#beware i will likely only be posting him for the next few posts

[gingerteadragon]

Ahem.

Everyone, meet my krab son Sebastian

[loganhowlettshousewife]

Okay relating to a recent post, cleaning up Logan after a fight/mission? Maybe you have a kit ready to go when you hear him return, put his favorite pjs on a fluff cycle so they're nice and warm for him. You clean off any blood (maybe a few remaining wounds if it was BAD bad), and wipe down his claws. Maybe shower together, letting you run your fingers through his shampooed hair before getting cozy for the night

I just wanna take care of him

you! you get it!!

comfort

summary: you take care of logan after he comes home from a mission.

cw (treating this like ao3 tags): blood, wound tending, non-sexual intimacy, nudity, not proofread at all, english isn't my first language so beware, reader has hair, i'm pretty sure this is gender neutral but i'm a girl so i may have accidentally added something gendered without realising idk. this is very soft! you can say this is out of character for logan but i believe he's actually a big softie and just wants love!

word count: 1619

logan comes home to you sitting on the couch reading a book. or, well, you’re trying to read, but it’s hard to focus on anything when logan’s out on a mission. you know he can’t die, his regenerative healing factor pretty much guarantees that, and yet there’s still an irrational spark of fear that lives in you, lighting a fire in your heart every time he gets called away by the x-men.

every minute that passes is a dagger, every new star that appears in the sky a reminder of how long he’s been gone. missions for the x-men can be mere hours or last for days, you remind yourself, and time has nothing to do with how dangerous it is.

though logan typically only gets chosen to go on the dangerous missions. he’s not the one they ask to convince new, young mutants to go to the school. he’s too harsh, too jaded.

you immediately drop the book when you hear the sound of the door lightly creaking open. you’re on your feet in an instant, there to catch logan when he falls into your arms, sweaty and bloody and tired - not as much physically, he has insane stamina, but mentally.

“missed you,” he mumbles into your hair, tucking your head under his chin.

“missed you more,” you reply.

you stay like that for a few minutes. you both need the comfort. early on in your relationship, logan would refuse this type of comfort after a mission, claimed he didn’t need it, he’s fought and killed his entire life and never had a sweet thing like you to take care of him when he got back. but you did, you needed to know he was there, with you, a physical presence, proof that nothing terrible had happened to him.

secretly, he revelled in those moments. now, he trusts you enough for those feelings to be spoken out loud, whispered reverently between “i love you”s, declarations of affection and faith. you’re the only one who’s ever been able to get him to open up this way, to verbalise his feelings instead of swallowing them down.

“you’re covered in blood,” you comment, running a hand down his chest.

he shivers, “most of it’s not mine. but they got a few shots in.”

you hum, pulling back to take a better look at him. his shirt is torn in a few places, and in the middle of his chest are multiple neat, round holes in the fabric, small marks showing where bullets pierced his skin. the wound itself has healed, but the blood remains, a visual reminder of the pain your boyfriend was feeling not so long ago.

he may heal quickly, but he still feels pain, feels agony, and your heart shatters at the way others seem to forget that, so quick to put him in the line of fire. he’ll be fine, they say, and while that may be true physically, there’s only so many times a man can play human shield before he breaks.

“let’s get you cleaned up,” you say, the next part of your routine for when he returns from missions. 

it’s a dance you’ve almost perfected, the way he wraps his arms around your waist and you have to walk to the bathroom with him clinging to you. 

he sits down on the closed toilet seat, closing his eyes and letting you do all the work. his claws come out next, stained with the blood of those he harmed and killed, yet you trace them softly all the same. they protect you - he protects you, really, and so you’ll always be grateful for them, even when logan considers them a curse, a stain upon his existence, turning a man into a monster.

you grab a washcloth and dampen it, wiping meticulously at each sharp blade, from his knuckle to the pointed tip of the adamantium. soon, the washcloth is stained a dirty red, almost brown in its appearance, and the metal gleams brightly under the bathroom lights.

there’s an ease to his posture when he retracts his claws, so slight a difference that no one else would have noticed. he told you once that he can feel the blood remaining on his claws when they pull back into his skin, that it’s an uncomfortable reminder that he’s hurt people, that he’s a killer.

he doesn’t clean them himself, says the reminder is necessary. you disagree, and so you took to wiping them down yourself every time he came home after any sort of fight.  

there’s a small spot of blood between each of his knuckles where the claws pierce his skin, the tiniest bit of red that welled up before the cuts could heal themselves and you wipe that away too. then you lean down to press soft kisses to his hands, the part of himself that logan hates most.

he sighs, a shaky exhale leaving him at the sight of you lowering onto your knees to worship him, to prove your adoration.

any other time that would be enough to turn the mood of the evening into something much different, but he isn’t willing to give this up quite yet, this soft intimacy that’s always felt so foreign to him, a type of love he’d convinced himself he would never get to experience.

“i’m gonna go throw our pajamas and a few blankets into the dryer. you can get the shower going in the meantime, ‘kay?” he agrees easily, of course, and you lean up to kiss him, slow and soft.

pulling away is almost physically painful but you manage. you find the fluffy hello kitty pajama pants you originally bought for logan as a joke as well as the matching set you bought yourself and grab the blanket that sits at the foot of your bed, throwing them into the dryer to warm them up.

he sleeps naked most days, a blessing for you, but on his more difficult days he likes to cuddle up to soft, plush fabrics. besides, you like to think that the silly pajama pants bring him comfort, a reminder of your love for him, that you’re thinking about him even at the most inopportune of times.

he’s in the shower when he returns, the water tinged pink as it slides down the hard, muscled planes of his body. you’re quick to undress and join him, stepping under the hot water, feeling it soak into your hair and skin.

“you’re gorgeous,” logan says, grabbing onto your waist with his large hands to pull you to his chest. he brushes your wet hair out of your face. “can’t believe how lucky i am to have you. what did i ever do to deserve you, sweetheart?”

“you don’t have to do anything to deserve me, logan,” you say, “just being you is enough. and really, you do so much for me. every day.”

“loving you is the best thing i ever did,” he admits, “i’m gonna continue to do whatever i need to keep you. wanna be with you until i die.”

you’ve had conversations like these before, usually always in moments of vulnerability, often coming after devastation and horror. he doesn’t say these types of things in the light of day, but he doesn’t take them back later either. they just stay, floating in the air between you.

one day, you think, you’ll be able to have a real conversation about the future with him. it’s a goal to look towards, but he’s not quite there yet, and you’re okay with that. you’re content with what he does tell you, praise that he marks into every inch of your body.

you use your body wash to clean him, knowing he’ll smell faintly of you afterwards, and the possessive part of you is pleased. your hands tangle in his hair, scrubbing the shampoo into his scalp. his head is tilted down so you can have better access. 

it gets harder to finish cleaning him as his body leans into yours, two magnets always seeking each other. 

you exit the shower before him, allowing him a few more seconds under the water pressure to pull the last remnants of tension from his form. you pat yourself dry and then hurriedly grab the garments you’ve thrown into the dryer, stepping back into the humid bathroom as logan turns off the water.

the adrenaline has made way for bone-deep exhaustion, and so you help logan dry off.

it’s peaceful, quiet, as the two of you finish your nighttime routines. he brushes his teeth and watches you do your skincare routine, unwilling to go into your bedroom if you’re not by his side.

he falls asleep before you, for once. typically, he struggles to fall asleep, worried about the nightmares that plague his slumber and the possibility of harming you while unconscious. it’s nice to see him sleeping peacefully, the stern lines of his face flattening into a soft tranquillity that only you get to see.

you can feel your eyelids growing heavy but you need to watch him just a little longer. so you fight the darkness that wants to pull you under, focusing on the hand you have placed on logan’s chest, the way you can feel the steady rising and falling of his breathing, the way his warm skin feels against the palm of your hand. 

“i’ll always come back to you,” he’d told you once when you had expressed the worry that seizes hold of you whenever he’s away for long.

you’re smiling when you fall asleep, those words replaying in your mind. he’s home, with you, and as long as he comes home to you everything will be okay.

[mariahcarreyyy]

OKAY UH 16/17 on the smut prompt list together w oscar 👀 like he's fucking you in your sleep and calls you mommy and after a bit you wake up and hear it

# prompt no.16, fucking the other whilst they're asleep # prompt no.17, freezing when the other accidentally calls them daddy/mommy nsfw 18+ below beware⬇️⬇️

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

When Oscar had come home, sweaty and tired after a long training session at work, the only thing on his mind was wrapping an arm around your figure on the bed and letting sleep overcome him.

But now, as he lifts the covers and reveals the lack of clothes covering your skin, the thought is quickly discarded for another: Oscar hadn't cum in three days, and you, although asleep, hadn't put on any clothes with a purpose.

"Fuck.." Oscar mutters, lifting the blanket off your body and relishing the sight of your little nipples hardening under the cool air.

Shame clouds Oscar's vision only momentarily as he tugs down his pants and boxers. The tip of his cock is an angry hue of red, and the driver hisses when it escapes the confines of his clothes.

He lies next to you, gently turning you to your side and lifting the underside of your knee for better access; the arousal pooling in his stomach is enough to overshadow the shame, anyway.

Oscar tries to be as discreet as possible when he bends your knee to the side, biting his lip to conceal a moan when he sees your folds spread out for him.

The second his thick digits brush against your pussy, Oscar feels your slick start gushing out of your walls. Even when asleep, your body reacts to his touch almost desperately. His point is only proven when you unconsciously and subtly grind against his fingers.

He almost groans at the thought. Almost. Tweaking and rubbing at your clit for a few seconds to make sure you were ready for his cock. Oscar clasps one hand on the base of his dick, lazily stroking once, twice as the other lifts your knee again.

"Only y'can get me like this," Oscar gasps out, biting his bottom lip to muffle a groan when he pushes his tip inside and your hot walls clench around him. "Ah, fuck, s'good, s'good."

The sting is what wakes you up.

With tangled eyelashes fluttering against your cheek, your moan nearly echoes against the walls once you process how fucking full you feel. Oscar stutters but resumes sinking his cock fully inside you, nuzzling his mouth on the nape of your neck, and groaning freely now that you're awake.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, mommy," he pants into your ear, and you can't help but freeze, with no movements and no sounds. "Couldn't help it, y'so tight, fuck."

You can feel the redness radiating off Oscar's skin; you almost whine when you feel him slide his dick out of your pussy. "Shit, sor—ah, fuck," he stumbles over his words when you clench around his length, desperate to keep him inside. "Sorry, sorry, t'was weird, m'sorry."

"Why?" You furrow your brows playfully, reaching a hand back to play with his locks. "Y'don't wanna make mommy feel good?"

A loud groan fills the room, and Oscar buries his head deeper into your shoulder.

"You're gonna be the death of me, I swear."

[palajae]

episode three. | park sunghoon

PAIRING ▸ host!sunghoon x reader

GENRE ▸ ouran high school host club!au, high school! au, romance, fluff, angst, humor

WC ▸ 3.1k

SUMMARY ▸ host park sunghoon: the strong and silent type. with his cold, tsundere personality and killer good looks, it’s hard not to fall for sunghoon. his connection to sunoo is of utmost importance; however, you could be the one to change that. (but be warned, he’s a man of few words.)

AKA episode three of the kiss, kiss, fall in love! series

AN/NOTES ▸ social awkwardness, not proofread

sorry okay it’s been a fat minute since i posted but FINALLY JAE has gotten the next part out ‼️ i really channeled the engene in me for this one lmao.

EPISODE THREE. Beware the Ice Prince!

seriously, you only started attending the en-host club because your friends did and you really had nothing else to do.   

you had heard several of the boys in your grade were in the infamous club, but besides that, you had no interest in “club” affairs. 

natty and lily wouldn’t stop talking about how “chivalry wasn’t dead” and how “god had favorites.” you figured by going, you could kill some time and meet some new people.

mainly due to the fact that you were attached to the hip to your… well, sketchbook. what better to utilize the people around you for your passion? 

and the most pretty ones were—obviously—found at the en-host club! 

by going there, you could observe and hopefully see some good art. 

while your friends had their favorite designated hosts and activities, your first entrance to the club involved a lot of awkward silence and muttering. 

“you mean, you don’t want to hang out with any of us?” sunoo—you think—frowns. 

you shake your head, stammering. “n-no! i just, prefer to be alone. i can just-like-sit in the corner or something.”

he brightens up and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“i see. you just like the company?” 

you nod and the host smiles again. “that’s fine. you don’t have to be entertained by one of us. you’re welcome as much as you like! you could even sit by sunghoon!”

your eyebrows furrow as you follow sunoo’s line of sight to-

oh dear. 

probably the finest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

a true work of art. 

your heart pounds uncomfortably in your chest as you glance back at sunoo.

“he doesn’t like to talk much either, so i think you two will get along well!” 

you look uncertainly at the controlled chaos happening all around the room, before back at sunoo. 

he nods encouragingly at you. “don’t worry. even though sunghoon looks like it, he doesn’t bite. in fact, it’s probably the opposite.”

holding your breath, you clutch your sketchbook tighter in your hands before approaching the table sunghoon was quietly sitting at. 

he didn’t even do anything, yet you felt so intimidated. 

wow, it was really stifling to be in his presence. awkwardly, you take a seat. and although he doesn’t move, you feel his eyes land on you. 

biting your lip, you hesitantly wave. 

that was it. no words exchanged. 

after a while, you finally began to relax. still, neither of you said anything. you even felt alright enough to open your sketchbook. 

your eyes would travel across the room, although they always landed on the same person. the one sitting in front of you, silently sipping his tea.

so you sketched. and you enjoyed it. so much to the point you returned the day after, and the day after. 

eventually, the hosts came to know you as a regular. they knew your exact order and your routine. the same every time you came—even without your friends. 

they understood that you simply appreciated sitting and observing. with all the things going on at the club, you enjoyed staying off to the side the most. 

like sunghoon. 

after the first day, you couldn’t work up the courage to approach and sit next to him when he wasn’t with sunoo hosting. 

that was fine. you had eyes. you could sketch him as long as you could see him. pages, filled with a variety of sketches, began to fill up your notebook. 

and most of them were of sunghoon. 

who were you kidding—all of them were of him. every outfit in every season, every expression of his (and he rarely showed emotion). you basically memorized sunghoon’s face. 

and in your time observing at the en-host club, you realized you had only heard him speak a total of six phrases: welcome, goodbye, yes, no, and thank you. 

he more than piqued your interest, but you were far too shy and unmotivated to do something about it. 

checking the clock, you sigh wistfully while putting your sketchbook back into your bag. as always, this was your time to leave. occasionally, one of the hosts would notice you leaving and wave goodbye. 

this time, you’re almost to the door when a tall figure suddenly appears in your line of vision. 

you falter, swallowing abruptly when you realize it’s sunghoon. he looks dashing in his pink hoodie and light jeans—someone mentioned the boys had a boyfriend concept today.  

you stare up at him curiously until he steps closer to you. your mouth dries up at the close proximity. you feel like you can hear your blood rushing in your ears. 

sunghoon doesn’t say anything, as per usual. instead, he walks over and holds open the door for you. 

for a second, you don’t move. and then it hits you. 

what the what the what the, he opened the door for you! 

you quickly squeak out a thank you before practically dashing out of the club room. you’re not sure if you heard or imagined the soft “get home safe,” coming from his voice. 

was he watching you? is that how he knew to open the door? why did he go all the way to help you? did he know what time you usually left? 

you fall onto your bed with a sigh. you were overthinking, and you were delusional. just a little bit. 

perhaps, you would work up the courage to talk to him next time.

you swear you’re not that delusional. most of the time it was you who was staring at sunghoon, sneaking glances at him when he wasn’t looking. whenever he was busy hosting. honestly, your best works were of his stunning side profile. 

but something feels different from that day forward. 

like…like sunghoon was the one staring at you. at first, you were sure you felt eyes on you. 

you would glance up from your sketchbook with a frown, glancing around the room. it was at that moment you would catch sunghoon turning away from you. 

but in what world would he be looking at you? 

he didn’t say a single word. 

it happened so often to the point where you would actually meet his eyes before looking away. you always broke eye contact first. 

this back-and-forth occurred four times before you decided to do something. yes, you counted. 

you decided to remind yourself that you only live once, and you took the chance. you finally stopped being a coward and sat next to sunghoon, one lovely afternoon. 

he seems almost shocked when you approach him, like your very first day at the host club. 

once again, no words were spoken. you simply smiled before taking the seat. unlike the other girls who usually fawned and squealed over him, all you did was sit and enjoy his company. honestly, he was so familiar to you at this point, you actually felt comfortable.   

and when you thought he wasn’t looking, you liked to sneak peeks at him as well. he was even more breathtaking up close. 

that became your daily routine whenever sunghoon was free. although it was absurd, you once thought that maybe he looked forward to sitting and watching with you. 

