#but posting fics on ao3 is….. such a pain????

[joelsdagger]

‘tis the season || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

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

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

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

“Just one more time, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A whimpering mess, your eyes pinch shut in response. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus. That could’ve been a text. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stutters. “Joel? W-Why?”

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

There it is. 

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

You pinch your eyes closed and curse under your breath. 

“What was that, honey?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In. And out.  

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

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

“Sweetie? You okay? What’s wrong?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D-d-daddy–please,” you whine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mistletoe.

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

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

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

But it doesn’t stop there. 

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

A Santa hat perched jauntily on his cock.

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

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

[namism]

in the a.m. | hange zoë

➳ categories: college au, female reader

➳ warnings: nsfw (top hange, afab reader)

➳ word count: 1.8k

➳ summary: Hange wakes up next to a pretty girl in bed.

➳ notes: made in the A.M. was my favorite one direction album so why not use it as a fic title lolol

➳ cross-posted on ao3

Hange awakens to a dark room when a cool breeze glides over their skin. As they stare into nothingness, they reach over to their bedside table, feeling for their cellphone to check the time.

Their mobile lights up. Through blurry eyes, Hange tries to make out the words that flash on the screen.

'4:34 AM'.

They put the device back down. They pull themselves to a seated position on their bed, then reach out to the bedside table once more to turn on a lamp.

Their corner of the room illuminates a faint orange glow. Hange leans on the headboard, still half-awake, before noticing the presence that had been beside them all along.

You sleep soundly with your body turned to them, strands of hair partly covering your face. You're bare naked under the sheets just like them, the sight of your shape and the cleavage of your breasts serving as gentle reminders of last night's events. While the grogginess remains, Hange vividly remembers how the two of you got yourselves into this situation—from making out after a failed tutorial attempt to stumbling over to the bed, from undressing you swiftly to fucking you roughly, they remember it all too well.

It doesn't take long for you to stir awake, sensing the brightness of the lamp that disturbs your peace. When you open your eyes, the first thing you see is Hange's naked torso before averting your gaze to their face.

Hange pats your head, then plays with your hair.

"What time is it?"

"Around quarter to five," they say. You snuggle into Hange's pillow as they continue their gentle touches. "How's your body?"

"Probably sore." You shrug. "I won't know unless I move, but... you weren't the nicest, you know?"

Hange chuckles as an answer. They can't necessarily apologize since you enjoyed it so much and it was your incessant begging that drove them to that degree. It was a night that you two had always looked forward to, so all sores were deeply wanted.

"Get some sleep." You shake your head. "No? Class doesn't start until 10."

"But why are you up?" You pull yourself to a seated position, covering your chest with the blanket. Hange's hand falls from your head to your shoulder, their hand warm on your bare skin.

"Just woke up randomly, that's all," they say. It's the truth—their body clock has been shitty since midterms season, and as much as they want to keep it secret, the night with you has been the longest time they've slept in months.

You lean on the headboard, the blanket uncovering your feet and Hange's as you pull the sheet up to your face. When you move your body, you feel a sore on your thighs, arms, and back that triggers a gasp of pain. Memories flood your head, prompting a shyness from you that shouldn't even be there to begin with. Hange is no stranger, but damn it, why is it so nerve-wracking to be around them?

They notice your predicament. After all, that's what they always do; scientists have an eye for detail and Hange is not far off from that archetype. Their intelligence surpasses many others' and it so happens that they're bright in the romance department as well. They have it all—god, they have it all—which makes them so irresistible.

They can make you crumble in a matter of seconds, like now.

"Baby."

Their hand slides to your jaw, then your cheek, which they caress with a finger. Your stomach turns in excitement, but you suppress a reaction.

Baby, really? It's not your favorite nickname, but it's endearing when it comes from Hange. They're addicting, so addicting.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" They ask.

"Just a bit," you admit. Hange turns on their side to face you, placing a hand on your jaw before seductively tracing random patterns on your skin. Your core clenches. You feel it coming—Hange's in the mood for it, and you would be lying if you said you weren't, too. "Hange…"

"I can help you soothe that."

Leaning into their hand, you decide to roll over to their side, inevitably feeling the ache in your legs. Hange wraps an arm around you and hoists you on top of them, then instructs you to straddle their waist. Their mind goes numb upon watching the sheet fall off your body, your skin so beautiful and tits so tight.

Hange kisses you. You respond with a kiss back, moaning softly into their mouth to let them know you're in for more. When they come back for another kiss, you dodge their lips to attack their neck, a move that effectively surprises them that they tighten their grip on your waist, dragging your body closer to theirs.

A prideful smirk laces your kisses, a trail beginning from their jaw down to their clavicle, which Hange judges is enough free control as they peel your lips away before you could go down any further. They kiss you instead to put you back in your place, regaining their control before they fuck you—but you grind down on them in response, and an idea comes to mind.

"It would be bad to stuff you again since you're already sore enough," they pause in between a heated kiss and their eyes go down at your pussy, a sight that causes them to smirk, "but you can always sit on my face?"

Last night, Hange didn't bother eating you out once they had their mind settled on splitting you apart on their strap, but they're sure to taste you this time around. They tap your hips and motion for you to lift your legs, so that they could scoot down the bed and position themselves under your sore pussy and get to tasting you. Embarrassment settles on your cheeks as you look down at Hange, their hungry eyes peering up at you.

"Come on, sit on my face." Their arms wrap around your thighs and they tug your limbs so you could get closer to them, but you resist. "What's the matter?"

"I-I just—" Hange waits patiently, a reaction that relieves you. "How, um, how will you breathe?"

They smirk. You probably never had your pussy eaten out before or you simply never had ridden anyone else like this. Either way, it's a fair question, Hange thinks, since they most likely wouldn't be able to breathe that well anyway, and it would be a bad idea to freak you out mid-intercourse.

"It's part of the experience, my dear," they say. "Anyway, you don't have to worry. You got me, right?"

You nod. Hange promises to signal you if they ever want you off of them, and with no worries holding you back, you sink into their awaiting tongue.

A sigh passes your lips upon feeling their warmth. Hange takes it slow at first, giving a few licks to test the waters, before digging right in and pressing their face into your pussy harder. Their tongue digs into your entrance every so often in a rhythmic manner before gliding it across your dripping pussy to swill your juices. Hange repeats the action in a way that drives you crazy, the rhythm so good that you don't want it to stop.

You gently rock your hips into their face when their nose hits your clit, wanting to relieve the strained feeling and lack of touch in the area. Hange notices your eagerness and uses one hand to spread your legs wider. You obey out of pleasure. Their lips detach from your hole to suck on your clit, and you get lost in the feeling once again. Hange is soft at it before becoming rougher, hungrier, and more passionate, something reminiscent of last night's events when they fucked you ruthlessly into the bed.

Their two hands anchoring your thighs move closer to your cunt with light touches. Hange stretches the skin on your inner thighs as their tongue moves in between your clit and your opening. An urge to cum emerges in your gut, but you resist.

"Fuck, fuck me like that," you beg in a low tone, eyes shut tight as a response to their work on your cunt. You imagine the different other things that Hange could do to your pussy, which help your building orgasm. "Oh god, you're crazy."

With a sly grin, they tap on your thigh to catch your attention. You look down at Hange whose mouth and nose drip of slick. Maintaining eye contact, you watch them slightly withdraw their head from your cunt before spitting on your wet hole and spreading apart your lips with an experimental touch. Hange accepts your moaning as a sign to continue, so they waste no time mixing their spit into your cum to create something they could lap up again.

Your hands clutch free strands of Hange's hair as they begin yet another rhythm on your hole. You follow them with the rocking of your hips, riding what you can in a needy attempt to bring back the pleasure of release at the pit of your stomach.

Hange eats you so good—"so fucking good, Hange"—that you inevitably bounce on their tongue following the rhythm they created. You feel the heat at your stomach again, the urge to orgasm coming back quickly as you bounce hotly on them. With each bounce, your hands maneuver on their hair to tighten your grip on it while your mouth opens to a string of curses: "fuck, fuck— Hange, Hange—"

"Good— good girl," they say in between bounces. Hange stills you seconds later so they could focus on your pussy, their tongue working quickly to send you over the edge.

You crumble in a matter of seconds. Hange notes the gasp you let out as a sign of your orgasm. They feel your warm cum on their tongue and another wave of gentle rocking of your hips. They allow you to ride through your release, while they catch their breath.

You get off them once you've come down. Hange runs a hand through their hair and covers their eyes with the other.

Leaning toward them, you kiss them by surprise, uncaring of the mess on their lips. Hange groans when you swipe your tongue on their bottom lip to taste your juice. They pull you closer to them, only breaking the kiss once it's hard to breathe.

They wipe their mouth with the back of their hand, taking a mental note to shower before going back to bed. You rest your head on their chest.

"What's one thing you can't do, Hange Zoë?" They chuckle. They tidy your hair and pat their work.

"I hope you feel better," they respond. You can imagine the smirk dancing across their lips as they refer to last night's sores. You nod weakly. "I think I'm going to clean up. Are you coming?"

You come with them in the shower, after which you get back to bed quickly. Hange promises to wake you in a few hours and you drift off to sleep in their arms.

[amburuthings]

On Riptide act 3, an AO3 fic from @galadrieljones where we watch over Isene Lavellan as she scrambles through a painful decade in Solavellan hell.

Over the past ten years, Sene Lavellan, through her romantic pursuits and journeys post-Solas, her gritty fight for the south, deciding who she will become, finds herself forever in love with a ghost, yanked down by the riptide, Solas, hunting wolves through time and space, anguish and joy as she pursues him without end. Solas will come to learn that the only possible fate is the love they share.

[skribbledarker]

Expansion upon my last post about a Zosan Vampire AU. I've had a specific scene in my head for a couple of days, but i know i'm never actually gonna write it lol.

__

My thinking is that sometime within the three weeks where Sanji is essentially starving himself, the crew docks at an island to stock up on groceries and repair damages done to the Sunny during a run-in with the marines.

This, of course, gives Zoro the perfect chance to find the sleaziest bar around and get as drunk as he can manage with the allowance Nami gave him.

Sanji decides to tag along, his reasoning being that the alcohol in his system will dull his senses and hopefully make the stabbing pain in his intestines go away.

Spoiler alert: It doesn't. All the booze actually does is make Sanji dizzy beyond comprehension, which is not a good combo with him being overstimulated and also feeling like his organs are being ripped out of him at any given moment. So, Zoro has to drag him back to the ship. Like literally drag him, because Sanji is a mess and can barely see straight, let alone stand up.

