#and now it's one of my fave chapters so far :)

[lexosaurus]

This fic is a crossover between Danny Phantom x The Martian. You do not have to have read or watched The Martian to understand this fic. Although, I highly recommend it as it's a work of art. I FINALLY convinced my boyfriend of three years to read the book and he said he laughed out loud many times throughout the story and overall loved it. So yay! Time to force him to watch the movie with me!

xxxx

Summary: When Astronaut Mark Watney went to Mars, he knew there was a chance he'd never come home. Now, though, he's determined to last long enough for NASA to save him because this whole dying for science thing is not as fun as it sounds.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton is just trying to keep his identity a secret amidst a potential crisis with his powers. Seriously, what's up with that weird current under his skin? Why is he having so much trouble controlling it? And why does it feel so familiar...?

In a fit of determination (and possible stupidity), Danny goes to Mars to save Watney, only to add to both their crises when he arrives and can't get home. Will NASA save them? Will Danny have a home to return to if they do?

Chapter WC: 5187

Fic Tags: Danny Fenton & Mark Watney, Canon Divergence, Ecton AU

Chapter excerpt under the cut

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Log Entry: Sol 201

Dear Diary,

I'm sitting in the rover with today's data dump.

What the fuck?

Love, Watney

P.S. No, seriously, what the FUCK?

[uhohbestie]

YES. YESSSSS. YESSSSSS WE'RE SO GLAD U FINISHED TAMN!!!! And aaaaaa what a GIFT.

The speed at which we turned some of these into emojis on the server was actually incredible. This is such a banquet of reactions, and it's so hard to pick out a favourite part when it's all SO good. I'm such a sucker for Pops (Pops.... Pops I miss u. Pops are u out there....... Pops...) and Scar. And the little Grian-Joel moment. and THESE:

I think one of my favourite things about TAMN is when people say that it made them think and reflect. It's really flattering to hear, and I'm so glad our fic about Minecrafters and Zombies can do that :")

Aaaa we're so happy you enjoyed the fic!!!! And now we get to hang out in the post-credits scene and go "aaaa scarian" over and over again :D :D <3 - 🔒

[SPOILERS for uhohbestie's TAMN, BIG SPOILERS, spoilers. There, I've warned you (if the stream of spoilery rbs wasn't enough) ]

I finally finished reading TAMN!! 🎉🕺🎉🕺

Around the time I started it, I saw this post and thought it would be fun to document a bit of my journey as well (it was, indeed, very fun, and now I wish I'd been doing this during the first read or watch of everything I've ever enjoyed)

So... 380k of gasps, tears, "awww"-s and giggles, huh? Sheeeeesh!

It's been heavy, it's been fun, it's been spicy, and it made me think about a lot of things and reflect on the ways I myself act around the people I love. I don't know what else to say, really, it's been such a wonderful experience!! :)

A million thanks to Lock and Key @uhohbestie for brightening my evenings and weekends for almost a month (I genuinely have no idea how people were managing to wait a full week for every chapter, I had to take a break for a couple of days once and it ate on me every hour). You guys are incredible, and are setting some true friendship goals!! <3

[vainvenus]

mind games. | ln4 | pt.3

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The race debrief and the after party are both some of your favorite parts after a good race but it seems like Lando your mind is ruining it for you.

Includings: Dark!Lando Norris, gaslighting to the max, distorted reality, anxiety/stress, power dynamics, tension, hinting towards a panic attack near the end, paranoia ( what's new lol )

An: I think this is my fave chapter I've written so far @slutforvoldy

The debrief room, like always was very lively. Multiple reporters and journalists trying to get a question or two in for the podium winners. You were sat between Max and Lando, tapping your nails against your microphone as you tried to pay attention to any questions that were specifically towards you or for all of you.

"[Y/n] how do you feel about that race? Going from P13 to P2 must have been exhilarating." One of the journalists commented and you nodded your head with a warm smile, a genuine one that you hadn't felt in a while.

"Yeah, yeah, it feels amazing. I was really worried I wasn't gonna be able to pick it up but thanks to my amazing strategist and engineers, I'm sitting here with these guys." You giggled. "Which is kind of a punishment."

"Hey!" Max laughed, playfully shoving your shoulder and Lando nudged you with his shoulder as the three of you laughed together.

And for once, you felt at ease—like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, the tight knot in your chest finally unraveling. The heavy rock that had sat in your stomach for so long was gone, leaving behind a lightness you almost didn’t recognize.

Maybe you were just stressed lately and this win and debrief was just what you needed.

But just as you began to settle into that rare sense of peace, a singular question circled in your mind like a shark in the water, lurking beneath the surface—waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"Lando, why did you back off on Lap twenty-three instead of defending?"

He had stopped laughing, he now looked confused as he made eye contact with the interviewer who asked the question. "What?"

"You barely put up a fight. She came up the inside and you.." He had gestured. "Just let her through?"

Lando tilted his head. "Did I?"

You froze, your grip tightening around your microphone.

A few murmurs passed through the room, giving each other glances of confusion. Everyone in that room had seen the race and even if they didn't there was a replay of the moment as one of the journalists had it on their phone already to show.

The three of you leaned forward to watch the footage and sure enough, there it was. Your car driving down the inside, Lando's car holding steady before easing back just enough to let you slip by.

It was quiet for a bit before Max spoke up to try and ease the slight tension in the room. "Yeah, mate what was up with that."

He shrugged. "That's not how I remember it."

The air felt tight again. Like there wasn't enough for you to inhale and exhale. You turned to him, searching his face, but there was nothing. No flicker of uncertainty. No nervous twitch. Just an easy, unreadable calm.

"Lando." The interviewer sighed, rubbing his temples. "We're literally rewatching it right now."

Lando leaned forward, studying the footage like he was seeing it for the first time and hadn't done it about an hour ago. He hummed. "I don't know, it looks like I covered the inside pretty well."

The room fell silent again, hushed whispered and mumbles spreading throughout before your voice cut through it with clear denial. "That's not what happened."

He turned his gaze to you, slow, careful. His eyes bored into yours and he tilted his head, similar to how he had done earlier like he was testing you. "Are you sure?"

Something cold curled in your blood.

"Lando." You said his name slowly, like coaxing a confession from a liar who wasn't ready to break. "We were in that fight. I know you didn't defend, it's so clear."

He held your stare for a second too long before his lips curled into a smirk.

He smirked.

To anyone else it was playful but you knew it was deliberate, calculated even because it was the exact same one you recalled seeing in your rearview mirrors when you passed him.

"Funny how memories work, huh?" He chuckled, raising his brows. "One of us must be misremembering, shame it's you."

His words landed like a gut punch—sharp and undeniable. How he chuckled right after made it settle in like a twist of a knife, slow and deliberate.

Murmurs of amusement rippled through the room. Someone even laughed and the interviewer that brought it up mumbled something about watching it incorrectly then. His PR manager let out a sigh of relief from the side.

You swallowed hard.

They didn't see it. They didn't see him. They didn't see how he was so clearly lying through his teeth.

But now he wasn't only just lying to you. He was lying to Max. To the media. To anyone who would end up hearing this interview.

And worst of all.

He was doing it with that fucking smirk.

★

The after party was everything that it always was. Loud from all the yelling and singing, glittering, a swirling mess of neon lights and dancing bodies brushing against each other or pressed too close. Music throbbed through the air, bass heavy enough to shake beneath everyone who was dancing.

You should have been enjoying yourself. You had an amazing race, going from P13 to P2, points for the team and a 1-2 podium you should have been walking around like you owned the place.

But instead you were leaning against the wall with your drink cold in your hand, condensation slipping between your fingers as you tried to focus on anything else besides that feeling that you hadn't been able to shake off since the race debrief.

You shifted your weight, exhaling softly. You needed to stay calm and you needed to at least try and look like you were enjoying yourself. You needed to ignore the thoughts creeping in, the ones whispering that something was wrong, that nothing was making sense.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, jolting you from your overbearing thoughts.

"Alright enough brooding." Max urged, tugging you towards the dance floor. "You look like you're trying to solve world hunger over here."

You opened your mouth to protest but before you could Max had waved his hand at you dismissively, a clear sign that he didn't want to hear any excuse you were about to come up with. "You need to loosen up."

"I'm fine." You nearly spat for what felt like the millionth time today.

Max rolled his eyes. "No you're not. You're standing there like you just saw a ghost or something. We just won, remember? Try acting like it."

You wanted to. You really did.

The Redbull driver pulled you onto the dance floor before you could argue any further, laughter and music surrounding you almost instantly. The bass pounding beneath your feet, vibrations travelling up your spine. Max was grinning, smiling and spinning you around a few times as you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

Eventually you let yourself move with the rhythm despite your nerves working against you. You let the energy of the room take over your nerves.

Max pointed to your almost empty drink, offering to get another order of what you had and gin and tonic for himself. You nodded, giving him a thumbs up before you watched as he moved through the crowd and made a B-line to the bar.

You continued to sway along to the music, sipping on what was left in your cup. For a few fleeting moments you almost believed that you could down out the unease curling in your gut

And then you felt a hand on your waist.

Smelt a scent that was close to familiar but not quite.

And heard a voice too close to your ear.

"Couldn't let you dance alone now could I?"

You stiffened before you even turned.

His grip was light, gentle even but the way he pressed against her and leaned a little too close for comfort made her stomach turn.

"Breathe." He murmured, his voice barely audible over the music and the sound of your own heart beating against your chest. His fingers tapped against your waist. "Though I'm not sure you really can in this dress."

"Yeah..not really." You mumbled, a nervous giggle leaving your lips. You were fine. You were okay. Until your gaze dropped down to his hands which were comfortably situated on your hips. But then you saw it.

Your ring.

The one you swore up and down you lost.

It was just there on his ring finger like it belonged there. Like it was his.

Your stomach had dropped.

Lando must have noticed the small shift in your body language because he leaned a little bit closer, his fingers brushing against your waist in slow, comforting circles. "Something wrong?" He questioned, tilting his head slightly.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words tangled somewhere between your lungs and throat, suffocating under the weight of realization.

The music swelled around you two, bass-heavy and relentless, as if mocking your silence. Laughter rang from the bar. Glasses clinked. The world kept spinning, oblivious to the way yours had just tilted off its axis. No one noticed the way your body had gone rigid in Lando’s grasp. No one saw the way your fingers twitched, hovering between fight and flight.

But Lando noticed.

His grip remained steady, fingers pressing against your waist in a way that felt both grounding and suffocating at once. Not tight enough to trap you, but firm enough to remind you he was there.

The ring glinted again under the strobe lights, a flicker of silver that felt like a slap to the face. The same ring you had lost. No, the same ring that had gone missing. It hadn’t been misplaced. It wasn't hiding somewhere in your home or purse. You had searched for it, turned your place upside down, convinced it was your own mistake.

But it wasn’t.

Lando shifted slightly, just enough for his breath to ghost against the shell of your ear. He was waiting for you to react, waiting to see how you would play this. The smirk on his lips wasn’t just amusement—it was knowledge. Confirmation.

You swallowed, trying to force your lungs to work properly, but it was useless. The walls of the club felt like they were pressing in, the air too thick, the lights too bright. Your heart wasn’t beating right—it was stumbling over itself, struggling to keep up with the panic clawing its way up your throat.

Lando’s hold on you didn’t falter.

The smirk didn’t waver.

And for the first time all night, you couldn’t breathe.

[macfrog]

ride it, cowgirl cowboy like me chapter ten

hey dudes. anyone up for some dbf? i seriously can't thank you guys enough for all the love y'all show this series. blows my mind every time. i have been super excited for this chapter for a WHILE. might be my fave so far. who knows. you can grab chapters 1-9 on my masterlist and also my ao3 if ur feeling fancy. love u all sm!!!!!! ✨💘💫

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel picks you up from a girls’ night. you’ve plans for when you get home

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader isn't an astrology girlie (sorry), more pining beCAUSE, alcohol consumption + a mention of the devil’s lettuce, very quick bit of unwanted touching, even quicker bit of protective joel, soft!joel, softdom!joel, one tiny mention of daddy, protected piv sex this time (feeling conservative slutty max will return), reader rides him into the sunset, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand. His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper. “There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

You never believed much in the power of the universe. Astrology, moons, manifestation. Whatever. None of it ever really meant much to you. You knew your star sign, knew which cool little symbol resembled you, and that was about it. Everything past that was…confusing and, frankly, a little overwhelming.

However.

If the universe were to send you a sign, one huge, fluorescent, multi-colored, in-your-face sign, that it was on your side…this weekend might just be it.

Your dad’s downstairs, finishing up packing for his work trip. His departure is imminent. Sarah’s been in Nashville since last night. A series of texts she sent you at 3AM riddled with spelling errors and heart emojis tell you she’s been having a pretty good time so far.

You are Joel are…alone. All by yourselves. For a whole…twenty hours.

Can’t have it all, I guess.

Your eyes skim down the texts you sent him this morning, texts he is yet to reply to.

You: Merry Christmas!!!

You took his non-reply for confusion – he is almost fifty, maybe he doesn’t get the joke? It’s a pretty lame joke, anyways. Very lame. If your thumb hovers over the send button before you press it, it’s probably not that great a joke. And your thumb had most definitely hovered. So, you’d followed it up.

You: As in, today’s the day

You: I don’t mean it’s actually Christmas

You: I mean like, happy ‘we’re finally gonna be alone again’ day

You: Never mind

“Hello?” Anna’s voice cuts through your train of thought. “Are you even listening to me?”

You drop your phone, shaking your head clear of Joel. “Yep. Sorry. Just didn’t catch that last part. You froze.”

The image of her on your – pretty fucking dusty – laptop screen rolls its eyes, knowing you’re lying. “I don’t know whether to go with the pink or the black boots,” she says.

“Ain’t your dress yellow?”

Her head falls into her hands. She throws herself down onto her bed and slides her laptop closer. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I’m goin’ with the pink strappy one now.”

“Pink does say rodeo.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps through a giggle. “Remind me what you’re wearin’, again.”

“Black hat, black boots, black dress.”

“You’re so boring.”

“Thanks. Really looking forward to our night out.”

Anna snorts and then stands back up, strides over to her closet and resumes rummaging. “Black jacket, too?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Uhuh,” you reply, glancing back down to your phone. “Although – it has rhinestones. And tassels. Not so boring after all, huh?”

Anna’s silence drags your eyes from the text thread back to your laptop screen. She’s frozen in place, twisted around with a dress in her hands, jaw on the floor. “Show it to me. Now.”

“Hold on,” you roll over and off your bed, your shoulder stiff from the position you’d been lying in, “I think I left it downstairs.”

“Tell your dad I say hey!”

You pad down the carpeted stairs in your socks, toward the sunlit hallway.

“Dad, have you seen my– Oh, fuck.”

As you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over your left shoulder to the front door, your chest knocks into something hard. Steady. Strong.

Something you recognize the feel of before you’ve given him a proper look.

“Mind your step, baby,” Joel says, and your heart leaps.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” you whisper, peering around his body to look for your dad.

“He’s out front,” Joel tells you, then takes your shoulder and reels you in against his chest. “’m just here to help ‘im with his GPS.”

He plants a kiss on the top of your head and gives you a squeeze. Your head rests safely on his chest, arms link at his back. If you didn’t have plans tonight, and if your dad wasn’t, like, ten feet from you guys right now, you’d never let him go. Just follow him around, vice grip around his waist, surrounded by the smell and feel of him.

Not that that means anything. You’d do other stuff, too. You’re not…you know.

Your dad’s voice streams in through the open door and Joel releases you.

“It ain’t for workin’, Joel, I’m about to throw it at the f– Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey. What’s the matter with your GPS?”

You lean in to the tiny device in his hands. Joel’s elbow comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“Just won’t connect to the car. Every time I plug it in, it just…” He lifts his hands, screen loose in his fingers, and hands you a bewildered look.