“what’s up with you and sunghoon?”

“h-huh?”

natty leans over from her desk to shoot you a look. “i mean, what are you two doing in the corner all day?”

you look down at your desk bashfully, “it’s not all day…i just enjoy his company.” 

lily laughs, “sure. i bet you have a lot fun staring at him.” 

you feel your face get hot as natty elbows her. “i think the two of you are cute. even if you have nothing to say to each other.” 

“yeah, i don’t know how you managed to get so close to him. sunghoon is pretty detached from the other girls. he’s just there half the time with sunoo.”

your heart quickens. was that true? 

lily sighs, almost face planting into the table. “what up with all the boys recently? heeseung has been so obsessed with that one student who i don’t even know the name of since they’re so busy studying all the time. and then the top two people of our class are constantly preoccupied with each other. at this rate, i’m gonna move to jake…”

you nodded in contemplation. she was right, you’ve seen heeseung following around your classmate like a baby duck following their mom. even weirder, the two smartest people in your grade started to sit together at the club. 

you were there for it all. 

“sim jaeyun? um, I’m not sure about him. he and riki have a lot of crazy fan girls,” natty wrinkles her nose. “hey, i did hear there was a new host! his name is jung…jung-something.”

“jungwon,” you finish for her. she nods, “i think he’s pretty handsome.”

“not as much as sunghoon though,” you unconsciously mutter. 

sunghoon can easily remember the first day you walked in, eyes wide like you were a kid on their first day of school. the corners of his mouth tilt up slightly. you looked like a baby kitten. 

he catches himself, focusing back on sipping tea while sunoo devoured his sweet treats. 

“do you want a bite, hoon?”

he shakes his head amusedly at sunoo’s bright expression. 

“you should stop eating so many sweets. you already had two slices of cake today.” 

while sunoo pouts and gets up to put his plate away, sunghoon refocuses his attention on you. he didn’t mean to—his gaze was just drawn to your presence. 

he watches wordlessly as sunoo approaches you. you looked so intimidated, sunghoon already felt bad and he didn’t know the reason. 

he catches himself again, internally chiding his own behavior. get a grip, you’re a host. 

suddenly, you’re approaching him. you look like a kitten again in front of him, just like when you first walked in. his whole body tenses. 

sunghoon waits, yet you don’t say anything. only a simple wave and that’s enough to light a fire in his heart. 

he’s surprised to see you sit down and pull out a sketchbook. he observes as you flip through the pages, trying to sneak a peek. but then he realizes he’s being kinda, really creepy. 

so sunghoon purposely turns away to focus. look anywhere but at the person sitting across from you, he repeats to himself over and over. 

after that day, he noticed you didn’t sit next to him. for quite a while. 

so, he chose to watch you. he watched you walk in every afternoon with a hesitant smile. he watched as you took the same seat near the window and pulled out your scuffed up notebook to draw. 

he watched how your lips pursed when you weren’t happy with a sketch, or how you would stop to think while looking around you. 

sunghoon liked the way your eyes lit up when you turned to a blank, fresh page. and when you would smile and greet the other hosts, gratefully accepting a cup of tea. even the look of concern you had on your face as you watched jake and riki do something stupidly dangerous again. 

the thing he liked the most, however, was when he felt your eyes on him when you thought he wasn’t looking. 

sunghoon’s not sure why, but he likes it. after all, he couldn’t say anything. he did the same thing to you. 

he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. 

that’s why, when you sit across from him one day with that stunning smile of yours, his breath hitched. 

sunghoon… wanted to say something. he tried, really tried, but no words would come out. he couldn’t think of anything to say. 

apparently, that was fine with you. you relaxed in the silence, so he did too. 

it’s not like he meant to, but he snuck a glance. he was so curious as to what you had been working on in that sketchbook of yours. he knew it had to be your prized possession, the way you carried it around everywhere. 

sunghoon certainly wasn’t expecting to see his own face, beautifully drawn. it was him from a few weeks ago, last week, and yesterday. he remembers the detective concept and outfits they adorned. 

you… you sketched it all. all this time, you sketched him? 

he’s truly speechless, and everyone knew it was hard to make the stoic sunghoon react. 

“…are you friends with y/n?” he randomly asks one day after the club had closed for the day, completely out of the blue. 

sunoo tilts his head, “we’ve talked. why?” 

heeseung pops by, “did i hear hoon’s got a crush? who could have warmed the cold tsundere sunghoon’s heart?”

although he wants to roll his eyes, he simply looks away. 

“y/n?” riki calls from where he’s playing catch with jake, “the one who doesn’t say anything and draws all day?”

“they could if they wanted to,” sunghoon remarks quietly. riki shrugs. 

sunoo watches sunghoon with an inquisitive expression. 

he’s never seen his friend act like that with the other guests before… 

“it’s his birthday soon?” the words spill out of your mouth without even realizing it. you stopped, overhearing some girls sitting near you. 

they eye you, and it registers in your head that they know you’re the one whom sunghoon often sits next to. you seem oh so close to him, and yet you don’t know his birthday? you feel embarrassed, making your way to your normal seat.

“hoon? yeah, his birthday is in three days,” sunoo nods. “why? are you planning something?” 

you’re quick to shake your head, flustered. “nono, i was simply curious… thanks for letting me know.” 

alright. you officially have three days to find sunghoon a gift. 

it’s only then it hits you. you know close to nothing about sunghoon. other than the fact that he was a host, you barely knew his likes or dislikes. heck, you barely even spoke to him. 

you’re doomed. all the other guests were probably going to get him extravagant gifts that were exactly to his liking. 

you? you scrambled to find something that would come in three days. and you weren’t even sure if he would like it. at the least, he could regift it to someone else if he really hated it. 

you clutch the small gift bag nervously behind you as you enter the host club. 

usually, decorations would be set up for the members’ birthdays. however, sunghoon never wanted a big celebration so they would get him a simple birthday cake every year. at least, that’s what sunoo told you. 

sunghoon wanted his birthday day to feel like any other ordinary day. you hoped you could stay true to that. 

or…not.

the sight of said host rejecting someone’s gift to him is the first thing that greets you. your smile immediately falters. 

he didn’t like gifts? your heart begins to race. crap, crap. what were you going to do? you couldn’t hide the gift—someone would find it. it was obviously who it was for, with the big fat words happy birthday printed all over the bag. plus your names written on it, addressed to sunghoon. 

your eyes follow him to his usual seat, only for your heart to drop. 

sunghoon looks around expectantly. almost like, he was… looking for someone (you). he does. almost immediately. 

if you move, he’ll see the bag behind you. heart racing, you decide to charge ahead and approach him. you couldn’t face a rejection of the gift you spent hours trying to find, but you also didn’t want to leave him hanging. 

you walk over nervously, doing your absolute best to hide the bag and appear unaffected. maybe he wouldn’t notice, right?

wrong. sunghoon was probably the most observant person on the earth. his eyes immediately fall to your suspicious hands.

it was over. his eyes flick back up to you with a questioning look in them. 

you close your eyes briefly, internally falling to your knees. well, there was nothing else to do. 

you nervously thrust out the bag towards him, hiding your face as you softly say,

“happy birthday, sunghoon.” 

you hold your breath and wait embarrassingly for the painful rejection. 

spoiler: it never comes. 

“thank you.” 

hearing his voice causes shivers to run down your spine. your eyes fly open. did he just…accept your gift? and more importantly, he spoke to you?!

he takes the bag and puts it aside on the table. 

“are you not going to open it?” 

he looks at your expectant expression before beginning to unwrap the gift. 

“i thought maybe we could share,” you mumble. 

sunghoon carefully opens the intricate wrapping to unveil the gift you ultimately decided on: a smooth, leather sketchbook with pencils. 

“now we’re matching,” you whisper before pulling out your own. 

“i… don’t know what to do with it.”

hearing his voice again still makes goosebumps appear on your arm. you stifle a laugh as you reach over to demonstrate. 

the real sunghoon watches in awe as you begin roughly drawing something in his new sketchbook. when you retract your arm, he’s finally able to see what you did. it’s a beautiful drawing of a cake and the words, happy sunghoon day! 

he glances up at you with wide eyes. you shrug and only look away. to your surprise, sunghoon determinedly picks up a pen and begins doodling as well. 

soon enough, the first page is filled with random drawings, doodles, and most importantly, meaningful connections. 

you both smile and silently laugh at each other’s drawings. sunghoon’s favorite is your drawing of a baby sunoo and his cake while your favorite is of sunghoon’s (rather awful, yet still recognizable) drawing of the seven hosts. 

this is the first time you’ve felt like you truly communicated with sunghoon, even if it was through a paper and pen instead of words. 

when the page is filled completely, you admire your collaboration work proudly. 

“thank you, y/n.”

your heart warms. “o-of course,” you stammer. maybe you were slightly very internally freaking out that he addressed you by your name. 

sunghoon must’ve seen your bashful expression because he reaches over to pat your head. nothing else had to be said, because in that moment, you felt all your feelings were conveyed. 

park sunghoon was supposed to be the cold and tsundere type of host. yet around you, he felt vulnerable, like you brought out a different side of him. 

as you sit across from him, sharing smiles, you wish this moment could last forever. 

all you can think is that sunghoon’s soul is so pure and needs to be preserved, protected. you really hope you can be the one to forever do that. 

previous episode. | next episode.

MAIN TAGLIST ▸ @precioussoulofmine @kynrki @heesterical @nvertheless @duolingofanaccount

@hoeshii @love-4-keum @luvhyun3 @dimplewonie @who-tf-soddhi

@microwvdstrawb3rri3s @asteria-wood @enhacatalog @june-pop @ohsjy

@ashtxrie @isoobie @mireyaaaaaaaaa @choppedballoondetective

SERIES TAGLIST ▸ @j3nnypng @llvrhee @mrchweeee @yoonights @yizhoutv

@xnkier @yongbokified @en-kays @in-somnias-world @shi-toshi

@avacelestepereira @kyanmeai @secretlyapartofthisfandom @enhaz1 @gojoelixir

@wonbinsnovia @nes-caf @renchai @m3chigo @starfallia

@grumble-0 @soobinbunnie5 @wonboni @yeahhemmings- @dammit-jjk

@bigwhatsblog @ppussamz @jayhoonvroom @jaeyuuns @lakoya

@loumin908 @jungwon-0902 @hooniiibunn @eneiyri

@bunnihhoon @mumeimei @jenniferecand @firstclassjaylee @qwonyoung23

@ghostiiess @charlizefaye

(if i missed anyone i’m sorry pls send in another message!) send a message to be added to the taglist!

@kflixnet

[bluesidez]

GymRat!Miguel Part 10

content warning: “vague” descriptions of American colleges (iykyk), Winston [Earth-928/ Earth-TRN590] is here with a cool prosthetic arm (he originally has three! so I thought it would be cool to incorporate his robot arm back somehow), suggestive at parts so MINORS BEWARE (although you shouldn’t be looking at this series at all 😒), Miguel is the baby of his friend group, if the Spanish here is wrong please lmk!

word count: 3.8k, proofread so there should be no mistakes (something short and sweet!)

In case you missed it, you can find GR!Miguel’s full SFW + NSFW Alphabet here!

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who has become one with his room. The bed is comfortable, the AC is just right, and more importantly, he can hide here in solitude.

His parents decided to host Gabriel’s graduation party, Gabriel’s college acceptance party, and a Fourth of July party all at once. It was nonstop trips to Sam’s, Party City, and the grocery store.

Gabriel got a full ride to a prestigious art school up north and his parents were using every second of the summer to make time for him.

They didn’t do nearly as much for him when he graduated and got a full ride. Although, Miguel guesses the shiny Range Rover from Tyler parked outside was enough to soothe the old wounds trying to reopen. Plus, Gabriel really deserved it. The chances of getting in were low, but Miguel helped every step of the way and now a bright future in the Big Apple was calling his name.

Still, if his dad called him to cut the grass or season another pack of meat, he might lose it.

GymRat!Miguel who was glad to see you were still enjoying your summer. He was probably the first to watch your stories, like your pictures, and even comment on your little notes.

He hoped it came off as endearing and dedicated because sometimes he worried it was annoying and clingy. He couldn’t help it, though. You’re always on his mind nowadays.

Today you had posted clips of you and your friends at a Boba shop. He could hear your laughter as you zoomed in one of your friends fighting for their life after sucking up a boba ball.

He smiled to himself as he played the video a few more times just to hear you.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to play a Gacha game on his phone to distract his wandering mind.

There was a character he wanted and he wasn’t stopping until he got her.

GymRat!Miguel who three domains, a farming session, several 10-pulls, and a lucky spot later did not get the character he wanted. He was heartbroken, shattered, and inconsolable.

He groaned and flipped over to the wall, choosing a few colorful words to complain.

GymRat!Miguel who’s half-asleep state is interrupted by Gabriel doing their special knock and poking his head inside.

“Whatdoyouwant,” Miguel pushed his face further in his pillow in hopes that it would make him disappear.

“Broski, your friends are here,” Gabriel sang as if he were a white suburban mom with too much time on her hands. “And they bombarded my TikTok stream so if you could please retrieve them, that would be nice.”

Miguel poked his head up, “Are you rating people’s talents again?”

“Even better. I’m being an NPC and making bank!”

“Why don’t you ever play the saxophone or something?”

“Because that’s not what the people want me to do, Miguel. The people want to see me go ‘Lick a lil sum!’ over and over again. They eat it up.”

Miguel squinted at the bright light coming from the hallway, “In a pickle suit?”