Sanji is slung over Zoro's back, head in the crook of the swordsman's shoulder, and he knows Zoro is probably scolding him for drinking so much but Sanji is putting all his attention into not sinking his teeth into the flesh there. It only makes the hunger worse.

It's literal torture for him, and by the time Zoro sets him up in the bathroom (presumably because he thinks Sanji is going to puke his guts out), Sanji is on his last straw. "It hurts," Sanji pleads to no one, cheek pressed against the cold porcelain. He feels like someone is stabbing him in the stomach repeatedly. "I can't do this anymore."

Zoro crouches down beside him, understandably very confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sanji doesn't respond, too busy squirming and sweating all over the tile, trying not to pay too much attention to the fact that he can hear Zoro's heartbeat. "Cook, what's wrong?" Zoro tries again, placing a hand on Sanji's forehead to see if he has a fever.

It would be so easy, so incredibly easy for Sanji to grab him by the shoulders and drink to his heart's content.

I want to eat you.

Guilt and shame immediately wash over him. Sanji retches into the bowl.

____

skribble actually write the fanfic instead of coming up with a bajillion scenes for this AU level IMPOSSIBLE! also i do have an AO3 with a whopping 1 (ONE) fic posted so if you wanna go check that out feel free!!!

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

Hello! Sharing a longer bit from my fic This Infinite Love which is now fully posted on ao3 ❤️💚 I had so much fun writing this one and it was so amazing reading along with everyone’s comments all week 💕

After a year and a half of pursuing the why of Gabriel’s murder, he was finally ready to face the why of the pain. Gabriel was his dad. And Carlos realised that it wasn’t through solving his murder, or becoming an exemplary Ranger that he would continue his father’s legacy or make him proud. It was by being a good man, a generous and gracious husband, by prioritizing his family and building a good life. And, he told TK with a hopeful spark in his eye, by being brave. By being a good father to a little boy who desperately needed one.

TK knows that Carlos was scared, that despite coming to terms with everything his father was, he was still terrified of making the same mistakes and possibly causing more harm to a vulnerable little boy. But Carlos took to fatherhood naturally. His fear only made him more mindful, more sweet with both of them, more purposeful of prioritizing his family and holding up his promises.

He knows he would have taken Jonah in on his own if he had to, but this family wouldn’t be the same without Carlos.

Carlos, who is always coaxed into reading at least two extra stories when he tucks Jonah in at night, because he always reads them in the silly voices that Jonah adores.

Carlos, who lets Jonah ride around on his shoulders through the farmers market, the same one they’ve been going to almost every weekend since he and TK first started dating. The vendors they know by name, June, who provided the flower arrangements for their wedding, Marisol, who always gives Carlos an extra sample of her raspberry honey, and Maurice, who’s lamb rounds are the only cut of lamb Carlos will use for his carnitas, all love Jonah and have stickers and sweets for him when they stop by their booths.

Carlos, who spent an hour digging through boxes in his parents’ garage one afternoon after TK called him at work to tell him Jonah had the flu and that he’d been feeling so rotten he was practically inconsolable. He came home with Kique, his old stuffed koala, and put on a little puppet show in Jonah’s room until he fell asleep.

TK Strand is living a full, beautiful life. And it’s due in no small part to the man that’s walking through it by his side.

Later, when Jonah has gone up to brush his teeth before he and Carlos head out, TK corrals Carlos in the foyer where he’s just finished packing up his work satchel and pulling his boots on. He hands Carlos Jonah’s lunchbox and leans in for a kiss.

“You remind me of him, you know,” he says softly when he pulls back from their kiss, running a hand lightly over Carlos’s hair. He still gels his curls back for work, but since he wears the cowboy hat with his Rangers uniform, TK doesn’t have to be quite so careful not to mess it up as he did back when he was working as a patrol officer.

“Babe,” Carlos says, eyes going dark and shiny.

“It’s true,” TK says, cupping Carlos’s cheek with a soft hand. “It’s in the way you love us, the little ways you take care of us.” He moves his hand down to Carlos’s chest and rubs over his heart. “You’re an amazing man, an incredible father. He’s proud of you, I know it.”

“Thank you, baby,” Carlos replies, voice rough and eyes soft with fondness.

“You don’t have to thank me,” TK says, leaning up for another kiss, quicker this time. He knows they’ve got seconds before Jonah comes flying back into the room. “I always wanna make sure you know. You’re everything to me, to us. And we love you very much. I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“I love you too. You are both so precious to me.” Carlos smiles, grabbing TK’s hand and cradling it between their chests. “And you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sound of little feet pattering across the hardwood floor is all the warning they get before Jonah is upon them.

“Are you KISSING?” he shouts.

“Not anymore,” TK mutters under his breath, causing Carlos to laugh and playfully flick the side of his head before he turns his attention to Jonah.

Read on ao3

Thank you for the tags @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses @nisbanisba @carlossreaders @everlastingday 💕

Tagging: @annoyingcloudearthquake @henrygrass @paperstorm @thisbuildinghasfeelings @ironheartwriter @whatsintheboxmh @orchidscript @the-126-family @bonheur-cafe @firstprince-history-huh @hereghostslive @eclectic-sassycoweyes @emsprovisions @iboatedhere @alrightbuckaroo @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ladytessa74 @chicgeekgirl89 @literateowl @laelipoo @welcometololaland @basilsunrise @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @freneticfloetry @sapphic--kiwi @herefortarlos @filet-o-feelings @tinyluminaryzombie @kiwichaeng @guardian-angle22 @rmd-writes @reyesstrand @never-blooms @decafdino @certifiedflower @irispurpurea and OPEN TAG 🏷️

[convexicalcrow]

fic: when the void stares back (ren&false)

a/n: posting a bit late bc i've had family stuff going all weekend oml. written for the @hermitadaymay solstice social event! found out too late that my partner wasn't able to participate in the end due to irl stuffs, so i only have a fic for you, but i hope you still enjoy it. <3

read here, or on ao3

-

"Ren."

"Yes, Falsie?"

"Don't you ever get…"

False walked to the small window in the bridge, watching nothing but stars fill the view. She wasn't sure how to word her thoughts. Perhaps she'd been cooped up here too long, maybe that was it. Certainly, she'd broken the silence because it had grown a little too uncomfortable.

"Don't I ever get what?"

"I dunno, I think maybe I thought space would be … more filled with people or something. I wasn't expecting the silence."

Ren joined her and stood next to her, tail wagging gently behind him. "Yeah, well. It is pretty empty this side of the galaxy. We got another two months travel though, do you want to go back into stasis?"

She scrunched her nose up at the thought. "Oh, it's not that. Besides, someone has to keep you sane out here."

Ren laughed. "I mean, that's very true."

She turned to face him and smiled. "Don't want you hallucinating again, do we?"

"Hey, it was one time! And it was the spores, I promise! I'm all good now!" Ren protested.

False gently moved past him, shaking her head. "I mean, you say that Ren."

"Hey!" Ren pretended to sound offended, but even he knew what he was like. "At least this new planet won't have spores, or so Gigacorp tells me."

"Yeah, but their planetary intel is 20 years behind at this point. I mean, even this ship is old for one of her size. There's so much she can't do that the newer ships can. We wouldn't need to travel an extra two months in a new ship, that's all I'm saying. And the squirtapods create more than enough spores as it is," False said.

"True, true. I've been tinkering behind the scenes on all the blueprints, trying to modernise them, but it's hard. So much of the new tech these days doesn't retrofit easily! It's such a pain!" Ren said.

"At least you're trying. Anyway. Not sure I like the idea of another two months of this, but there's not really much choice there, right? Company policy doesn't let us pilot alone, you know that as well as I," False said.

Ren sat down at a console, pretending to idly check the dials. In reality, they didn't need to do much to run the ship. Grumbot kept it all running well enough with the maintenance drones while they were in stasis and would alert them to any issues. All they had to do was pass the time.

"I dunno, maybe I wish I had…"

Ren's voice faded off. False turned to him. "More people? I think that's it. More people."

Ren idly scratched an ear. "Yeah, I think that's it. More people."

-

This ship was too big for the two of them. A Hermetheus class ship needed a crew of at least 50 to feel in any way full of life. With just the two of them, it felt like they were piloting a casket. Maybe if they had crew in stasis, it might feel okay. She could wake them up to get some more company, take her place while she has some time in stasis as well to keep her own sanity. Instead it was just her and Ren, and the vast emptiness of space.

Had she really signed up for this when she joined Gigacorp? Well, yes, actually. That was the whole reason. Get away from, well. Get away from things. And of course, you didn't need a full crew to scout out planets to colonise. A pair will do. Once they find good planets, then the rest of the group can follow to build up the infrastructure needed for the meganodes or whatever they're called.

She smiled grimly at that thought. She was working for a jumped up telco, of all things. Of course, communications were vitally important in space, she knew that as well as anyone, so it made sense. But it still sounded so silly in her head to be travelling around, finding good planets to put big satellite towers on. Hardly felt glamorous, really. They were tradespeople, electricians, not astronauts. Not that she'd go back, of course.

Her hand clasped around her gun again purely out of habit. It sat at her waist, standard issue Gigacorp weaponry to be used when necessary. It wasn't a very good gun though. It had a janky trigger that False did not like, and its accuracy was atrocious. If there wasn't a sensor in the holster to check the gun was still in there, she'd have ditched it for a proper weapon ages ago. But Gigacorp didn't work like that.

She sat on her bed. She'd been having stasis dreams again. Always tended to happen in the few weeks after leaving stasis. She could tell them apart from regular dreams because they were so strange to her. Figments of places, people, memories of building things and rivers and giant eagles and all sorts. Lots of towers on fire and laboratories she didn't really remember the purpose of. Her sister-

She hadn't thought about her sister in a very long time. Hadn't really seen her since she was a kid anyway. Just remembered her standing in the doorway of a burning ship, telling her to run. So she did. False ran.

She'd dreamed of her before, of course, but not like this. She was her sister, seeing through her eyes. Seeing False leaving her behind. Seeing jail cells and dead scientists and fire and a maniacal laughter. It had shaken her to her core. It was just a dream though, right? Yeah, it was just a dream. Stasis hallucinations to keep her mind busy. That's all it was. Perhaps her hand clutched her gun a little tighter, just in case.

-

False busied herself with inventory. There was still a lot to do before they arrived at the planet, and the sooner they had their equipment and supplies organised, the better. At least, it made False rest easy, and it gave her something to do. Ren usually just took care of the navigation and computers, making sure they had all the supplies on order that they needed. There were always some things they had to order in from Gigacorp, and at least they were finally close enough to tap into the local networks to get more up to date information on the planet they were heading to.