You look at him, expressionless. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

“Because I paid almost a hundred bucks for this thing, and I’ll be damned if I’m– Alright,” he stops himself, eyes shutting in exasperation, “I already explained this to him. I ain’t justifyin’ myself to the two of you.”

Joel’s laughing behind his hand, pretending to scratch his nose when your dad stalks off to the kitchen and throws the device down, snatching the instructions off the table.

The pair of you follow, both still trying to swallow your laughter. Joel wanders around the table and sits down beside your dad, fumbling with the screen. You dive into the coat closet at the bottom of the stairs and fish out your bejeweled, tasseled jacket.

“You lookin’ forward to your girls’ night?” Joel asks, eyes flitting up and down the leather jacket in your hands.

“Mhm,” you reply, opening your mouth to continue when your dad butts in.

“S’posed to be a girls’ night, but that boy Sam’s crashin’ it, ain’t he?”

“Well, we asked him.” You shrug. “It’s his night off.”

Your dad scoffs, shaking his head to Joel, who looks up to you with a confused expression. “’s the big deal with that?”

“Oh, wise up, Miller. He’s only goin’ ‘cause of…” He wags a finger in your direction, and a smirk peels across Joel’s lips.

“Is he, now?”

“Uhuh,” your dad replies, intense stare still on the instructions in front of him. “Makes no damn sense. I plugged it in using the cable they gave me in the box. Stupid thing…”

You shake your head to Joel, who’s still looking at you, bemused. He knows you and Sam are just friends. Also knows your dad is the most oblivious theorist to walk the planet. Just aiming his gun at the wrong target, is all.

“I’m gonna let you two get back to…that,” you say, turning to head back upstairs. “Anna says hi, by the way.”

Your dad’s eyebrows rise once, his eyes never lifting from his GPS. “Hi, Anna.”

“Hey, Anna,” Joel echoes, smirk on his lips.

“Not to you,” you throw back, hopping up the first step. You hear his chuckle as you disappear.

----------

Anna’s reaction to your jacket in person matches that over Facetime: a deafening squeal. A squeal which she repeats almost every damn time she sees you throughout the night.

“So – fucking – cute!” she exclaims for the fifth time, fingers dancing through the tassels. “And it goes so well with your hat.”

You sip on your cocktail, nodding enthusiastically, pushing your eyebrows up underneath the brim of the black cowgirl hat on your head. Trying to match her energy. Your mind’s elsewhere.

Joel texted you a few hours ago. Told you to have a good night, said something about Sam, but you were stood right next to the dude, so you quickly locked your phone and slipped it back into your clutch.

Now, standing with your back against the wall of Franks, watching Sam play pool with Eve, you feel safe enough to read over the message.

Joel: Have fun baby. Be safe. Tell Sam good luck from me.

You squint at the screen, pulling it away from your face and leaning back in to read it over. Good luck? The fuck does he mean –

You: Good luck??

He replies almost instantly.

Joel: Yeah. Good luck winning you over. Took me, what, a week?

Oh, fuck off. You roll your eyes and throw your phone facedown onto the table where Anna and Kara sit, about twenty minutes deep into a conversation you missed the beginning of.

Your attention turns to the room before you – brick-walled, metal dome lightshades hanging over each pool table. Glass-paneled door to your left leading back through to the main bar. For being a tiny bar on a backstreet, Frank’s is pretty lively. There are bodies everywhere, bumping by each other, drunken arms slung over shoulders, hips swaying with the soft rock song blasting from out front.

You imagine your dad here with Joel, maybe Hank and Bill, too. Playing pool, beer bottles resting on the felt while they take their shot. Or sat on the rooftop, sipping on a whiskey. Talking about you and Sarah. What does Joel say about you when you’re not around?

And what does he want to say, but can’t, ‘cause it’s your dad? What does he think, and bite back when it bubbles to the surface?

Your straw gargles, slurping up the last few sips of your drink. You lean over to Anna and Kara, holding your empty glass up.

“Another?”

They both shake their heads, and you nod, turning on your own back to the bar.

You squeeze between two older women, both dressed smart and sharp. One of them – clutching a Manhattan – shifts out of the way as you pass.

“…one more conversation with him about squash,” she tells her companion, “and I am gonna blow my brains out…”

You edge over to the bar and slot into a free space, propping your elbows up on the wood. One of Sam’s coworkers – her name escapes you – notices you and shuffles over, smiling sweetly.

“How you doin’?” she asks, running a damp cloth inside a tumbler.

“Good,” you reply. “Could I just get a Bud, please?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and reaches behind to grab one. You slide her a note and she hands you change, and then you’re on your way back to the pool room.

As you slink by the two women, a weight knocks into your shoulder, almost sending your beer flying out of your hand.

“Sorry,” a rough voice sputters on your left, and you glance in its direction. Some broad dude in a tight t-shirt.

“’s fine,” you mumble, clutching your hat; a smell of weed choking your throat.

He passes by behind you, one hand lingering a little too long on your waist, and you saunter back over to Anna and Kara.

“That dude stinks, right?” Anna whispers behind a cupped hand, and you snort.

“He smells like he’s having a good night.”

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet over there. We’re basically third, fourth, and fifth wheeling,” Kara says, nodding over to Sam and Eve, who’re finished their game of pool and have now graduated to darts.

“I don’t…think that’s a thing.”

“Eve asked me if Sam was single earlier,” Anna says, lifting her straw to her red lips.

“What?” Kara spits out, choking on her drink. “Eve has a boyfriend!”

Anna giggles. “He’s kinda an ass, anyway. Look at them, they’re so sweet.”

“You say sweet, I hear morally wrong.”

“Who says it’s morally wrong?” you chirp, alcohol pushing the words over your lips before your brain’s had time to stop them. Your fingers clutch your phone, still laying on the table where you left it. “You?”

“Uh, it’s cheating, dude. What if Nick found out?”

“’s not that big a deal,” you reply, phone screen lighting your face in a blue hue, “they’re just having fun.”

Anna points to you, lifting her glass. “Here’s to havin’ fun, I guess.”

Kara lifts her own reluctantly and they clink, but you’re distracted. Already typing a message to Joel. Bored. Drunk. Morally wrong.

You: What you doing?

Joel: Watching TV. What you doing?

You: What ya watvhin ?

Joel: None of your business. Go get another drink. Looks like you’re not drunk enough.

You lift your head with a giggle, almost ready to turn your phone around to Anna and Kara and say, look what the dude I’m sleeping with just text me. And then, thankfully, your good sense kicks in and you bring the screen closer to your chest.

You: Kinda bored. Wanna come home now please

Bored, horny. It all means the same.

Joel says he’ll be at Frank’s in twenty minutes. You rest your chin on your palm and watch as Sam cheers Eve for hitting bullseye.

“I think they’re cute,” you whisper.

Anna and Kara are already preoccupied, taking photos of one another across the table. Kara leans into you and you smile, flash blinding your hazy eyes for a few minutes afterward. A few more pictures, couple boomerangs of your glasses cheersing, and then your phone’s vibrating.

Joel: Outside. No rush.

That last part is where he’s wrong. There most definitely is a rush, and it’s in the form of the heat that starts to pool between your legs.

“Alright,” you shimmy off your barstool and stretch your back. “My ride’s here.”

“What?” Anna almost screams, her hand slapping down on the table. “You’re leavin’?”

You nod. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t babe me, traitor. It’s, like, midnight.”

“Uh, it’s, like, almost 2AM. I’m tired. I don’t know how y’all do it.”

She sighs, conceding, and agrees to walk with you to the front door. Kara and Eve stop off by the bar to grab another drink. Sam holds the door open for you and Anna and you’re hit by a wave of cold night air, instantly cooling your hot, sweaty skin.

“Is that…Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, mouth falling wide open.

You glance down the street and notice his black truck, parked up by the curb. “Mhm,” you reply, “my dad’s out of town, so he’s picking me up.”

“Can he take me home, too?”

Sam snickers. “Wow, Anna. That’s just…Wow.”

She shrugs, lips closing around her straw as she stares at Joel’s truck. Something inside you lurches at the idea of Joel sitting there, his eyes glued on you, watching everything you do, everyone around you. And then again at the thought of Anna and her doting gaze on him.

“Alright, I guess that’s my cue to skip.”

Anna pouts. “One more drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you scoff, patting her head affectionately. I got business to attend to.

You give her a quick kiss on the cheek and Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze before you’re wandering off toward Joel’s truck.

“Hey.” Something – someone – hooks around your elbow, and you turn back. It’s that same guy who stank of weed.

“Hi,” you reply, as sweet as you can, but trying to loosen his grip.

“Saw you inside, you out with friends?”

“Mhm. I’m just leavin’, my–”

“Few of us are headed upstairs. You wanna come?”

You glare at him a few seconds, before yanking your arm from his grasp. “Nah, no thanks. I’m leaving. Have a good night.”

You stagger off, feeling his eyes on you as you go. Joel’s truck headlights switch on, dazzling your eyes, and you quickly click around to the passenger side, throwing yourself in beside him.

Joel doesn’t say hey, doesn’t squeeze your thigh, doesn’t even look at you when you settle into the seat. Just asks –

“Who’s that kid?”

“Uh…not sure. Bumped into ‘im in the bar.”

“He give you trouble?”

“No,” you lean over the console, pulling your seatbelt over your body, and flash him a tipsy grin, “thought that was my job. Givin’ trouble.”

Joel doesn’t reply. Doesn’t take his scowl off the dude outside Frank’s, either. Your eyes meander across to his hand, locked in a tight fist around the wheel. Your smile drops.

“Joel. It’s fine. Can we go?”

When you lift a hand to the crook of his elbow and he feels your warmth on his skin, he tears his gaze away and it lands on you. Soft, gentle. His lip isn’t curled anymore. His brows lift.

His eyes watch your lips as you whisper the words to him.

“Want you to take me home.”

“’s go, pretty girl.”

----------

Joel refuses, no matter how many times you ask, how hard you bat your eyelashes, how many promises you make, to stop by a drive thru.

“Please?” you ask one last time before he’s pulling in to his neighborhood.

He shakes his head. “Look at that, we’re already home.”

“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, Miller, not until the engine’s off. We’re still driving.”

He doesn’t reply. Just pulls up in his drive, cuts the engine, and looks at you. Shrugs. “Oops.”

“Fuck you,” you groan, sliding down in your seat. “I’m starvin’.”

“Make you a big breakfast in the mornin’, how’s that sound?”

“Wanted a Big Mac, but whatever.”

Your fingers fumble for the door handle, clicking it open. You roll out of the truck and stroll around to meet Joel at the driver’s side. He snakes an arm around your shoulders, steadying you as you walk up his porch steps and into the house.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, glancing around his living room.

“Alright,” he says, tossing his keys and kicking his boots off.

Your eyes settle on the TV screen, paused. Probably around the time you text him. There’s a crowded hospital room onscreen, doctors in dark blue scrubs, all surrounding someone lying on a bed, someone who looks pretty familiar…

“Is that…fuckin’…Grey’s Anatomy…?”

Joel chuckles, peeling your jacket from your shoulders.

“That’s Meredith! When she–”

“She fell in the damn river,” Joel mutters, placing the tasseled leather over the back of his couch. “Derek had to go in after her. Intense stuff.”

“Right? I told you it was good!” You smack his arm. “I can’t believe you’re watchin’ it without me.”

“I ain’t watchin’ it,” he protests, “it was just on, ‘n I needed something to keep me awake. I’m still rooting for Meredith ‘n George.”

“We can watch it from the beginning.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, moving over to him. “And then I can be over here all the time, and you can make me all the grilled cheese I want, and we can lie in bed and…do stuff.” Your chin rests on his chest, flashing him a toothy grin. Hands swinging in his at your side.

Joel’s eyes narrow, but there’s a smirk on his lips. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I had a couple drinks. I’m not drunk.”

“H’many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Joel asks, raising his fist. You punch it away.

“Ha-ha,” you say tonelessly, and wander away from him.

“Baby,” he calls you from behind. Sure, you’re tipsy, and he can be a cocky asshole – especially when he has to take care of you, but that’s a sound you’ll never get tired of hearing. Baby. You’re his darlin’, his sweet girl.

You spin around, very nearly losing your footing, and he’s standing with an arm out, ready for you to take.

You smile dumbly. Meander over, and take his strong hand in both of yours, wrapping your fingers around two of his to let him reel you in against his body.

“C’mon,” he whispers, as you lean against his frame. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

You follow him up, knowing where he’s leading you. You’ve spent more time in there the last few weeks than you have your entire life.

His room is cool, not cold, but comfortable. It’s Joel all over; the muted colors, the décor, the smell that calms you as soon as you stumble over the threshold.

He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels, pulling your boots off one by one.

You giggle.

“You laughin’ at me?”

“You’re like my own personal tr…No, not trainer. Wait. Personal ch–”

“Chef?” he says, snorting. “Not chef. Try again, soberhead.”

“Oh, I dunno.” You throw your arms up as he sits your boots against the wall, then stands and takes your hat off.

“This,” he says, placing it on the nightstand at your side of the bed, “is very cute. I like it.”

“I’m cute, too, y’know,” you whisper, pouting.

He smiles, and leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, pointer finger under your chin.

“The cutest.”

“Ha!” you roar. Joel twists around you to undo the zipper at the back of your dress. “Joel Miller thinks I’m the cutest. Take that, Anna…”

He laughs. When he unzips you, he pulls the dress off your bare chest and down your legs. You don’t shy away, used to the idea now of him seeing you naked. Used to the idea of him seeing you in any vulnerable state; drunk, or naked, or in a sobbing mess on day two of your period.

You notice, even though you’re a tad dizzy with what alcohol is left in your system, that his eyes linger on your panties a moment before he turns and grabs a tee from a chair.

And something inside you ticks.

“Joel?”

He’s pulling the shirt over your head. It smells like him. Intoxicates you much more and much quicker than any drink you could order from Frank’s.

“Mhm?”

You feed both arms through the sleeves, swallowing the question you were about to ask. He’s standing up now, telling you to get into bed.

He walks over to his dresser and begins removing his own clothing. He only sleeps in boxershorts. Your eyes track him as he yanks his t-shirt up over his toned shoulders; fingers undo his belt, unzip his jeans. Everything is discarded to the side for now; he has something more pressing to attend to.

His best friend’s daughter, laying in his bed, a pool of wet forming in her panties.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

As he slips under the covers beside you, you pull off your underwear in one quick movement. Joel doesn’t seem to notice, or so you think; his arms immediately take hold of your waist and pull you against his body. You’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping pressed against his torso, his thigh between your legs. Joel settles comfortably with you draped over him, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Joel?” you whisper again into the darkness, growing braver.

“Hm?” he replies, starting to fall asleep.

You toss ideas over in your head. None of them good, you’re sure, but you’re getting desperate. How he can’t feel your damp core on his thigh, you’ve no idea.

But then, maybe he can? Joel doesn’t miss anything, especially not where you and your…arrangement are concerned. Can he feel you? Is he deliberately ignoring it?

Maybe he has something up his own sleeve?

“I…was just wondering…”

“Wondering what, darlin’?” His voice is muffled, spoken through unmoving lips. You glance up at his face. His eyes are closed.

You grow more desperate.

“…wondering what your body count is?”

You ask it as innocently as you can, your voice wavering on the words body count. It gets him, though, as his eyes blink open a few seconds after you say it.

“I ain’t tellin’ you that. Go to sleep.” He closes them again.

“I wanna know.”

He ignores you.

“Joel,” you moan.

He calls you by name now, and you’re not sure if you’re pissing him off or turning him on – or both.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“I’m not tired, though. Not yet.”

In response, Joel lets go of his hold on you and rolls over without another word. It’d sting if you weren’t soaking wet right now, and didn’t have a strong hunch he was hardening under the sheets.