Gabriel looked down as much as he could with his constricted movement, only his appendages sticking out of the holes, and looked back to Miguel with gritted teeth.

“If you would have put your Nightwing costume back on, I could have been Robin and we could have made money together. But it seems that you hate me.”

GymRat!Miguel who watches Tempest push the door open further and shuffle around a seething Gabriel.

“I still don’t know why you’re dressed like a Spongebob character,” she laughs at his green tights.

“I’m not Kevin! Stop saying that. There’s no glasses. There’s no crown. There’s no pants!”

Lyla poked her head around him.

“‘Lewser.’”

Gabriel yelled and turned around, waddling back to his room, “I’m not letting the Geek Squad bully me!”

“You say that like you’re not one of us!” Winston shouted after him, shells and beads in his hair clanking together.

“One of us, one of us, ONE OF US!” the trio started to chant at Miguel’s door.

Gabriel just let out incoherent noses until he was able to shut his door.

GymRat!Miguel who feels like hissing when Tempest opens his blinds.

“Please, no more!” he whined into the pillow.

“What’s with you two today? So snappy,” she mumbles.

Winston stood by the door with his hands on his hips, “Have you been in here all day?”

Miguel sits up, “No.”

“You look like it,” Lyla snickers, kicking a bag out of the way.

“We haven’t seen you in like, forever, and you’re acting like you don’t really care,” Tempest pulls up her long, ruffled skirt to plop on the bed next to Miguel. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did someone die?” Winston pulls out Miguel’s gaming chair to take a seat.

“No.”

“Wait!” Lyla’s voice makes everyone jump. “You failed your class for the first time and now your life is ruined.”

“What? No, never.”

GymRat!Miguel who perks up at the sound of the text tone he picked just for you.

“Look!”

“I just found this picture of us”

“We’re working hard 🫡”

“I’m putting in overtime”

“There’s no PTO”

“Only work”

“We get paid in kisses”

“Only kisses?”

“Everything else is a bonus check for being the perfect employee”

"Aka my girlfriend"

“And what does that bonus check look like?”

“Hmmm”

“She looks divine”

“She tastes really sweet too”

“Inside and out”

“What does your bonus check look like?”

“He’s big and hot 😌”

“He looks really nice when I love on him”

“He feels really good”

“Be very lucky you’re not near me rn”

“What?”

“I’m just describing my elite employee!”

“Aka my bf”

“I feel really good?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re my teddy bear”

“….and you also feel good in other places that I won’t be spelling out”

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t feel Tempest leaning over his shoulder until her voice snaps him back to reality.

“No fucking way you got a girlfriend and didn’t tell anybody.”

She snatches the phone from his hands.

“Temp, give it back!”

“And you’re getting freaky with her while we’re right here!”

“No, I’m not-”

“It says right here ‘she tastes really sweet, inside and out.’ It’s in 4K!” Tempest shoved the phone in Winston’s face who gets the derpiest smile.

“My man!” he reaches his hand out to Miguel to dap him up, ending it in the handshake that only the two of them know. “You finally got a girl and you putting in that work. Let’s. Fucking. Go.”

“At least someone is on my side.”

“I never said I wasn’t on your side. I’m just stuck on the fact that you didn’t tell anyone. No texts, no socials. Just tumbleweed in that big ass head of yours,” Tempest pushed a duck nail against Miguel’s temple. “Like you could have died, and we would have never known.”

“I’m sorry, Temp, it’s been a hectic year.”

“And now it’s summer. We’ve got nothing but time,” she grabbed a pillow to place in her lap. “So get to talking Migster.”

“Yeah, while I can understand waiting to tell us about your girl, this is like, what, the second strike for you? First, no yacht and now this? Aggy,” Winston shook his head.

“All three of you had plans! I checked!”

“And it’s looking like you’ve been with her for almost a year. Wow,” Lyla said from a bean bag on the floor.

Miguel reaches to snatch it from her, teeth gritted in a way that mimicked his brother.

“I never knew you could get so romantic! Maybe scratch the arcade idea off, though. You get way too competitive.”

Tempest hit Miguel with her pillow, “An entire year?”

“Cold-blooded. I should smack you next,” Winston struck his metal arm back like he was getting ready to swing.

Miguel held his hands up, “I’ll finally let you teach me how to play Halo!”

Winston sat back, “2k too, and all is forgiven.”

“Halo and one round of 2k.”

“Deal,” Winston shook Miguel’s hand. “You’ll be hooked once you get the hang of it.”

“God, I hope not,” Lyla mumbled.

“Says the one who yells at children on Roblox,” Winston bit back.

“You don’t hear what those heathens say, I do!”

GymRat!Miguel who is forced to make a short PowerPoint about his past year while his friends help Miguel’s parents set up even more.

“I want a Final-worthy presentation by the time we get back! I even showed you where to get the cute templates,” Tempest fusses from the door before she closes it.

GymRat!Miguel who calls you while they’re gone.

“I mean, if it were me who just found out that my closest friend told me essentially nothing about their partner for that long, I’d be pretty upset too.”

Miguel groans as he leans back in his chair, “That is pretty fucked, isn’t it?”

“But, because I was with you most of the school year, I know that you were just preoccupied with other things. Figuring out college, checking off a lot of adult firsts, making new friends, dealing with family, totally scrambling your way through getting your first girlfriend.”

“Hey…”

You laugh at his annoyed expression and snap a picture, “I’m sure if you just explain things to them, they’ll understand.”

“I hope so. I already promised Winston a game of 2k.”

You scrunched your nose in the cute way that Miguel adored, “I’ll take a gamer, nerdy boyfriend any day. Might draw the line at 2k, I fear.”

“My face doesn’t cancel out the bad connotation?”

“Depends. Will you cancel on me in place of playing with your friends?”

Miguel’s eyes looked to you on his laptop with a frown on his face, “Never. I don’t think I’d do that for anything that can be rescheduled. Did he do that?”

Miguel didn’t want to say his name because it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“More than I’d like to admit, yes.”

“If I ever see him, I might punch him.”

“Miguel.”

“I’m so serious. There hasn’t been one good quality about him yet.”

Only the fact that he was a good stepping stone to get to Miguel, not that he would ever say that out loud.

“He was…nice when I met him.”

“Just nice?”

“He had a cute face!”

Miguel’s frown deepened, “I don’t want to talk about him anymore, actually.”

GymRat!Miguel who finished his PowerPoint with the help of you.

Honestly, you just had to sit pretty in the corner of his monitor.

GymRat!Miguel who was ready to present once his friends got back, each of them sporting a Fanta in their hands.

“Nobody brought me one?”

Tempest made a noise of satisfaction when she took a sip, “A cold one is waiting for you when you finish, buddy.”

Miguel rolled his eyes and set up the PowerPoint.

GymRat!Miguel whose presentation is dragged even further because everyone keeps asking questions.

Section 1: New Experiences

“Only you would attract sorority girls despite the clear baby boy energy radiating off of you,” Tempest said.

“I mean, look at him,” Lyla gestured to Miguel’s body. “We still see our big baby, but that body? That’s what people notice first. We should have prepared him more.”

Miguel’s face fumed as he went to the next slide.

“And only you would make friends with the cafeteria lady. She saw the baby aura,” Tempest quipped.

“L-let’s just move on,” Miguel mumbled.

“You’re on the robotics team!! There’s our Miggy,” Lyla rounds her words like she was talking to a child.

“Guys, Miguel is going to be a tomato if you don’t stop,” Winston chides.

Section 2: Family

“I’ve been waiting on somebody to get that gremlin Kron and you finally got him,” Lyla shook her head with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry about your mom, though. She didn’t really like us too much either when we first started to hang out,” Tempest pulled her knees up to her chin.

“Mind you, I had a mean set of braces, suspenders, and high water pants when we first met,” Winston said.

“Oh my god. Remember when she thought Tempest was tricking Mig into doing her homework?”

“When all I was doing was comparing answers because Miguel was the only one who could keep up with me in that class,” Tempest snickered. “Glad me and Mrs. O’Hara moved past that because I was definitely looking out for you more than she was.”

“Remember when she thought you two were dating?” Winston asked.

Miguel groaned, “That was so fucking embarrassing.”

“You think now I read as a raging lesbian or what?”

Section 3: My Gorgeous Girlfriend Whom Which I Love

“The same guy who lectured me for 10 minutes over not jumping out of a car to hold the door for my girlfriend left his girl at a party?” Winston snickered.

Lyla played with the end of a braid in her hair, “Chivalry is dead.”

“Get all your jokes out now, because we’re going strong,” Miguel waved everyone off as he flipped to the next slide.

“Is that her?” Lyla sat up as much as she could in her sinking seat.

“Yeah,” Miguel’s smile grew at the picture of you from a coffee date on the screen.

“Look at him,” Winston pointed a finger. “He can’t even speak. He’s gone.”

“She’s hot! Nice job Miguel,” Tempest clapped with a giddy smile on her face. “You’re like, lovestruck over there.”

Miguel continued to flip through the several slides he had of you, face sinking further into his palm as he stared at you like he’s never seen you before.

“Does Xina know you have a girlfriend?”

“Woof,” Tempest and Winston said in a low voice simultaneously.

Miguel tilted his head with a confused expression, “What’s with the ‘woof’? Why are you all looking like that? And where is Xina, anyway?”

“She said her parents wanted her to go visit family, so she’s far, far away right now.”

“Did you know she’s transferring to your school?” Lyla asks.

“Why? I thought she was going to an Ivy League somewhere. It was all she talked about.”

Tempest’s eyebrows raised, “Can’t stay at an Ivy League if you fuck up your scholarship.”

"She told me that she didn't like it there," Winston looked confused.

Lyla and Tempest just stared at each other in disbelief.

“If you worked your ass off from starting a non-profit to being the school valedictorian, just to get into one school, would you just up and leave after one school year without finding better options?” Lyla deadpanned.

“Hey, we don’t know what happened. Maybe she really didn’t like it there, guys,” Miguel said.

Lyla and Tempest both gave Miguel twin looks as if telling him to get serious.

“Well, if she’s going to your school, I’m sure you’ll see her at some point. Maybe she’ll tell you,” Winston suggested.

“Yeah, Miguel. She’ll tell you anything if you ask,” Lyla folded her arms with a smile.

“What does that mean?”

“It just means,” Tempest waved her hands around. “She’s enamored by you.”

“Guys. Stop.”

“She’s not lying. Every time we hang out together, she’s always clinging to you,” Winston said.

“It’s been years and she’s never told me anything,” Miguel reached to exit the PowerPoint. What was about to be a 10 minute yap session about you was now turning into something else. “I doubt that if she felt that way, she still feels that way now.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Lyla shrugged.

Tempest nodded her head, “Good on you for being so optimistic.”

Miguel squinted his eyes, “You two are freaking me out.”

GymRat!Miguel who sat with his friend’s words once they dropped him off back home after an impromptu day of fun.

He really needed to get out of the house to reset, but he couldn’t help but to worry about Xina.

He was there when she worked herself to the bone just to even be considered for the top schools. When she got in, she was over the moon.

What could have possibly made her stop now?

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up to sound of his dad laughing and yelling outside of his window.

He dragged himself to the window to see him running around with his brothers with a nerf gun.

It would be a pretty funny sight if it wasn’t 7 in the morning.

GymRat!Miguel who goes through his morning routine of booting Gabriel up, taking his morning run, and eating a hefty breakfast.

He sends you a picture of himself right after he finished the run, sweat dripping down his neck and his skin glowing from the hot sun.

Knowing you were probably still asleep, he doesn’t expect a response until later. So when you call him immediately, he’s filled with surprise.

“Sending thirst traps at ass o’clock is crazy,” you say as soon as the call connects.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you just happened to take the perfect picture in the sun with your skin all wet?”

“Are you saying that I’m photogenic?”

You roll your eyes and Miguel laughs, happy to see you.

“Where are you going?” Miguel asks, noticing the fluffy headband you’re wearing that’s holding your hair back.

“We’re going to my aunts house and she lives about two hours away so I got up early to get ready.”

“Bebe, qué hermosa eres.” (Baby, how beautiful you are.)

You pause what you’re doing to turn and stuff your head into a plushie to scream.

“You can’t tell me that,” you say when look back to the camera, fanning your face. “I won’t stay focused.”

“But it’s true. You’re stunning.”

You groan and slide down your chair, “Miguel, please. I need to focus.”

“Ok, ok. You still look amazing.”

“Thank you,” you say, patting the back of your hands against your heated cheeks.

“I wanna kiss you.”

“I’m hanging up.”

Miguel laughs as you bring the phone to your face.

“I wanna kiss you, too,” you say before ending the call.

GymRat!Miguel who blows your phone up with teases after that.

It all shuts up once he sees your outfit of the day.

“You can’t do this to me”

“Baby????”

“This is agony”

GymRat!Miguel who is the loudest when Gabriel makes his grand entrance to the party, graduation cap snug on top of his curls. His family is popping mini confetti and string cannons while his little cousins blow bubbles.

GymRat!Miguel who catches Gabriel at any chance he was idle, snapping picture after picture like a proud parent.

GymRat!Miguel who stacks his plate high full of food to the shock of no one.

GymRat!Miguel who almost gets knocked down by Gabriel when he opens his gift of specialized sheet music. After years of hearing the songs Gabriel would blast through the house, he compiled together a music book with covers done by different artists.

"I'm going to play every single one of these for you," Gabriel says with a geeked-out smile.

"Oh boy."

GymRat!Miguel who watches Gabriel scream as their neighbor's dog runs towards the fireworks that he set on the ground.

Miguel always thought there was nothing going on behind those little eyes.

GymRat!Miguel who feels Gabriel slide next to him in the corner of their backyard. A place where the two of them used to do everything from hide-and-seek to sharing secrets to pretending to be superheroes.

Gabriel leans his on Miguel’s shoulder, eyes watching the small fireworks their cousins bought.

“Mig?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever get scared when you left home?”

Miguel was quiet for a second, “At first, I was. I was leaving what I knew, but once I got used to it, it was like a weight off my chest.”

The two sat for a minute, listening to their family sing and laugh.

“I’m really fucking nervous.”

“About leaving?”

“About everything,” Gabriel took a shaky breath. “I’ll be so far away. I won’t know anyone. And you…”

Miguel’s sleeve was wet.

“You won’t be there if I need you.”

Miguel turned and pull Gabriel into a hug, arms tight as he felt Gabriel cry into his shoulder.

“No tengas miedo, Gabri,” Miguel’s voice cracked as he rubbed his brother’s back. “I’ll be a call away, ok? Right there if you need me. I promise.” (Don’t be scared, Gabri.)

"Te voy a extrañar." (I'm going to miss you.)

"Yo también te voy a extrañar." (I'm going to miss you, too.)

After a while of the two calming down and making promises to continue their weekly calls, Gabriel leans up and covers his eyes with his arm.

“I told myself I’d save my tears for the move-in day, but it’s just now hitting me how much I’m going to miss seeing your stupid face.”

Miguel laughed and thumped him across the head, “And I’m going to miss hearing your stupid laugh across the hall. But what did you do when I left?”