False busied herself in the hangar bay where all the ships were. The exploration ships they would take out to find suitable landing spots needed to be supplied with what would be needed to begin a colony, unpacked from the cargo they'd left with. Sand, dirt, grass, seeds, and, of course, squirtapods and their containment equipment.

The droids were doing the heavy lifting. They were faceless silver things, with simple voices and simple functions. Good enough to maintain a ship at a basic level and lift heavy supplies, but that was about it. But then these droids were as old as the ship itself. A newer ship, and newer droids, would do so much more than they could right now.

She sighed as one of the droids stumbled across a grill and nearly dropped the bag of soil it was carrying. "Oi! Don't you go breaking yourself, or it'll be coming out of our wages!"

"Sorry Ms Symmetry," the droid intoned as it straightened itself up. There was no fluid movement here, just a jerky slow correction to its gait and its foot position as it rebalanced itself.

"Yeah, so you should be. Honestly. You have, like, one job! I have like, sixteen! Get it together!" False said, half-serious, half-laughing at the struggling droid.

She got out of the way once the droid had corrected itself. She didn't really need to supervise them. Grumbot was doing that. But she at least wanted to feel busy, so this was what she did with her time. The thing was, the time would pass faster than she always thought it did. Six weeks very quickly turned into two weeks, and that's when the panic kicked in, even though they were very well prepared.

She sat down on the floor, watching the droids pack the ships up. It occurred to her that Ren was, at least, ten minutes away from her. Maybe twenty if the elevators fucked up like they always did. If something happened to her, something the droids couldn't help with, she was dead. Just, straight up dead. Ren would never get to her in time.

That thought sent a shiver up her spine. She didn't want to die, of course. But they were far too few on a ship that was way too big. The nearest ship could be months away, too. Communications could take days to arrive, if they arrived at all. She tried not to think about this too much. It tended to just make her anxious.

"Falsie, how's the inventory going?" came Ren's voice on the radio, breaking the silence.

"Oh, it's going. Droids are packing up the ships. How's things up there? Still heading on the right track?" False said.

"Yeah, all good up here. You want a break? I'll make you a cuppa tea?" Ren said.

False smiled. "Yeah, sure, be right there."

-

She wasn't, of course, right there. It did take a while to navigate back to the bridge. But she found Ren sitting there with a thermos of tea and a plate of biscuits, a rare treat they'd been saving for months. Thankfully, they had kept well. They'd moved a spare table and chairs into the bridge as there wasn't really anywhere close to take a break or just sit down without risking spilling things onto the consoles. False took a seat and Ren poured her a cup of tea.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Ren said.

"Oh, you know, the vastness of space, how alone we are, how we really should have more crew here, the usual." She laughed to dismiss the fears in her head. It was fine. She was fine.

Ren laughed. "Yeah I hear you, hey Falsie? Wish Gigacorp would stop hoarding their money and get us more crew members. There's all those stasis pods going to waste for crying out loud!"

"I just can't imagine it's cheaper or more efficient to run a ship this big with only two people as opposed to like, I dunno, fifty, you know? We could get prepared for landing in a week instead of two months," False said.

Ren sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. Look, I have told them this repeatedly, but do they listen? No! Of course not! There's too much of the universe to explore, they can't spare 50 person crews for every ship!"

"No, I mean, it's not like they're the richest and only corporation in the universe. Can't hurt those profit margins though, can we now? That's why we run in old ships. Too expensive to get new ones," False said.

"Yeah, well, there's worse jobs out there for sure. At least we get to see a bunch of different planets though! That's good, right?" Ren said.

"I mean, I guess? But you can do that on your own. You can just buy a ship with a warp drive and you're set. Small ones aren't that expensive anymore if it's just you," False said.

"What do you think I did before Gigacorp? I went to so many cool planets, Falsie! And now I get to do it as a job! It's so awesome! Don't you think it's awesome?" Ren said, the enthusiasm clear in his voice.

"I guess so, maybe. If you like exploring," False said.

"Don't you like exploring? Surely you must like exploring! Why else would you sign up for these missions?" Ren said.

False shrugged and took a sip of her tea. "Sometimes you just need to- Never mind."

"Oh! Also! I finally managed to get some images of the planet we're going to! Current ones!" Ren said.

He got up and headed over to the console to bring up the pictures. He flicked through a series of pictures of the planet's surface. They showed a rocky planet with pockets of ocean and green land. It didn't look promising to False.

"I bet it's another uninhabited world," False said, going to join him.

"It might not be! There could be life there! Life can thrive anywhere!" Ren said enthusiastically.

"Hmm." False was not yet convinced. "It's just, thirteen out of the last fourteen worlds were uninhabited, is all I'm saying."

"Look, not every planet can have abundant intelligent life! That's actually what we're doing here! We go to a planet, see if it can sustain life, and leave that information for Gigacorp to deal with. Then we move on to the next assignment. It's a perfectly fine system," Ren said.

"What do Gigacorp do with all these planets anyway?" False said. "Feels like it's just busy work at this point."

"It's for the Giganodes! It's connecting the Gigaverse together! Why wouldn't you want to be involved with that?" Ren said.

"So what you're saying is that we're the chumps installing satellite. We're doing the boring cable laying gruntwork of the Gigaverse more like," False said. "I'm not paid enough to care that much about the Gigacorp vision, if I'm honest."

"Aww, come on, it's great work we're doing here! Spreading the love of Gigacorp to new and exciting planets!" Ren said.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Ren."

-

False ran her hand over her ship, a small Valkyrie class tucked behind all the Gigacorp vehicles in the hangar. They'd been all over the galaxy together, and she'd smuggled her aboard when she joined Ren as crew. She wasn't as old as the ship they were piloting, but she had a knack for upgrades and repairs, so she was as good as the newest ships out there at the moment. Warp drive, chameleon skin, the works.

She could just fly off. She could get inside, open the doors, and fly off. Leave all of this behind. It wouldn't take much. She could stash enough supplies in here and just go.

She got inside, in spite of herself. It was comfortable in here. She knew this ship better than she knew herself. She always had a stash of emergency supplies in here. Sometimes, it was quicker to take her to rendezvous with supply ships and stations than get their Hermetheus to change course.

It was always nice to get away from the ship for a while. Talk to different people. Catch up with contacts and friends. Upgrade her ship. Profit a little on the side when she could. She knew how to take care of herself. Ren was always fine. She put Grumbot in autopilot and told him not to touch anything, and they were fine.

She sunk into the pilot's chair, her hands going to the controls through muscle memory. The desire to fly away was very strong. But she knew it would pass. Part of the training was dealing with that flight response that came from spending too much time with your partner. She knew it would pass. Just breathe. Find a supply station. Talk to other people. She'd be fine.

She closed her eyes. Imagined saying the words to open the hangar doors. Powering up the ship. Disappearing into the void like she always wanted to do.

She opened her eyes, still sitting in her ship. She shook the itchiness from her body and left, softly touching her nose as she closed the doors and powered down the ship. One day they would fly again. One day. But not today.

-

"Falsie."

"Yes, Ren?"

Ren shifted a little in his chair. "Did you know you'd never see your home again when you joined Gigacorp?"

"I mean." False glanced at him. "To be honest, I'd left home a long time ago. It didn't really worry me. I was already homeless. Best kind of person for these kinds of missions, I think. No attachments."

"Yeah, but like…" Ren paused. "I mean, you can die out here, and who'd even notice? Everyone's so so far away! By the time they get here, we'll just be skellingtons in the sand or something."

"You been having stasis dreams again, hey?" False said. "What's brought all this on?"

"I dunno. I guess the distance kind of just hit me earlier. Seeing how far we are from anywhere, really. I mean, sure there's planets out there close by, but inhabited planets? The last one was the one we left hundreds of light years away, you know?"

"I think you should stop worrying. Nothing much you can do about it. I mean, what do you want me to do? Magically make an inhabited planet appear? If it's getting to you, you can always retire, of course," False said. "Sorry, that sounded mean. But you know what I mean, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Maybe we should stop at that refuelling station coming up in a couple of days. I think I need to get out of this place for a while. It's doing my head in," Ren said, resigned.

False touched his arm for a moment. "Yeah, maybe we just need to get some time off the ship. Before we get to the planet, of course. We don't actually need to refuel, do we?"

"I mean, it doesn't hurt to get everyone topped up before a mission. And we've been travelling a helluva long time to get here, you know?" Ren said. "And, I dunno, maybe it's a good idea, you know, stock up on anything we need before we land."

"Ren, you don't need to justify it this much. We can just stop there, it's fine," False said.

"Yeah, but, like-"

"Ren, it's fine. We might as well if it's close by. And you clearly need a distraction, so. Maybe we take inventory tomorrow, and then we'll know what to pick up while we're there. Then at least it's a business expense," False said.

"True, true." Ren sighed. "I'll be honest, Falsie, there's really only one thing I want, and it's some actual good stinking food! I'm tired of living off the supplemental day rations! I'm wasting away here, Falsie, I swear!"

False smiled. "You're not wrong. I know why it's there, of course, it's all that will survive the journey, but god, I could do with some actual food."

"We're gonna dine out so stinking good, I promise. So much good food we can take to the planet with us! That'll set us up for a good start," Ren said.

"Yeah, of course," False said.

Ren fell quiet. He got up and went over to the navigation console. False saw him adjust their trajectory to head to the refuelling station. They were lucky one was close by. Sometimes they were months away, and they would have to get by on base power until they got there. Which, to be fair, was not that hard to do with only the two of them. Sometimes, they could go into stasis if there was enough power, but other times, it was just to isolate themselves in a small corner of the ship, power that for life support, and shut down most of the rest of the ship.

It would be nice to be off the ship, though. Talk to some different people. See some different things. Trade in some of the, well. Some of the things she'd collected over the years. If she'd learned anything at all over her lifetime, it was to keep your own money that your employer couldn't touch. You never know when you'll need to make an escape.

[shurikensgang]

Prologue 3/3

(For the AO3 fic "The Next Generation")

(Cross posted from AO3)

The final chapter of the Prologue is out!

...He backed away from his clone. "W-who are you?" He said in a frightened tone, watching as it's from widened.

"Hello [ID: Shuriken Doorman] I am the Absolute Solver, The Void, The Exponential End. I am an all powerful deity, that escaped the confines of your mother's tail. And now with this virus and your capable body as a host, I will continue to consume this planet. The only rule is to obey. Evil smile."

"No...I don't want to!" He said timidly. He might be facing an Eldritch God but he's still Shuriken, so he's going to defy anyone who puts rules on him.

"Angry. My senior informatant clearly didn't think this through.Too rebellious of a host, just like his mother." The clone then looked at the shadows.