“Joooel…” you whine, sitting up on your elbow. No use.

You take hold of his shoulder and tug him back toward you, rolling him onto his back. Like a deadweight, he remains frozen.

“Ugh,” you groan, and drag yourself on top of him, knees either side of his waist, ass hovering. When you sit back onto him, your core lining up with his crotch, your suspicions are proven right.

He’s hard.

Not as hard as he can get, as you’d like him to be, as you’ve felt him before…but he’s hard.

“Joel…” you mewl into the darkness, starting to grind your bare center over his boxers. The friction feels good, so you apply more pressure.

“If you don’t stop that,” Joel’s voice finally grumbles, “I’ll be sleepin’ downstairs.”

“Sex in the living room sounds good to me.”

His eyes open. “We,” one hand comes up to point between the both of you, as if he doesn’t expect your sobering self to understand which pairing he means, “are not having sex. No sex tonight.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping dramatically.

“Huff all you want, baby, it is not happening.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’re a few drinks too deep and it’s three in the morning. I’m tired, it’s been a long night waitin’ for you, I–”

“So let me make it up to you. I ain’t even drunk anymore.”

“No?”

“Nuh-uh. Could count any number a’ fingers you put in front of me.”

“Funny.” He closes his eyes.

“Joel.” You drag your hips again. If anything, he’s harder than he was when you first sat down on him. “I had a few drinks, I’ve sobered up. C’mon…”

You bend your waist and lower yourself to align your lips with the side of his head, peppering the skin under his ear with soft kisses.

“I wanna ride you, daddy.”

This gets him. His eyes open again, staring up at the ceiling. His hands slowly come up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t– That’s low, even for you, kid.”

You giggle and straighten up. When your hands lightly trace down his chest, onto his midriff and follow the trail of hair to his boxers, he doesn’t stop you. Just watches from beneath hooded lids, tensing at each point your fingers touch.

You raise your eyebrows, watching his expression for any sign to stop, and it never comes. He remains in place when your fingertips hook around the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling down.

Joel breathes in deep when you reveal the tip of his cock, springing up to rest on his lower stomach. You feel your core clench. If he’s not inside you in the next five minutes, you might scream.

Well, you’ll be screaming either way.

You look back into his eyes and tilt your jaw, asking for permission.

“Go on,” he whispers.

Your hands take him eagerly, pumping up and down his shaft, and his head falls back onto the pillow with pleasure.

“Uhuh,” you mumble, focusing on his solid dick, but desperate for more. You give him a gentle squeeze and a groan passes his lips, his grip tightening on your body.

You let go of him and grind your hips along his length, folds coating his shaft in your wetness. Joel’s humming, watching as you pull yourself up and down him.

Then, you lean forward, and your hands take hold of him again. You give him a couple more strokes, eliciting a deep groan, and then line his bare cock up at your entrance, practically foaming at the mouth to sink down on him already.

“Woah, woah,” Joel takes hold of your wrist, “slow down, cowgirl. I gotta get a condom.”

You huff as he leans over to his nightstand and opens the drawer. “Don’t want one, Joel, I’m on the pill.”

“No way, baby,” he says through a chuckle, silver wrapper in his fingers. “We already did that, one too many times.”

“So just pull out?”

“Nope.”

You sigh, frustrated.

Joel holds the packet out to you, smirk on his face like he doesn’t expect you to take it.

So, you do.

You steal it from him and tear the wrapper, fishing the rubber out between your two fingers. Pinching the top, you roll it down his shaft and pump up and down for good measure.

“Ready?” you ask, head tilted, cocky smile on your lips.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, shoulders lifting off the mattress. He lifts the hem of your shirt, telling you, “Off,” before pulling it over your head, exposing your bare breasts.

He stares you down; legs wide open, straddling him, completely naked, nipples hardened, figure silhouetted against the slivers of light peeking through the shades from the streetlights outside. You’ve never felt so confident, mounted on top of Joel fucking Miller.

His eyes roll back and his head falls against the pillow. “Fuckin’ – knock yourself out, baby.”

You steady yourself with one hand on his chest, the other taking hold of his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You push his head through your folds a couple times, and Joel hisses at the feeling, before you sink down.

You stop after the tip the first time, but it draws the same reaction from you both. Joel groans even louder than before, and you moan as you push yourself back up.

Then, without warning, you sink the whole way down.

He’s so deep it brings tears to your eyes, so big that he’s stretching you out more than you thought possible, hitting all the right spots already before you’ve even begun.

Joel’s eyes are screwed shut, his grip on your hips digging into your skin so tight it almost hurts. His jaw is tight, holding back what you can only imagine are the neediest moans he could sound.

So, you decide to draw them from him.

You lean forward and begin bouncing, feeling his thickness pull out and push back into you, both hands on Joel’s chest now for balance. You’re whimpering, the burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt so good and borderline painful at the same time, but you don’t stop.

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” Joel moans, opening his eyes to watch you ride his dick. “’attagirl, just like that.”

“Joel…” you cry, letting him bottom out each time, feeling his balls slam into your ass with each bounce.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me, baby, use your words.”

“So – good – Joel – oh!” you shout.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, huh?”

You fight against the urge to close your eyes; the pleasure between your legs and the knot beginning to tighten in your stomach are all you can see, hear, feel, but you want to watch him some more. You want to see what you do to him.

You lean forward even further, moving your hands to the pillow either side of his head, so you’re directly above him now. One of Joel’s hands comes to the back of your head, pulling you down until your foreheads are together, moans escaping your mouths only to be inhaled by the other.

Joel speaks to you quieter, through gritted teeth.

“Like ridin’ me, do ya? Like the way it feels?”

“Mhm,” you moan back, and he brings a hand down to slap your ass. You yelp. “Fuck…”

“You look so good, baby, so good. Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?”

Another stinging spank pulls a whine from you so filthy, so loud that you’re sure the neighbors will hear, even at this hour. Joel smirks back, resting his hand back on your hip, where he has a grip of you.

Then, he bucks his own hips, pushing into you deeper than before, so deep you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, panting through the searing pain so good that you never want it to end.

“Joel – I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, sweet girl, cum all over me. Let go, baby, I’m here.”

That does it. The coil snaps, your walls clench. Joel lets out a guttural moan as you throw your head back and ride him through your orgasm. He coos you through it, squeezing your hips, whispering, That’s my girl, doin’ so good, baby as your body rocks back and forth on his cock.

When you come back down to earth, your lids heavy and breathing staggered, you swear your body can’t take anymore. You feel so fucked out that you’re not sure you can sit up straight on top of Joel.

But he’s always been able to read your mind, and this is no different. He pulls himself up and into you, propped up with one strong hand on the mattress behind his back, the other wrapping around your waist. His cock is still buried deep inside you.

“Joel…” you whimper pathetically. “Can’t do it anymore…”

“That’s okay, baby, we’re gonna do this one together, alright? I got you. Can you do that for me? Just one more?”

You link your arms around his neck and lean into him; his strong form doesn’t shift, just takes on your weight and keeps the both of you upright as he starts to bounce you on his length again.

You’re overstimulated; your cunt swollen, fucked-out, drenched in cum, but Joel makes you feel so good that it’s impossible to let him stop. Your arms pull him in closer to your chest to steady yourself, and his groans echo in your ear.

“Good girl, that’s– that’s it, so fuckin’ tight for me, pretty girl.”

When it all becomes too much to take – Joel’s hand squeezing your waist, your clit rutting against the bottom of his stomach, his fucking cock buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him splitting you open – you push him back down onto the bed.

Once when you still lived in New York you read something in a Cosmo about spelling the word ‘coconut’ with your hips when riding a guy. You’d tried it a couple times with hookups, and it’d never done anything for you. They’d never done anything for you.

But here you are, nearing your second orgasm, on top of someone making such a mess of you that you brain can hardly compute to spell coconut, never mind your hips being able to round the shape of the word.

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand.

His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper.

“There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

It’s all you need. It’s all it takes, by this point.

You brace yourself against his chest again, positioning yourself just right, and bounce on him until your vision starts to blur.

The noises slipping out of Joel’s mouth each time your bodies connect at the base of his cock push you closer and closer; every groan and whimper which passes his lips makes you sink your hips down even harder, pushing him deeper and deeper with every bounce.

“So – fuckin’ – big – inside me,” you slur, and Joel moans in response.

When he takes your hips in his hands again, you know he’s there. He’s just waiting for you to fall first.

You give in to him, feeling yourself close around his length, throwing your head back in pleasure as your second orgasm washes over you, igniting every inch of your body.

Joel’s groans meet yours as you lean forward again, slowly rolling your hips to coax him through his own orgasm. Watching him release, buried deep inside, he looks so good that you feel like you could cum again just at the sight.

You feel his cock start to go limp inside you and when he opens his eyes, panting, you smile sweetly at him.

“Fuck, darlin’.”

You giggle, hips still driving gently against his. “Good?”

“So good, baby, did so well. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers with a trembling breath, taking your waist in both hands and giving it a tight squeeze. You roll to the side, letting his cock slip out of you, condom full of his seed.

You tumble onto the mattress beside him, both heaving, moaning messes. Your chests rise and fall in sync, fingers tangling and untangling by your sides.

Then Joel gets up, and wanders over to the bathroom, where you watch him through the open door as he pulls the filled rubber from his soft dick. He bins it, then runs a facecloth under the faucet, dabbing it across his own forehead as he makes his way back over to you.

You can’t hide your grin as you watch his naked form approach; tan lines where his t-shirt must end, dark hair decorating his arms, legs, chest, the base of his cock. He sits at the edge of the bed, arm outstretched with the flannel in hand.

You go to take it from him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Just pats it over your face gently, soft gaze on yours, your fingers intertwined around his wrist. Your eyes fall closed, the cold cloth a relief against your warm, sweaty skin.

“Feel nice?” he whispers.

You nod in response. Your chest swells at how soft he’s being, how tender. When he stands to throw the flannel back into the sink, you almost find yourself reaching out to hold him down.

He climbs over you, springing back down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

You prop yourself up and shimmy over, positioning yourself on top of Joel, chest-to-chest. He looks down and smirks, running a lazy hand across your cheek.

“You’re so good to me,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head with a smile and lay down on his chest. You can hear his heartrate slowly calming down. His fingers twist through your messy hair.

“I have no idea what you’re laced with,” he says, “but you got me.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

Joel nods. You shift positions, adjusting your aching hips safely between his thighs. “You hurtin’?” he asks.

You nod. “Mhm. But I like it. It’s you.”

Joel’s hands run through your hair and his fingertips trace your shoulders. His touch is so light it almost tickles. You turn your jaw and kiss the back of his hand.

“My dad gone, Sarah out, free house…” you mutter.

“Hm.”

“So, you invite your mistress over.” You lift your head, smirking at him.

Joel’s chest vibrates with laughter. “You ain’t my mistress.”

“Oh really? What am I, then?”

“I am not having this conversation at 4AM, kid. Ask me again tomorrow.”

You’d think of something to throw back at him, messing with him, but your entire body aches, and your heavy eyes are starting to fold closed with how sleepy you suddenly feel.

You pull Joel’s sheets over yourself, turning your back to him. Joel instantly follows suit, pulling up right behind you, your back tight to his chest, his thighs cupping the back of yours, then slipping one between your legs.

His arms lock around your torso under the sheets. Safe. Secure. Nothing can happen to you as long as he’s got you.

“Ten,” his voice mumbles against the back of your head.

You turn so your ear is pressed against his lips. “Huh?”

“Ten. That’s my number. Includin’ you.”

Oh.

He doesn’t ask to hear yours. You wouldn’t mind if he did, but he doesn’t. You don’t think he’s telling you to hear yours in exchange. He’s telling you because you asked. He’s telling you because, whether in attempt to turn him on or simply to know something about him that you didn’t before – something nobody else knows – it mattered to you.

He’s telling you because you matter to him.

You nuzzle back into him a little, a form of reply, and, as you start to fall asleep, you feel him place a gentle kiss to your ear.

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @sharp-cheekbones-locked @suzmagine @endlessthxxghts @ivebeenflagged @blognametakenn @jessahmewren @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @ranahx @pedropascalsbbg @cartoon-garbage04 @caatheeriinee07 @kngslayr @hopplessilse @vickywallace @gracieispunk @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[tenderotto]

The Time for Home

Drenagon

Teen And Up Audiences

Words:211,687 Chapters:54/54

Bagginshield, Nwalin

Oh boy! Where to begin?!

What a couple of changes to Bilbo's back story and the story for community of Ered Luin can do to the whole story one may ask... And the answer is this fic right here!

Bilbo's not quite an ordinary gentlehobbit, he's still a caring and kind hobbit, don't get me wrong, but gentle he is not. He doesn't fit the Shire, he doesn't fit where hobbits close their eyes and pretend not to see that danger exists in Arda. (Even though every single one of them knew what happened in the Fell Winter so many years ago) But where does he belong then? And more importantly with who does he belong?

But what about our beloved dwarves? Are they as simple as everyone thinks them to be? Greedy and untrustworthy? Certantly not! (Not the company at least) But what drove them serching for help out of Ered Luin and why do they end up on a doorstep of one very grumpy hobbit? Not dragons that's for sure.

If you're in search of a good laugh, good read and occasionally dubios morality then this one is for you! (Though I'd be surprised if you haven't heard about this one yet, because I am quite late to the party)

The most interesting writing style with multiple POV's of the company and other characters, that makes you feel like you're reading everybody's personal diaries! The most delicious character dynamics! The characters development! THE FIGHTS??? Oh you'll never ever skip those! Even if you're not the one for long and boring battles, you'll find yourself captivated by each and every move the boys make! You'll laugh with them, you'll cry with them, and I'm betting my soul on the fact that by the end of it you will feel thoroughly hugged by all of them.

Not only the characters are true to their original selves, but the additions to their personalities (the humor especially) feel as natural as possible! Also uncle-forgets-everybody's-names-trope

Many thanks to the most talented @drenagon ! Please let me give you my bestest hugs and thanks and anything you want really! You've made me laugh so many times I lost count. I've so many quotes (that I'll leave under spoiler line) that I revisit quite often just to have a lil giggle, you wouldn't believe. I am in love with the story you told, it's so not like the others it took me completely by surprise! Thank you again for the most joyful read, bless your soul!

Also I've added a lil doodle of one of the opening scenes above (don't think it spoils much or anything at all, maybe it didn't even happen (⁠◔⁠‿⁠◔⁠))

BEWARE SPOILERS

It is a happy ending! Found family trope! Not a lot of angst! As far from the original Hobbit as possible without losing the point of being "the hobbit"! No ring YAY! (there's one, but prettier) No BOTFA! Each family unite is perfectly developed!

Dragonsickness who??

The Killy Chronicles?! Hell YEAH!

Fatherly Thranduil!

Elladar & Elrohir!

Elrond hugs ^-^

Dwalin is actually hella smart (we knew)

And now to my fave quotes!!!

"Break anything in this bar and I will break your head as an apology to the barkeep." Thorin finished.

"Valar above, Dwalin was right."😱

"It was a tough life being an orc"

Dwalin: "And for the Valar's sake, you idiot, use me! Otherwise what am I here fore?"

Balin: "Entertainment value?"

"...then stuttered, stopped, and looked very hard at thorin. Thorin looked very hard back."

"You're late, Dwalin!" Uncle announced, giving Dwalin a stern look. Dwalin shrugged. "Oh, untwist your knickers, Thorin."

"...he watched uncle deal with the worst parts of kingship.

Treachery.

Famine.

Paperwork."

"One catastrophe at a time."

"Fine. But if anyone died he was going to be having words."

"Smaug the Fat."

"Dwaling the Immovable Object."

"Balls of mithril, the lot of them."

"Now, shoo!" Shoo they did.

"Bombur, sit on your brother, please."

"Dwalin in bed, Dwalin in bed," he muttered to himself fervently, needing the reminder more than ever.