Gabriel turned to avoid Miguel’s face, “Ma thought I was dying or something. She kept bringing random shit that I liked to my room for three weeks because ‘Te pareces a Ígor, mijo!’” (You look like Eeyore, mijo!)

Miguel bit his cheek as he ruffled Gabriel’s hair. He still saw the little baby who followed his every move. The baby that laughed hard when he read books with a funny voice. The baby that stood up for him front of their mom when he couldn’t even stand up for himself on the playground.

The kid who stayed up with him to beat some game because their dad wouldn't buy them memory cards for the PlayStation. The kid who tried food once he saw it on Miguel’s plate. The kid who refused to go to summer camps without him.

Here he was, sitting in front of Miguel, getting ready to start a new chapter.

“Oh god, Miguel don’t start crying again. It’s gonna ruin the tour,” Gabriel groaned and dug his head into his arms.

“I’m not, I’m not, I’m sorry,” Miguel hurriedly wiped his cheeks, hot tears filled with his thoughts escaping. “You’re going to kill it in New York. By the time I get there, you’ll be so used to it that it’ll be like breathing air.”

“I hope so,” he sniffles and looks back up. “I need to impress Dana.”

“And there he is,” Miguel shook his head. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to visit.”

“Yeah. I already have some places planned for dates.”

“Smooth. That’s the Miguel in you.”

“Shaddup.”

GymRat!Miguel who calls you closer to midnight.

"How was the party?"

"It was pretty good," Miguel moved to settle further into his bed. "Gabriel was happy."

Hearing the tone in his voice, you pouted, "Are you ok, though?"

"Yeah, I'm just. I'm feeling a lot."

He felt he might cry again, thinking about his little brother in a place all by himself, thinking of his parents being empty nesters, thinking of his feelings from yesterday.

"You want to talk about it?"

Miguel shook his head, "Tomorrow."

"Whenever you're ready, I'll be there."

"Thank you," Miguel smiled. "That means a lot."

GymRat!Miguel who feels better listening to you chatter until you fall asleep. His head isn't filled with so much noise and your voice is like a calm breeze.

He can't wait to see you again.

divider by: @thecutestgrotto 🩵

a/n: I was thinking of this video when I was writing Lyla talking about Kron + that smoking duck gif. I also doubt there are many nerds alive that play 2k, I just wanted Winston to play it lol. Anywho, I was going for a boho-chic vibe when I imagined Tempest (with red locs), a maximalist + art deco vibe with Lyla, and an elevated streetwear style with Winston. Winston also upgraded his prosthetic arm to mimic Link's from Tears of the Kingdom. As for Xina...we'll see! 😗

As always, like, comment, and reblog. Let me know how you feel! 🩵

If you want to be on the taglist, sign up here! Make sure to have your age in the bio or somewhere on your blog!

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @slushycoookie @emelie-s-h @lake-lili

@obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting

@flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02

@jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies

@samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu

@urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe @kodzuminx

@lauraolar14 @bruhhvv @m4dyy @farrowroyale @cl3stevu

@ohara-whore @muneca-lemon-steppa @alexa4040 @amelialysm @snails-doodles22

@questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @calig0sto @tatatida @haveclayeveryday

@corpsenightmarebride @earth2fae @maiyart @feegrh32 @darkstarlight82

@ladysimp @sonicbutbutter @relatednative @slowlyshycomputer @nuetralcolorsenthusiast

@maxlinpetersen @beyondstarlight @Madeofstar-dust @leoeloo @just-simpins-blog

@poisamm @thequeenreaders @tinybirdhidedout @aly29a2001 @mimi-sanisanidiot

@snakelore @pigeonmama @darkstalight82 @prettygirleli @koikohib

@jayskookies @xo-zeze @planetxella @thedevax @stressed-cherry

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[kedsandtubesocks]

fire starter

Dragon!Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

summary: there’s a creature lurking behind your family’s lake cabin, but what will you do when it decides to start following you around?

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes #MONSTERSMASH24 challenge

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, human/monster relationship, magic transformation & magic elements, mention of drug consumption, one brief scare of possible animal attack, smutty thoughts, monster!smut, voyeurism/consensual voyeurism , masturbation (f), scent kink, oral (f receiving), mentions of mating, light size kink, monster!dick humping, no use of y/n, sweet & chaotic!Dieter

word count: 4.5k

a/n: so yeah I can’t believe I wrote this & I’M SO SORRY for posting it on the very last day of the challenge (pls forgive me) but here are are lol omg biggest thank you to @hauntedhowlett & @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream about this, and to you, if you decide to read this, thank you so much ♡

The cozy cabin would be your home for the next few weeks during your break away from school before the new semester starts. You needed to get away, clear your head. It’s why your mom suggested taking a nice trip away to the family cabin your grandparents owned. Now the solitude, the comfort of the lake and the forest, all of it sounds healing.

Your luggage still sits inside and the place needs to be cleaned up a bit… but you happily stand on the patio looking out to glimmering water. The lake’s reflective dance and the stretching forest off to the side cloaking the cabin in a rustic dream make you exhale comforted.

Until sudden rustling comes off to the side among the bushes. Your eyes flicker, rapidly scanning the area.

“Beware of bears!” Your grandpa had joked on the phone, but he’s right. The wilderness held dangerous creatures.

You just never assumed a mythical beast would be one of them.

A dragon slowly lifts its head up from behind a shrub, and you wonder if you’re imagining things. A piece of you even thinks this is maybe a bad internet trend or prank video you’re caught in.

The dragon is beautiful with sleek horns. The scales shimmer a unique rustic ash color. But now with the hints of sunlight leaking through the trees the color on the scales become almost reflective of a duo chrome peacock green. The unflinching sharp eyes blinking at you are a deep tiger's eye gem brown.

“Don’t scream.” A voice suddenly says and you realize -

It’s the dragon talking.

“Is this a prank?” You blurt out worried about possibly being on a bad TikTok.

“If it is, it would be a really fucking good prank now that I think about it.” The dragon’s mouth barely moves, but you know it’s him speaking.

His voice is clearly human, smooth and aware.

“That’s a good animatronic then.” You nervously comment.

“I’m not an animatronic!” The dragon huffs even flaring his eyes upset. “I’m a real man! Or… dragon fuck. This is confusing.”

Slowly, you walk cautiously and backwards back to the cabin door.

“No wait!” The dragon rushes out of the bushes and the rest of his body follows revealing an intimidating creature, including a tail flickering nervously.

It seems real, doesn’t seem like a puppet, and you think something that moves this fluid can’t possibly be some robot left in the woods.

“I’m Dieter fucking Bravo. You gotta help me!” His voice becomes panicked, louder, scaring you.

You scramble back into the cabin, slam the door and try settling down. Because there possibly might be a real dragon outside your door.

After that you stay locked inside the cabin, almost afraid to move.

You swear soft whines come from outside the window, but you refuse to check and possibly find monster eyes gleaming out from the woods.

Once you’re calmed, you remember what the creature said.

The dragon yelled that he was Dieter Bravo. And the name sounds vaguely familiar.

So grabbing your phone, you start googling.

The news rushes in, bombarding you.

Oscar Winner Dieter Bravo Still Missing

You click the first article.

“Dieter Bravo is an eccentric man to say the least. But after two months with no communication to even his agents, people are now starting to get worried…”

No fucking way.

The more you deep dive, the more you become entangled in this web of the missing actor.

There’s even conspiracy theories arguing he was abducted by aliens.

“No guys he’s just filming that new marvel movie remember” someone comments on the YouTube video you watch.

That creature said he was Dieter Bravo. You can’t wrap your mind around the possibility the beast is the same man.

So the next morning, when the sun barely peeks through the clouds, you step outside. You glance around finding no sign of the dragon.

Even getting braver you walk off the patio and check around the cabin.

“Can I have some of whatever you cooked yesterday cause it smelled fucking amazing.”

You almost scream hearing the sudden inquisitive and smooth voice. The dragon’s snout peeks out from behind a thicket of trees, and sharp inquisitive eyes intently stare you down.

“You said you’re Dieter Bravo.” You demand surprisingly firm.

“It’s ‘cause I am!” He urges franticly, now whipping his full head up to stare at you. It’s a mind melt having a full on discussion with a dragon.

“What if you just ate him?” You narrow your eyes, still not convinced.

The dragon shrieks insulted and raises its head up more.

“I didn’t! Unless you count the times I bite my lip and swallow the dead skin or whatever!”

Soon the dragon starts listing off facts like Dieter’s birthday, the secret tattoo he has on his ass, he even says who his agent’s name is. It’s all rather convincing.

“Look,” he sighs, annoyed and lowers his head. “I was staying at one of the luxury cabins way the fuck past the hiking trails and wandered away… then I found some magic looking mushrooms by a tree and-”

“You ate unknown mushrooms from the forest?!” You interject sharp.

“They looked really good!” He whines. “And how was I to know they were actually real fucking magic mushrooms that would turn me into this?!” The dragon whips its scaled tail around to emphasize his point.

You almost get knocked off your feet.

So this dragon really is actor Dieter Bravo.

“How have you stayed hidden this long?” You ask stunned.

“Cause I’m a pro champion winner of hide and seek, duh.” He scoffs proud. “Plus there’s an abandoned bear cave I’ve started renting, and nobody has been out here for weeks.”

“That is until you showed up.” The dragon nudges towards you.

“So can you help me!? Please?” He quickly whimpers, staring up at you like a cat trying to plead for treats.

“How am I supposed to help you?!” You fire back confused.

“I don’t fucking know! But you’re the first person I’ve actually talked to in two months, and I just can’t think straight anymore!” He sobs dramatically, flinging his body onto the dirt forest floor now almost mimicking a toddler throwing a small tantrum.

“Listen, I almost had to eat a fucking possum you gotta help me!” Dieter continues to wail, and you shush him from drawing attention.

“Fine! I’ll try to help!” You agree hastily.

Before you can say anything, the dragon, no - Dieter, rushes forward and you almost scream.

He’s around the size of a large truck. Seeing such a large creature, a deadly one at that, rushing towards you activates a primordial fear.

Until his large face presses against your stomach.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” He cries excessively.

“I’ll give you whatever you want! Take you to Oscar parties! Do you wanna meet like, fucking Hugh Jackman or someone else I think I can make that happen?!” His joy and relief are tangible in his rambling.

You laugh nervously, but feel more at ease.

And so a dragon follows you home.

He waits outside the cabin because he is too big to fully fit inside. But Dieter stays surprisingly close, even presses his nose against the window as if he’s a sad stray wanting to be let in.

Now you enjoy meals outside with him most days.

“So what brings a hottie like yourself to a creepy cabin in the woods?” He asks when you sit outside with him and almost choke on an inhale.

However, you do explain how this place is your grandparents and you’re simply staying here on a small break.

“Ah, a mini mental health retreat,” he says sagely, nodding his dragon head. “I dig it.”

That makes you grin.

A sort of ridiculousness bubbles in you whenever you google and search up websites about breaking spells or curses. But you have to believe a remedy, or something like it, exists especially when tangible magic now sits curled right beside you. Dieter’s head rests against your thigh while he breathes in and out with a steady rumble. The soft sunlight allows the delicate shimmer of his scales to dance beautifully.

You glance down to the dragon sleeping peacefully.

Dieter grew close to you instantly. You also hate to admit how fast you’ve bonded to him. He’s wildly easy to talk to and pretty funny. When you take walks by the lake he trots right besides you, not even bothered about being seen.

“If I wasn’t so worried about the government or aliens shooting me down or carrying me off to some sketchy ass lab, I’d take us flying.” Dieter comments one evening when you decide to simply enjoy the cool evening and shimmering stars above.

To prove a point, the dragon spreads open his wings to stretch them. They’re glorious, bat-like in their structure and towering over you in a mythical shade. You feel so small compared to him, but in a way that comforts you, almost like standing against the grandeur of many redwood trees.

“Honestly I don’t think you’d be that good a pilot anyway even as a dragon.” You tease.

He scoffs horrified. “Excuse me! I played a pilot in a Grey’s Anatomy episode. So I know how flying fucking works!”

You burst out laughing, buoyant.

You begin wondering if maybe Dieter imprinted on you, but realization creeps in that you’ve maybe done the same to him.

On warmer days when you want to enjoy the lake, you wait until the dragon wakes so you both can enjoy the water.

You jokingly tell him he looks like the lochness monster as he swims.

“Nessie’s got nothing on me.” Dieter huffs.

Then, he playfully swishes his tail in the water, creating a large wave that hits you with a cold splash. Immediately you childishly kick splash back at him.

The dragon snickers so human, and your heart jumps.

It’s getting harder to ignore the blooming affection growing more for him.

Dieter sleeps besides the cabin now, specifically your bedroom window. Because of that you try keeping sounds low due to his incredible hearing.

Mainly because you’ve been looking up videos of him, anything from his interviews, to compilations of his movie roles.

One scene of him in a ‘so bad it’s good’ 2000’s rom com has been replaying in your head for days. The way Dieter greedily grasps his love interest's cheeks, how he kisses deeply possessive and consuming like a raging storm -

You wonder if he always kisses like that.

He’s ridiculously handsome. Both as a human and… even as a dragon.

But you stomp those thoughts away. Dragon or not, he’s a celebrity, an actual actor who has been linked to other famous people.

He possibly wouldn’t even look your way.

“Hey,” Dieter perks up and moves to rest his large head across your tummy while you lounge in the hammock by the lake.

You halfway lie saying you’re just tired. Then a sudden fanged sense of curiosity possesses your fingers, and they move before you can stop. You trace along his sharp bone like horns then down to the scales of his face. They’re cool and sturdy to the touch.

Dieter closes his eyes, relaxing more against you.

He’s settled down more, mellowing out into a zen peaceful version of himself that isn’t pestering you about ideas on how to break the magic placed on him. You even feel more relaxed, especially with him here.

When you first decided on this small break, you were slightly worried about being alone for this long. Instead, like something out of a strange fairy tale, you now can't imagine being here without this strange creature.

Slowly, then all at once, Dieter becomes clingy.

Rapid in his curious questions, he’s annoying and ridiculous at times but still incredibly endearing to talk to. As twilight approaches in soft glory, the dragon shifts to curl around you, a scaled mythical barricade that refuses to let you leave.

“No…don’t go back in. Stay here with me.” He purrs. “It’ll be like a fun camping trip.”

You snicker, even though your heart races at his plea.

“Maybe next time.” You suggest, and Dieter pouts huffing out a puff of smoke in protest.

In the shower your mind wanders to some cheesy romance books your best friend once showed you.

One was about a witch who fell in love with an enemy dragon cursed to destroy her. That story had you in a chokehold. Especially the scene where the witch got affected by a spell that backfired. It made her aroused and the only way to dispel the effects was through sex. And of course her dragon enemy was the only one present who could help the witch.

An image flickers in your mind repeatedly of Dieter with his shimmering gemstone eyes and you clutching onto his horns as he -

Soon enough your back hits the shower wall and your fingers drift down as your eyes flutter shut, allowing yourself to sink into that fantasy.

You try to keep your whimpers quiet, but a part of you… wants Dieter hear.

Your fingers curl and move, drawing out your arousal.

But then you hear it - a rumbled groan.