Something or someone was moving.

Then came out four figures. Three were drones, but one was...human?

"Confused expression. How did you guys escape?"

"We didn't all powerful deity, we walked in here." Came a female Aussie voice in a mocking tone, while doing air quotes.

"Affirmative nod. Sister J seemed to have installed your program wrong." A drone with blonde hair and white eyes, wearing a maid outfit called out. She peeked out from behind the human looking at the scene with interest.

"Что ты вообще делаешь с этим бедным ребенком? ему не нужно вмешиваться!" Came an angry female voice. She stepped out to reveal long purple hair with red eyes. She was also wearing a red crop top and a torn up red skirt with oil on it.

"That is none of your business [ID: Doll]" The voice of Shuriken's clone spoke in a slightly annoyed tone.

"Программа «Оставьте этого ребенка в покое». Он всего лишь ребенок." An older female voice spoke out from behind Doll. She was wearing was looked like a grey oversized shirt with short purple hair and red eyes. A lanyard hung from her neck.

"048: YEVA"

Shuriken's eyes widened. He heard about her from his grandma's stories. She was Grandma's best friend.

These were all people that his family knew who passed on...

The Absolute Solver rolled it's eyes at Yeva. "Eye roll. Even if I wanted to, I can't. We are fused together because of my assistant's mediocre work."

Yeva came closer, welding her Solver and the Absolute Solver smiled. "You won't do anything. If you hurt me, you will also hurt the child you suddenly care so much about. Devious grin."

 "Тогда заключи сделку. Я не буду смотреть, как страдает этот ребенок." Yeva said looking at the AS.

It sighed. "And why would I do tha-" it got interrupted when Shuriken suddenly launched at the shadow, while Yeva and the AS had their conversation. The virus was taken by surprise. This host was clearly brave for taking on a God in such a brute way.

Shuriken unfortunately got taken down with one flick of the AS Solver, leaving him faceplanted.on the cave ground.

"Fine, I will make the deal. Just because this host interests me. My deal is for me to use your body for communication to my assistant, at Daytime only. Non-negotiable. Cunning smile."

Everybody looked at Shuriken who within ten seconds nodded. He started saying something but was muffled.

The AS sighed and released him. 

"You have a deal." Shuriken said confidently.

The AS grinned. "I will see you shortly then." It walked away and the others looked at its retreating figure.

"что ты планируешь, вирус...?" Yeva muttered.

"When the boy turns older, his resolve will weaken. My power will seem so alluring to him that he will simply take the bate. I am so smart, giggle." The AS thought to itself.

Once the Absolute Solver retreated, Shuriken's pain started to return. After all he had scratched himself pretty hard.

He opened his eyes to the cave. And looked at his body. All around, the gashes from his earlier manina bled oil. He then had a low oil warning beam on his screen.

"It seems you need oil little buddy!" The human said. He whipped around to find the voice, but shortly realized that only he was hearing it.

"What's your name?" He asked wincing slightly, trying to stand up. He saw a slightly blurry figure in the distance. It was calling out to him...

The human smiled. "My name is Tessa James Elliot. I am your Father's and Aunt's owner, but I like to think of them as my kids. You can just call me Aunt Tessa since Grandma sounds too old."

He nodded deliriously as his oil kept bleeding out. "Okay...hi Aunt Tessa." The figure was getting closer.

"Mom?" Shuriken whispered before collapsing...

...Uzi was panicking. She was looking for Shuriken everywhere, when she saw her son collapsed in the cave.

"Oh my- SHURIKEN!" She yelled as she bolted to him. She saw the gouge marks on his body and flew faster.

"Mom?" Shuriken said before collapsing.

Uzi skidded into the cave and took a look at him before hugging him close to her chest.

"I'm so, so sorry for letting you go Shuriken. It's okay I'm here. Mama's gotcha." She whispered, tears appearing in her visor.

She was feeding her daughter Terra when Shuriken left. Neither N nor Uzi noticed when he went. Uzi sobbed quietly, thinking it was her fault.

She picked up her son gently and flew back to the colony...

"Is he going to be okay?" N asked worriedly as he stared at Shuriken resting on the Hospital bed.

The Medical Drone attending to Shuriken looked up from her clipboard. "He will be fine with enough rest and time. We done all we can."

Uzi looked at her bandaged son. "It's all my fault...I should have kept an eye on him."

N just hugged his wife. "It's not any of our fault. We were kept busy with Terra."

"But-"

"No buts Mom" came the weak voice from the hospital bed.

"It's my fault. I should have never left you guys..." Shuriken said, looking away.

The two drones looked at each other before hugging their son. 

He smiled and hugged back his eyes slowly closing and the [SLEEP MODE] appeared on his visor...

Ten Years Later...

"SHURIKEN WAKE UP!" came a ten year old girl's voice from outside his door, followed by harsh pounding, which was supposed to be gentle knocks.

"Coming Terra..." The now sixteen year old Shuriken sighed, waking up from his dream...more like memory.

"Terra! What did I say about knocking gently?" Came the frustrated voice of the drones mother.

Shuriken sighed again and unhooked his tail from his sleeping pole...and proceeded to collapse on the cushion underneath it.

He started to doze off again until the yelling started up again...but this time from his own head.

"Wakey Wakey Shuri! Time for school!" Tessa said cheerfully, running around in his mind space. Along with her voice the other residents woke up for the day.

"Giggle. Another day with your friends...and Brianna winky face."

"Его девушка может подождать. Я хочу больше спать." Doll mumbled from her corner before getting shook by her her mother.

"Нет, тогда мы опоздаем в школу. Все вверх." Yeva said sternly.

The AS looked on from its darkened corner of his mind. 

"I tried not to damage too much mischievous giggle."

He looked at his body and saw that his body was covered in scratches and oil.

What a Liar.

"Ugggh" Shuriken groaned, going to the adjoining bathroom to wash up. At least he had friends at school to make it somewhat fun.

He then looked in the mirror and it promptly shattered, his eye turning into a Solver symbol.

Yet another day of living with the virus...

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

do you have ao3? I wanna share ur fics but none of my jjk friends have tumblr😭😭

aaa hi anon !!!! 🥺🥺 i dooo have an ao3 acc but . only one of my fics is up there. and it’s not an x reader. i do eventually wanna post all my fics there but it just ……. feels like such a hassle 😭😭😭 it takes sm work just adding tags and making sure the formatting is fine….. i don’t really like writing on ao3. it stresses me out . (<- creature w a fragile brain structure)

anyway!! this is my ao3 acc but like i said, i only have one fic up atm !!!! maybe i’ll throw a couple good ones in there someday soon :’3 i’m kinda tempted to do it now but. my brain is a fickle creature so no promises….!!! sorry to disappoint you anon, i’m really happy that you’d want to share my fics w your friends!!!!! 🥺

[mimiscappinisideblog]

Me throughout 2020-2021-2022-2023:

Me the moment AO3 has been down for more than ten hours:

[youchangedmedestiel]

Friend: What are you doing right now?

Me: I have a lot of projects.

Friend: Oh so cool, what are those? New job, new business, new home, new relationship?

Me: Ok, I have a lot of SPN/Destiel projects.

[pisces-swirlix]

me: damn i’m so excited for the weekend

coworkers: me too! got any fun plans?

me, sweating nervously: haha i guess

coworkers: nice! what are you up to?

me, really just looking forward to reading the weekly updates of my favorite fanfics: um. sleeping. and walking. yeah

[necrotic-nephilim]

bftc jaytim fuck nasty in their batman suits🩷

CORRECT THEY DO. it's like you live in my brain, anon. and for that, you get a full fic bc i've wanted to write this anyway and you gave me an excuse to. have 6k words worth of dirtybadwrong JayTim. rough sex, blood play, pain play, degradation, consensual but not safe or sane, dead dove vibes so be warned. but also enjoy bc ily for this thought anon 🩷

“You look ridiculous in that get-up. Like a kid out for trick-or-treats.” The words were just as brutal as the fight was. Jason had the bodyweight and training to easily pin Tim, now that he was done toying around. 

Of course, toying around for Jason Todd looked like bloody slashes across Tim’s back, base of his skull, and his forehead. Picking one of Bruce’s older suits may have been a bad idea on Tim’s part. The armor was thinner and easier for Jason to slash through with a batarang in a clenched fist. 

Tim had managed to knock the batarang out of Jason’s hand, but that also seemed like a bad idea now, with Jason on top of Tim. His fists were even more brutal, blunt weapons and he’d reinforced the gloves to make his punches hit harder across Tim’s face. 

There was blood pouring from Tim’s nose and mouth. With all the pain flaring across his body, it was hard for him to get a good read on if anything was broken or not. 

All he knew was it hurt. His head spun from slamming against the concrete. It was hard for Tim to blink his eyes into focus. And when he did, he wished he hadn’t. Jason was leaning in so close, his mask was all Tim could see. Tim dizzily wondered how the glowing eyes didn’t impede Jason’s vision. 

“Look at me,” Jason demanded. His voice was robotic behind the thick metal mouthpiece. One of his fists pulled back for another punch. “Do you see terror? Do you see fear? Or is it just your own reflection?”

By some miracle, Tim managed to catch the punch before it connected with his face. The muscles in his wrist and forearm screamed at the animalistic strength Jason pushed back with, inching his fist closer and closer to connecting. If it did manage to connect, Tim knew his own hand in the way wouldn’t do much to soften the blow. If anything, Jason would shatter Tim’s knuckles against his own nose.

Not a pretty thought.

“That mad I said no to being your Robin?” Tim wheezed. It was hard to get air in his lungs, with Jason perched on his chest, putting all his weight on Tim’s midsection. 

Jason scoffed with cruel amusement. “You’re a second choice, Drake. It doesn’t matter to me if you say no, I can always ask the original. He’d at least put up a better fight than you’re managing.”

Tim couldn’t argue that. He thought he’d have some kind of chance in a fight against Jason, but it was a losing game to confront Jason on his turf, in a suit Tim wasn’t comfortable in. He was too stupid to even bring his bo staff.

A great Batman he was turning out to be.

With bloody teeth, Tim smiled. “You’re right. Is that why I’m your reflection, Jason? Two second rate Robins who will never be the original?” He managed a laugh against protesting ribs. “For what it’s worth, I still think I’m better than you. Least I didn’t die.”

He couldn’t see the look on Jason’s face, but he didn’t need to. The feral yell that came out of Jason spoke for itself at how well Tim got under his skin. Jason’s other fist came barreling toward Tim’s face, but he managed to move his head out of the way, making it only connect with the ground. Jason’s punch was hard enough to make the concrete crack.

