

Z❤️: Rawr 🐱

despite yourself, a snort escaped your nose.

Y/N🌹: stop being funny and explain

Z❤️: During practice I just wasn’t playing well and a bunch of the guys were chirping me saying ‘how can you keep that bird if you can barely keep a puck’ and other bullshit like that and it just got under my skin

Y/N🌹: t don’t listen to them they’re full of shit

Y/N🌹: you know you’re talented

Z❤️: I know

Z❤️: I miss you so much

Y/N🌹: i miss you more

Y/N🌹: but i don’t understand the ticket. that’s not that bad of a chirp

Z❤️: I just really need you to be here and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it earlier

you smiled, your thumbs flying across the screen of your phone.

Y/N🌹: what airport do i fly into?

Z❤️: It’s all on the boarding pass baby just pack whatever you need for a few weeks cause u change outfits all the time and figure out a ride to the airport

Z❤️: I can order you an uber to the airport?

Y/N🌹: no baby that’s okay you’ve done way more than enough

Y/N🌹: trevor i love you so much

Z❤️: Im not tired I wanna keep talking to you

Z❤️: Can we ft while you pack?

Y/N🌹: you’re perfect

3 days later

the noises of the airport surrounded you as you made your way through the tunnel off the plane, your overfilled carryon and heavy backpack giving your back a run for its money.

waiting by the baggage claim was treacherous. your phone was going crazy in your hand.

Y/N🌹: just landed, waiting by baggage claim

Z❤️: Ok I am outside the baggage claim door

Z❤️: I have a hat and mask on so you might not recognize my wonderful hair or gorgeous face but i have this red and navy usa hky puffer thingy on

Y/N🌹: ur such a weirdo

Y/N🌹: who taught u the word puffer miss girly girl

Z❤️: Shush

Z❤️: Just get your bagggggggggg and come out here I miss you

you smiled at your phone and shut it off, looking at the spinning track, willing your bag to come out quickly.

you bounced impatiently on the balls of your feet as the gray suitcase made its way around, grabbing the handle excitedly and hauling it off the track as it got to you.

the wheels thrummed against the linoleum as you popped the handle up and scurried your way out the door, thanking the employee standing nearby.

the automatic doors squealed on their tracks as your suitcase wheels rattled over the concrete, turning as you exited the doors in a search for trevor. your eyes searched left and right for the navy and red puffer he said he’d be wearing, and when your eyes landed on him, your knees nearly buckled.

“trevor!” you shouted out excitedly, throwing a hand up in the air and waving at him, an unfiltered and toothy and real smile breaking onto your face.

you could practically see him smile even with the mask, walked him step quickly through people until he was clear, then break into a run the last few paces.

his chest collided with you in a bone crushing, devastating hug, a hug that said i’m sorry. i love you. please let me keep loving you. your arms wound around his back, hands digging into his jacket and you buried yourself into him.

“missed you so much, honey. i’m so sorry.” he murmured into your hair, pressing kisses onto your head through the mask.

you nodded, lifting your head from his chest, your eyes meeting. “let’s go to the car, yeah?” you nodded again, following him.

the streets and parking garage were near empty, a strange phenomenon around an airport. trevor’s grip on your hand was tight as he led you to the car, squeezing every now and again, like he couldn’t believe that you were there.

once your bags were in the car and you were sitting next to him in the passenger seat, the atmosphere between you changed drastically. tension shimmered between you two like hot air rising above the blacktop. his hand found its home on your thigh, drawing light circles, making you shiver.

his gaze strayed to you, eyes brimming with something that looked a lot like love, but more like want.

“how far is the hotel?” you breathed out, your true intentions on full display. and why wouldn’t they be?

“bout 45 minutes.” trevor responds, his hand simultaneously moving further up your thigh, nearing your clothed center. you squirmed, crossing your legs, leaning towards him.

“plenty of time, then.” you murmured as you moved your hands towards his zipper, towards what you wanted. you fiddled with the zipper tag, trailing your fingernails across the seam covering his bulge. “come on baby, don’t tease me.” he ground out, taking a turn a little to sharp when you scratched your nails down his denim clad thigh.