[yansurnummu]

just posted chapter 14! Drals has a conversation with Hermaeus Mora and experiences unspeakable horror :)

To the Horrors I've Known and Loved

A story about change, parallels, and never being able to go home.

(Read on AO3. updates most Mondays. Warning for body horror themes, minor character death, fantasy weed smoking)

To the Horrors I've Known and Loved:

I often asked myself, if I could tell you one thing now, what would it be? The answer's changed a lot, over the years. 

Once there was a time where I cursed you. You took everything from me, and it made me so, so angry. I wanted to hurt you as you'd hurt me.

For a long time, I feared you. I was alone. I built walls for fear you might find me. And, oh, did I have a lot of time to build those walls into a bloody fortress. A prison of my own making.

Now… I'm not so sure. Grief is an odd thing. It sneaks up on you. Did you grieve for me that day? Or was I simply an obstacle in your path?

I thought I had done grieving long ago. But looking at you now, I realise I had been mourning something else entirely. An object, an idea, a place I could never see again. Some nebulous concept I wonder if I even really had in the first place.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is… even after everything that's happened, everything you did, everything I had to do; I forgive you. I do. Because I could have done the same. It would have been so easy. If anything, I should thank you. If you hadn't broken me, I would have ended up just like you. 

I look at you and I'm looking in a mirror. I see now that you and I are the same. The difference is in the fucking details.

[getthembees]

any cass fic recs or hcs you want to talk about

BOY DO I honestly at this point i should make a cass cain gospel like i did when i was royai-pilled in 2020. just a google doc of my fave cass cain fics ever. maybe i will but for now... This'll be long and ill clarify some ships in case u don't want anything ship related, but also make sure u read the tags:

Anything by @aingeal98 but specifically you did one bad thing but you're...not and Razor's Edge (evil batman au, stephcass)

Anything by @luvo27 but specifically the series your place in the family of things or I wanted the past to go away

anything by razorgirl but specifically between past and present tense (jason and cass have a chat about revival in the wake of steph's death. they don't quite like each other) and hometown

anything by Hinn_Raven but specifically Meet Me Where You're Going

change never came from anger (6/7 chapters, was on hiatus for 3 years but they updated yest!) & we were here in our dreams last night (stephcass) by parttimemodel

that's the thing about anger (it begs to stick around) (jason and cass have beef and talk about ethics)

Fight, Flight by spitecentral (cass gets hit with fear toxin, duke helps out)

let's not talk about it by procrastinationfairy (stephcass, also the comphet lesbian cass fic of all time)

Errant (ongoing 3/? chapters, cass returns from hong kong) and Cain Instinct (jason goes after cass instead of tim) by centreoftheselights

Fathers and Daughters by David Hines (jim gordon and cass)

The Robin Remonstration (cass and jason fight over who is duke's favorite) and The House and Crow by waterunderthebridge12 (both have minor stephcass)

battle for the cowl (redux) by vase (cass is batman. i haven't finished this one yet but its good so far)

ok i think thats enough for now (or at least the stuff in my bookmarks... id have to dig thru my ao3 history for more) Happy cass reading!!!! if someone wants to add on to this feel free maybe you will give me a cass fic i havent read yet...

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  @cuips-not-cute! cuips_not_cute has six fics in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @cuips-not-cute:

he could be brave

blood is an aphrodisiac

honeyed affection

blinking red light

cyclical

"cuips is a master of taking the reader on an emotional roller coaster ride. The amount of times I've laughed and cried at the same time reading his fics have been too numerous to count. Especially the depth of the sex scenes and the character beats and growth they portray are gorgeous to read - and also very titillating. I love Steve and Eddie in every one of cuips stories, adore the little mannerisms they are given and the way they interact with each other and other characters. Besides the inspiring prose cuips can pull off a plot like few other people I've found so far - since blinking red light is still ongoing, I'll just point to cyclical for that. I'm very thankful to cuips for writing and posting these stories and for being a very active part of this lovely fandom." -- anonymous

Below the cut, @cuips-not-cute answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

i don’t even know. i was happily in the ofmd fandom when i watched season 4 almost three years ago now (oh god) and then the characters… they got me. i fear they’ll never leave.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

god, so many. they’re all kinda the same flavor though so i’ll list out what i’m always filtering for to find a new fic: bottom/sub eddie, creature/monster eddie, post s4, canon compliant, soft dom steve, sex pollen, spit kink, rimming (perhaps my FAVORITE ever thing to read), switch eddie/switch steve… the list goes on.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

probably also rimming. there’s just something so romantic about eating ass. and i really love to stick with post s4 canon compliant aus, too, i don’t think i’ve written an actual for real au yet, though i do have an idea for one after brl.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

i don’t know if i can pick!! my ao3 bookmarks host my many all-time faves, but if you wanna go by the fic i’ve reread the most it’s probably the affliction of the feeling. it’s so fucking good.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

YES!!! i have never written omegaverse!!! which is crazy, ‘cause i like it a LOT. i have a post-s4 omegaverse au kicking around in my head currently, and i cannot wait to sink my teeth into all the messy biology and politics that come with the omegaverse.

What is your writing process like?

chaotic, in a word. usually, i’ll get a fic idea while i’m balls-deep in writing another fic so i’ll shove it to the side and let it simmer while i finish that first one, then i’ll spend a good long while planning it out in ridiculous detail, and THEN i’ll start actually drafting. i like to have a fully fleshed out outline and a couple chapters written and edited before i start posting, and once posting begins i tend to deviate quite a bit from my outline but it’s all good fun.

Do you have any writing quirks?

definitely. i don’t like pointing them out for fear of other folks seeing them in everything i do, but they’re there. one that i don’t mind so much is my absolute abuse of the word “little.” everything is “a little” of this, “a little” of that, but i try to cut my usage down significantly while i’m editing.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

i always TRY to keep a schedule but… yeah. it never works. i’m far too busy for one, but attempts are made. i’d like to one day write a fic in full before posting it, because i think it’d be a whole lot better if i let it sit for that long but lord, i sure do like getting ao3 comments on every chapter. they make the writing motivation go WAY up.

Which fic are you most proud of?

brl, definitely. that fucker is LONG and i’m barely halfway through it. i think i’ve done a lot of cool things with it and i’m going to do some more cool things and i’ve made a lot of really awesome friends in the process of writing it so it’s got some pretty insane sentimental value to me. it’s definitely going to be a fic i’ll miss writing once i finish it, but that’s what the epilogue series is for!!!

How did you get the idea for blinking red light?

from another fic!!! @racketghost is the author of one of my favorite things i’ve ever read, which is the good omens zach and miri au, closed set (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320960/chapters/55862155 <- hyperlinked), wherein crowley has been lying about the existence of some angelic sex tapes to all of hell, and then he and aziraphale have to actually make the tapes. it’s awesome. it’s gorgeous. brl is one big giant love letter to this fic, because it means so fucking much to me and i think about it ALL the time. 

When writing honeyed affection, what was something you didn’t expect?

hmm, i don’t know? ha is, i think, a pretty easygoing fic with lots and lots of porn stuffed inside it, and that was all i intended it to be so i cannot think of anything i was surprised by!!

What inspired blood is an aphrodisiac?

i just wanted to write vampire eddie. it was july ‘22, kas theories were everywhere, i had to try it. these days i think i would change a LOT about it because my ideas and hcs surrounding the characters have evolved significantly, but i’ll write vampire eddie again and “fix” everything i no longer like about biaa.

What was your favorite part to write from he could be brave?

…the fisting. i genuinely think some of my best writing is in that scene, and while i feel the same way about this fic as i do biaa, the fisting scene will always hold a special place in my heart. i’m very, very excited to write the fisting chapter in brl because of this scene. fisting rules.

How do/did you feel writing cyclical?

i wrote cyclical during a very weird few months of my life, so writing it was sort of my way of dealing with all the insane shit going on around me, and i think it shows. in a good way, though, because cyclical is a timeloop fic so it needed to be a little angsty and insane. i’m stupidly proud of that fic. @ryeallytired actually BOUND it into a PHYSICAL BOOK and SENT IT TO ME and when i tell you that is the singular most precious object i own, i mean it.

What was the most difficult part of writing blinking red light?

PLOTTING THAT BITCH. GOD. i’m so happy to be actually WRITING it now, the planning was genuinely so brutal. my issue was that i was sticking too close to the plot of closed set (<3) which just… did not work for steddie. closed set’s premise centers around crowley lying about making sex tapes, yes, but he lied about them to PROTECT aziraphale, which is the messiest, kindest, riskiest fucking thing ever. and it’s awesome. in the early planning stages of brl, i was trying to put eddie in the crowley role of lying about having made sex tapes with steve, but it reallyyy didn’t work. there was an oc and i absolutely hated him, plus i didn’t like what that premise was doing to eddie’s character… ugh. it was a MESS. it took several rubber duck-ing conversations with my brilliant friend @lollaika and a rewatch of zach and miri to finally realize that it had to be STEVE who brings up the idea of sex tapes so that he could protect eddie, rather than eddie bringing it up to save his own hide (yikes).

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

oooh, lots. reallyyyy loved chapter 8 of cyclical with all of the pov shifts, that was super fun to write. i also really enjoyed writing the dry humping/sex tape convo in the first chapter of brl, and i’m stupidly excited to write chapters 12, 13, 15, and 17, because of specific scenes that will happen in each.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

i do!! after brl is completed i’ll have to choose from two story ideas (because i cannot have two wips at once or i’ll get SO stressed), one being a semi-realistic steddie cowboy au based off my own experiences with growing up on a farm and featuring messy, earnest cowboys and not-fully-human eddie, and the other being the omegaverse au i want to write, which will have a very fun mix of vampire eddie, dubcon bitching, and accidental mating bites!!!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

i cannot think of anything!! this was super fun :D

Thank you to our author, @cuips-not-cute, and our anonymous nominator! See more of cuips_not_cute's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[toppamplemousse]

f1 fic rec list

inspired to make my own fic rec list. decided to choose some of my fave fics that are under 5k hits just for those who might not have seen some of these!

please be warned - some of these do not have happy endings. it wouldn't be a list from me if there wasn't some major suffering.

lestappen fic recs:

even a Mouse by ficster28 / @ficster28 | 19.7k words | G

Charles was fifteen when his dæmon settled. It was a perfectly average age to settle, and it happened so quietly and naturally that neither he nor Moira even noticed at first. They had other things to think about: today, they were aiming to beat out Ben Barnicoat and Max Verstappen at Val d’Argenton. It wasn’t until they were getting into the kart that they realised. Moira normally transformed into an insect to race, something small enough that she could crawl inside Charles’s race suit and be protected as he drove. Today, she didn’t even try to change; they both just looked at each other, and knew. “A mouse,” he said. genuinely a fic like none other. so painful. so beautiful.

The Tides of Fate by crimsonmidnight / @mvlionheart | 14.5k words | M

When they break apart they’re both breathless and laughing, forming a symphony with the seagulls squawking nearby and the shouts of men dragging logs past the gatehouse. The world feels like an infinite expanse and nothing more than the space between them, somehow simultaneously. "You’re pretty good at that,” Max comments, hand brushing over the back of his neck “Kissing?” Charles asks. “I’ve never done it before.” “No,” Max teases. “You’re rubbish at that, but you’re a good jailbreak. Thanks for the assistance. I’ll see you around." heed the tags. prepare for heartbreak. the most beautiful tragic story.

Your Name is Charles by joesboilingpoint / @tylersayscool | 45k words | M

After running into a soldier following the burning of his commune and maddened by grief, Charles aims to shoot the man down, only to be taken down himself, waking up later on and remembering nothing of his previous life, now a soldier himself. - M is very practical about his work, seasoned in combat and skilled in spotting targets. C has seen the man in practice, seen him sweat and grunt and keep himself in shape. He’s seen him routinely climb ropes and train for ruck marches, seen him demolish his target boards. But it’s one thing to see the man train in the comfort of their home base, where it’s safe and sheltered and familiar. It’s a whole other experience watching him in action. this author nails an AU like no one else. the world building is unparalleled and the story is just incredible. ending has me in a CHOKEHOLD

blowing smoke by gurlznboyz | 7.5k (unfinished) | E

“What is it like?” “What is what like?” “Being with men,” Charles gestures. He means for it to be derisive. Cutting. His hand flails a little limply. “Is it different than with women?” “Yeah, mate,” Max says. “Fucking a guy is totally different than fucking a girl. That’s kind of the whole point, is it not?” Charles shrugs, bringing his own beer bottle up to his lips. “I would not know. I have never had sex with a man.” when charles catches max verstappen, his mortal enemy since they were all but seven, kissing a man, he tries to be normal about it. when they start falling into bed together, he becomes decidedly not normal about it. BEAR WITH ME when i say that this is one chapter so far and i think about it all the time. something just so delicious. ill be here always.

here's to all the mistakes i never made by ncr1pted / @3ncr1pted | 4.9k words | E

Charles is twenty-eight–almost twenty-nine. He's not stupid either. He knows people; knows how to play them, how to get what he wants, how they act. He can recognize the starstruck look in his teammates eyes whenever he and Charles talk. The way he follows Charles around, half a step behind. He used to look at Seb that way. when i say. the fact this is under 5k words and yet i went thru every emotion on the planet. few people understand the sebchal of it all like aries does.

love & much worse drugs by indras | 5k words (unfinished) | E

It was the night of the twelfth of December 2021. Now, if you know anything about Formula One, then you probably know the earlier events of that day. Those, we won’t get into. This story isn’t about racing. It’s about sex. In Max’s eyes, sex and racing had always been opposites. Racing for a finish line during sex would make one a selfish partner. And Max had never thought himself a selfish partner. Nor would one want to fight their partner in bed, least of all in the way that Max fought his opponents on the racetrack. And that is exactly how Max managed to compartmentalize his relations with Charles Leclerc, his longtime opponent, into two categories – sex and racing. Or, Max is a fresh world champion with an increasing alcohol-habit, and now, an image problem. like. they fucking in ch 1, they're bitching by ch 3, the hottest fic with tormented alcoholic max. sign me UP.

ok these two have more than 5k hits BUT i still think they're underrated and would implore EVERYONE to read:

on top of the world (looking down on creation) by eaurouge_sangnoir / @eaurouge-sangnoir | 67.3k words | E

Nothing came close to winning a World Championship. Nothing. Not even sex. Not that Max would know. Or; Max won his first World Championship at the age of twenty-four, still a virgin. He's finally ready to do something about it. On the other side of the hotel room door, there was Charles.

could easily my favorite fic ever. the most beautiful heartbreaking story by an author whose way with the english language is beyond compare. it's hot, angsty, sad, beautiful, i cannot cannot cannot recommend this enough. every chapter so incredible.

balaclava lines by richardmarie75 / @cornerofacry | 10k words (unfinished) | E

"He will never be yours." She freed herself from his hold. Wiped her face with her palms. "Charles. He will never be yours," she continued, gaze traveling to the trophy that stood next to his sim, gargantuan and gold. Blood and sweat in the limelight for a place in the sun. Max stared at her, immobile. or Max and Charles dump their girlfriends and find each other during the winter break. this summary barely scratches the surface of what is truly a breathtaking three chapters. this fic will never leave me. the agony and pain and the desperation and the LOVE the author conveys in such ornate, beautiful ways is beyond words.

[cosmic-giraffe]

What’s your take on chapter 4? It fucking destroyed me.

Anon do I have THOUGHTS

So, first and foremost, I had to wake up SUPER early to watch the trial unfold and lose TWO MORE of my fave characters - all before breakfast. So that was an excellent start to my day.

Seriously though, I think Chapter 4's case might be my favourite in Tetro. Chapters 1 and 2 were great, Chapter 3 was exhausting but interesting, but Chapter 4 ticked all the boxes for me.

A compelling mystery? Yup.