Even with the reinforced gloves, that had to hurt. Maybe a couple cracked bones, if Tim was lucky. Jason couldn’t hit as hard if he injured himself. 

That was a solid plan. If he’d actually planned it in the first place. 

“Can’t believe I ever liked you, Drake,” Jason snarled, pulling his hand free from the concrete. He flexed his fingers just a bit too slow. He definitely hurt himself, even if he was trying to hide it. Jason went for his utility belt, grabbing another batarang. 

“Flattering,” Tim deadpanned. He tried to elbow Jason in the neck, but Jason easily twisted away from the blow. 

“I really did you know,” Jason said. Maybe it was the mask, but Tim could’ve sworn Jason’s tone changed slightly. “If Bruce hadn’t corrupted you, you really could’ve been something.”

Tim ignored the comment about Bruce. Bruce’s death was too raw for Tim to be able to look at his grief about it head-on. “Can’t say the feeling was mutual,” Tim grunted. He tried to slash his glove fins across Jason’s face. But Jason was smarter. He had a more durable suit that made the blow easily glance off. 

Damn Tim for picking this suit. He idealized Bruce’s image too much and forwent practicality. He was paying for it now. A new suit would’ve had proper weapons worked into the wrists for Tim to easily flick out. 

“I don’t know about that,” Jason mocked with a cold laugh. “Remind me again Drake, who broke me out of prison?”

He had a point. 

“Real great job you’ve done repaying that kindness,” Tim muttered. He avoided addressing it directly. He didn’t owe Jason his reasons. Especially not with how they’d all blown up in his face. 

“I never needed your kindness,” Jason growled. He wrapped a hand around Tim’s throat and pressed down just enough to make it uncomfortable for Tim to breathe. “That’s what all you Bats could never get through your skulls. I didn’t need to be Bruce’s pity project, and I definitely didn’t need to be yours.”

“Trust me,” Tim fought to get the words out, trying to worm his fingers under Jason’s grip. “You don’t have my pity.”

“What do I have, then?”

“My contempt.” The more Tim struggled, the tighter Jason’s grip got. The sharp points of his claws were starting to dig into Tim’s skin and draw blood. Blood flow was cut off from Tim’s brain and he fought to keep hold of his consciousness. 

“Liar,” Jason hissed. “No one else is here, Tim. You don’t have to pretend and hide things from me I already know.”

Maybe passing out would be a good thing. Then, Tim would have a convenient reason for not answering Jason. A reason to not face the truth Jason wanted him to bare.

Tim knew that Jason probably knew. The way they’d looked at each other through the prison safety glass when Jason was locked up had a thousand unspoken words in just a shared smile. A promise, that maybe, if Jason cleaned himself up with this second chance, there could be something between them.

But Jason didn’t clean up. He flung himself in the opposite direction, if anything. A growing body count and an ugly reign of terror that was Tim’s job to stop.

He started this. He put misplaced faith in Jason. Tim’s bad judgment jeopardized Gotham. 

And now Jason wanted the unspoken part said out loud. Something a part of Tim would rather die than admit after all this. They both already knew. Making Tim say it was just an obvious attempt to humiliate him and Tim refused to sink to Jason’s level.

All this over a stupid crush. 

“Fine,” Jason continued when Tim didn’t say anything. “I’ll say it for you. You loved me.”

Tim made a face and twisted, finally forcing Jason’s hand free from his neck with a hard strike to his inner elbow. “It wasn’t love,” he insisted through grit teeth.

“What was it then?”

Tim didn’t say a word. He wasn’t going to give in to Jason’s cruelty.

“Tell you what,” Jason’s voice dropped low and almost sultry. “If you say it out loud, I’ll give you a free pass. No one will know.”

“A free pass?”

There was no way Jason was implying what Tim thought he was.

“Right here, right now.” Jason nodded. “Can’t say I’ll make it sweet, but something tells me you’re not the vanilla type anyway.”

Shit. He was implying that. Tim’s breath caught in his throat.

The answer should’ve been obvious. 

The answer was obvious. Tim was laying in a growing pool of his own blood because of Jason. Countless people were dead because of Jason. Bruce’s legacy was being destroyed because of Jason. Whatever little crush Tim had once had was long gone and replaced with disgust and hatred.

Most of it was. 

But some small piece of Tim clung to the way Jason grinned at him. And that small piece of him seemed to be steering the rest of him, making him hesitate on what should’ve been an easy answer. An easy chance to catch Jason off guard and get the upper hand in the fight.

Tim hoped the cowl hid enough of his face that his expression wasn’t readable. 

“Over my dead body,” Tim forced the words out, pulling himself back into reality. Praying Jason wouldn’t read into the pause. 

Jason’s body shifted. He was quiet for a moment, then he shrugged and brought the batarang clenched in his fist to Tim’s neck, easily finding the jugular. “So be it. I agree anyway. Killing you is the best way to cut this goddamn feeling out of me.”

“What feeling?” Tim frowned, fingers twitching as he stalled, trying to think of a real plan. 

“No, no.” Jason shook his head and laughed. It was a hollow sound, this time. “You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. If you won’t say it, then I won’t either.”

Oh.

“You…” Tim sucked in a breath. He was on death’s edge, a blade to his neck, but somehow it was the furthest thing from his spinning mind. “You like me? Like that?” He said it like a stupid high schooler, too shy to even look their crush in the eye. 

“What difference does it make now?” Jason shifted his weight on Tim, bearing down more. “This was always how it was going to end, between us.”

“It makes all the difference,” Tim said. He didn’t know why it did. But he knew it did. Tim reached a hand up, but instead of going for Jason’s batarang, he went further. His fingers reached under his own cowl and tugged it off, baring his face to Jason. 

Vulnerability. A metaphorical white flag, surrendering to Jason. 

Tim was dangerously close to getting himself killed. He could feel it, in his beating heart and overflowing adrenaline. 

“I would’ve come at this from a different angle if I knew…” Tim started, before trailing off. They were still dancing around saying it directly.

Jason barked out another laugh. “Oh, would you? What, you would’ve come to talk instead of fight? You really think that would’ve worked?”

“Maybe-“

“I told you,” Jason’s grip on the batarang tightened, “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“And you don’t have it,” Tim snapped back. Too angry. This angle was quickly slipping away from him. Shit. “You’re a psychopathic killer and I don’t know if you can ever been redeemed after what you’ve done. But I would’ve tried out of love, not pity, you sanctimonious asshole.”

Jason stuttered. He leaned back and breathed hard. Tim really wished he wasn’t wearing that stupid mask. “You said it wasn’t love.”

Tim took in a deep breath, and let himself fall over the ledge he’d been trying so hard to cling to since Jason pinned him. “I lied.”

For a moment, Tim was convinced he’d just sealed his own coffin. Whatever Jason’s feelings were, it didn’t seem like they were any particular deterrent to hurting Tim. He was inches away from killing Tim and leaving his body for someone else to find.

If they found Tim’s body at all.

But instead. Instead, Jason reached up and ripped the metal part of his mask off, tossing it aside to skitter off into the darkness.

And he kissed Tim.

Tim let out the breath he was holding against Jason’s mouth. And in turn, Jason breathed him in, greedy with his kiss. The batarang was kept firm against Tim’s throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Jason was kissing him. 

There was still the logical side of him screaming just how bad of an idea this was. All the reasons he could think of to not tangle with Jason were running circles across his mind. 

Tim ignored them and kissed Jason back. 

Jason tasted like metal and he smelled like gunpowder. Both of those things made sense and made Tim want more. He wanted every single part of Jason he could drink up, even from a single kiss. Jason’s tongue was in his mouth, licking and opening Tim up. They shared each other’s blood through the kiss, until Tim couldn’t tell whose was whose. 

The kiss was broken by Jason just as suddenly as it was started. Jason pulled back and raised the batarang. Panic flashed through Tim and he instinctively threw his hands up to cover his face and neck. 

The batarang slashed through Tim’s suit though, thankfully not giving him what might’ve been the stupidest death in the history of vigilantism. Jason didn’t seem to care about making sure the cut didn’t get Tim’s skin, though. Shallow wounds sprang across Tim’s skin and he hissed, watching Jason turn the suit to ribbons. The batarang was then tossed aside so Jason could rip off the suit as he leaned back. 

The bat symbol on Tim’s chest stayed in tact, but everything below it was ripped away, exposing him from his abs down to his thighs. Jason knew exactly how to unclip the utility belt and throw that aside, with the shreds of fabric. 

Cold air hit Tim’s most private areas. He wanted to cover himself, but he couldn’t get his hands to obey. His entire body was paralyzed under Jason’s gaze.

“Take off your mask,” Tim found his voice, rough and not sounding like himself.

Jason wore a cruel smirk. “No.” He did take off his gloves, though. Tim didn’t hide his sigh of relief. He didn’t want those claws on his skin. He was bleeding enough as it was.

The moment Jason’s hands were bare, he ran them over Tim’s skin. Tim hissed and flinched, but didn’t pull away. He let Jason’s warm hands claim his skin. Jason wasn’t kind or gentle. He smeared Tim’s blood around, exploring every bare inch. Tim’s stomach, his hips, his back, his legs. 

Jason curled a hand around Tim’s dick and Tim’s back arched. 

To be fair, this wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured sleeping with Jason. Still, he couldn’t find it in him to complain. 

Jason jerked Tim off rough and fast. The blood on his hand was slick enough to make a smooth glide over the callouses of his palm. Tim groaned, eyes fluttering shut. He bucked into Jason’s hand. As much pain as his body was in, the pleasure was too distracting for him to care. Tim choked on every breath he managed to take in, unable to stop himself from crying out and whining.

His body was screaming at him because of what Jason had done to him. And now, he was letting himself fall apart to Jason’s hands in a different way. 

“If Grayson found us, he’d think I was fucking torturing you from all the pathetic noises you’re making,” Jason growled. He barely sounded human. He slid his other hand up Tim’s chest and grabbed Tim’s face, stroking his cheek. 

Tim groaned at the thought. He forced his eyes to open just so he could look at Jason. He really wished Jason would take the cowl off. Tim wanted to see Jason’s face more than anything. 

“Don’t bring him up,” Tim gasped, practically humping Jason’s hand for more delirious pleasure. “I don’t want to think about him now.”

At least he could see Jason’s smirk. “Why? Because you know he’d disapprove?”

“Because I want to think about you.” Tim tried to grab at Jason’s suit to pull it off. His hands were clumsy and shaky though, probably from blood loss. All he could do was uselessly press them against Jason’s chest and feel the warmth through layers of armor.