An embarrassed heat knocks into you.

That’s when you remember you left the window to the bathroom open. You’re about to apologize until Dieter speaks first.

He growls out your name, a whimper over the rush of the shower water.

“Oh, I can smell you.” His words slice through you and unleash a damn.

Your heart races, and your mind shuts down.

“More, gimme more please.” Dieter urges and your fingers pick up a frantic pace.

“Dieter.” You croak out his name.

“Fuck yeah.” The dragon pants, and you swear the walls shake a bit as if he’s trying to press past them, maybe even burst through to you.

“Shit baby, wanna eat you up so fucking bad.” Dieter slurs and knocks your climax out of your chest. You come fast.

“Fuck.” He now whines impatiently. “Want you more. Wish I could do more.”

You exhale trying to steady your breathing and also feel a tug of sympathy for him. You stay quiet, don’t know what else to do.

But after slipping into your pajamas, you notice Dieter has gone dangerously quiet.

So gathering up a bunch of blankets and pillows, you head outside deciding maybe to actually camp out with him.

Yet, in the stretching darkness, Dieter is nowhere to be found. Your heart breaks a bit.

The next morning Dieter is still missing.

You head to the small grocery supply store to grab a few items. The television talks about a storm approaching and you wonder if that’s why he left.

You spot a reasonably priced extra large tent, almost a canopy, that you maybe could use to keep Dieter safe and dry besides the cabin.

You hope he returns soon. As you struggle to try putting the tent together, the thunder rumbles in the distance.

Twigs snap and footsteps approach the path around the cabin. Slightly panicked, you start glancing out into the woods.

A part of you now hopes it's a dragon.

Unfortunately a mountain lion instead stares at you from among the tree line.

Your heart drops.

The large hunter stays still and so do you.

With your heart racing you slowly back away hoping to head back into the cabin.

But the large cat prowls forward out of the trees, a slow stalk.

Terror crawls all over your body.

A sinister rumble floats out into the air, and you think it’s the thunder getting worse.

That rumbling you mistook as thunder instead clearly floats into a terrifying growl.

You have to think it’s the mountain lion about to pounce any second.

Suddenly Dieter flies out of the trees. His maw is open wide, filled with shark sized sharp teeth. The beast lands before the prowler, a monster from a hellish nightmare.

The mountain lion bares its fangs, hissing loud and tries to swat its paw at Dieter. But the dragon remains unbothered and instead snapping his jaw shut towards the cougar almost trying to chomp at it.

It’s enough to frighten the large mountain cat, and it retreats away fast.

Dieter continues growling. His eyes are dangerous slits, a crystalized predator. You can’t move, too stunned to even think. But then your dragon blinks, coming back to his senses and rushes towards you.

He says your name worried as his face rubs all over you.

“Tell me you’re alright?! That stupid cat almost tried to attack you! I was so fucking close to biting his head off or shit charbroiling it-”

You reassure Dieter you’re alright, even wrap your arms around him best as you can.

You’ve never held him like this. His warmth in your embrace reminds you of a burning heartbeat, the thump of a flame too powerful to extinguish.

“Where were you? Where have you been?” You ask weakly.

“Didn’t wanna hurt you last night.” Dieter admits. “My mind…this dang freaky monster mind of mine kept telling me to do… things.”

You cautiously ask what.

He buries his large snout against you.

“Like fucking mate you.” He mutters, and your legs almost give out.

“Oh.” Dieter says and inhales deep. “Oh, damn… you like that huh?”

He can smell you, caught your wave of arousal already making you wet.

Soon enough he moves down, and you try to shoo him away until he presses his nostrils straight between your legs and inhales. You slap your hand over your mouth to stop the whimper that almost leaves you.

“I’m drooling.” Dieter slurs and even allows his mouth to stay open panting, a monster in heat. “God, you smell even better than last night.”

“Dieter.” You whisper.

“Please baby, please.” He pleads now gently nipping at your clothes with his sharp teeth.

“Don’t… I don’t want you doing this just because of your dragon brain taking over.” You fidget hearing your true feelings bubble out.

“No, I’m not! Promise.” Dieter says truthfully.

He even shifts his draconian face to place kisses against your thighs. “Would want you even as a man. Fuck it even got me messed up thinking how frustrated I was I couldn’t do shit with you as a man…”

“But now...” he drags his scaled nose up your legs, and your eyes close. “Kinda wanna enjoy being a dragon with you.”

“Wait…With me?” You asks a bit hesitant.

“Uh yeah.” He snorts. “Only you…Cause I trust you baby.”

Opening your eyes, your gaze meets Dieter’s peering up at you. A monster of devastating destruction and terror you just saw now at your knees so large, powerful, and beautiful.

Your hand caresses his face, and he closes his gem eyes.

You lie down within the half made tent. However, it creates a wonderful cave-like cover for you to slide into.

“What the crap is this?” Dieter nudges into the tarp as he wiggles as much as he can into the covering.

“Rain is coming, wanted to get something to keep you dry, you dick.” You playfully reply.

Dieter’s dragon eyes soften, pupils expanding like a cat’s, and he moves to nuzzle your neck. You lean back against him and exhale against his cool scales.

Then he descends, a beast ready to consume.

You think of the monster books your best friend lent you.

Now you can say it doesn’t do the truth justice.

After you slide off your shorts and underwear Dieter’s tongue, thin and slippery, long and precise with its movements, licks across your bare thighs. It traces against your skin leaving you wiggling wanting more.

Then he dives into you. His tongue slithers around your clit then wiggles into you, and your body snaps up galvanized by this unbelievable pleasure.

“Damn baby, this is incredible.” Dieter slurs drunk. “You’re incredible.”

You get it. It feels like your body is going to melt off your bones. Then his sharp dragon teeth very gently nip at your thigh, and your mind blanks.

When your climax hits he greedily slurps it up. You whine a bit overstimulate when he continues lapping at you.

“Mate,” he mutters. “Wanna mate you so bad.”

You softly coo at him, running your hand against his horn.

This idea has been infesting your mind for weeks. Now it’s here.

“Turn on your back for me.” You softly tell Dieter who effortlessly moves, doing as he’s told. Now he’s the one lying down covered by the half canopy.

On his back you’re smitten by the sight of his soft colored underbelly.

Then his monstrous large cock makes your mouth water and body shiver. You knew it would. But now you realize there’s no way his very rigged and large cock could fit inside you.

“Don’t even know if I can fit.” Dieter whimpers. Pre-cum starts pebbling, leaking, at the head of his cock and you already ache to taste.

“Shh…” you comfort him again, kissing the scales along his belly.

“I have an idea.” You whisper low.

Even with your weak and slightly shaky legs you manage to climb on top of him.

Then you settle down, resting on him. Both you and Dieter instantly moan.

“Fuck, already feel you. You’re so warm.” he sobs.

“You too.” You hiccup. His cock is heated, throbbing against you.

Then you grind your hips, dragging your pussy down against him, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Dieter’s growls shatters the air, and you try to soothe him, settle his noises. But it’s hard, even for you. The more you grind and hump against him, you can’t even silence yourself. His rigged cock feels divine rubbing against you. Soon enough it’s simply you and him melting into each other.

You grind and grin, speeding up your hips. You’re lost in the pleasure, lost in the molten fire scorching your skin that before you know it, you come and pleasure crashes into you a consuming wave. Dieter moans, a half mixed noise so human yet monstrous.

“I’m… I’m gonna-” He growls, unable to even speak.

“Give it to me, please.” You beg.

When he comes it’s hot, sticky and there’s so much. But you feel beautifully dizzy and drunk, especially as his cum pools against your thighs sticking to your skin. It’s dirty, raw, but incredible.

Especially as Dieter shifts to now have you lying below him and his wings open up to create their own canopy against you, shielding you from the world.

After cleaning him and yourself up with your discarded shorts, your dragon curls against you

“Holy shit balls,” Dieter exhales with his warm breath that tickles. “That was the hottest kinkiest sex I’ve ever had. Didn’t think you’d have it in you. When can we do it again?”

You playfully swat at him.

“Hey, it’s all a compliment! I’m saying it was hot as fuck!” He argues and you snicker, but now in Dieter’s warmth exhaustion creeps in cozy and effortless.

The thunder rumbling becomes a soft lullaby mixing in with the content purr thundering from your dragon.

You turn and rest your face against the side of Dieter’s massive muzzle. Placing a soft kiss against his scales, you let your eyes close.

You rest safe with your dragon’s keep.

Soft raindrops falling against your legs waking you up wearily. You’re thankful at least half the tent keeps you covered as the rain pours down.

But you now notice you’re missing one dragon.

Instead the most handsome man you’ve ever seen sleeps besides you, curled against your shoulder while he snores.

Dieter’s utterly gorgeous. Peacefully resting, mouth slightly open, you ache to trace his sharp nose. His fluffy hair looks like an adorable bird's nest. You’re so in awe of this unreal man it takes you a moment to realize he’s a dragon no more.

You yelp surprised and bolt up from him.

“Wha? Whazzit?” Dieter wearily asks waking up.

“Dieter, Dieter wake up.” You urge, and he yawns as he stretches.

“Ready to go for another round huh, honey cakes?” He smirks sleepy but coy at you.

Then his eyes go wide as he realizes it too.

He shrieks, scrambling to sit up.

His hands press against his body and even glances down between his legs.

“Phew! Had to check my dick just to make sure, but we’re good.”

You roll your eyes until his wide beautiful earthen ones turn to you.

“I’m a real boy again!” He cries then gathers you into his arms squeezing you tight.

“Sex broke the spell!” Dieter declares, and you excitedly laugh rubbing his gorgeous back.

“You broke my spell.” He softer says, rubbing his nose into the top of your head.

“I don't know if it was me…but glad I could help.” You hug him back.

“Okay, as fuckin’ cool as it was being a dragon, and yes I’m already messing my dragon dick, I didn’t realize how much I missed being human. Like… I’ve just been wanting to hold you.”

His words are ridiculous, perfectly Dieter all while being endearing. You snort, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Rain pours down harder, slipping into the collapsing tent. Laughing and getting soaked in the downpour, you finally let Dieter inside the cabin. He of course happily follows you eagerly.

A knock at the door wakes you the next morning, breaking your soft spell among the blanket’s warmth and Dieter arms.

A park ranger and police officer stand on the other side of the door.

“Sorry to bother you this morning,” the park ranger sounds sincere and apologetic. Then he gives a look to the officer.

“But uh… have you… seen any weird suspicious activity around these parts?”

You’re a bit confused, and the officers must see that in your face.

The cop sighs. “A man came in yesterday screaming that he saw a dragon fly over while he was on the hiking trail nearby.”

A bark of a laugh escapes you, and you apologize for the outburst.

“No, it’s alright. It is kinda ridiculous to think about.” The park ranger warmly reassures you.

“No officers I’m sorry I haven’t seen anything of the sorts.” You relay to them.

“The only bad dragon around these parts is me.”

You sigh already tempted to shove Dieter away. In your soft robe he slinks his arms across your shoulder with a sleepy yawn.

The police officer and park ranger now stare like gaping open mouth fishes seeing the missing actor.

“You’re…you’re…-”

“Yeah, yeah I know who I am.” Dieter interjects, waving his hand casually. “And I’m not missing. Nor did the aliens take me as much as I hoped they would.”

He moves to curl against you more. “Just been here with my hot new girlfriend that’s all.”

The title sets your heart on fire. The officers wish you a good day. The park ranger even asks for an autograph from Dieter, which he of course gives.

“Now, if you excuse me, I gotta show my baby the real dragon here in the woods.” Dieter says without shame even winks and you shriek embarrassed, apologizing profusely.

You chide Dieter smacking his chest as he snickers proud.

“Come on,” he urges, nibbling at your cheeks. “Let me show my mate how badly I need her.”

You can’t argue with that.

Later that night falling asleep again in his arms you notice the same dragon rumble still deep in Dieter’s chest, a blissful rumbling purr.

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 98... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

This chapter literally broke me in more ways than one...

This chapter is a continuation of Martha and Henderson's backstory from Mission 97, so let's talk about it shall we...?

So when I opened this chapter and saw a radio...:

...I literally got PTSD from seeing it because it immediately made me think of the first part of Mission 62, Twilight's (or rather [REDACTED]'s) past, so I knew that things were about to take a turn for the worst...! 😔

On the same page, Martha asks Henderson what he's doing here and he tells her that there's a personnel shortage, so he got to graduate early. Then, Henderson turns off the radio and says this:

This is just... It's so sad, but true that things, like radios, that were once made for helping others can easily be used to spread hatred and cause harm... It's just not right... 😞

Moving on, after being separated for so long, Martha and Henderson were able to have another tea party like they used to have, but it wasn't long before things started to take a turn... During a school safety drill, Martha asks Henderson if he's excused from being drafted, and he tells her...:

"It may be that even education is powerless now."... 😟

Hearing Henderson say that hurts my soul... But nothing could prepare me for the next few pages...

Why... Why do things like this have to happen... 😣

No, things like this SHOULDN'T happen...! Innocent people dying because of senseless violence, because of war, it's just not right nor is it fair...! And I will always stand by that...!!

Continuing on, Henderson finds out that Martha is volunteering for The Women's Defense Auxiliary and he's upset by this. She tells him that the ballet company she was a part of is going to disband and her dream will go with it, so he scolds her again and she tells him this:

My heart hurts just seeing the anguish in face and in her words...!! 💔

And the heart break continues because Martha overhears that Henderson is going to be married off and she is devastated... But while in tears, she overhears that the dance is coming again, so this is her last chance to tell him how she feels...!

At the dance, Martha approaches Henderson:

Martha looks so cute here...!! 💗 I was so excited to see them dance together, that when I turned the page, something unexpected happened... I started to cry...:

Seeing them happy, even though just for this moment, it reminded me why I love Spy X Family so much... It's for these moments, the moments that most of S×F's cast is fighting for, the moments that we all should strive for...!! There are just so many bad things going on in the world that it makes wish that moments like these could be the norm for all instead of some...!! I just don't understand why must there be so much hatred and malice in the world... Why can't we all live in peace instead of conflict...

Gosh, I'm even crying now just writing all of that... I should probably start to wrap this up...!

So, just as Martha is about to confess to Henderson, this happens...:

...and the chapter ends... 💔😭💔

And that was Mission 98; truly such a heartwreching chapter to read, just like Mission 62 was...

I don't even know what else to say except thank you to Endo... Thank you for making this manga, for getting me feel all of these feelings, for giving me the opportunity to share these feelings with everyone that loves this series as much as I do...!! Thank you from the bottom of my heart...!! 💗

And thank you to all of you that reads this post...!! There's a lot of things that I wish that I could do to make the world a better place, but if this post inspires you in anyway, that's good enough for me...!! 💗

Sorry for rambling, but anyway... Until the next Mission; take care, be safe out there and thank you for reading...!! 🤗 Later!! 💗

[kindlingkeen]

do you have any good fic recs? i've just finished reading all of your fics (AMAZING btw i LOVE competent jason and you write him sooo well) and obviously you have good taste so i thought i might as well ask (i will say that i don't really do ship fics tho)

thank you! looking forward to what you have in store for jason and the batfam next!