An unexpected victim? Uh-huh.

An even more unexpected killer? Indeedy.

ABSOLUTELY GUT-WRENCHING??? Depressingly so.

I've seen a few takes regarding Watari's motivations this chapter, saying that she's "evil" and "selfish" and "pulling a Nagito", without taking into consideration her mental state during this chapter.

Imagine being her. You've been adultified and forced to grow up sooner than you should due to your parents and their need to have more kids despite not being fit caregivers, and are forcing that responsibility onto you, their teenage daughter. You've never really known how to be carefree or how to enjoy life.

Now, you're forced into a terrible situation where your classmates are dying left and right, with no telling of who's next on the chopping block. But amid the turmoil, you find you can talk to these teenagers, sympathise with them, make meaningful friendships with them. You're finally letting loose a bit, as much as you can in this situation.

You even grow especially close with a couple of them, namely Okazaki and Hama.

With Okazaki, Watari saw something in them that none of the others did. While everybody else saw them as a weirdo with no redeeming qualities, Watari saw a spark of something more. She was their only real friend in the killing game, and went everywhere with them.

Now, imagine the hollowing pit of betrayal opening up in Watari's gut during the third trial when Okazaki, her friend, GLEEFULLY confesses to killing not one, but two of their friends. Imagine how absolutely devastating that must be for her, to have somebody she knew and trusted be capable of doing such horrific things for no good reason. She would never be able to trust anybody again.

And to add to that, Okazaki insists that they did it for Watari, that she will understand one day. And then they're gone, just as dead as all the other people thus far.

Leaving the trial, Watari must feel miserable. She doesn't know how to go on, if she should even go on. And why would she? There's not much of a life waiting for her here. She gets to live another day living in fear of who will crack next, who will die next, if it will be her on either end.

And if she gets to escape, what's waiting for her on the outside? Is she expected to go back to her old life of being a third parent to her innumerable siblings? To be treated like a free nanny by her own dysfunctional parents?

Watari has hit rock bottom. She sees no way out. But you know who she does see?

Hama, with his imposing figure and heart of gold. She sees how important he is to the people in his life, his mom and his little sister. She sees how much he treasures them, and is treasured in return. She sees somebody WORTH dying for.

Watari is obviously in a very unhealthy state of mind. Depression does that to you. It makes thoughts of suicidal ideation seem like a pleasant, viable option to her situation. In a game of kill or be killed, why not go out on her own terms while granting safety to the one other person she cares about in this situation?

Not to say that Watari didn't care about any of the other students, she very much did. She loved Mai and Wada and Yanagi, but she certainly treasured her friendship with Hama most of all. He was one of the few people to take her commitment to the school staff charade seriously. He was the only person she ever decided to give a front row seat to her firedancing skills.

Hama looked out for her like the big brother he was, and she saw just how much his sister needed that kind of protective presence in her life.

So that's why Watari decided to give her life to save Hama, at the expense of killing everybody else.

As I said, Watari's mind is a very unstable place. She isn't thinking clearly, but she still carried through with her plan of setting up Hama as her killer in order for him to receive the blackened status.

She couldn't outright ask him to kill her as she knew he cared about her too much to have her blood on his hands. So assisted suicide was the next best thing, even if he was completely unaware of his involvement.

Personally, I was blown away (pun unintended) by just how SIMPLE Watari's plan was. Not a slight against the writing; I was definitely overthinking the whole case leading up to the trial when the reality was that it was as simple as opening a door.

THAT was what floored me, how such an innocuous motion could be used to commit manslaughter. It's insane.

And that brings me back to Okazaki promising Watari that she'd understand one day. Maybe Watari took Okazaki's words to heart. She definitely took a leaf out of their book with the whole "rigging a door trap" deal.

But in the end, Watari and Hama were both victims in this chapter. I don't even consider there to be a true killer. Watari was depressed and took her own life (she laid out all the steps except the ignition of the fire) and Hama was completely unaware of his role in her plan. He's completely innocent as far as I'm concerned.

Two chapters with two victims back to back is crazy, huh?? 😭

Finally, this was one of the saddest cases in Tetro, and was definitely my favourite so far. Chapter 5 has a lot to live up to, but trust me when I say that if it's any more chaotic than C3 or C4, then I might not make it to see Tetro Blue 🤣🤣

[notiddygothgf]

vii

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ This. Can't. Happen.❞

★ c.w.: nonconsensual drug use, violence, Sexual Assault attempt (unsuccessful).

★ a/n: hello my pookie dookie super wookies!!! I'm back again because a certain someone on tumblr convinced me to update early. I simply can't stay away from this fanfic I fear lol. This chapter was one of my faves i've written so far, and i think you'll all see why. we get to see our first real hashtag conflict between our lovely mc and ml, and more of that bipolarity that aki is known for. ugh!!! I"m so happy about where i'm taking this story now, your suggestions have been a crucial part of that inspiration, so thank you all!!! Keep on commenting, liking, doing what you do, i love you all!!! 

★ w.c: 8.9k

pornstar ; chapter index

AKI WAS GONE early in the morning, just as you had thought. The blanket he had used was neatly folded, placed on the couch, and there was no trace of him. You damn near believed that he had never really been there at all – that all of last night had been some crazy dream, that you hadn’t let him eat you out the night before…

But, alas, life was cruel. Too cruel for that to be the case.

Yet, somehow, in his wake, he left an unmistakable trail – one of confusion. Your emotions were a turbulent ocean, waves crashing against your ribs, washing over you in tides. Making sense of everything that had happened wound up being much easier said than done. 

You see, the first time, you could have at least justified it by saying that the sex pollen had interfered with your decision-making skills. The second time?

No, the second time, it was entirely your choice.

Last night, there was no excuse.

You had known exactly what you were doing when you kissed him. When you let him lay you down. When you let him touch you like that—like he had been waiting for it. Like he needed it just as much as you did.

And you had let him.

Had wanted him.

Even now, just thinking about it made your skin burn.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was supposed to be—a mistake. Something that happened in the heat of the moment, something that should have never happened at all. But the worst part, the part that made you feel like you were losing your mind, was that it didn’t feel like a mistake. Not at the time. Not when his lips were against yours, when his hands were gripping your hips, when he was murmuring things in that quiet, breathless way that made you want to pull him closer, hold onto him tighter.

It felt right.

And that terrified you.

Because if it felt right, then what did that mean?

You shook the thought away, forcing yourself to focus on the present, on the day ahead, on literally anything else. But no matter how much you tried to push it down, it sat there, festering, clawing at the edges of your mind. Every meeting, every mission report, every fleeting glance at Aki from across the room—it all sent a fresh wave of nerves through you, like your body was caught in some impossible limbo between regret and longing.

By the time most of the division had cleared out for the evening, you had given up on trying to ignore it.

The truth was, you needed to see him.

You didn’t even know what you wanted out of it—if you wanted him to act normal so you could shove this all down and pretend it didn’t happen, or if you wanted him to acknowledge it, to admit that he had felt it too. Maybe you just needed to know that you weren’t the only one who was completely unraveling.

And so, without fully realizing what you were doing, you found yourself heading toward his office.

The halls were quiet now, dimly lit and almost eerie with how empty they were. You took slow, measured steps, each one dragging you closer, tightening the knots in your stomach.

Then, you saw it.

The warm glow of his office light spilling into the hallway.

Your heart jumped, an involuntary thing, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you considered turning around.

But your feet didn’t move.

You stood there, staring at the door, trying to steady yourself, to think of something to say, to not feel so completely exposed just standing there, wanting something you couldn’t name.

You raised your hand.

Knocked.

A beat of silence.

Then—his voice, low and even, with just the slightest edge of something unreadable.

“…Come in.”

You inhaled sharply, exhaled slow.

Then, you turned the handle, stepping into the office that smelled so distinctly like him… old paper, wooden floorboards, coffee, cologne… the faintest lingering hint of his last cigarette. And there, in the middle of it all, sat the very same man who had been occupying your thoughts all day, pen poised in his hand, glancing down at a stack of papers.

Then, his gaze flitted up to you, eyes widening, as if he hadn’t entirely expected you to be there.

“What are you doing here so late?” He asked.

Shuffling awkwardly in place, you told him, “I came to see you.”

“Okay.” Aki sighed, setting his pen down with a deliberate slowness, his fingers briefly curling over it before releasing. He looked up at you with that unreadable expression of his—calm, composed, as if he already knew exactly why you were here. As if none of this had been keeping him up at night. As if he wasn’t bothered.

That was something you had to admire about him. No matter what was happening, no matter what he was feeling, Aki never let anything show.

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat, hands curling into fists at your sides. Then, heart hammering against your ribs, you forced the words out.

“We need to talk.”

There. You had said it.

Aki didn’t react at first—just watched you, eyes steady, before he finally exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “I agree.”

His voice was low, even, measured. And for some reason, that only made the unease coiling in your stomach worse.

“Last night,” he continued, tone carefully controlled, “the other day… I shouldn’t—” He stopped, jaw tensing briefly before pressing on. “It can’t happen again.”

Your breath caught.

“It was a lapse in judgment, and I apologize,” he said. “I should never have shown up at your apartment in the state I did.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, striking like a slap to the face.

You froze.

That’s what this was? A lapse in judgment? A mistake?

Your stomach twisted, the sharp, awful weight of realization pressing against your ribs. You should have known. You should have expected this—because this was Aki. Rational, disciplined, never reckless unless forced into it.

You shouldn’t have let yourself get caught up in the moment. Shouldn’t have let yourself believe, even for a second, that maybe he—

But then the words tumbled from your lips before you could even think to stop them.

“That’s not…” You shook your head, voice smaller now, barely above a whisper. “I’m not upset with you over that.”

Aki’s gaze flickered.

You swallowed, breath unsteady. “I enjoyed it.”

Silence.

A slow, unbearable kind of silence.

His expression didn’t change. Not right away. But something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of something unreadable, something restrained. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested on the desk, as if he was resisting the urge to move.

It was then that you realized—you had caught him off guard.

And that terrified you.

Because if Aki had already made up his mind, if he had already decided to pretend like nothing happened, then your admission had just thrown all of that into question.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as the weight of your words settled between you, thick and suffocating.

Aki inhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“...So did I. It doesn’t really matter, at the end of the day,” he said finally, but there was something different in his voice now. A slight edge to it. “It shouldn’t have happened the first time, it definitely should not have happened the second time. There won’t be a third.”

It wasn’t convincing.

And maybe that was why, despite everything, you didn’t back down. He certainly hadn’t had any reservations the night before.

“But it did happen…” You said. “Why now?”

Aki exhaled sharply, like he had been waiting for that question—like he already had his answer rehearsed. “Because I let my personal feelings get in the way of work. It’s a workplace distraction at best and a downright HR violation at worst,” he remarked, his tone clipped, efficient, as if that much should have been obvious. (It should have been.)

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What did you come here to tell me?”

“I just…” You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know.” You hated how small your voice sounded. “I came because I was confused, I guess.”

Aki’s face gave away nothing. That cold, impassive expression was back again, like a locked door. It made your stomach twist, because last night, he hadn’t looked at you like this.

Last night, his hands had been soft against your skin. His voice had been quiet, low, warm against your ear. And now—now you could barely recognize him.

Captain Hayakawa. Not Aki.

And maybe that was what made you snap.

“What’s there to be confused about?” he asked, tone impersonal, detached.

Asshole.

“About this, Aki!” you burst out, frustration burning in your chest. Your hands flew out at your sides, gesturing wildly to the space between you like it should be obvious, like he should just understand. “You can’t expect me to pretend it never happened. It’s been eating me up inside, and I… I’m confused about what, exactly, this is.”

His expression didn’t change. Not at first. But then, after a long, unbearable moment, he stood from his desk.

The motion was slow, deliberate. His papers were neatly stacked, set aside like this was just another conversation, like this wasn’t making your head spin and your heart feel like it was caving in on itself.

“A mistake,” he said. “That’s what it was.”

Your breath hitched.

He was so mean.

Maybe it was the bruised ego. Maybe it was the burning need to know more.

Maybe it was the way his jaw had clenched just slightly when he said it.

“Bullshit.” You leveled him with a stare, refusing to waver. “You and I both know that the second time was fully intentional.”

Aki didn’t answer. His shoulders were tense, and for a second, you thought he might cave—thought he might admit it.

But instead, he shook his head. “It just won’t work.”

His voice was quieter now.

“I’m not stupid,” he continued, eyes flickering toward yours, searching for something—understanding, maybe, or acceptance. “I have a pretty good idea of what kind of road we’re heading down, which is why I’m ending it now, before it gets out of hand.”

You felt something sharp lodge itself in your chest.

“What the hell do you mean, it won’t work?” You swallowed around the tightness in your throat. “If I liked it and you liked it, then I see no reason why it needs to stop.”

“That’s because you’re naive,” he said, and the words cut sharper than they should have.

Your nails dug into your palms. “I’m not a fucking child.”

Aki sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “If you were an adult, then you’d see what the issue is here.”

You almost laughed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m your supervisor,” he said, as if it should be obvious. “There’s a power imbalance in that alone. On top of that, if word got out about us, it would be your reputation on the line.” His voice softened just slightly. “Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help you?”

But that wasn’t what this was.

You could see it in the way he refused to meet your eyes now. In the way his shoulders were drawn tight, like he was bracing himself.

You shook your head. “Don’t act like giving me the cold shoulder makes you the hero here.” Your voice wavered, but not in the way he might have expected. “I know what you’re doing.”

His eyes flickered.

“You’re running away,” you said. “Again.”

Aki tensed.

His head lifted slightly, and suddenly, he was stepping forward, closing the space between you in an instant.

“I’m not running away from shit,” he muttered, low, firm. And when he met your gaze, there was something simmering there. Something restrained.

For a second, neither of you moved.

“This. Can’t. Happen,” he said, slow and deliberate, like he was forcing himself to say the words.

“Why not?” you whispered, and you hated how desperate it sounded.

Aki just stared at you, something torn flashing across his face.

You took a step forward. “Worse things happen in Public Safety, Aki. If you can seriously give me one genuine reason why you don’t want to see me again—none of that legal bullshit—then I’ll leave.”

Silence.

His lips parted slightly, as if he had something to say. As if the words were right there, waiting to be spoken.

But then he hesitated.

And in that hesitation, you had your answer.

His jaw clenched. “I can’t,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s the fucking problem with you—I can’t stay away.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, eyes dark, unreadable. “And I’m bad for you. Very bad.”

“I’m grown,” you said, stepping closer, voice steady now. “I can handle myself. What’s the problem?”

Aki stared at you, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes.

Then, finally—

“Look,” he exhaled. “We wouldn’t be good for each other. I know what I want in a relationship, and I’m not sure if it would be best to get involved with you.”

His voice was softer now. Quieter.

And for the first time since you walked into this office, Aki looked conflicted.

And that, more than anything else, made your chest tighten.

The air in the room had been thick with tension, a heaviness that pressed against your chest, making it difficult to breathe. He stood near the window, his back to you, arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was something guarded in the way he carried himself, something distant. It felt like he was already halfway gone, even though he hadn’t moved an inch.

He finally spoke, his voice low and strained, like the words were hard to pull from him. “I didn’t want to put you in a position where you’d feel like you have to conform to my needs,” he had said, each word deliberate, as though he were measuring them carefully before they escaped his lips. “You deserve something simpler.” He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the outside world. “What I want—what I need, isn’t something I think you can give me…” His voice had trailed off, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders seemed to sink, as if he was giving up, the weight of whatever he carried too much to bear.

You were frozen, staring at him, your heart pounding in your chest. His words had struck you like a punch, but you hadn’t been prepared for the emotional impact. You’d thought you understood him—thought you knew what this was, but now… now, it felt like everything was slipping through your fingers.