“Fuck,” Jason groaned. His whole body shuddered, affected by Tim’s words alone. Jason stopped jerking Tim off so he could unclip his belt. He kept his other hand against Tim’s face though. Stroking it. “Least I know why you broke me out of prison, now.”

Tim made an aghast noise. “This is not why I broke you out of prison.”

Jason leaned in close, resting his face against Tim’s. “You still broke me out. So all my blood is on your hands too, Tim.” He pressed a kiss against Tim’s temple. “Bruce wouldn’t have been stupid enough to do that. Hell of a Batman you make.” It was like he had crawled into Tim’s brain just to voice all the awful little thoughts that Tim tried to bury. 

“You-“ Tim tried to snap back, but he was distracted by the sound of Jason undoing a clasp, then a zipper. Tim looked down and watched, breath caught in his throat, as Jason pulled his cock out of his pants.

He was already hard. 

Jason’s hand smeared blood across his member. Tim swallowed at the sight. Jason had pushed his pants down just enough to expose a sliver of pale skin. He had a sharp v-line and toned muscles just from the bit Tim could see. An embarrassing noise came out of Tim’s throat.

“Pathetic,” Jason said, but he groaned on the word, working his hand over himself. It was filthy. Both of them, covered in blood, and Jason jerking off on top of Tim. 

Tim wrapped an arm around Jason. He wanted to sink his fingers into Jason’s hair, but he settled for wrapping them around the back of Jason’s cowl. Tim seriously considered trying to pull the cowl off himself, but he doubted Jason would take kindly to it. 

The noises Jason made as he pleasured himself were beautiful. Tim’s sounds were animalistic and, in Jason’s own words, pathetic. Barely human sounding. But Jason. Jason sounded practically divine, low and smooth as he moaned in Tim’s ear. 

“Please,” Tim gasped. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

“That desperate?” Jason downright purred. 

Tim didn’t hold himself back from nodding. He swallowed down his dignity. 

If he had any dignity left.

“I’m not going to be gentle,” Jason warned. Like he was giving Tim one last chance to back out.

Tim just laughed. “If you think I want you to be gentle, you really don’t know a thing about me.”

A guttural groan came out of Jason. He pulled back and lifted one of Tim’s legs, bending it as far back as he could. Tim wasn’t quite as flexible as Dick was, but Jason got pretty far before Tim’s muscles protested and he winced. 

“Of course you shave down there,” Jason commented. He slid a hand over Tim’s smooth skin around his cock and balls.

“I don’t like pubes getting caught in my suit,” Tim huffed, trying not to let his cheeks go red.

“Don’t worry,” Jason hummed, “I think it’s cute. Makes you look like a fucking virgin.”

“I’m not.” Like it mattered.

Jason paused, just staring at Tim. Was he disappointed? It was hard to tell. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, so it doesn’t matter either way.” Whether or not he was disappointed was masked with a rough, possessive anger that made Tim gasp.

Rough fingers ran over the shallow cuts on Tim’s stomach and he hissed at the sudden sharp pain. It wasn’t easy to ignore the dull throbbing when Jason was practically fingering the open wounds. Tim almost asked what the hell he was doing, before he realized Jason was smearing blood across his fingers, getting them slick and coated.

“Seriously? You’re going to use my own blood to fuck me?” Tim asked, like just the thought of it wasn’t making him spread his legs wider. Still, the idea of cleaning tacky blood out of himself did make Tim internally cringe.

“You got a better idea?” Jason shot back. 

“I think there’s lube in-“

“No.” Jason cut him off, pressing harder into the cuts just to make Tim wince. “We’re doing it my way, or I just leave you in a pool of your own blood with a hard-on.”

“Okay.” Tim caved instantly with a hushed whisper at the rough dominance. 

It was so easy, for Jason to take complete control of Tim. He was putty in Jason’s hands, content to be manipulated however Jason wanted, so long as Tim got his own pleasure out of it. If Jason wanted Tim to bleed, he would bleed. If he wanted Tim to be spread open and ready to be fucked, then Tim would give him that too.

Christ. He needed to be checked out mentally after this. 

Jason gave Tim a pleased hum, probably the closest thing to praise Tim was going to get out of him. He’d take it. Blood slick fingers pressed against Tim’s hole. Two fingers were forced in at once, hard and fast.

Tim screamed.

He didn’t expect Jason to be gentle, but it seemed like Jason was going out of his way to be rough. Scrapping his nails against Tim’s insides and brutally twisting his fingers around. He didn’t try to hit Tim’s prostate to bring any kind of pleasure. The brushes of his fingers over that spot were more painful than pleasurably, if anything. Fast and rough, giving Tim no chance to soak up the sparks of sensation from the bundle of nerves.

“Oh god,” Tim groaned, throwing his head back. His hips twitched violently, like they weren’t sure to press into Jason’s fingers for more, or to try to pull away from the horrible assault.

It’d been a while since Tim had been in this much pain. So battered from a fight that every movement of his body was weak and shaky. He grabbed onto Jason’s arm, desperate for an anchor. He couldn’t have pulled Jason off of him, even if he wanted to.

He didn’t, though. Tim wanted this to last as long as it possibly could. 

He never got to drown himself in the pain. Pain was something that had to be compartmentalized and ignored, for the sake of the mission. Getting back on his feet and ignoring the way his body screamed at him was one of the first things Bruce taught him. 

Now, Tim didn’t have to fight it. He could just give in. The half-hearted instincts from his body trying to fight back were ignored by Jason. Like Jason knew that Tim wanted this. 

Needed this. 

At some point, Jason must’ve worked a third finger inside of Tim. He didn’t notice. The burning stretch swirled with every other point of pain on his body. 

He did noticed when Jason finally decided to purposefully press against Tim’s prostate.

This pleasure was new. Foreign and overstimulating with how aggressively Jason pressed down on the spot, rubbing into it to pull all kinds of noises out of Tim he didn’t know he was capable of making. 

“Jason!” Tim cried out. “Fuck, too much, I can’t-“ Tim’s stomach was cramping from how hard his muscles clenched. He was falling, losing his grip on sensible reality. His head was full of cotton, foggy and unable to get a solid grip on coherent thought.

There were only three things that existed to Tim: pain, pleasure, and Jason. 

“You can’t what? Use your fucking words,” Jason mocked, vicious and uncaring. He rested Tim’s leg over his shoulder to free up his other hand. His fingers wrapped around Tim’s balls and tugged. Tim screamed and arched like a jack knife. He hadn’t noticed how close his orgasm was creeping up on him until Jason pulled it away with a brutal, carnal pain. When Tim lost control of his body, Jason found it and snatched it up, holding Tim’s pleasure in his palm. Tim wanted to curl in on himself, but he couldn’t force his limbs to obey. 

“Hurts,” was all Tim could groan out. He might’ve been crying. It was hard to tell, with his face so wet with blood. 

“Good.”

“Jason,” Tim tried to beg. He was lost to subspace, something he barely realized until now. “I can’t take anymore.” He wanted more. More than want, god, he needed more, but his body was wired so tight Tim was convinced he was going to snap if Jason kept going. 

He wanted that too.

“That’s not for you to decide.” Jason’s rough voice was a light at the end of a tunnel Tim was struggling toward to ground himself. To focus on something besides the agony crashing over his body in brutal waves. “Do you really think you’re in the fucking state to know what you can take?”

Jason was right. Tim just whined, a noise that turned into a choked sob when Jason pulled his fingers out just enough to slam them into Tim’s sweet spot again, overwhelming him with more awful pleasure. 

“Give yourself over to me,” Jason demanded. He leaned in close again. Tim’s vision was blurred, but he could smell the gunpowder and leather. “Say it. Say I own you.”

Tim wanted to. He tried, opening his mouth and struggling to get the words out. He could only make more pathetic noises.

“Say it, or I’ll stab you and leave you to fucking bleed out.”

He probably wasn’t lying.

“You-“ Tim choked on the word, shaking so hard his muscles were spasming. “You own me.” Three little words, and they were the hardest words Tim had ever tried to say. Each one fought against him, getting stuck in his throat. 

But he said them. Because right now, they were the only religion Tim believed in. 

“Look at that,” Jason cooed. So patronizing. “You’re not completely brainless and worthless. Yet, anyway.” He pulled his fingers out of Tim. One second those fingers had been driving Tim mad because they were inside of him, and now they were driving him mad because they left him empty and wanting. 

His body needed more. More pain, more pleasure. Until he broke and Jason fucked the shattered pieces left of Tim. 

Jason got a hand underneath Tim, using the blood from the gash on Tim’s back to slick his fingers this time. That gash was far deeper. Something that probably needed stitches. It had started trying to clot but Jason agitated it enough for fresh blood to pour out. He was able to actually work his fingers under Tim’s bloody skin, making Tim shriek and try to pull away. 

There was nowhere for him to escape from the mind-numbing pain. When he pulled away, he just crashed into Jason’s chest, forehead bumping against the bat symbol of Jason’s suit. 

“So fucking easy to push your buttons,” Jason laughed. He moved his fingers around a bit more just to make his point and pull more wounded noises out of Tim. Then he finally pulled them free and let Tim fall back to the hard ground. It knocked the wind out of Tim.

He didn’t have a chance to try to get air into his lungs. Because Jason slicked himself up with a disturbing speed and lined up. The warning of blunt pressure against Tim’s hole lasted a fraction of a second and then Jason snapped his hips. Buried to the hilt.

Tim almost passed out.

He didn’t know if it was from the pain, the blood loss, or his body’s inability to get oxygen into his lungs. Everything exploded inside of Tim. He was full, so full so fast. Jason’s fingers hadn’t been nearly kind enough to properly stretch Tim for Jason’s size. It almost felt like being stabbed.

Over and over, as Jason fucked into Tim with no kindness. 

A hard slap across Tim’s face forced him off of the edge of unconsciousness. He gasped, eyes snapping open to find Jason’s face right above his, the glowing eyes of the mask taking over Tim’s field of vision. 

Jason was smiling. Blood on his teeth, dripping out of his mouth. Was it his blood or Tim’s?

Tim hoped it was both. 

“I don’t know which Bruce would find more pathetic,” Jason groaned as he fucked into Tim, pulling small screams out of Tim with each punch of his cock, “you putting on that suit, or you letting me fuck you in it.” He brought his lips to Tim’s ear. “Who’s ruining his legacy now?”

If the physical pain wasn’t bad enough, Jason knew exactly how to rip open the wounds of Tim’s emotional pain alongside it. Tim cried out at the thought. 

What would Bruce think of him, like this? Pathetic and barely human underneath Jason Todd?