First, thank you for the ask! And I’m so glad you’ve been enjoying my fics!! 😊 I’m on vacation this week and finally writing again (had a bit of a rough writer’s block patch). So hopefully I’ll be posting more content in the next couple of weeks.

Fic recs - boy do I ever. I will say, I have super varied tastes in fics, I’ll read just about anything Gen that’s Jason-centric, plus a few Jason ships (although I’m pretty picky about what actually makes it into my bookmarks). All of the fics I’m rec’ing below are Gen, although some might have flavors of a relationship (likely JayRoy since that’s my preferred pairing). I tried to pick a selection of different styles and tropes, so hopefully you find something you like. Almost all these authors have multiple fics I’ve loved, so look at their other works on ao3 for more great reading (you may need to be logged into ao3 to see some of them). Enjoy!

Fic recs

Glow in the Dark Stars by essspressso (stylesmakethefight) 

This is a time travel fic that made me bawl ugly tears, like seriously bawl. Read if in need of a good cry.

The Cold Like Coming Home by cabezas_de_vaca 

An interesting one-shot of Jason and Bruce finding their way back to each other.

More Chances Than Deserved 'Verse by Skalidra  @skalidra

A series that starts out post batarang, Jason does not rejoin the family.

Gotham CPS by ebjameston 

Not sure how to even describe this one, it’s pure hilarity told by an outsider POV.

Nests and Cages by LanternWisp, Lysical @lanternwisp

A series detailing Jason’s journey back to the family. The last installment of the series has probably the best reconciliation discussion between Jason and Bruce re: Bruce taking on another Robin that I’ve ever read.

Buy One Get One Free by Here_we_go

A series that starts with catatonic Jason. I love how Jason is written in this one so so much (especially the main first part), and there’s a short segment later in the series with Talia that’s lovely.

fever by r_astra  @heyy-its-skip

One-shot. Quality batdad in the context of a sick fic

nightmares and daydreams by r_astra @heyy-its-skip

One-shot. Beware, there’s some heavy duty torture in this one. Jason & Tim isn’t usually my thing, but I really like their brief interaction in this one.

all the small weights by sparkycap

One-shot. More quality batdad, this time in the context of fear toxin

a (cat)astrophe in the making by mikkal

Part of a loosely connected series, if I’m remembering correctly. I’m a firm believer that Jason Todd needs a cat.

Red Hood by envysparkler @envysparkler

An amazing Jason rejoins the family, classic fix it, set early in Lost Days continuity. Envysparkler’s works are pretty much solely responsible for getting me into the Batfam. This fic in particular motivated me to start writing TPWC.

Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies @batbirdies

De-aging fic, this isn’t my favorite trope, but of what’s out there, I like the dynamics in this one.

Things We Only Talk About After Dark by BabblingBookends

One-shot. More good batdad, but not fluffy like the other two above. I really like how Bruce is written in this one, how he struggles with the unknown.

Kidnapped! by Cerusee @cerusee

One-shot set in Jason’s Robin days. One of my favorites for father and son feels.

A MOMENT THAT'S HELD IN YOUR ARMS. by orpheusaki

More baby Robin Jay and good dad Bruce.

White Lighters / Afterglow by lurkinglurkerwholurks @lurkinglurkerwholurks

One-shot. Another one that legitimately made me cry.

Druthers by d_aia @e-alexandrescu

A really creative, not-your-typical-take on Jason rejoining the family. Sniper Jason is so frelling cool.

I linked the tumblr’s for the authors I know of. If you have any to add, leave them in the comments and I’ll update!

[wulvercazz]

🐊Beware of the Crocodile Man

When I tell you this AU had such a chokehold on me while I was working on it, it's been two months and still, Crocman Ichigo haunts my dreams😮‍💨💕 Anyway have a lil "first chapter" of sorts✨

(( here's the next post ))

Grimmjow's walking along the edge of the water, ripping apart with his little blade bits and pieces of meat and throwing them in the water for him to see. The leaking blood and the scent of him clinging to the offerings calling the beast to him as he's done for years now. The water ripples with melodic singing, a sure source of anxious alert to any other inhabitant standing so close to the water, to Grimmjow, however, it's the quiet footsteps before a warm salute. He sees the vibrations under the surface before he hears his welcoming bellow, echoing through the muddy undergrowth surrounding the swamp and traveling into the thicket of branches; a few birds fly off in fear. The hollowed sound vibrates off his spine with a pleasant thrill. He steps closer to the water eagerly; brother Starrk would be horrified if he saw him, his fur standing on end at the thought of him being this close to the beast. He doesn't need to know this is how Grimmjow spends his time. He's been out the den and living away from the pack for quite a few cycles now, he's not wolf, dammit, he knows that much - and they do too, as controlling as they want to be of him - whatever he can and can't do only Grimmjow can find out. This he can do. Feed and be fed by the creature everyone's so fearful of, enjoy the playful antics of the coldblooded creature. Be pushed around by him as much as he allows him to be pushed and wrangled by him. Mutual respect earned him this priviledge, scars now healed proof of the damage they can both inflict on the other; choosing peace is survival, falling into friendly behaviours is only the consequence of their curiosity towards the other. No one's had the opportunity to see Ichigo this close, only him, and only he is trusted enough for Ichigo to see clearly too. Others like Grimmjow come and go some times, but they're different. Even Grimmjow hides from them within the foliage like everyone else. This is something they alone can share with one another, being lone in their species, sharing only with another creature as dangerous as themselves.

I used both croc anD alligator inspo for Ichigo, he's not a hybrid tho just a lil monster man so,, for plot purposes, the humans who have seen bits and pieces of him are the ones who started calling him the Crocodile Man. Feared by all as a man-eating beast, the shadow unseen in shallow waters 🥰

[zoros-fourth-sword]

LAW x FEM READER

Request post:

@makemake22 - Heyy, (srsly, i don't know what's your name so i can't call you, haha.) I just stumble along your fanfic, and i was wondering if i can request Law with yn that brat taming him. You can use your wild imagination, no problem.

Sorry if it took long but I am absolutely obsessed with this man so ofc I was going to write this so I hope you enjoy ❤️🥰

{MDNI 18+ only}

This oneshot is a 18+ onshot only so read at your own risk

This oneshot contains the following: brat taming, spanking, name calling, dom energy, fingering, smut, and more

BRATY FEM READER x DOM LAW

BEWARE MY WRITING SUCKS

“LIKE YOU FUCKING CARE LAW” I yell towards the man that was standing in front of me my face slightly red from my anger 

“OF COURSE I CARE Y/N YOUR MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND” Law yelled back at me not really wanting to deal with my shit at the moment he would rather go back to his study buddy than spend time 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 his 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 

“IF YOU DID YOU WOULD SPEND MORE TIME WITH ME THEN YOUR FUCKING STUDY BUDDY” I yell as I step closer to Law slightly having to look up at him due to his height 

“Why is it such a fucking problem to study with my coworker Y/N you act like we’re fucking each other on the side” Law snapped out instead of yelling I guess the stupid fuck got tired  

“That might not be your intention but that doesn’t mean that isn’t hers I don’t feel comfortable with you in the same room as her why can’t you understand that” I snap turning my head to the side so I didn’t have to look at him any longer because if I do I might punch him in the face 

“Look Y/N I understand your feelings but this is my job we are talking about I’m not worried about a stupid girl that fantasizes about fucking me” Law huffed out while pinching the bridge of his nose 

“Yea whatever all I’m saying is if she tries anything funny I’m fucking punching her teeth down her throat,” I say before turning my head back around to look at 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 face 

“Y/N baby I wouldn’t dream of letting some low-life girl touch me and besides the only woman’s hands I want on me are yours” Law chucked out as he grabbed my hips to pull me into a hug 

“You fucking better or I’ll chop your balls off” I mumble into his chest 

“I know you will” Law chuckled nervously 

“Baby I got to go now but I’ll be back around 9:00 pm,” Law said as he kissed the top of my head

“Okay baby I love you,” I say as I lift my head resting the bottom of my chin against his chest 

“I love you too I got to go,” Law said before leaning down to place a kiss against my lips 

“Okay” I huff out slightly dreading that I’m going to be alone for the rest of the day 

“I promise to make it up to you later,” Law said as he let me go to grab his stuff to leave 

“You better,” I say crossing my arms over my chest 

“I will” Law chucked out before giving me one last kiss 

“Mhm” I hum as he begins walking out the door

I’m currently sitting in front of my long mirror that sits in mine and Law's bedroom in blue lacy lingerie, that I bought a while back with Nami 

If Law wants to be a little stubborn shit I’m going to give him a reason to come home the man said he was going to be home around 9:00 pm but it’s currently 11:30 he said they had to catch up on some more papers yea paperwork my ass I’m sure she’s trying to get him to stay longer with her sluty ass self I swear if I could kill a bitch It would be her 

I decided that I would tease Law by sending him some spicy pics hoping it would make him come home sooner 

I began positioning myself so my ass was sitting on the heels of my feet causing my back to arch giving the illusion that my ass was bigger than it was I quickly snap I few pictures before switching to my next position 

I sit ass on the floor with my legs slightly parted giving Law the perfect view of my wet core 

Once I was satisfied with how the pictures came out I quickly sent them to law with a little message along with them 

“𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲 😒😘”

All I’m saying is if this doesn’t get his attention then I don’t know what will 

“𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 <𝟑𝟑𝟑“

I don’t know maybe because you said you were going to be home a long time ago I mumble under my breath 

“𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝟗:𝟎𝟎 🥺💔”

“𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐟��𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬☹️”

“𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞 🥺💔”

“𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰” 

“𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞🙄😒”

“𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐮𝐦“

“𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐦𝐞 😒”

“𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲“

“Wow well I guess my plan kinda worked” I chuckle out to myself 

I’m currently laying on mine and Law's bed with my legs spread while pleasing myself slightly hitting the squishy part of nerves that makes my legs go crazy 

“Fuck” I wine out not being able to be quite 

I began speeding up my pace once I felt my lower stomach start to heat up signaling that I was close to my release

“Fuck” I moan out slightly squeezing my legs around my wrist not being able to handle the pleasure 

“𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬“ 

Just as I was about to cum Law spawned right in front of me with the most pissed-off expression I have ever seen on his face 

“Why you little brat” Law hissed out of his teeth throwing his sword aside 

“Wait Law I’m s-“ I struggle to say still breathing hard from earlier events

“No princess I don’t wanna hear your excuses” Law growled out before making his way towards me 

“But,” I say with wide eyes while scooting all the way back against the headboard 

“This is what you wanted baby I came home so you don’t get to bitch” Law said as he began crawling up the bed to get to me 

“You have been a fucking brat today,” Law said as he grabbed my ankles before pulling me down toward him 

“Law” I squeal out surprised by his actions 

“Don't be surprised Y/N you brought this on yourself and I’m going to make sure you get your fucking punishment” Law growled down towards me as he rest between my thighs on his knees 

“Fuck you Law you left me alone what did you expect I was horny for fucks sake and we haven’t had sex in like two weeks because you’ve been so busy with work” I mumble out turning my head to the side with my arms crossed over my chest 

“Don’t try to guilt trip me princess” Law said as he jerked my head back towards him by my chin 

“You get to shut your mouth and be a good obedient girl for me ya” Law said his deep voice causing heat to run up my core 

“Brats don’t get rewards,” Law said as he traced my bottom lip with his tattooed thumb 

“They get punishments and I think it’s about time for yours,” Law said as he traced his hand down my chin and to my neck before warping his fingers around it slightly squeezing 

“Fuck Law” I whine out shutting my eyes due to the pleasure 

“Mhm princess that’s right I want this to be torture for you I want you begging” Law chuckled as he pressed his knee against my clothed core 

“I will admit baby you did an amazing job at making yourself look all pretty for me,” Law said as he began circling my core with his knee causing me to fling my head back before letting out a broken moan 

“Fuck baby your so hot” Law hissed out as he began tracing his hand that was around my neck down my body and towards my breast 

“Blue looks so good on you baby but unfortunately I’m going to have to remove this” Law said as he grabbed the bottom of my bra before bringing it back and letting it go causing it to snap against my skin

“Fuck Law I can’t handle it” I sigh as droll began to run out of the corners of my mouth due to Law's constant abuse on my pussy 

“Yes you can baby and you will you did this to yourself remember,” Law said as he sped up his pace with his knee 

“Please I can’t” I sob as my legs begin to shake 

“How sad princess I haven’t even started,” Law said as he stopped 

“Fuck” I whine out in relief 

“Don’t get too comfortable” Law said as he turned me around so I was lying on my stomach with my ass up in the air against his hard cock 

“Fuck Law” I moan letting my head hang between my arms 

“Fuck princess I can’t wait to fuck you my cock has missed you so much,” Law said as he began grinding against my ass causing my pussy to clench around the air 

“Shit Law” I pant out with my head still hanging between my arms 

“Oh you poor girl let Doctor Traffy make you feel good” Law chuckled as he pulled my head back up by my hair 

“Fuck Law I can’t” I sob as tears formed in my eyes 

“That’s too bad Princess,” Law said as he landed a harsh slap against my ass cheek with his free hand

“Fuck Law” I squeal out in surprise my body slightly jerking forward causing laws to grip on my hair to tighten 

“Mhm baby just nine more of those and you good ya” Law hummed out as he rubbed the red mark on my ass slightly soothing the pain 

“Mhm” I hum as I begin nodding my head 

“Good girl,” Law said as he jerked his hand back to slap my ass again 

“Count with me okay,” Law said as he landed a slap against my cheek 

“Okay” I broke out slight tears running down my face 

“One” Law said as he raised his hand again 

“One” I breathe out 

“Two” *smack*

“Two” I whine out 

“You're doing such a good job princess,” Law said as he rubbed the handprint

“Three” *smack*

“Three” I sob as I grip the sheets 

“Four” *smack*

“fuck four” I broke out as I began breathing hard slightly becoming lightheaded due to so many emotions fogging my brain 

“Almost Princess” Law said 

“Five” *smack* 

“Five” I weakly say

“Six” *smack*

“Six” I pant 

“Four more baby” Law said

“Seven” *smack*

“Ten” I cry out once Law finished giving me my punishment 

“You did such a good job baby I’m proud of you” Law praised me as he began rubbing my throbbing ass cheek 

“Thank you” I pant out 

“Now let’s get to the fun part ya,” Law said as he moved my underwear to the side 

“Yea” I weakly say desperately needing Law inside of me 

“Alright baby,” Law said as he pulled his pants and underwear down 

“Fuck baby your drenched” Law hissed out once he felt my juices against the tip of his cock 

“Please law” I whine out not being able to wait any longer 

“Of course baby since you took your punishment without any complaints” Law grunted out as he slid his cock into my throbbing core 

“Fuck Law Oh My” I moan out as I press my ass harder against his hips 

“Fuck baby doll you feel so good” Law whined out as he began forming a pace with his hips sliding in and out of me

“Shit Law I missed this so much” I moan in the blankets as I grip the sheets 

“Fuck Princess so have I” Law growled out as he leaned down to warp his fingers around my hands 

“Fuck” I whine out from the angle 

“Ya you like this position huh” Law hummed in my ear causing vibrations to shoot up my spine 

“Yes” I moan out 

“So do I baby,” Law said as he began to pick up his pace causing my eyes to cross

“What’s the matter baby am I fucking you stupid” law chuckled as he put his hand behind my head to press me farther into the mattress 

I couldn’t even answer his question due to the overwhelming pleasure 

“Awe can’t speak can you princess” Law said as he lifted his body back up to grab my hips 

“I’m sorry baby you got to handle it just a little longer,” Law said as he began to thrust into me hard causing my body to jerk forward from each motion 

“Fuck Law,” I say letting out a loud moan

“I know baby I know,” Law said over the slapping of our skin 

“Shit princesses I’m close,” Law said once I felt his thrust grow sloppy 

“Me too” I moan out 

“Maybe I should shoot my cum in ya so I can see plump and round with my baby growing inside you” Law growled out becoming more turned on by the thought 

“Fuck law that sounds so hot” I broke out 

“Fuck shit baby” Law growled out as he released inside me 

“Oh my gosh law you did not” I gasp out jerking around in one quick motion surprised that he actually did cum inside me 

“Shit baby I’m sorry I lost control,” Law said with wide eyes slightly scared I was going to beat the shit out of him 

“Fuck” I cuss out in disbelief 

I really hope yall liked it comment and let me know if you did 🥰❤️🙏

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 4

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You’re taken inside through a back entry. The guardian walks you through the accommodation, a small walk-up with two narrow floors. He puts the Commander’s bag beside you before he continues through the front door, locking it behind him as his shadow darkens the iron grate of the window. He takes his post, more keeping out and trespasser than keeping you in.