He turned slowly, his eyes not meeting yours as he walked past you toward the door. His movements were stiff, calculated, like he was closing off whatever small thread of connection remained between you. “It’s a commitment,” he continued, his voice cold, almost mechanical. “And that’s exactly why this isn’t going to work.”

Stunned into silence, you didn’t know how to respond. You’d never seen him like this before. He was always in control, always so sure of himself. But now… now, you could feel the wall going up between you. It was suffocating.

He made his way toward the door, and you stood there, unsure of what to say, but something inside you snapped. Your voice came out, louder than you’d meant it to, sharp and defiant. “Do you want a submissive?” The words felt foreign on your tongue, but they had come out before you could stop them.

He stopped in his tracks, his back still turned to you. The silence that followed was unbearable. You could feel him tense, his body rigid with some unspoken anger. Then, slowly, he turned to face you, his gaze hard and unwavering.

“You’re a dominant, right? That’s what you want,” you pressed, taking a step toward him, refusing to let him shut you out. “And you think I can’t provide that.”

His eyes flashed with something close to irritation, but it was quickly masked by something else—something colder, more detached. “That’s a pretty straightforward way of putting it, but, yeah.” He sneered, his lips curling slightly, but it was empty, like a practiced response. “I’m surprised you know the word for it,” he muttered, the challenge in his voice clear. It wasn’t a compliment, but a reminder of the distance between you.

He didn’t move, just stood there, his body tense, his posture rigid. “That’s why I should never have gotten involved with you.” His voice dropped, the words biting and deliberate. “It’d be stupid of me to drag you into a world you know nothing about.”

You didn’t back down. No, not this time. “But what if…” You hesitated, the weight of his words pressing down on you, but you refused to show weakness. “What if that’s what I want? What if I’m willing to learn?”

He looked at you like you were the one being ridiculous, like you didn’t understand the danger you were asking for. His expression twisted, hardening as he took a step closer, his body language becoming more imposing.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he had said, shaking his head slowly. “You have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into or what you’re asking. You should go back to hating my guts. It’d be a hell of a lot easier that way.”

His words hit you like ice water, cold and jarring, and for a moment, your anger flared. But instead of retreating, you pushed forward. You refused to back down.

“I can try, I just…” you trailed off, the words coming out in a shaky breath. “I like what we have going on.” You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t wanna go back to how things were, either.”

His eyes flickered, but there was no softness in them, no room for compromise. He gave a short, humorless laugh that echoed in the empty space between you. “This isn’t…” He exhaled sharply, as if the words were physically painful to say. “I’m bad for you. You don’t want this. You’re just being naive.”

Your chest tightened. His words stung, but you weren’t going to let him push you away that easily. “Don’t tell me what I want,” you hissed, the words coming out more forcefully than you intended. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

His face darkened, his eyes narrowing in frustration.

“If I knew you were gonna use me, sir, I would never have kissed you,” you retorted, your voice thick with emotion, with anger that had been building up in you ever since this conversation started.

“I’m not using you,” he shot back, his voice sharp, unyielding. “I’m protecting you.”

Right, but you tell me all of this after you give me the best head of my entire life?

You shook your head, the bitter laugh that escaped your lips dry and without humor. “I’m not a child.” You had meant to scream, but instead, the words had come out quietly, as if you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

“It’s not gonna happen,” he had said, his voice a low, cutting command that left no room for argument. “End of discussion.”

Tears had welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, and you blinked them away quickly, angry at yourself for being so weak. You wanted to scream, to shout, to make him see reason, but you couldn’t.

Why the fuck do I even care?

He had looked at you, but there was nothing soft in his gaze. No understanding, no tenderness—only a hardened resolve. “Can I help you with anything else?” His voice was quieter, but it didn’t matter. It felt like he was already done.

“No,” you had whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of everything left unsaid. You turned and left without another word, the door closing softly behind you, but the finality of it was deafening.

He was right about one thing. He most definitely wasn’t good for you.

And yet, as you made your exit, the thought of walking away had never felt harder.

Feeling a little spiteful, later that evening, you were looking for something to do – a distraction, if you will. Such a distraction came in the form of a bad decision. More specifically, a text you most definitely should not have sent.

YOU: heyyyy… are you free tonight?

KENJI: for u i can be ;)

YOU: cool! I was thinking we could maybe go out. I wanna get drunk.

KENJI: I know a really good place not far from yours. It��s called Ghost.

YOU: sounds fun. How’s tn at 10 sound?

KENJI: sounds perfect. See u there.

And that’s how you wound up here, sandwiched between sweaty, grinding bodies, wearing the shortest little black dress you owned, arms thrown around Kenji’s shoulders. He was a relatively easy distraction for the evening – he was funny, easy on the eyes and, to top it all off, he was clear about what he wanted. It was all just good fun.

And he was a pretty good dancer. While the bass thrummed in your veins, shook the floor below, you lost yourself in the rhythm, dancing back and forth like your life depended on it. Your breath came out in short, ragged puffs, your makeup was probably running down your face, and your hair felt frizzy. You didn’t care. The beat was fast and unforgiving, and it was easy to lose yourself in it.

One slight issue. Every time you looked into Kenji’s eyes, you could have sworn the brown irises morphed into pools of blue—chestnut waves into a black, sleek ponytail.

You shook your head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. It was just the lighting, the haze of alcohol already buzzing in your veins. But the more you stared, the more Kenji warped into someone else entirely. The slope of his nose wasn’t right, his jawline wasn’t as sharp. The warmth in his brown eyes wasn’t the cool, assessing blue you couldn’t seem to get out of your head.

You swallowed hard. You weren’t drunk enough for this.

“Kenji,” you said, leaning into his ear to be heard over the music. “Can we go to the bar?”

He pulled back slightly, grinning. “Already need a refill?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah.”

He grabbed your hand without hesitation, threading his fingers through yours as he led you through the dense crowd. His grip was firm, warm—his touch more possessive than it probably should have been. But you let him hold on. If he noticed how tense you were, he didn’t comment on it.

The bar was just as crowded as the dance floor, lined with people waving bills in the air, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. Kenji slid in beside you, draping an arm casually over your shoulder. The weight of it was solid, grounding, but all you could think about was how it wasn’t the same.

“What’s your poison?” he asked, tilting his head down toward you.

You didn’t even know what you wanted. You just needed something strong enough to drown out the thoughts clawing at your mind. “Surprise me.”

Kenji smirked. “Dangerous words.”

You watched as he flagged down the bartender, leaned in to place the order. He was confident, comfortable in a place like this. When the drink came—something deep amber, served in a short glass—he nudged it toward you.

“Try this.”

You took the glass, the condensation cold against your palm, and brought it to your lips. The first sip burned—whiskey, probably, with some kind of subtle sweetness mixed in. It was smoother than you expected, but still potent. You swallowed hard, relishing the way it warmed your throat.

Kenji watched you, something amused in his gaze. “Good?”

You nodded, taking another sip. It was strong. Not strong enough.

You were about to take a third when he suddenly leaned in, arms wrapping around your waist. “Hey,” he murmured. “Can I get a hug?”

It was such a simple request, but it threw you. Your fingers tightened around your drink for a second before you relaxed, forcing yourself to smile. “Of course.”

You set the glass down and slid your arms around him, resting your cheek against his shoulder. He was warm, solid. He smelled like expensive cologne and the faint tang of sweat.

You closed your eyes. Just for a second.

But in your mind, the scent shifted. The hold around you wasn’t Kenji’s anymore—it was someone else’s. Someone you shouldn’t have been thinking about.

You pulled back before you could sink too far into it, forcing out a laugh. “There. Happy now?”

Kenji grinned. “Very.”

You grabbed your drink and took another sip.

Still not strong enough.

Time seemed to fly by pretty easily after that – conversation was flowing, laughter was bubbling, and the two of you were leaning ever-closer to one another. Everything was perfect, save for the fact that you were probably far drunker than you should have been… nauseatingly drunk. The world seemed to tip on axis every time you tilted your head at Kenji, put your hand on his knee to laugh. 

You weren’t even entirely sure what the two of you were talking about anymore, only that Kenji was close. A little too close. His arm was draped lazily over the back of your barstool, knee pressed up against yours. Somewhere nearby, you could hear the music playing, but it felt muffled – like you were submerged under water.

You took another calm sip of your drink – Kenji seemed to be bent on getting you drunk, something you weren’t at all opposed to. This one was a little too sweet, a little too strong, but you could hardly taste it anymore. The liquid burned its way down your throat, into your stomach, heavy and hot.

Kenji was saying something funny that you couldn’t quite hear. Still, you laughed, because that was what normal people did.

Then, when you turned to look at him, the room tilted violently. You exhaled sharply, willing the dizzy spell to pass – as they always did when you drank a little too much – but this time, it didn’t. Instead, the feeling spread, creeping into your pores, your limbs, making you feel as if you were weighed to the stool. Suddenly, the lights seemed too bright, the music too quiet.

When did I get so drunk?

“I think I…” You swallowed, deciding to put the breaks on this thing before the night ended with puke all over Kenji’s pretty white shirt. Your skin was clammy. “I think I should slow down.”

Kenji tsked teasingly, nudging your half-empty glass towards you, “Come on, don’t tap out now. You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

You had been, but now… something felt off. Uneasily, you stared at your drink. 

“You barely finished,” He added, as if that would make the situation any better. There was an insistence behind his words. “One more sip.”

Might as well see it through, right? So, begrudgingly, you reached for the glass. The moment you moved to lift it, a wave of nausea rolled over you – something so fast, so sudden, that you physically recoiled from the strength of it. The room was spinning – slowing down. Stretching. Everything was moving a little too sluggishly, like time had thickened.

No, something is wrong.

Your breath picked up, coming in short and fast in an attempt to make the bile go back down into your stomach, but it didn’t work. Your limbs felt heavy.

“I need…” You forced yourself up from the stool, swaying on unsteady legs like you were on some sort of cruise ship. You didn’t know where you were going, but your intuition was screaming at you to leave, that you were too drunk to continue the conversation. “I need a minute… uh… bathroom.”

Kenji’s hand caught your wrist. His touch was warm, but it sent a pulse of panic shooting up your arm. “Hey,” he asked, brows furrowed, “You good?”

You tugged yourself free from his grasp, wobbling on your feet – the ground below you felt uneven, as if it would open up any minute and swallow you whole. “I just need a sec.”

Then, before he could stop you, you turned on your heel and legged it towards the corner of the room, towards the flashing “RESTROOM” sign. After what felt like an eternity, you found the women’s bathroom (at least, you thought you did). You practically threw open the door, bracing your hands on the dirty sink ledge and peering at yourself in the mirror.

There were blurred colors swimming around your vision, graffiti from the wall behind you popping off the backdrop and swirling around you. Your face didn’t quite look like your face – it was a little longer than usual, a little misshapen. Your pupils were wide and dilated, legs unsteady like a newborn doe.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

You knew that much. You had never been this drunk in your entire life. So, not fully registering the movement until afterwards, you reached into your purse and pulled out your flip phone. The numbers on the screen blurred together, but you had enough wits to find the little contact book icon in the top right corner. You selected it with trembling hands, and watched as your contacts appeared before you – distorted, like hieroglyphs. 

Am I having a stroke? You thought.

You clicked on the name at the top – the first one you could. You needed to talk to someone, anyone…

It rang once… twice….

The line clicked.

A stern voice answered, “Hello?”

You only vaguely recognized it. It was deep, satin-smooth, and a little distorted. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a feeling of security blanketed you at the sound of the voice.

“Heyyy…” You trailed off, barely realizing who you had just called until he spoke again.

“Do you need something?” He sounded groggy, tired, like your call had woken him up. You glanced up at the clock on your screen, the swimming numbers which read 28:19. Huh.

That doesn’t seem right.

“Yeah, I…” You trailed off, stumbling on your feet. “Actually, no, I don’t… know what I’m doing. I’m– I– uh… I don’t… feel good.”

What the fuck am I doing? The nausea came back, with a vengeance, this time. Nearly hurling all over the sink, you rushed to the toilet, dropping to your knees and emptying the contents of your stomach into the bowl. You didn’t care if it was dirty – something was wrong.

The voice on the other end of the line crackled, “Are you drunk?”

“No,” You shook your head. No, you had been blackout drunk before – many times. This was something else entirely. “Something… something’s wrong, I think… I…” You hurled again, this time narrowly avoiding puking all over your dress. You deflated, laying your cheek against the toilet seat (and, again, on any other day you would have sooner plucked your eyes out, but you felt to unwell to even hold your head up). 

What’s happening to me?

“Aki, help me,” You pleaded.

Right. That’s who I just called.

The voice on the other side of the line paused. When it spoke again, it was lower, “...Where are you?”

Your stomach dropped. “I’m at… uh… Ghost? The club downtown… by my apartment.”

“I’m coming to get you right now,” He answered. In the background of the call, you could hear the faintest rustling sound. “Are you hurt? Are you in danger?”

“Not hurt… ‘n… I dunno,” You slurred. The cold press of the porcelain against your cheek did little to soothe the uneasiness in your stomach, to stop the room from spinning and tilting. “Something’s wrong, Aki, I don’t feel good.”

You could hear keys jingling on the other side of the line, “Don’t move. Stay right where you are. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Someone’s coming to help me. You could have cried with relief.

You felt guilty, for some reason you couldn’t explain. It felt like you had just called your father drunk – like he would show up and you would see that disappointed expression on his face. For reasons unknown to you, you apologized, “‘M sorry. Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, kid,” The voice sighed. “I’m coming to get you. Stay put.”

Then, the line clicked, and you were alone in the bathroom again – walls closing in, toilet bowl reeking of vomit. You wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, not caring how you looked or smelled, and rose unsteadily to your feet. It took a great deal of effort to do so.

You knew the man on the phone had just told you to stay put, but you couldn’t just stay in the nasty bathroom forever. So, completely going against his advice, you washed your hands and started making your way back to the bar. When you arrived – having to push through a sea of grinding, slowly-moving, sweaty bodies – Kenji was grinning at you, like he had been expecting your company.

“You okay?” He asked you, but the words came out slurred, slowed. 

You shook your head, using every last ounce of energy you had to keep yourself standing upright. “I think I’m gonna go. I feel sick.”

“It’d be a crime to let you walk home alone. Where do you live? I can walk you there,” He was saying. He sounded like he was underwater, too, voice submerged in liquid ocean. 

Still, you had enough of a mind to know that that would be a horrible idea. “No. It’s okay. I’ll get a taxi.”

To be frank, you didn’t care how rude you sounded. Kenji made for a pretty sweet distraction, but, now, it was time to go. You had a ride waiting for you – one that would be outside in about five minutes, and… who was picking you up, again?

“I insist,” He stood up, hooking his arm around yours. Subconsciously, you leaned into him, letting him shoulder your weight. “Come on, lean on me.”

You barely registered Kenji’s arm around you as he guided you toward the exit, your feet dragging sluggishly against the sticky floor. Your body felt leaden, limbs unresponsive, and your mind was thick—clogged with something more than just alcohol. The fresh air outside should have helped, but it didn’t. If anything, the moment you stepped into the cool night, the world tilted violently, sending your stomach lurching.

You tried to yank your arm free, a feeble attempt at regaining control, but Kenji didn’t let go.

“Hey,” you muttered, blinking rapidly, trying to clear the fog in your head. “Lemme go.”

His grip tightened. “You’re too drunk to walk alone.”

A flicker of unease prickled at your spine. The way he was holding you wasn’t gentle, wasn’t protective—it was possessive, controlling. You tried again to pull away, but he just laughed, the sound low and dismissive. Before you could protest, before you could think, he was pushing you back, hard, until your back collided with the rough brick of the building.

Your breath escaped in a sharp gasp, the impact knocking what little stability you had left right out of you.

“Stop playing hard to get,” Kenji murmured, his voice dripping with something dark, something that made your stomach churn in a different way. His hands slid up your arms, pressing you harder against the wall. “Let me walk you home.”