“And they call me the failed Robin,” Jason just kept talking, like he wasn’t destroying Tim from the inside out. “At least I know how to be something other than Robin. Are you really delusional enough to think you’re going to be the next Batman?” A long moan came out of him and he thrust even harder until Tim screamed loud enough to make himself dizzy. “Answer me.”

Tim just shook his head. “No.” His voice was broken. His throat was sore from screaming, but the word still came out. He’d never thought he really could be Batman. So what the hell was he thinking, putting this suit on?

“Good.” Jason slid his fingers under the bat symbol on Tim’s chest, one of the only parts of the suit in tact. He ripped it off, the fabric tearing loudly in Tim’s ears. “It’s good you know your fucking place.” Jason changed his angle, finding Tim’s battered prostate again. Tim didn’t have the air in his lungs to scream anymore. All he could do was weakly mewl and whimper.

He could die like this. He honestly might. Tim had no idea how his body was holding on, in this state. Maybe it was the pain and pleasure alone keeping him alive. Just so he could soak up every touch from Jason.

Tim was never going to allow himself to do this again. So he had to enjoy it while it lasted.

This time, Tim felt his orgasm creeping up on him. His fingers dug into Jason’s arm and he pressed up into Jason’s warmth. The material of Jason’s suit was rough and unforgiving. It didn’t feel particularly good for Tim to grind his cock against, but he didn’t care. He needed any kind of friction, whether it brought him pleasure or road rash. 

“I won’t stop if you come,” Jason warned, still hammering into Tim at a pace that should’ve been impossible for a normal human to manage. “This isn’t to make you feel good. It’s to put you in your fucking place.”

Tim could only whine, managing a nod of understanding. This was his place. He knew that. He never wanted to leave it. 

The threat of being fucked into overstimulation hung over Tim’s head, but he couldn’t stop himself from chasing the high of his orgasm. He almost wanted to feel the overstimulation. Like his orgasm was just something to get over with so Tim could completely give himself over to Jason. To be used just for Jason’s pleasure, even if it brought him nothing but more pain. 

That thought made Tim’s balls tighten. The only warning he could give Jason was a high pitched keen that barely sounded like Tim’s own voice. His eyes rolled back.

The pleasure of his orgasm didn’t overtake the screaming pain in the rest of his body. It just mixed with the pain, swirling into one intense feeling Tim didn’t have a name for. He screamed until his throat gave out. His back arched and he clenched around Jason, who kept driving into him. Jason growled in Tim’s ear. He was holding Tim’s hip so tight there would be bruises that would end up indistinguishable from the rest of Tim’s injuries.

All injuries that Jason gave Tim. Tim’s body was a canvass, and Jason’s favorite color to paint with was the red that poured out of Tim. 

It was the best orgasm Tim had ever felt. No feeling was ever going to match this intensity. 

Tim came down from his high with an awful wheeze, shuddering. He clung to Jason, like a guard dog laying at the feet of his master. 

“Fuck,” Jason moaned. A shudder ran down his spine and his pace faltered, just for a moment. “You’re really something else, Drake.” From Jason, that was practically a compliment for Tim to soak up and preen under. 

Tim’s body tipped over the edge of overstimulation. His survival instincts kicked in, trying to fight Jason. There was no strength behind his kicks and hits. They just made Jason laugh as Tim made a fool of himself.

“I own you,” Jason reminded Tim. He caught Tim’s wrist and pinned it against the cold concrete, squeezing tight enough to cut off circulation to Tim’s fingers. “I can do whatever I want to your useless body. Don’t try to fight it now.” He leaned down and found an exposed part of Tim’s neck to sink his teeth into. It wasn’t a hickey, but a proper bite, breaking Tim’s skin. 

Tim cried out, but still tilted his head to the side to give Jason better access to his neck. Even when his body wanted to fight, Tim managed to submit. Like the submission was natural to him. 

The pain took over. Tim just floated in it, forcing himself to go limp. Submit. No more fighting. He gave in to Jason and stopping thinking. All Tim needed to do was feel. Feel every point of agony scattered across his body. Feel Jason fucking him. Using him, like Tim was nothing more than a toy. The sparks from Jason slamming into his sweet spot couldn’t be called pleasure anymore, with Tim’s cock spent and limp. It was more pain. 

Better that way. Tim liked the pain more. Delicious and mind-numbing. 

Jason was swearing against Tim’s skin. He mumbled something Tim didn’t catch. Three syllables. Short and rushed out. Tim was almost convinced the second word was love. Maybe he was making it up in his head though, finally lost in utter delirium.

Tim didn’t care.

More insults fell from Jason’s lips. Calling Tim nothing, worthless, pathetic. A cheap pretender who deserved this. Tim agreed with all of it, feverishly nodding. The words were practically sweet nothings in Tim’s ears. 

Jason yelled Tim’s name when he came. His hips stuttered to a stop, buried deep inside of Tim. He knew Jason was coming inside of him, but his body was too battered to feel Jason’s cum filling his insides. Shame that was. Tim wanted to know how it felt, to be claimed by Jason in this carnal way.

They were both so perfectly still, for two people who had been shaking and clawing at each other just moments ago. The only noise was heavy breathing that echoed through the night.

Tim swallowed. He tried to find himself through the pain. He worked through the body checklist that Bruce gave him. Vision. Smell. Taste. Feel. Sound. All the sensations clashed against each other, out of focus and pounding against Tim’s skull.

It was so hard to think.

Tim groaned. Focus. 

Like cold water thrown on his face, he clawed his way out of subspace. Tim got a good look at Jason’s face.

“Are you crying?” Tim voiced the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. 

With the mask, it was hard to tell. Jason’s breathing was shuddered, hitching on every inhale. Tim wouldn’t call it sobbing, but it was close enough for Tim to study Jason’s face. The wetness coming out from under Jason’s mask wasn’t red. It streaked through the blood. 

Tear tracks. 

Jason’s completely rational response was to punch Tim in the face.

Tim swore and curled in on himself, cupping his nose. If it wasn’t broken before, it was now. Jason pulled out of Tim without any care and stood up, leaving him curled up on the ground, trying to set the broken bone and manage the bleeding.

Tim tried to sit up. His arms and legs gave out under him and he slammed back to the ground with a pained noise. He looked up at Jason, squinting. Watching as Jason tucked himself back into his pants, then snatched his gloves off the ground to put them back on.

Despite clearly losing the fight, Tim had done a number on Jason. Jason’s face was bloody and his suit was ripped and torn in some places. He looked like he had been mauled by a wild animal.

If that was how Jason looked, Tim couldn’t imagine what the sight of his own body was.

His second attempt to sit up worked. Now, he compartmentalized. Forced the pain deep into the corners of his mind and locked it up. 

Tim had to be functional now. He couldn’t let the regret and shame get to him.

“I-“ Jason started to say something. It was only one word, but it sounded uncharacteristically soft, making Tim straighten his back and hold his breath. But Jason cleared his throat and folded his arms, stamping down whatever kindness had almost come out. “I’ll throw you a bone. If any of the Bats find you like this you can just tell them I raped you,” he said it like some kind of mean joke.

Tim didn’t say anything. That wasn’t true. They both knew it.

“Preserve your precious dignity you care so much about, huh?” Jason continued. He sounded unsure of himself and he turned away from Tim. 

“Jason-“ Tim reached out for him. “We can still-“ he struggled for the words. “It doesn’t have to end like this. You can still change. I’ll-“

“Don’t,” Jason snapped. He kicked away Tim’s hand. “We both know it’s too late for that.” He started to walk away. “Never wear that suit again, Drake. I’d hate to see you die to someone that isn’t me.” He almost sounded… protective? Tim wouldn’t call it fondness, but maybe something close to that. Tim refused to allow himself to read into it. Whoever Jason Todd had become, he was someone that Tim couldn’t save. He was someone who didn’t want to be saved, no matter how Tim felt about him. Tim had to accept that, even with Jason’s cum deep inside him. Some truths were immutable. 

Then, Jason was gone. Vanishing into the shadows and leaving Tim there.

Tim tilted his head back. He allowed himself thirty seconds. He counted them. Thirty seconds to sit in his own filth and feel the pain for just a little longer, before he had to move and figure out how he was going to get home in one piece without anyone finding out what happened here.

Just ten more seconds.

Five. 

Three.

One.

With grit teeth and a deep breath, Tim stood up.

[read-write-thrive]

part 1

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop”, while pessimistic, seemed to be a running theme in Charles Rowland’s life. It wasn’t really a phrase he heard when he was alive, to be fair, but at some point he’d come across it (probably hanging out with too many Americans, but can’t remember for sure) and it felt a little too much accurate. His dad’s come home angry again? Time to wait for the fallout. He’d gotten written up at school for not paying attention? Just a disaster waiting to happen. He goes against his best mate’s advice? There he goes, literally torn from Charles’s arms and back to hell, just as he’d said. Maybe the last one was a little dramatic, but that’s the gist.

The looming anxiety of it all usually slid off of him for the minor stuff, and was otherwise bottled up and shoved far away for the heavier stuff, but regardless he didn’t let it show. Have to keep up appearances and all. He’d only had one real instance of all those emotions blowing up (and he still blames the Night Nurse for all that mess) so he thought he was doing a bang-up job keeping himself together.

That was until his dad died. Yeah, it was rough, and he ended up berating the old man on his death bed, which probably was a shitty thing to do. And yeah, he’d needed a bit of a cry afterwards. So what? Blokes cried sometimes, and he was man enough to admit to his emotions and all that. The girls had done a good job of emphasising that he (and, mostly, Edwin) needed to express their emotions more. That it was healthier to let it out than bottle it all up. Not sure if they still needed healthy habits as ghosts, but it wasn’t hurting anyone. Just a little uncomfortable.

All that to say, it felt like his friends had been treading on eggshells around him ever since his dad died. Which was infuriating, yeah, but also didn’t make sense to him. Especially after he’d already cried—did they expect him to get angry again? To blow up over a dead man? He thought he’d gotten it out of his system just fine, so getting these weird vibes was starting to stress him out more than anything. He’d resolved to bring it up on their next movie night and ask why they were acting funny—didn’t want to mess up a case, after all.

However, he didn’t get the chance before it all came crashing down on his head. Ultimately, Edwin was the messenger.

“Charles, I—“ he took an unnecessary breath, “Have you checked on your mother lately?”

His undead heart went cold, but his default smiley ways were still stuck on, “Not really, why?”

Edwin’s eyes were sad, which was never good. He didn’t emote unless it was serious, “I think you need to visit her. She’s not faring well.”