“or what, z? what’re you gonna do to me? gonna make me pay?” how you would love for him to make you pay.

he whined, the leather of the steering wheel groaning as his grip tightened. “please, baby. please. you’re killing me. i won’t make you pay, ill be so good when we get there, baby, ill do whatever you want.” he sputtered, turning off of the main road onto some side street away for the noise of an inner city airport.

a grin snaked onto your face, finally pulling his zipper down, almost salivating at the sight of this bulge of his pretty cock in his boxers. you shimmied his pants down, fingers digging into his rigid thighs, nails leaving crescent moons in the flesh. he huffed out something between a moan and a sob, head lolling to the side. “please, baby, please, just touch me. please, i’ll be good.”

“if you insist.” you cooed evilly, trailing a feather light fingertip over him through his boxers.

incredibly, finally, you took him in your hand, pumping him through his boxers, the soft fabric gliding along him, coaxing a moan from his pretty mouth.

trevor’s eyes, which had never strayed from the road, flared and his hips lifted pathetically in the air, searching for something, anything to relive the ache in his cock.

your core clenched around nothing at the sight of him, of his pathetic and desperate thrusts into the air, at how badly he needed your touch. he was quickly relieved of his boxers as you pushed them down, the fabric bunching around the hem of his pushed down pants. the car slowed to a stop, the noise of then turn signal and his ragged breathing almost comedic, almost shameful, but so, so right.

you looked up at him, the way his jaw clenched and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, trying to play the role of dedicated driver to the cars in the adjacent lanes. an evil grin clawed its way onto your face before you lifted him to your mouth, taking him deeply at once, groaning at the silky, hot skin, the heavy feel of him on your tongue.

"holy fuck-" the car stuttered forward before the brakes were slammed back on, causing his cock to lurch deeper into your mouth, a pathetic whine leaving trevor's lips as he brushed the back of your throat. you just hummed around him, bobbing your head and bracing yourself against the console as the car accelerated slowly into a turn.

a murmured comment of "thank god for tinted windows," or something of that sort, caused you to let a small laugh out of your nose, the muscles in your throat constricting around him. you heard his ragged pants and the sound of his head hitting the headrest as he undoubtedly threw it back.

"baby, i'm gonna lose it, you're killing me." he whined, raising his hips off the seat, the strong muscle of his thigh pushing into your chest.

you simply grinned around his delicious length, pushing your head down till your nose almost met the soft skin at his base before pulling almost all the way off of him, tracing your teeth along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, featherlight and torturous at the same time.

"shit." trevor heaved a sigh, chest caving in as he fought the urge to let go.

you trailed your nails up the taut muscle of his thigh, fingers splaying to anchor yourself. you felt him harden like steel and twitch in your mouth; you could almost smell the release coming over him like a wave, savoring the way his hips rolled and stuttered and finally bucked up into your mouth as he let go with a whimpered "fuck."

you moaned around him, laving your tongue over his now shuddering cock, taking everything he would give you.

"holy shit. holy shit." he whispered, one hand coming down to your head to gently urge you off him, overstimulation crashing over him suddenly and and unbearably.

you just sat back up and licked your lips, drowning in his taste.

"just wait till we get back to the hotel," you chuckled, crossing your legs and turning the radio on.

[estebanbicon]

nat...i mean i CAN believe it because it's fucking briatore and alpine...but truly what the fuck...

first of all this alleged gap to pierre. like obviously ALPINE would be complete dumbasses to openly discuss the qualifying gap that very conveniently overlapped with esteban joining haas/briatore officially being brought on board, the one that esteban couldn't even talk openly about according to canal+, the one that alpine refused to even try to fix...

but it begs the question...what gap ARE they talking about??? i swear they're actually trying to get people to think the points gap between the two at the end of the season started well before it actually did. like literally before brazil the points gap was 9-5 in favor of pierre and then from brazil to qatar the points difference was 26-23 in favor of pierre (and considering what happened in canada it should actually be a touch closer). that's literally...not a giant gap AT ALL? it's in fact a very normal gap??? this so-called gap they keep alluding to only enlarged in the last two races - qatar (where esteban was knocked out in the first corner) and abu dhabi (where esteban was forced to give up his seat). like what the actual fuck???

also if they want to give pierre exclusive credit for p6 in the constructor's, why don't they just take out esteban's points from the total tally and see where that leaves them in the constructor's battle...