“What the fuck?” Your voice wavered. You were trying to sound strong, but it came out weak, slurred. “Get off of me.”

You pushed at his chest, but it was like pushing against a brick wall—he didn’t budge. The pressure on your arms increased, fingers digging into your skin so hard that you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.

“Kenji,” you tried again, breath shallow. Panic clawed at your throat, but your body refused to respond properly. “I said—”

He cut you off with another shove, and then his hands were on your thighs, hiking your dress up. Cold air brushed against your exposed skin, and that was when the reality of the situation slammed into you full force.

He fucking drugged me.

No.

“No,” you gasped, but your limbs were useless, numb. Your body wouldn’t cooperate, wouldn’t move the way you needed it to. It was like you were trapped inside yourself, screaming from behind glass, unable to break free.

You were crying now, tears slipping down your cheeks, but Kenji didn’t care. If anything, he seemed to enjoy your helplessness, the way you trembled beneath him. His mouth curled into a smirk as his fingers dug into your thighs, forcing them apart.

“Come on,” he breathed. “Relax. You were all over me in there, remember?”

Your stomach twisted. Your head was swimming, vision blurred and unfocused, but you forced yourself to do the only thing you could—

You screamed.

The sound ripped from your throat, raw and desperate, shattering the quiet of the alley. But before you could draw another breath, his fist collided with your face, snapping your head to the side. Pain exploded through your skull, white-hot and blinding. You tasted blood, felt it dribble from your split lip, but you barely registered it over the throbbing in your brow, the sharp sting where his knuckles had connected.

“Stop fucking yelling,” he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. His hand gripped your jaw, squeezing tight enough to make your teeth ache. “You don’t want to make a scene, do you?”

Oh my god, You thought. You had heard stories about date-rape before, horrific tales from friends and colleagues, but you had never thought it would happen to you. This is it.

Your pulse was erratic, pounding so hard it was deafening. Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps. You could feel yourself slipping, body sinking further into uselessness, the world tunneling around you—

And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice was sharp, furious, slicing through the fog in your brain.

You tried to lift your head, to see who it was, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. When you finally managed to, you saw him—his silhouette illuminated by the streetlight above. He was wearing a navy blue sweatshirt and grey sweatpants, but you would recognize that ponytail anywhere.

Aki had come to save you, and he was furious.

The moment Kenji turned his head, barely registering the voice, Aki was already moving. His fist connected with Kenji’s jaw in a brutal, bone-crunching punch that sent him reeling backward. You barely had time to process it before your legs gave out, the last bit of strength leaving your body as you crumpled to the pavement.

Kenji groaned, stumbling back, disoriented. He held his jaw, blinking rapidly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. His lips parted like he was about to say something, some half-assed excuse, but Aki didn’t give him the chance.

He shoved him—hard. Kenji’s back hit the wall, breath escaping in a wheeze. “What the fuck, man—” he started, raising a hand like he could placate Aki, like he wasn’t just pinning you against that very same brick a minute ago.

Aki didn’t care.

He grabbed him by the collar of his stupid, half-unbuttoned shirt and ripped him forward, then drove his fist into his face again. This time, Kenji’s head snapped back against the wall, and he let out a strangled, choked sound of pain. Blood smeared across his upper lip, a dark streak cutting through the dim glow of the streetlights above.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you watched, frozen. The alley felt like it was spinning around you, or maybe it was just the lingering effects of whatever the hell had been in your drink. Your limbs were heavy, useless, your dress still hiked up, your skin raw where Kenji had gripped you. The fight before you felt distant, almost like a dream, but you weren’t sure if that was because of the alcohol or the sheer relief flooding through you.

Kenji staggered, but Aki didn’t let him catch his balance. He grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanked him forward, and slammed him down onto the pavement. Kenji hit the ground hard, landing on his side with a pained grunt, coughing as the wind was knocked out of him.

Aki was on him in an instant.

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even appear to think—he just swung. His fists connected with Kenji’s face over and over, each punch landing with a sickening crack that sent blood splattering across the pavement. Kenji tried to block him, weakly raising his arms, but Aki grabbed his wrist and pinned it down before delivering another vicious strike.

You were sobbing now, barely aware of it, your hands clutched against your chest, your body trembling uncontrollably. You should say something. You should. But your throat felt tight, like something was stuck there, clogging your words, and all you could do was watch.

Aki’s breathing was ragged, harsh. He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t slowing down.

And for a terrifying moment, you weren’t sure if he would.

Kenji was barely conscious now, groaning weakly, his face swelling, blood dripping down his chin. But Aki still wasn’t done.

With a final shove, he grabbed Kenji by the front of his shirt, hauled him up just enough so their faces were inches apart, and spat through gritted teeth, “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Then, as if to drive the point home, he shoved him back down and kicked him—hard. The impact sent Kenji rolling onto his side, curling into himself, coughing wetly.

Aki stood over him, chest heaving.

He leaned down, voice cold, lethal. “You show up to the office again, and you’re dead fucking meat.”

Kenji didn’t answer. He just groaned, barely able to move.

And finally—finally—Aki turned away from him.

His focus snapped back to you.

In an instant, his fury melted into something else entirely—concern. Worry. His brows knitted together as he stepped toward you, crouching down to meet you at eye level.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice softer now, gentle. “Come on.” His arms reached out, steady, grounding, and when his hands found your arms, you flinched on instinct. His grip immediately loosened, like he realized what he’d done.

“It’s me,” he said, quieter this time. “You’re safe.”

Safe.

The word barely registered, but it made something deep inside you crack. The next thing you knew, Aki was pulling you against him, holding you as you trembled in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his hand cradling the back of your head, his other arm wrapped securely around your waist. “I’ve got you.”

You clung to him, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath it. The scent of him—something clean, something real—overwhelmed your senses, drowning out the stench of alcohol and sweat and fear.

I’m safe.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, curled up against him, but eventually, he shifted, one arm slipping beneath your legs. Before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly, cradling you to his chest.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, turning on his heel and carrying you toward the car.

You didn’t fight it. You didn’t have the strength to.

You trusted him.

As he led you to a vehicle, popping the door and setting you down inside before buckling you in, you didn’t even protest. Weakly, you felt around to make sense of your surroundings. You were inside of a car…

…his car. That much was evident by the smells that swirled around you – his cologne, cigarette smoke, something so distinctly him that you couldn’t help but revel in it. 

I’m safe.

Once he was in the driver’s seat and the door was closed, he reached over, cupping your face with a tenderness that shocked you, contrasted his harsh words from earlier. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, looking awfully frightened, as if the concept of you being hurt was eating him up inside. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“He punched me,” You answered, lower lip trembling before you promptly sobbed, doubling over, “Aki, he was gonna do something bad to me– I think– I think he drugged me.”

Aki leaned over the console, wrapping you in his strong, warm arms. He smelled the same way you remembered him smelling – like home (a dangerous thought, you knew.)

“I know, I know,” He cooed, letting you hold him, letting you get his shirt wet with your tears, your ugly sobs. “He’s not gonna hurt you. I’m here, now.”

No shit. The way the two of you had left him back there, you weren’t sure that he was going to be doing anything any time soon.

And he held you while you continued to cry, guilt chewing you up inside because he had known – he had warned you about Kenji early on, and you hadn’t listened. Not only that, but you had gone out with him to spite Aki. 

“I’m sorry,” The words felt as if they were ripped out of you, “You told me… not to trust him, and I… I didn’t listen.”

He only sighed, leaning back in his seat and shifting the car into reverse. “Stop apologizing. We’re gonna get you home, okay?”

With a sniffle, you replied, “Okay.”

Aki didn’t say anything else as he drove, his knuckles white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tightly you could hear the faint grinding of his teeth. The silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was thick—heavy with everything unsaid, with the weight of what had almost happened.

You stared out the window, watching the city lights blur together, head resting against the cool glass. Your body ached all over—your lip throbbed, your brow burned, and your limbs felt like dead weight. But none of it compared to the pit of shame gnawing at your insides.

Aki had been right. He had warned you. And you, stupid and stubborn, hadn’t listened.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, voice hoarse.

Aki let out a slow exhale through his nose, fingers drumming once against the wheel. “You don’t have to keep saying that.”

You sniffled. “I just… I feel so fucking dumb.”

He didn’t answer right away, just turned onto your street, pulling into the parking lot outside your apartment complex. After putting the car in park, he finally turned to look at you. His eyes, usually sharp, were softer now.

“You’re not dumb,” he said firmly. “You just trusted the wrong person.”

That didn’t make you feel any better, but you nodded anyway.

Aki stepped out of the car, coming around to your side before you even had the strength to try moving. He opened the door, crouching down so you didn’t have to move much. “Come on,” he murmured, sliding his arms under you with ease.

“I can walk,” you mumbled weakly, though you didn’t resist when he lifted you effortlessly into his arms.

He scoffed. “Sure you can.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, the warmth of him seeping into you. You hadn’t realized how cold you were until now—until you were pressed against the steady, solid warmth of him, his heartbeat a steady drum against your ear.

He carried you inside, through the dimly lit hallway of your apartment complex, his breathing steady despite the weight he was holding.

“Where’s your room?” he asked as he nudged the door shut behind him.

You didn’t care how absurd it was – that you had called him, that he had actually showed up, that he was holding you bridal-style in your apartment while you succumbed to the drugs. You mumbled the directions, voice thick with exhaustion. You were barely awake by the time he stepped inside, carefully laying you down on the bed.

He turned to leave. You cried out for him, “Where are you going?”

He froze, turning back to you slowly, surely, like he didn’t want to scare you. “I’m grabbing you water from the kitchen. If you drink enough, you might sober up sooner.”

Oh…

How sweet.

Aki returned a few moments later, the soft sound of his footsteps barely registering over the haze of exhaustion settling over you. Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him kneel beside the bed, a glass of water in one hand and something else in the other.

“Sit up,” he said, voice quiet but firm.

You tried, but your limbs felt heavy, sluggish. Aki sighed and helped you, one arm supporting your back as he brought the glass to your lips.

“Drink,” he instructed.

You obeyed, letting him tip the glass slightly, cool water sliding past your lips. It felt like heaven against your dry throat, washing away the awful taste lingering there. When you had enough, you weakly pushed at his wrist, and he pulled the glass away.

“Good,” he murmured, setting it on your nightstand.

It was only then that you noticed what was in his other hand—a makeup wipe, still in its package.

You blinked at it, sluggishly processing. “What…?”

“You’re gonna wake up feeling worse if you sleep in this,” Aki said simply, shifting to sit beside you on the bed. He tore the package open with his teeth, pulling the wipe free before tilting your chin toward him. You weren’t sure how he had found your makeup wipes, but you figured it would be better to be grateful.

You should have protested, should have at least pretended you had the energy to do it yourself, but the second he pressed the cool wipe to your cheek, you melted.

Aki was careful, more gentle than you thought he’d be. He swept the wipe over your skin in slow, deliberate motions, wiping away the smudged mascara beneath your eyes, the streaks of foundation that had worn off unevenly over the night. He pressed his thumb against your chin to steady you, tilting your head slightly as he ran the cloth along your brow, down your nose, over your lips.

His touch lingered for a second longer when he reached your swollen lip. His brows furrowed, his jaw clenching tight. He looked prettier like this – out of uniform.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled.

Aki didn’t answer, just exhaled sharply through his nose before flipping the wipe over and continuing. His fingers were warm against your skin, the contrast soothing.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in—the faint scent of cigarettes clinging to his sweatshirt, the familiar sharpness of his cologne. It smelled like home, like safety.

By the time he finished, you were barely clinging to consciousness, your body sinking further into the mattress.

Aki brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips featherlight against your skin. “I should probably leave,” he murmured.

You knew what he was getting at. It seemed that every time the two of you were alone together, something strange happened – some unknown, invisible force that pulled the two of you together like a magnet. 

Still, you clutched at his sleeve, pulling him back towards you.

“Don’t go,” You pleaded. “Stay with me.”

It was a horrible idea. It was a horrible, rotten idea, and you knew it would only serve to worsen whatever the fuck was already going on between the two of you. But you felt your heart sink at the mere mention of his departure, and you felt as if you would die if he left you.

“I shouldn’t,” He sighed, “I really, really shouldn’t.”

I know, you thought. 

“It’ll make things more complicated,” He added, “I’m sure you’ll regret it in the morning. It would be better for the both of us… if you just let me leave.”

Don’t go.

“Stay here with me? Please,” You reiterated, tugging at his sleeve once more. “Don’t leave me here alone, I’m scared.”

He sighed. A long, drawn-out sigh, like the tension was physically melting away from his shoulders. Like he was weak. Then, he looked at you, replying, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Aki hesitated for a moment, the weight of your request settling into the space between the two of you – fragile, ready to snap at any moment. Then, the mattress shifted beneath his weight. He made sure to lay as far from you as your queen-sized mattress would allow, keeping that invisible boundary up between the two of you. His body was tense, stiff, as if he needed the distance – some semblance of control.

But the distance felt unbearable to you. Like some aching emptiness that stretched out across the sheets between you and him. Without thinking much about it (as you were still completely inebriated), you shifted closer to the man, curling around his arm, pulling him closer even though you knew it was wrong. 

It felt right, somehow. 

His body tensed with surprise, muscles stiffening at the bold move. But, then, like he melted against your touch, the resistance faded, giving way to relaxation. His breath was a quiet exhale of resignation as he let himself fall into you. Still, he didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. For once, he allowed himself to soften against you, perhaps swayed by the idea that you wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning.

You swallowed, heart racing against your chest. “Goodnight, Aki.”

You could have sworn that his breath hitched for a fraction of a second. He didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch on. But, then, you felt his gaze fall upon your face, eyes laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Goodnight,” He replied, voice wrapped in something that sounded like quiet resignation – an acceptance, maybe.

You knew it was wrong – all of this. You knew that you would most definitely regret it in the morning, that this would only serve to complicate things (if you remembered it).

But you took one last whiff of him, of his comforting scent, and you felt yourself melt. Suddenly, you didn’t care about what you and him were… or weren’t.

He was here. And, for now, that was good enough.

You would think about what all of this meant in the morning.

a/n: I LOVE SOFT AKI. even if he's a big conflicted baby. what did we thinkkkkk????? aki was right about kenji, and i LOVED writing him getting his ass beat. I wish i could jump my ex, so i'm living vicariously through this story lol. I wanna take a moment to thank all of you for your continued support on this story, especially my regular commenters, both on tumblr and wattpad. you guys are keeping this train chugging, and these premed studies are chewing me UP. anyway!! thats it for now, but i'll probably update again very soon. obviously i cant keep my hands off this story lol. x

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505

wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

[drawberry03]

So before anime my first love had always been cartoons, I only recently watched Hey Arnold! recently (I blame betaruga's art I've been sucked in ever since) and its been a hyperfixation for months now. I wanted to make a comic based on one of my fave fics of Shortaki.

I wanted to show my appreciation via this project, which has been fun and challenging so far (tell ya what my environment and angling of panels have never looked as good lmao). And I have fallen in love with pencil textures.

Here's the fic made by Reinamy (I love everything you've written!): https://archiveofourown.org/works/6896269/chapters/15734773#workskin

I never told @reinamycloud about doing this but I hope they like it anyway. I'm planning to eventually make the other chapters as well but it will take time cuz I'm going back to school.

P.S. Idk who Trevor is, so I just made up his face lmao.

[suzukiblu]

I kind of want to try your method of posting wips a snippet at a time while writing them, but on the other hand I am nervous about it. Can you give me some advice?