You grab the bag and lug it up the stairs. There is a single bedroom. You unzip the compact suitcase on the bed and hang the contents in the closet. Not much, a few days at most. You set his toiletries in the attached bathroom and slide the bag under the bed.

Hunger breaks through your passive numb but you ignore the grumble in your stomach. Typically, you only eat what is leftover after serving the Commander. You have heard of marthas losing their tongues and teeth over excessive and unpermitted indulgence.

Your stomach squeezes and roars loudly as you come back to the first floor. You sit on the bench against the wall; wooden and without cushion. You put your head down and lock your back. You will be there a while. Until he returns.

Your eyes droop and you drift into a daze. Something like sleep but not quiet. You’re weighed down by the fatigue, cocooned in it, but still aware of every creak of the house and subtle shifting of the man outside the door.

The house is dark when you hear the dulled tones of the Commander’s voice. You sit up stiffly, your lower back on fire as the door opens. There is a reproachful hum before the entryway lights up around Commander Shelby. You brace a hip as you stand, head down, to greet him.

“Under his eye.”

He says nothing as he peels off his jacket and hangs it on the rack. He kicks his shoes on the mat but does not remove them. He strides past you as you keep still, trying not to fold at the ache nailed into your hip bones.

“I require a bath.”

“Yes, Commander,” you answer and turn slowly.

You follow him upstairs, two paces back. Nothing so close as to crowd him. He goes into the bedroom and when you enter, he is already sat on the edge of the bed, sharply untying his shoes, the tips of the laces whipping the leather.

You proceed into the bathroom and stop before the tub. You stare at the white porcelain. You are forlorn for a moment before you recall yourself and twist the faucet on. You put your fingers beneath the flow as you adjust the temperature. There is a longing deep inside of you; the memory of late night baths, the rare escape from your life. A different life. A life that’s over.

You hear the Commander in the next room and you stand, so quickly you can’t help a squeak as you touch your lower back. You quickly tear your hand away as he enters. You put your head down and edge away from the tub. 

He crosses the floor, his suspenders pushed aside to hand from his trousers, as he unbuttons his grey shirt. You near the door, intent to leave him, nervous of his brazen undressing. He has never done that in front of you before. 

“By his eye,” you dismiss yourself as you reach the threshold.

“Stay,” he demands.

You want to question him. You want to put up some protest. You shouldn’t remain because it is improper. Because it is against the scripture. A martha you may be but in their eyes, a woman stained with the first sin.

You back up, standing with your shoulder to the wall, so he is only a shadow looming at your peripheral. You keep your gaze to the tile and clutch your hands tight. You hear the water stir as he steps into the bath and he lowers himself with a long sigh.

“Commander,” you utter meekly, almost cowering. “I could make tea–”

“Later. Turn the faucet off before this overflows.”

You wince. You steel yourself and pivot awkwardly on your feet. You go to the tub, not looking past its curled feet, and you bend over the rim to turn off the water. The steam wafts up to dampen the front of your smock.

You stand straight, head to one side as you refuse to peek. You cannot imagine the consequence. You realise, it is a test. He is trying to tempt you to do just that. So he has reason to punish you. It cannot be anything else.

“Are you adept with a straight razor?” He asks.

The question surprises you. You nod, unable to muster your voice. 

“Get it.”

You wait for no other explanation. You got to the brown leather pouch you propped on the counter and unzip it. You pull out the long rectangular case that holds his razor, the small brass cup with a wooden handled brush, and the soap. 

You add water and lather the soap with the bristle before you approach him. You kneel at the side of the tub as he leans his head back. You spread the foam over his jaw, fighting now to shake. You put the cup down with the brush, slipping the case from your apron pocket and opening it to free the razor.

You unfold the blade and grip the handle tight. You look at the Commander and his exposed throat. Your eyes wander to the wall. A small act of revenge but for what? They would do worse to you. 

Your hand shakes and you lower your eyes, meeting the Commander’s gaze with surprise. His lips are slanted.

“Do you know what I would do to you with that razor if you even nick me?” He warns.

“Commander, I–”

“Quiet.” He leans back again and closes his eyes. He knows you will do your duty, nothing less, nothing more. As always.

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the very heart of me

Dorym Week, Day Two! (we aren't talking about these early EST upload times >.>) Today's work was inspired by the song prompt: "My life was a storm since I was born, how could I fear any hurricane?" ~ Francesca - Hozier

Title is from Aragorn's speech before the black gates because I couldn't help myself XD

I’ll post all my drabbles to AO3 later, but for now enjoy them here on tumblr.

(Beware minor spoilers for Episode 95)

-----

The first thing Orym noticed as he felt the snap of teleportation magic release was the bitter, biting cold. 

He thought he was used to the cold; Zephrah’s place above the clouds meant that even the longest summer days were cool and the winters could be brutal. But Zephrah had nothing on the endless expanse of blinding white he saw when he opened his eyes, the air so cold he could feel his breath become brittle before it ever left his mouth.

Suddenly glad for the layers he had bought before leaving Zadash, Orym wrapped his arms tightly across his chest and squinted across the barren landscape. In some deeply unsettling way it reminded him of the desert surface of Ruidus, only cold and pale instead of vibrant bloody red. 

Behind him he could hear the murmurs of the rest of the Hells getting their bearings. Well… some were murmuring.

“Fuck! That’s frigid!” Ashton’s voice rose above everyone else for a moment and Orym bit back a laugh. 

“I’m not sure what you expected from a snowy wasteland,” drawled Dorian, a familiar lilt to his tone that told Orym he was also holding back humor. 

“I mean. Snow. Obviously.” snapped Ashton, though there was little bite to their words. “Shit, godsdamn it… I’m sinking. Fearne can you…”

“Well, if you wanted to climb me like a tree all you had to do was…”

Orym tuned out whatever Fearne said next as a gloved hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He looked up into Dorian’s face and felt his heart skip at the small smile he found there. Reaching up, he patted his own mittened hand against Dorian’s. The genasi’s smile widened a fraction before his gaze flicked away to take in the desolate view. Orym watched uneasily as the smile fell into a grim stoicism that was becoming more and more common with his friend.

“When Lady Keyleth said we would be heading to the ruins of Aeor I honestly expected a more visible city,” he said after a moment.

“That is because most of the city is buried,” Essek said, gliding past them to peer into the distance. He turned his head slightly to glance over his shoulder with a small twitch of his lips. “And to avoid scattering our remains across several miles of tundra wasteland I had to teleport us well outside of the crash site. As my dear partner would say: Magic does some… funny things closer to the ruins. ”

“Well that’s good to know,” muttered Dorian under his breath, quietly enough that Orym knew no one else could hear. “It’s not like every single one of us relies on magic to survive or anything.”

Orym squeezed his hand tighter. “It’s alright, Dor. We have each other’s backs if things go wrong.”

“I know. I just…” Dorian let out an explosive sigh, breath a cloud of fog in the frigid air. “It’s strange, I think. To be venturing into the ancient ruins of a city so much like my own childhood home and yet so very alien.”

“It’s alright to be worried,” Orym said. “I think we all are, especially after the last few days.”

Dorian turned to face him fully, pulling his hand away only to kneel in the snow in front of Orym, bringing their eyes level. “I’m not afraid,” he said, taking Orym’s hands in his own. “How could I fear Aeor… how could I fear anything with you by my side?”

Orym ducked his head, breaking the eye contact that made his heart flutter in his throat. “Quite easily, I’d imagine.”

“Maybe,” Dorian’s hand cupped the side of Orym’s cheek, warm through the leather of his glove. “But it won’t be so bad if we face it together.”

“Maybe not,” Orym agreed quietly, letting Dorian lift his face back into eye contact. “We’ve weathered other storms before, how is this any different?”

Eiselcross’s chill might be biting and bitter, but Dorian’s gentle smile warms Orym all the way to his toes. “Because this time I’m not leaving your side.”

[imnotasuperhero]

Look into my eyes (search your soul)

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Your love for Wanda could make you go the distance and more, just to see her happy. 

A/N: A day late, but in my defence I had a packed friday, lol. I woke up after a night out with the need to finish this part and post it, so here it is! BEware of any mistake since.. hehe.. I partied all night. Also, blame tumblr for any weird design on the post.

A/N 2: For now, this is planned to be four parts with the chance to growing. So it’s on you, guys. Hope you enjoy this and gets you wanting more (:

If not tomorrow, next weekend part 3 will be out.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX

Wanda stirred, waking up to an empty bed, before looking over at the sleeping babies beside her.

Her heart couldn't grow bigger at the sight in front of her. Those two little humans were finally in this crazy world, and the fears she could feel start growing at the back of her mind were doing little to help her breathe. She just wanted for you to hurry, to be by her side like you always were.

But all hopes of you being away in search of coffee dissipated when she saw her husband sleeping on the chair at the far end of the room.

'He finally dared to show up,' she sighed to herself.

What would she give for Vision to be more like you. To be present when she needed him, to show how much he cared for her.

A few months till now, she started noticing how Vision would go on longer trips, almost as if escaping their life together. And she would be lying if it didn't hurt her. Part of her still loved him. But a bigger part told her she just missed what they were.

She could only hope he would be present in their children's lives, at least. 

The tone of her phone going off signaled her of a new message and her heart jumped at the thought of you.

Seeing your name on the screen, Wanda smiled brightly as she hurried to open it.

'Good morning, Witchy. How are the twins treating you? Hopefully, they're not too much. How are you?'

'Good morning. They surely love to sleep.. still waiting for them to wake up so I can feed them. I am alright. How are you?'

After a few seconds of her message being unread, she just lowered her phone, basking in the warm feeling burning up inside her. The way you made her feel was something that -secretly- she enjoyed deeply.

Just as her phone went off again, the twins started to cry, demanding her attention. It was at that moment that Wanda made her peace with knowing her kids became before you.

Sitting up in her bed, she tried to wake up Vision. But decided she was better without his help for it was in vain.

Slowly stepping up, she maneuvered both babies in her arms as a grunt escaped her, her whole body begging her not to move. Sitting in bed, she shifted and shifted until she found a comfortable position.

Once she was settled, she placed each boy on each one of her breasts, hissing at the pain that sprouted from the latching.

Holding back her tears, she remembered the words you'd said the day before, as the first feeding happened.

“No no, let me,” You demanded as you quickly stood up from the chair, almost running the short distance to the crying twins’ crib.

Picking Billy up, you carefully placed him in Wanda’s arms. “Here you go, baby,” you spoke softly before you picked Tommy up, cooing at him as you patiently waited for Wanda to find a comfortable position.

“I know, sunshine.” You calmly spoke against the baby’s head as you rocked him softly. “Mommy needs a little more time for two beautiful babies like you need only the best. And you know the good things need time,” you smiled as you checked Wanda, busying herself with his brother before you lowered your voice to a whisper, “But don’t worry, you can always count on me to feed you the goodies.”

“I’ve heard that,” 

Looking up from the fussing baby in your arms, you found Wanda’s eyes staring warmly at you as she tried her best to stay put, waiting for her son with open arms.

Giggling at her words, you kissed Tommy’s head before placing him against his mother’s chest. “I stand by my words,” you whispered before kissing his forehead.

The pain that ran through Wanda’s chest got her in tears. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply as she bit her lips, trying to stay still.

Looking up at the weight by her side, she couldn’t help the sob that escaped her at seeing you wrapping your arm around her shoulders.

“I know, Wands.” You kissed her head and she just let your body be the one who held her in place. “But this is part of the process, and you have to endure it for your babies,” you coed as you caressed Billy’s head.

“It’s for my babies,” she whispered, gathering the patience it took.

But said patience was running thick as the twins started crying at the lack of breast milk, and Wanda just felt defeated. She wanted her old life back.

Trying in vain to hold her cries, Wanda settled both babies’ heads on her shoulders, rocking them the best she could to try and calm them.

“Ugh. They’re too loud.” Vision grunted as he stood up, walking towards the door leaving Wanda with rage building inside of her.

A few minutes passed by when Vision walked back in with a nurse hot on his heels.

“Good morning, Hon,” the nurse walked to the redhead with a soft smile on her lips. “What’s the problem?” She asked as she quickly checked the charts at the feet of Wanda’s bed.

"I don’t know," Wanda spoke on the verge of more tears running down. "I tried to feed them but they started crying." She looked up at the nurse with hopes she could help her calm her kids.

"I see," The nurse paused as she checked the bag connected to Wanda's hand. "Did it happen yesterday?"

"No." Wanda sighed.

"There's an easy solution for that," the nurse smiled brightly, caressing Wanda's head, and she would lie if she didn't think about her mom at that moment. She should be here with her, guiding her.

"Let me go get some formula, yes? You're not producing much to feed both of them," she explained calmly, making sure Wanda calmed down before she walked away.

She laughed sardonically when Vision started gathering his things. “Are you really leaving now?” The redhead spits out venomously as she tried to calm her crying boys.

“Work is calling, baby. I need to make money to provide for you.” Vision nodded as he picked up the call, walking away for God knows how long, this time. And that action alone was enough to make her cry alongside her babies. The excruciating pain in her chest making it harder and harder to breathe. This was just too much.

But the nurse didn’t take much and as soon as she entered the room, she hurriedly took one of the babies from Wanda and gave her one of the bottles in her hands, calmingly feeding the twin in her arms.

“Where’s the dad?” She asked confused.

Wanda didn’t dare to look up. “He had work to do,” she whispered. Her eyes never leaving Tommy, as he happily sucked from his bottle.

“Is there someone I can call? Doc will be here soon and you might be able to go home today,” the nurse smiled as she rocked softly.