like it's literally basic math that these fuckers seem to refuse to do time and time again when they accuse esteban of SaBoTaGiNg them in the p6 battle...how the fuck do you think you got into this battle for p6 in the first place???

also knowing that esteban was literally a part of lotus/renault/alpine for HALF HIS LIFE flavio's "he's really OUR pilot" comment about pierre really rubs me the wrong way...

as SO MANY people have realized lately, esteban is alpine. he has been their most successful driver for the past decade. so to put that comment in about a red bull academy driver was just yet another targeted barb at esteban...it's just such nasty behavior to say the least.

not to mention that coupled with flavio's fuckass and completely unnecessary comments about nationality...i can't help but agree with you about they're feeding into the racist narrative of esteban not really being french because of his algerian heritage...and that "OUR driver" is absolutely part of that imo

couldn't have said it any better! he gave alpine the best result every single year, three podiums and a win, he helped with a program for aspiring engineers, interacted with racing pride and alpine's collaboration, had a helmet with names of alpine employees, and of course the other thank you helmet for the last race, expressing grief that he cannot say goodbye to people at the factory, alpine workers actively seeking him out to take a pic together,,,,,

este was never the problem. the team is rotten, has been from the start and it just has gotten deeper over the years.

making gasly the face of alpine - along with commentators even at the beginning of 2023 claiming that gasly would lead a team este has been in for three years - just screams racism to me. they were matched in so many ways, yet everyone seeemed to pick gasly over este, which always seemed odd to me, but now it is just even more insidous since they damaged his reputation yet again.

i wanna burn the alpine hq to the ground and put briatore's head on a stake.

[carefulfears]

do you have a headcanon of when mulder caught feelings for scully? i’m on the same page w you that scully has had it bad since day one, but i can never make up my mind about mulder

yeah i’ve always said that i think he was aware of the connection between them since her abduction, but i think specifically 3.

ascension is very frantic, it’s rooted in so much trauma and desperation. very few moments are about scully, as a person, really. it’s about getting there in time. it’s about rewriting history. it’s about failure, and standing alone in the end.

in 3, he is surrounded in her absence. her badge. her file, marked with her name. her necklace, which he slips around his own neck, carries with him.

dana scully was farrrrr gone from day one, humming against him in the rain and telling her friends how cute he is, but mulder is more single-minded.

he’s so very fond of her, in the beginning. he knocks on her door to invite her on his run, when he knows she’s just supposed to be discrediting him. he lowers himself beneath her every time he has bad news or a vulnerable conversation. he says “dana,” softly, and checks in on how she’s doing. he believes she’ll be head of the bureau someday.

so much of that is just who he is (trusting, passionate, kind), and she’s the only person who has ever valued that, taken him seriously.

but he’s also internalizing who she is, the consistency and the curiosity and the quiet intensity.

that moment in the rain, before she laughs, before she asks where they’re going and follows: he says “you think i’m crazy,” and turns away. it’s the first time in the series (and remains rare) where you can see that there is a weight to it all. he plays into being “spooky mulder,” but part of him is really disappointed to think that this new partner won’t believe him either.

she thinks about what he said, and she meets him on his level. she questions it, she combats it, she adds to it.

when they both burst out laughing, it’s in pure joy and excitement. it’s the moment that spurs the rest of their lives.

that means a lot to him, to be listened to. to be held to a standard, not just dismissed.

but mulder only knows how to conceptualize love in absence, in the search, so when he’s left listening to her scream: he knows. it feels like the worst thing that could ever happen, because it feels like his closest person disappearing, and that’s the experience he’s most familiar with and enmeshed in.

i believe there’s a script note in ascension that mentions that he’s doubting if he had failed his “closest friend.” it’s the loss being so great, so unbearable, that makes it unavoidable.

(thinking of him smiling at diana, telling her, “i’ve done alright without you.”)

i see a lot of people describe msr as a “fell first/fell harder” trope, but i think most things just hit mulder harder. it’s their natures.

but by the time he hangs her cross around his neck, by the time he abandons the truth to sit and hold her hand, he knows.

[normalbrothers]

TOMMY: The war is done! Shut the door on it like I did.

[walkawaytall]

Okay, I’m about to be real blunt: They literally are not carbon copies of one another, and it is so odd to me that this is commonly held fanon???