I've been trying to nail down the mixed feelings, and this is what I've got so far:

for:

it will get eyes on my fics faster, and I can show off what I've written sooner, instead of needing to finish a whole chapter

it will encourage engagement both in reacting to specific posts and in asking for more

it will be more chances for people to be intrigued and want to read the whole fic

against:

what if I do it and nobody cares?

til now I've been releasing fics a chapter at a time and it would feel weird to change that. inertia and all

what do I do if/when I change something I've written and already posted a snippet of?

it feels weird to post them on my writing blog, which currently only holds finished chapters (and fanart), but if I post them on my main, I feel like they'll get lost and/or I'll miss reactions in my busy activity channel. Where should I post it to? Should I make yet another sideblog?

in direct response to your listed mixed feelings, in my personal experience of writing this way:

for:

it will get eyes on my fics faster, and I can show off what I've written sooner, instead of needing to finish a whole chapter: yes it will, and it feels great! and personally it also helps me keep momentum and helps soften the sting if I drop a fic/chapter later and people don't have much to say about it. I KNOW it's good, other people already told me they liked it!! no, I'm not gonna throw out the whole story because of one mediocre reception, SHUT UP IMPOSTER SYNDROME AND GET BACK IN THE WRITING TRENCHES.

it will encourage engagement both in reacting to specific posts and in asking for more: yes it does, and WAY more people consistently (and more gratifyingly!) engage with me since I've made a habit of posting this way, especially when they're especially interested in a specific WIP over my other ones, and a lot of people just seem to be more engaged and invested in my writing in general. or at least more willing to tell me that they are, if nothing else, haha.

it will be more chances for people to be intrigued and want to read the whole fic: yes it will, and if you post larger scenes and tag them, then more people are likelier to find you/your writing than would if you only post one chapter in the tags however often you update those. also, if you have a fic-specific WIP tag that you link to, it's very easy for people who are just discovering the WIP to go back and catch up all at once ( or for people who aren't into it to blacklist, if that's a concern, as opposed to them feeling like they have to unfollow/block you ).

against:

what if I do it and nobody cares? good news: they probably won't care! at least to start. that's just kinda how it is, to start. I get a lot of engagement because I am REAL prolific and do my best to be responsive, plus I've been updating this blog and in this specific fandom pretty consistently for over a year, and also have also been in online fandom spaces on and off for, like, legit twenty-five years at this point. so I am just very used to being in these spaces, and I also have readers who've followed me for a decade+ or even since I was an actual literal TEENAGER in at least a couple cases, so like, they're already kinda invested in my writing, haha. there are people following this blog who not only read my Inu-Yasha Miroku/Sesshoumaru fanfic back in the day in the Pit of Voles but also still REMEMBER reading my Inu-Yasha Miroku/Sesshoumaru fanfic back in the day in the Pit of Voles, to say nothing of everyone who found me through AtLA or the MCU or the Witcher ( or so, so much Star Wars meta, the Star Wars meta has also definitely been a thing ). also I update my blog pretty consistently and I do writing memes that reward the people who play with me with new content and more progress in their fave WIPs, and also they're technically "voting" for what they wanna see more of, so that also adds to them feeling engaged/invested and me feeling motivated/energized, because they feel like they've affected the growth and progress of the story ( which they have ) and I feel like they're enjoying the story and genuinely appreciate it ( which they do! ). so everyone wins!

til now I've been releasing fics a chapter at a time and it would feel weird to change that. inertia and all: yeah that is the sunk-cost fallacy trying to fuck you up and you can and should tell it to fuck off. if you try it and you don't like the change, you can just stop doing it. you're free! no one can stop you!! hit the bricks, do your thing, the past is gone and it is NOT in charge of your ass! your ass is all yours!! whatever, we do what we want! I am in fact giving you explicit PERMISSION to do what you want.

what do I do if/when I change something I've written and already posted a snippet of?: then you've changed something! if it's a major change, you can repost the updated scene or mention you're making a change in a separate post or just say there's been a significant change when you post the chapter and therefore people who've already read the WIP posts might wanna reread it, but personally I change and tweak and fiddle with stuff I've already posted all the time. usually it's just bits of phrasing or formatting or adding in little details to round stuff out or correct mistakes, or to clarify things that confused people or that I forgot about, but sometimes it's adding multiple paragraphs or even additional little scenes. it's absolutely a thing I do and a thing that I consider fair play. you're literally posting "work-in-progress" excerpts, it is in the NAME that stuff might/will change or be adjusted. shit, if you feel like it, throw the whole story out and start over with a 2.0 WIP tag!! art is meant to be fucked with!!!!

it feels weird to post them on my writing blog, which currently only holds finished chapters (and fanart), but if I post them on my main, I feel like they'll get lost and/or I'll miss reactions in my busy activity channel. Where should I post it to? Should I make yet another sideblog?: the past is gone! you are free!! it's a writing blog that is for your writing and you can write whatever you want on it. the rules are made up and the points don't matter!! if you want a WIP blog too, you can totally start a WIP blog too, but you also don't have to feel obligated to bloat your sideblog collection or to have to go to all the effort of building up a brand-new following for a brand-new blog when there's already people who followed another blog of yours specifically for your writing. it's your writing blog. it's for your writing. write on it how you please!! if you're SUPER-concerned about the change, include a specific tag on all your WIP snippets that people can just blacklist if they only wanna see your full finished updates. for example I use "rintalk" so people can skip my random talky posts/asks if they wanna but also won't accidentally be filtering out anything they DO wanna see from anyone else on their dash; they can specifically avoid just mine. so like, maybe "octo WIPs" or "nb WIPs" or just whatever you're into would work for you, or just something like that.

unrelated to your for/against: posting stuff like this is not an approach that'll give everyone the same results or even WORK for everyone, obviously, but it works for me because again, I'm prolific, responsive, tend to follow my readers' interests, and have been doing this a lonnnggggg time and have built up an audience both from past fandoms and in specifically DC fandom. and also I'm super, super ADHD. definitely also because of the ADHD. there is . . . there is just so much ADHD lol.

but yeah, like, I'm pretty sure I've been updating pretty consistently for the past . . . what, year or so of DC-hyperfixation? something like that?? I've also published over 300k to AO3 in that time and GOD knows how much more word count I've put up on Tumblr, so like . . . tl;dr, I absolutely think you should give it a try and see if it works for you/if you like it, I just also wanna include the caveat that you shouldn't be discouraged if you don't get an immediate return on or big response to said try. like, I dunno what your followers are like or how much they talk to you, obvi, but I personally had to kind of . . . cultivate, basically? I had to cultivate the communication and the back-and-forth, it didn't just happen immediately. we have cultivated, all of us here, hahaha.

for actual practical excerpt-posting advice, generally speaking, the best start I've found for starting out with posting a WIP as you write it is to take, like, the starting scene of the fic/chapter up until either a narratively-interesting/satisfying end point ( or better yet, a cliffhanger ) and post that as a WIP excerpt in the relevant tags. then you're likelier to introduce the story to new people and bring them by your blog to see more, and they'll come in both primed for and LOOKING for WIP excerpts. then, you know, you can post subsequent scenes or bits in chronological order, ideally. personally when I do WIP Wednesday or anything like that, I don't tag little posts like those in the main tags, just with a WIP tag specific to their story ( which, like, obvi you know I have those, haha, I know you've been around MORE than long enough and even if you hadn't pretty sure I already mentioned them somewhere up there anyway, I'm just being thorough ), but anything that's pushing 400-500 words or longer gets fully tagged with ships/characters/fandom/etc and gets chrono/non-chrono links included in the post and then sent out into the world as my lil' story ambassador, haha. just, you know, use a cut or at least a "long post" tag if it's much longer than that, because like, Tumblr manners and all, hah.

ummmmm . . . so yeah idk how much of that was helpful for you, obviously, but if you have follow-up questions or anything, feel free to hit me up, I'm always down for those and I'll do my best to answer!

[brofightiscancelled]

list of fanfics i like

ichimatsu and todomatsu get white girl wasted. it's funny

totty climbs mt fuji by himself. really really nice character study fic

totty climbs other mountains with his brothers, followup to the last fic. the brother interactions are very funny and on point

denki mystery AU fic. the only one that exists, as far as i'm concerned. captures the stilted haunted vibe wonderfully. surprise cameo in the second chapter

suuji abt the spaces left between family gaps. i really like how jyushi's POV is written in this, it's a good balance of his silly goofiness and emotional intelligence. probably the only "jyushi deals w ichi attempting" fic ive liked

karamatsu's endurance test. excellently characterized. i like how it examines kara's Suffering without it feeling over the top or dramatic, the mundaneity of makes it sadder imo

osomatsu (high school) has a heart to heart with his dad while high on pain killers. i love how matsuzou is written in this one. i love family bonding

matsuyo watches her one-in-a-billion babies fight into the world. ohhhhh i love you matsuyoooo

97k word 46 chapter fanfic about karamatsu getting a gf and nothing bad happens to him. in breaking news, the super angsty and dramatic high stakes fan-favorite does in fact have the most ic, charming and hilarious narrative voice of all time

193k(??!!?) word fanfic abt karamatsu getting stuck in a time loop. again, the super angsty dramatic fan favorite does in fact have the most ic/charming/funny narrative voice. this one leans a Bit far into the drama for my personal tastes but is still excellent

high school matsus. ichi breaks his leg and jyushi pushes his wheelchair. most of the fic writers seem to have fallen off by the time the movie canonicized their HS personalities so i like every opportunity to see them interact

jyushimatsu's girlfriend meets all of his brothers. this one is just sweet and cute. i love you jyushimatsu's sad girlfriend

jyushi and ichi find a lost dog. this whole 2 by 2 series is quite good this one is just my fave

osomatsu and chibita pull back the curtain. now This is quality childhood friends content. character writing is great

jyushi post-letter fic. devastating. deserves special mention for the most fun jyushi character voice

^ this whole series is excellent. love reflecting on childhood moments. karamatsu having the best night of his life while his brothers are all having a fucked up and miserable one is so funny to me. i NEED to know how totty's interview went

[icantdothistodaybruh]

oh, are you familiar with the BoM side story? where arthur dreams of different characters in different fairy tales? i’ve become so! obsessed! with the snow queen versions of sebaciel. ciels outfit is so pretty on him!! but i love a ciel that left everything behind to stay with sebastian.. and sebastian, he’s been so lonely for so long that when he gets a pretty boy he can’t let him go. when someone tries to save him they not only get a “no” but get forcefully snow-blasted right out the door. they understand each other because no one sees the beauty in desolation like they do… so of course they stay isolated in a castle together.

there’s the panel where sebastian’s wrapping his coat around ciels whole body… sebastian acting so smugly to ciels rescuers… the line where ciel says he belongs to the devil… i could live here forever… please consider this cold angle of sebaciel

I AM! AND IT'S ONE OF MY FAVE EXTRAS OUT THERE!!

The implication that the whole dream was of Sebastian's doing (which he is very capable of judging by GWA) brings out such an interesting twist to it - we can see a glimpse of Sebastian's actual opinion on other characters! But I'm of course going to talk a little about Ciel solely for today hehe

I might be wrong since I only have ru and eng translation at hand, but the way Ciel talks about his heart being frozen and eye belonging to the devil makes me think of these acts as essentially same thing, especially given that he "adapted beautifully to the world of Ice" by Sebastian's words. I mean that his heart being frozen doesn't equal to death or inability to feel, but rather just that, adaptation and belonging.

Now I know it sounded far-fetched, but the reason It caught my attention in the first place was the mentioning of the heart at all. It's a dream made by Sebastian, the 'emotionless' and 'unfeeling' demon, with clear analogy to the contract built on power, revenge, and hunger for one's soul, or at least that is how it always was portrayed before. So why would his made up dream-Ciel suddenly bring a heart into equation?

You should've seen my face when I got to the chapter were Elizabeth escapes to rCiel. Call me delulu but it suddenly made so much sense when Sebastian started talking how "human hearts are mysterious, complex things" and "no matter if you are demon or god it is truly and utterly impossible to shackle another's heart." Before that I wouldn't even think he'd have any opinion on the matters of the heart, let alone it be a stated fact to him that he can't have it in a way he can own souls or bodies.

And so that man, in his made up dream, with a made up Ciel, made that Ciel say that not only his soul (eye) belongs to the devil, but heart too. Knowing for a fact it can't belong to him in reality. I'm speechless.

Also when I got your ask yesterday I thought I should make a fanart or a redraw of that scene, and once again, you should've seen my face when I found the page:

and if you don't know why I was so surprised I'll gladly explain with two more pics:

My head exploded.

Three pieces. Representing their change of masks and roles. Yet each is the same in it's core. And one of them is character's fantasy while other two his reality. I'm so done with this show.

...could it be that Arthur's dream made by Sebastian is yet another lie becoming truth?...

[beanstroni]

Okay Tim Drake lovers.

We’re making a Batfam fic board.

Tim-centered.

I’ll add my faves here with a couple notes.

Y’all, the comments section is free. Fill ‘er up!

Tim-joins-late-Fics

- How to Accidentally Acquire A Brother by 172

!!UNFINISHED!! Last update in 2022. I’m so sad.

Tim and Jason centric.

I have so much love for this one. The soft growth Jason shows. Tim getting love but being so afraid. Ugh. Tim’s relationships with Ivy and Babs and Jason and aaaaggghhh

- A Backstitch in Time (series) by Megaerakles

Beautiful idiots. On the shorter side, each installment is a new POV.

Timetravel!!!

- The Buzzard (series) by FlightL3ss_Bird1029

I’m not as sure how I feel about this one.

One finished work, others actively updating.

- Dizzy Edges by @jojosquires

!!Unfinished!! Actively updating.

Timetravel! Speedsters being introduced! Soft Jason! Soft Dami! CASS!!!

- Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night by britishparty

I’d say !!unfinished!! Warning still applies.

Two finished works, but the story is not… conclusive? Concluded?

Deathstroke takes and trains Tim Drake.

Tim and Jason centric second story.

- cards on the table by mgootd

Holy COW have I mentioned I love Tim joins late fics because I LOVE Tim joins late fics.

Tim as a fortune teller, knowing the Wayne’s secrets but staying Out Of It™️. Drake turned street brat.

Tim, Jason, Steph are probably the biggest figures here.

Actually finished. It’s beautiful.

- Tim Drake’s Photo Album (series) by mgootd

My heart. This may be my favorite finished work. And yes, I WILL forever refer to Tim as “bug” now. Thank you, Jason.

I can’t wait to see what else gets added to this series!

- 1-800-GOTHAM by goldfishinabag

!!UNFINISHED!! But updating regularly.

Holy. Cow. This is beautiful. The personalities at play. The Batfam interactions. Yes. Please.

- The Drakes’ Spoiled Brat by @batfambrainrotbeloved / yellow_sprouts on AO3

!!UNFINISHED!! Updating regularly.

First off, this one. If you read none of the others, this one.

Thank you for leading me back into the ways of TRUE Batfam brainrot (*cough cough* beloved).

On the edge of my seat for the next chapter on this.

Batfam Miscellaneous

- Cor et Cerebrum by @audreycritter

All well over 600K words are straight up golden.

This is the one of the only OC heavy fics I’ve truly fallen for, and Kiran Devabhaktuni is such a MOOD.

The Batfam takes are PHENOMENAL. The interpersonal relationships, the trauma dealings, the whole thing. 10/10.

- Undercover and Undercover:Gotham by InvalidStuff

Batkids working together for each other. Every time. BatDad is STRONG. Cuteness overload. Fluff in the sense that punching someone for your siblings is the fluffiest feeling ever.

- Mama Bird (but its your big brother ready to fight god) by @batfambrainrotbeloved / yellow_sprouts on AO3

!!UNFINISHED!!

Batboys protecting batboys.

Disclaimer: Abusive Batman. (At least hyped on fear toxin, hinted at more regularly so far, but unsure.)

- How Rare and Beautiful It Is to Even Exist by popsummer

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766969

Cassie’s POV. Tim’s funeral.

I cry every time and have read it at least 4 times.

Update: I have now read the rest of the series and they all HURT but worth it.