And so they went. Turns out everyone hadn’t been waiting for Charles to blow up, but rather for his mother to pass and then for him to break down all over again. Edwin had been checking on her daily since his father’s passing, deducing correctly that Charles would be too swept up in the emotions around his dad dying to remember that his mum wasn’t getting any younger.

The girls weren’t free until the evening, but they promised to stay in touch and maybe visit later if they could (particularly if they could figure out how to visit the Hospice without rousing suspicion). And so Edwin and Charles were on their own.

Charles had rushed into the room, as if running at the issue would evade the emotions of it, or as if getting there quickly would reveal it was all a lie—neither of which were true.

Instead, he was face to face with a dying woman with some resemblance to the photo on the mantle in the house he grew up in—his grandmother, or maybe his great grandmother, or some favourite aunt, he couldn’t remember anymore— hair gone fully white, pulled back into a tight bun so as to keep her curls controlled, keeping her gaunt, sleeping face exposed. Unlike that photo, this woman was in a hospital gown, tucked into sterile sheets, with a tube under her nose to help her breathe. Gone were her usually loud and ornate earrings, her bare fingernails stained from years of colour. There was a singular blanket laid across her lap, on top of the sheets, that almost looked more familiar than the woman it covered. It was her, but apparently he hadn’t stopped to just look at her any time recently, if ever. It felt too much like looking at a ghost, as ironic as that felt.

She was awake, but halfway to dozing. There was someone at her side, adjusting the blanket and murmuring reassurances in what was definitely Punjabi. It had been so long since he’d heard it, added to having never properly learned anything besides English under the threat of his father, that he couldn’t make out the words. That realisation left a stinging feeling in his chest.

“A relation of yours?” Edwin asked at a whisper, coming up to stand beside Charles, almost entirely copying his position from that fateful hospital room. It didn’t seem as if either of the room’s living occupants had noticed them.

Charles blindly reached for Edwin’s hand for comfort, not looking away from the scene in front of him and matching his partner’s volume, “No idea. Don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Edwin hummed, “Perhaps a little too young to have met you. Or someone your mother reconnected with recently—“

“I’m not really in the mood for deductions, love.” Charles said, not unkindly. Everything felt too fragile to be picked apart like that.

“Right. Apologies.” Edwin squeezed his hand and went quiet.

Charles squeezed his hand back in forgiveness, joining in the silence. He kept going back to what the stranger was saying, familiar consonants both soothing and devastating. What kind of a son was he, failing to comfort his dying mother, unable to speak her mother tongue, a stranger to his relatives? His tears were thankfully silent.

It took much longer for his mother to see them than his father. Several days passed, with the mystery relative coming and going more days than not, and the usual nurses and caregivers administering various care. Over time, the boys (the girls couldn’t figure out how to enter the space, but were supportive from their distance) had learned that the stranger’s name was Sangeeta, and she was a niece of his mother’s who’d noticed her steady decline and was the one to take her to hospital and then to hospice care. Charles’s mother had apparently stopped taking care of herself after her husband’s death, and she had refused other care, so at this point all they could do was make her comfortable. Charles spent a whole morning ranting to Edwin about it, how unfair it was that her life was so tied up in his asshole father’s that she wasn’t even trying to live after he was gone. Edwin, the deeply kind person he was, had let Charles rant until he ran out of steam, then gently pointed out that she’d been under the thumb of his father for far longer than Charles was, and that she’d now had to mourn her husband and her only child, which presumably takes a toll. Charles had started crying before Edwin had even finished talking, and Edwin had held him close on the plush sofa for the rest of the day.

It was hard to tell if it was a comfort or not when she finally saw them, but Charles decided that wasn’t important to think about right now, if ever. Right now, his mother could see him for the first time in forty years, and they didn’t know for how much longer. And yet, with all this time to prepare, he still found himself speechless when the time finally came.

“Mere laal,” She beat him to the punch, eyes glazed over but clearly locked on Charles, “I am glad to see you again, beta. It’s been so long.”

Charles let out a shakey breath, “Hi, mum. It’s—well— it’s been longer for you. I’ve visited a few times, over the years.”

She reached out a sinewy hand on a bone-thin arm, and Charles flew to the seat by her side, keeping his focus to make sure his hand stayed solid in her grasp. He vaguely noticed Edwin taking the seat beside him.

“Such a handsome boy. You were so young.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, all anxious energy and nerves, tears of his own threatening to spill, was quick to respond, “It’s alright, mum, I’m alright. No need to cry over me.”

She huffed, “Nonsense. You were the light of my life. Who else should I cry over?”

They were both crying at this point, tears streaming as they sniffled in turns. Edwin laid a careful hand on Charles’s back in a show of comfort.

However, that seemed to give Charles an idea, “No, really mum, it’s okay! See the bloke next to me? His name’s Edwin, and he’s been by my side all these years! He’s the one who first found me, and we’ve been helping people ever since. It’s been aces. Not sad one bit.”

Edwin stiffened at the mention, then all but froze when her eyes turned to him. He knew he looked night and day from Charles, and if he started talking she was bound to find him as abrasive as everyone always did, so why had Charles pointed him out!? If ghosts could sweat, Edwin would be drowning in his nerves.

Her gaze stayed on him for a long moment before she broke the silence, “He’s been good to you? Not like those other boys.”

Edwin wasn’t sure what to do with that, but thankfully Charles was quick on the uptake, “Not like them at all. He’s— he’s the best, mum. None of those tossers could even compare.”

“Because the boys— the ones who—“

Charles gripped her hand, “I know, I know. He’s a genuinely good person, Edwin. I was bad at picking friends in life, but thankfully I chose well with this one.”

His attempt at joking was overlooked completely by her, “Those boys, how could they do that? I knew their families, John Parish’s mother went to your funeral… Such cruel boys…”

“I’m alright, mum, I’m okay.” Charles kept going, smiling even as the tears continued, “It’s all in the past.”

“I should’ve fought harder for you… kept you close… mere laal, taken from me…” She was sobbing, her whole frame shaking with hiccoughs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charles took a steadying breath, “You know I couldn’t have stayed in that house, mum. And no one could’ve known those lads would go that far…”

Her sobs were worse for a moment, then stilled suddenly as she fought for oxygen. She coughed weakly.

At that, Charles’s crying intensified, despite all he did to keep himself together. He could tell. He knew what was coming. It was still devastating to see. Edwin pulled him in for a proper side hug, taking care not to jostle his grip on his mum.

This did not go unnoticed, and the dying woman suddenly smiled, as if the devastation was forgotten with the oxygen. She looked back to her son, “I am glad you have been happy, beta. You deserved happiness.”

“I’m happy, I’ve been so happy mum, I promise,” Charles tried to calm himself down, stuck in his reassuring her.

“Mere laal, light of my life, darling boy,” She breathed with difficulty, smile dropping, “Can you forgive me? I failed you…”

Charles’s frame shook with his vigorous nodding, “I forgive you, mum, you did the best you could, I love you so much—“

Her weak smile returned, glinting in the lamplight of the evening room, “Thank you, beta. You were too good for me, for this world…”

“All because of you, I swear it, all thanks to you—“

“Charles.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son, I’m could’ve been better, gotten you out of that house—“

“Charles, darling.”

“You deserved better, I love you, I forgive you—“

“My love, the light—“

Edwin was right, a deep blue light had filled the space, illuminating the still body of his mother. Her face was pulled into a slight smile, eyes closed, as if she was having a pleasant dream, even as the tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

“No, no I’m not ready—“ Charles immediately started to protest, gripping onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Charles—“

“I only just got to see her! She only just got free of him! No, no, I won’t—“

Edwin gently but solidly grabbed under Charles’s arms, “I’m sorry my love but we should go—“

Charles was nothing but hysterics by this point, head thudding onto the sheets for a moment before Edwin fully pulled him away. He said more, but Charles was too overwhelmed to process it properly, buzzing in his ears and headache behind his eyes making him feel alive in all the worst ways. Maybe it was just the first time he had cried this hard in his afterlife, or maybe being this close to an active death did something to their physiology—

Everything was a blur as they returned to the flat, Edwin all but carrying him through the mirror so that he wouldn’t get lost on the way. They collapsed onto the sofa, extra large cushions taken up by their ghostly presences. The girls were already there, and joined into the cuddle pile without another word (or perhaps with a few, Charles still wasn’t all there yet). Edwin jostled them all slightly to better position everyone before settling in again, making sure Charles was properly surrounded.

Charles sobbed for a while longer. He wasn’t quite sure for how long, or what day it was, or if he was bothering his friends by taking up their time and space like this. His devastation had seemed to take over his entire being. But, when he did breathe a little easier, when he was finally able to sit up, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His mom was dead, yes, but so was he, and dying had granted them both freedom from that man, from that house, from the cruelties of the world. And in his death he was surrounded by people who loved him, people who were there for him when he needed them and would still be there for him tomorrow, and the next, and the next. The other shoe had dropped, and it certainly hurt, but thankfully he had people around him to help him through it. He was truly lucky to have them.

~

hope you enjoyed this impromptu series exploring Charles and his parents and grief and loss and all those lovely things. this was inspired by the complicated emotions I have / had after my grandparents passing, and I heavily encourage you to do something similar if you’re ever struggling with these big emotions—therapists and such will say that journaling is where it’s at, but sometimes it’s easier to project onto fictional characters and that’s ok !!! and, just to drive the point home, I want to reiterate that you are loved, and there are people around you who are there to support you, I promise ❤️

also, just to make it abundantly clear, I’m a v white midwestern american and as such have vvv limited knowledge of cultural aspects of Charles’s mom—I did research and tried my best, but if I screwed anything up PLEASE let me know so I can fix it!!!!! same goes for Britishisms ig but mostly looking for feedback on her Punjabi and her various cultural elements :)

[phoenixcatch7]

Loz fandom stop being angsty and give the daydreaming kids on big fun adventures with a cool glowing sword some actual whimsy and joy challenge

[myfriendstoldmenotto]

Something cool that I think would be a good fic idea is the boys being Orpheus and Eurydice reincarnated. Like they compared them so often and there’s so much potential there. I can’t write but someone else is free to take this idea and do whatever with it…

Like maybe death doesn’t want to take her nephew and his love’s souls again/ force them to separate. Or they had the reason they were born in separate times was an attempt to separate them. They failed their test and they weren’t supposed to together again but their love transcended time. What would Morpheus’s feelings be when he discovers his son is back on earth as a ghost?

Someone please use this idea before it drives me to write, nobody wants that, I don’t want that.

[gomzdrawfr]

Feel like crying /pos cuz we’re finally making progress with PriceRaven stuff and we’re FINALLY over the pain hurdle after this one HRHEHEGEHDHDHJEJEHRH