“I-” Wanda paused, thinking of you. Quickly picking up her phone, she paused before dialing your number. “Could you… Could you talk to her?”

And Wanda’s secret prayers were answered when the nurse nodded softly, locking the bottle under her chin so Billy could keep feeding and hurriedly grabbed Wanda’s phone, bringing it to her ear.

“Hi, I’m Wanda’s nurse. N- no, everything is alright,” the nurse giggled something warm. “It’s just her husband had to go away and she might be able to- Oh, okay. Be safe, though.” 

“She’s on her way,” the nurse smiled as she left Wanda’s phone on the table beside her bed.

Truth to your words, you walked through the door in less than 10 minutes.

“Sorry I’m late,” you placed the small gift in your hand on the table beside Wanda’s phone before you quickly kissed her forehead.

“I’ve got him,” you smiled to the nurse as she placed Billy in your arms. “Hi, baby,” you coed as you automatically started to rock him, continuing the nurse’s ministrations on his back.

“Hi,” Wanda spoke softly and frowned when she saw you freeze at her words for a second too long.

“You’re not the only baby, from now on,” you joked.

“You are the only asshole in this room, though.” Wanda couldn’t help the smile at your giggles.

“Touché.”

“Are they strictly to bottles, now?” The worriness in your voice had Wanda concentrating really hard on making Tommy burp, avoiding looking in your way.

“No need to worry, sweety,” the nurse jotted some things down into her notepad before giving you her whole attention. “Wanda just can’t produce enough milk for both of them, so she can either complement her breastfeeding with it or just go for the formula.”

“Ohh, I see.”

Wanda could feel your eyes on her and her whole body burned with shame.

“The doc will be here in a few, though. He’ll talk you guys through it,” the nurse smiled before walking out of the room.

Once you both were alone, Wanda felt the side of the bed shift and the releaving sigh that escaped her when she felt your body against hers had her cheeks heating up.

“How are you holding up?” You asked as you caressed Tommy’s head.

“Not gonna lie. This is a rollercoaster full of downs,” Wanda allowed her body to rest against yours, seeking the comfort she needed.

“Is there anything I can-” 

“Way to go, dude.” You interrupted your previous thought as you faked disgust at the warm feeling on your shoulder. “It’s only right that you love me, but you don’t need to be so explicit about it.” You shifted the baby from one arm to the other as you took your jacket off.

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh at your words. “I told you karma was coming back,”

“Karma is a smelly bitch,” you scrunched your nose as you walked to the baby’s bag, taking some wet wipes to clean your jacket.

Seeing you so harmonically moving with her son in your arms had her heart warming up. And she made sure to thank the Universe or whichever God out there for having a friend like you in her life.

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreaciated :)

Taglist: @summergeezburr @wandabear @red1culous @inluvwithfictionalwomen @aliherreraaa @kiancorpse @whitewidowsbite @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ (If you wanna be added, just let me know!)

[snorky]

Hi, I really adore your work and wanted to request an UPL imagine,, maybe hurt/comfort, if that's something you're comfortable doing? Thank you so so much!! 🩷🩷🩷 have a great day!!!:)

But Beware, Beware, Beware (And Take It Slow Tonight)

Hey y’all, and hi-hello to the lovely requester who asked for a Ukko-Pekka hurt/comfort, which is something I am usually one-hundred percent okay doing :) Thank you so much for the kind words as well, luv ya lots <3 If the pronouns of the reader in this fic (she/her) need to be changed (directed at the requester) please let me know! Title is from the song "Today I Saw The Whole World" by Pierce The Veil. I hope you angels are all doing well and lovely, and enjoy this fic, and also, remember to take care of yourself!

Pairing: Ukko-Pekka Luukkonen x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst, Nightmares, Yelling/Shouting, Hurt/Comfort, Not proofread yet (sigh), (let me know if I need to add anything)

—

—

Fear. It was the only thing she felt while she was stuck in a room with him, sitting down at the dinner table with her head in her hands, and all he could do was yell curses and shout at whatever rolled off of his tongue that seemed to be laced with poison. The only source of light came from behind him in the kitchen, casting mangled shadows across the room like twisted trees and thorns.

Tears seemed to roll down her cheeks endlessly, and yet, he didn’t seem to acknowledge a single one as he kept shouting at her, his larger frame so much more intimidating.

He said he would never do this, he said he would never hurt her, but at the moment, all his promises seemed to be made of lies and emptiness. The rage in his eyes seemed to burn into her skin, his laugh empty and mocking, and she felt so afraid.

As he slammed his fist onto the table, she woke from her sleep, breathless and teary eyed.

Looking over to the sleeping figure next to her, she could see that he was sleeping peacefully, chest rhythmically rising and falling with each deep breath of his. His hair was slightly tousled, falling softly onto his forehead.

She tried to wipe away the tears with the back of her palm, yet they kept falling against her will as she thought back to the nightmare she just had. He seemed so gentle, fast asleep right next to her, but her mind was at unease and turmoil.

Pushing the covers and sheets aside, she got out of bed, the hardwood floor cold beneath her feet. It creaked and croaked, causing her to freeze as he started to roll over in bed. When he started to settle down, she walked out into the darkened hallway, pictures and paintings hung on the wall.

It felt like a home, something she was so happy to share with Ukko, something that was so comforting to her deep down, but at the moment, she didn’t feel safe at all. She felt like she wasn’t supposed to be here in this house she called a home, she felt like she didn’t deserve to live such a content life.

As she opened the front door, she turned the front porch light on, illuminating the concrete steps that were decorated with potted flowers and plants. Carefully, she shut the door behind her, trying not to wake her lover up.

She sat down, looking off into the empty street at night, only illuminated by the street lamps posted every now and then on the sidewalk. It was quiet, oh so quiet, and she could hear each heartbeat of hers, rapid and rampant as she tried to recollect herself.

Her hands wiped at the tears that kept falling, pawing at them with her palms, irritating the skin. There was a lump in her throat that she couldn’t seem to swallow or push down, and it felt as if she was at the mercy of whatever happened next.

And silence followed, the sound of crickets chirping endlessly into the night, an owl in the far, far distance. It was much calmer than what her mind seemed to conjure up only a few minutes prior.

Only then the calm was broken by the front door opening, and a quiet sigh from behind her.

“Why are you out here, darling?” His voice was groggy, having just woken up, and she could tell that he was a little surprised to see her out here. “It’s cold and you’re going to get sick,” he said worriedly. There was a slight hint of care in his voice, nurturing and sweet as ever, but she didn’t want to accept it.

When he tried to reach out to her, she moved away from his touch, looking at him with scared, puffy and bloodshot eyes. His heart broke at the sight of her, not knowing what happened or why she was out here in the first place.

He squatted down, lowering himself to be near eye-level with her, hoping to try and figure out why she seemed so hurt by him. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

She simply shook her head, not wanting to speak. Her silent cries still passed her lips every now and then, each sob causing a pain and crack in his heart.

Ukko understood that the season was rough for the Sabres, each loss whenever he played feeling like a massive weight on his shoulders, and missing the playoffs was something that made him more disappointed in himself. He could’ve played better, stopped more goals, been more consistent, and yet he just wasn’t.

He never wanted it to affect his personal life, he never wanted to upset her in any way, but there were some nights where he just wanted a bit of alone time, by himself.

Sitting down beside her, lips pressed in a tight line, he looked at her face, hoping to search for an unspoken answer. Her breath was more steady, less sharp than before, and she looked at him nervously.

“I had a bad dream Ukko,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “You were—you were yelling and shouting at me—” Her sentences broke out into a sob again, head reburied into her hands.

He felt hurt by this, unsure of why she would ever think that he would purposely try to hurt her. “I wouldn’t do that!”

She jumped slightly at his words, frightened, her tears stuck in silence. Her eyes widened in fear as she started to cry harder, causing him to realize what he had done.

Immediately, regret seemed to fill him as he pulled her close, attempting to comfort her to the best of his abilities.

“No, please, I’m so sorry, enkelini,” he murmured into her hair. His arms were wrapped around her as her head was pressed under his chin. “My sweet angel, I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you, I’m sorry.”

She so badly wanted to pull away from him, locking herself in a room in the house away from him, but she remained there, crying in his arms. His hand grazed her skin gently, moving up and down her arm in an attempt to soothe her.

“I’ll always try to protect you and make you feel safe—” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, “—and I’m really sorry I messed up.”

They both sat there on the porch in silence together, concrete cold beneath them as she sniffled, breaths still unsteady. He held her close, afraid that if he let go, she would slip away from him forever.

Grabbing her hand gently, he brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand, thumb grazing over her knuckles.

“You deserve to be treated like a princess, you know?” His voice was quiet, but steady, confident.

Looking up at him, her eyes were puffy, tired and exhausted. “What do you mean?”

He smiled at her sweetly, eyes warm and soft, creating butterflies in her every time. Swiftly, he picked her up with ease in his strong arms, causing a small laugh to bubble up from her throat.

“Like this, making you laugh, carrying you back into bed with me,” he listed. His cheeks were rosy, as if he had fallen in love with her for the first time again. “You’re my rakas,”

“I can’t understand Finnish, Upie,” she yawned, the lack of sleep catching up to her.

As he set her in the bed, he climbed in with her, arms wrapping around her once more. “It means ‘love’ as in the nickname.” Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he rested his face into the crook of her neck, where he pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

“Get some sleep, hun,” she said, fingers weaving into his hair, gently playing with it. “I wanna get breakfast tomorrow morning at this new place in town.”

He let out a deep chuckle, smiling against her. “Anything for you, my princess.”

[oathkeeperoxas]

TOP GUN / Icemav fic recs

After recently bingeing so so many fics in the TOP GUN and specifically the icemav tag, I bring to you all a selection of some of the finest below. Many many more are so very good, but there’s only so much I can fit in one post, so I’ve tried not to duplicate authors. If they’re on here, please check out an author’s profile and also give their other works some love!

The Next Step https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229682 by thedevilchicken

When he takes a job as an instructor, Maverick has issues to deal with. Ice shouldn't be the one to help him.

Posted in 2004!! Icemav shippers are the real ones, this fic has layers of guilt and grief and shower sex and complicated relationships and is so so so chewy.

Twice the Speed of Life https://archiveofourown.org/works/39694146/chapters/99373488 by Winterotter

Maverick spends the weekend with Iceman after training Rooster and the rest of his Top Gun class, and things take an unexpected turn. An AU set after the events of Top Gun: Maverick. Beware spoilers for the new movie in this fic.

Icemav get together after the events of TGM what can I say but yes. Ice’s trauma and PTSD is handled so well, and the way that Mav and Ice are FRIENDS has just. It’s got me. I love when they are friends with each other as well as loving each other 🥺

Fire or Clear https://archiveofourown.org/works/21742234 by weshes

Ice peeled his shades off and looked at Mav, and the smirk grew just a tiny bit. "You've got a little something on your face." He gestured to his own face, the side of which was perfect and unbruised, unlike Mav's. He knew this from a long, wincing examination in the mirror that morning. But at least his eye was open and working now, and he could roll it at Ice, so small mercies.

HURT COMFORT MY BELOVED!!!! Again, Icemav are such FRIENDS here and I love that for them, the hurt/comfort goes both ways and is so delicious, oh and the sex is hot af too

A Shared Cup https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314623 by @susiecarter

It was only a training exercise. It was only supposed to be a training exercise.

Literal agony trying to choose just one fic from this author when they’re so so so good. Reccing this one as I've already rec'd the (incredible, amazing) gift I received from this author!! This is rivals to lovers, accidental soulbond, telepathic sex… what else could you want from a fic. The accidental soulbond and the way it shows how focused Ice and Mav are on each other even in the beginning of their time together at TOP GUN ohhhholyyyy shit. Yeah that’s the good stuff

Lead Me On (To The Other Side) https://archiveofourown.org/works/20485757 by @boasamishipper

Goose talked to him most nights. His choice of conversation was normal — movies he’d seen, music he liked, stories about his wife and son — and sometimes Ice almost forgot that Goose was dead at all.

Ghost!Goose acts as icemav's matchmaker. Cracky premise, heartbreakingly amazing fic.

Walking into the sky https://archiveofourown.org/works/44164918/chapters/111057325 by @kerbyfullyloaded

Pete Mitchell was fourteen when his daemon settled. It took him a few years to join her in the sky, wings on his chest and steel all around him.

Daemon AU fuck yes!!! The daemon and human interactions here are sooooo much, the way they add so much flavour to the retelling of the og Top Gun is so very very good!!!

Dreams of Impact https://archiveofourown.org/works/42588693/chapters/106977687 by @icemankazansky

Maverick's trip in Darkstar takes him further than he ever imagined possible.

Another author which was almost impossible to choose just one fic from. This dimension hopping story about how Maverick’s flight in the Darkstar shows him what could have happened if things went a little differently in the 90s blew my socks off!

All In https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849111 by @icemankazansky

An A/B/O retelling of Top Gun. Maverick, an alpha, meets Ice, an omega, at TOPGUN, and knows instantly they're mates. Then there are complications.

I had to include this series because omega!Ice has me by the throat I will NOT lie… the little moments throughout this make my head spin, they are so in love!!!

Like a thursday https://archiveofourown.org/works/23324872 by @academicgangster

Hey, you get dumped or somethin'? I won't tell.

When I say I cried. This was written pre-TGM release and has MCD, but is written so heart breakingly perfectly because of it.

Am I your baby tonight? https://archiveofourown.org/works/46775455 by jiangwanyinsimp

Five times Iceman thought Maverick was sweet-talking him but it was one of their vehicles, and one time Maverick actually was sweet-talking him. Or, a glimpse into thirty years of marriage.

Soft, sweet, perfect.

Vortex https://archiveofourown.org/works/28000056 by @m-madeleine

Ice loses his ring, Maverick finds it. Things get interesting.

The complicated relationship and the back and forth here!!!! So much going on!!!!

Honey Lungs https://archiveofourown.org/works/43471734 by ReformedTsundere

"Did you want a drag?" Maverick's eyes snap up to Ice's and he sees a crease of confusion there, probably trying to work out why Maverick had been staring so intently at his lips. Even though Maverick is sure he's said he doesn't smoke before, saying no would only inspire more questions, so Maverick swallows instead and tries to smile. "Sure."

Well you see. The thing is, I am not immune to icemav smoking.

When We Get Around to Talking About It https://archiveofourown.org/works/41275461/chapters/103487754 by @compacflt

Goose has been dead for a week and a half when Iceman loses his first wingman in a dogfight with six Soviet MiGs over the Sea of Okhotsk. Goose has been dead for thirty years when Iceman loses his second wingman to a surface-to-air missile on the tail-end of a mission he's responsible for: he's sent his family on a suicide mission to destroy a uranium enrichment facility in Siberia. This is the story of those thirty years in the middle. (Or: Tom Kazansky rises through the ranks while trying to stay a good man. If he ever was one to begin with.)

I can’t have an icemav rec list without including this fic, THE icemav fic of all time!!!! I adore slice of life, definitely my favourite genre, so getting 30 years of icemav development and love and ups and downs written as perfectly as they are here obviously catapulted this up into being my fav icemav fic. Please give it (and the sequels) some love!!