You know how I know they aren’t carbon copies of one another? Because Leia lost way more than Anakin did but doesn’t appear to have even been tempted by the Dark Side. She never knew her birth parents (which, okay, this appears to not have affected her much, at least consciously, but it’s still a really early, major loss); she didn’t even know she had a brother until they were adults, so I imagine there is a certain level of grief surrounding what their relationship could have been had they known each other their entire lives; she lost her entire planet — which includes the family that raised her, by the way, as well as every friend, pet, home, store, tree, and mountain she ever loved, not to mention all the people who she grew up knowing she would be responsible for one day; she had the man she loved ripped away from her and sold off to the space mob to be murdered for like a year; and she watched her newly revealed brother/close friend walk to what she clearly believes is going to be his death at the hands of Vader, who tortured both her and the man she’s in love with and cut off her brother’s hand. And that’s not even getting into all the misery that was heaped on her in the sequel trilogy or any non-movie material.

All of that happened to her, and she proceeds with hope and action. She doesn’t go searching for ways to make sure she’s never hurt again or go to extremes in order to keep those she cares about within her grasp. I’m sure one could argue that Leia has no way of seeking out the Dark Side for help because she doesn’t know she’s Force-sensitive. But she has ample opportunity to do what normal, everyday humans do when they’re afraid of feeling the pain of loss, which is isolate themselves or try to control the movements of those they’re afraid to lose, and she doesn’t.

Like, there are three years between A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, and everything about the way she interacts with Luke and Han in ESB implies that she has maintained some level of affection and friendship with both of them that is different from her professional relationships. A deleted scene has her responding to the news that Luke is going to be leaving as well as Han by bemoaning the fact that she needs to learn to only rely on herself — meaning that is not something she’s currently doing.

And, while she is clearly affected by the threat of Han and Luke taking off, she also doesn’t appear willing to do anything extraordinary to stop them. She tries to talk Han out leaving, which is a pretty normal response for the insane situation they’re in, and she begs Luke in Return of the Jedi to not face Vader, but she doesn’t go to extreme lengths to keep either of them around even though their leaving clearly hurts her.

It seems like people see that Leia can react intensely/angrily, and because Padme doesn’t do really that, they default to her being just like Anakin. This is bonkers for a couple of reasons:

People are not required to be exactly like one of their bio parents. Like, I know George Lucas is a fan of mirroring certain characters, situations, etc., but there is not really any evidence that I’ve seen that the intent with Leia was to be analogous to Anakin (plus, he already did that with Luke! Or does Luke’s outburst during his face-off with Vader and Palpatine followed by his recognition of their similarities upon seeing Vader’s mechanical hand followed by “I am a Jedi, like my father before me” mean nothing to people???).

If you actually examine the situations in which Leia reacts with anger, they are pretty specific to life-threatening situations in which everyone is yelling at everyone, or a couple of times when Han is actively trying to antagonize her (which I feel says more about their ability to get under one another’s skin than it does Leia’s general state of being). Luke and Han are just as quippy and sarcastic and eye-rolly and impatient as Leia is a lot of the time, but her anger is often focused on, and I honestly think it’s because her character is being contrasted with an expected princess archetype. And that’s fine; Leia is a fun subversion of a well-worn character type. But Leia also chills out a lot when she’s feeling more secure/less threatened, and I would argue that’s probably closer to her “normal” than how she acts when she’s just spent a few days being tortured for information followed by being forced to watch the destruction of everything she loves. (She remains very capable, proactive, impulsive, and clever even when she’s less of a ball of anger, too, so it’s not like the tempering of that anger results in her being any less Leia-like on the whole.)

I just don’t see how Leia is considered “exactly like Anakin” when she generally makes good, non-possessive decisions while maintaining hope in the face of great tragedy, while Anakin has a history of doing the opposite.

In summary: a woman being a little shouty and sarcastic ≠ a man murdering innocent civilians and turning almost completely evil.

mourning leia and anakins potential father-daughter relationship because of how vader destroyed her is another level of tragedy

they will never know they are a carbon copy of the other

she will always (rightfully) hate him

[casualavocados]

Why did you do it? I don't know what you're talking about. I was drunk that night, and you told me you would always look at me— You want to get back at me, right?

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 09

[princelancey]

Lance is such a let bygones be bygones kind of a guy, we should embrace that energy more often in sports tbh, it's never that serious