#it's a little fucked up though. don't you think

[corkinavoid]

Hey, @confused-they, this is for you and for everyone else who wanted more of this AU. Merry Christmas.

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt. 4]

[<- part 3]

[Written to 'Tantrum' by Ashnikko]

TW: mentioned mild gore (some inside parts become outside ones, nothing graphic)

Tim can't breathe.

Joker's mad laughter is ringing through the darkness of the warehouse, echoing in his head, the screeching sound straight out of nightmares. Hood should be nearby - as in, somewhere in this darkness along with him - but Tim can't think about that, his own maniacal giggles bubbling in the back of his throat, a grin tugging at his lips.

He has to get up. He has to stand, he has to fight, and it really shouldn't be this hard.

But he can't breathe.

Tim clutches his fingers on the fabric of his suit on the chest, distantly wondering if this is how Danny feels when he is more human than ghost. Probably not, he mentioned that breathing is only optional.

He really wants his boyfriend right now. His fiance. Whatever, he wants Danny, he wants his cold hands on his cheeks and the faint, humming purr of his core that Tim finds nice to fall asleep to, and-

Maybe later. He can't exactly summon him now, not in the middle of a fight, especially not in the middle of a fight with Joker of all people.

There's an angry growl somewhere to Tim's left, staticky through the voice-modulator. Then several sounds of gunshots and a gleeful, taunting yell of the madman.

Hold on.

Tim snaps his eyes open - not that anything changes, everything is still pitch-black around him - and blinks.

Why not?..

It's not like Danny is a civilian. Tim tends to pay little attention to the fact since the King of Infinite Realms doesn't hang out with the whole superhero convention on principle. But Tim is pretty sure he won't mind it this once.

Besides, Tim is so done with Joker that it's not even funny.

A few breathy chuckles escape his throat as he lets his body fully slump back on the floor and brings his left hand to his face, placing a quick kiss on the Ring through his glove. He doesn't need to do that, not really, but it's kind of a ritual at this point, and the gesture somehow makes him feel better.

"Danny," he whispers.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then, there's a soft, popping sound, and his beautiful boyfriend is floating right over him, faintly glowing and a little sleepy. Tim is momentarily distracted by his bare feet and pj pants with tiny rockets on them.

Danny yawns and tugs the hem of his t-shirt down as it starts to float. "Whas'sup," he mutters, rubbing his eyes and clearly not fully awake, and Tim's heart melts instantly. He loves Danny. He just... He loves him, okay? He loves that Danny didn't question his summons for a moment, he loves that he came even though he was obviously sleeping, and he loves that Danny is wearing a tee he stole from Tim.

Unfortunately, before he is able to get his shit back together, another sound of gunshot ripples through the air, and Danny startles, blinking himself awake and looking in the direction of it. Then, his eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth makes a soft 'O' shape before he turns back to Tim and tilts his head in question.

"You want me to deal with him? The clown, I mean, not your brother," he asks, and it's so casual and off-handed that Tim actually huffs a laugh.

"Sorry, I was just- I'm really tired of his ass," Tim should probably sit up, this is not a talk they should have while he is lying on the ground. On the other hand, Jason is somewhere out there, and he has guns and doesn't have a clear visual around him, so maybe Tim shouldn't sit up.

Danny hums, "Is that a yes?"

Tim just nods. He is pretty sure Danny can see him despite the darkness. "I promise it's a one-time thing, I don't plan on calling you every time one of local lunatics acts up. I just... I fucking can't with him," he admits with a defeated sigh. But, before he can spiral any further into the abyss of unworthiness, Danny's cold hands are cupping his cheeks, and his icy eyes are looking right into Tim's sky blue.

"Love, I don't mind getting rid of each and every one of your Rogues. Granted, it would probably fuck up the timeline, and Clocky would be mad, but I'd do it if you want me to, no questions asked." His voice is quiet, and Tim has never been more grateful for his domino mask, because he can feel his cheeks heating up and he doesn't want Danny to see the exact effect his words are causing.

"I- Okay," he quietly agrees, and then blinks, backtracking, "Wait, no, don't fuck up the timeline. Just deal with the laughing bitch this once, and that's it. We can handle the rest."

Danny is smiling at him in that adoring way Tim recognizes as 'I really want to kiss you, but it's not the time or place'. Then, he nods and lets go of Tim's cheeks, straightening up in the air, and his clothes shift all at once, like a magic trick.

Gone are the stretched out t-shirt and the pants with rocket ships. In their place, Danny's body is head to toe covered in stars and galaxies that hold the vague shape of armor, and there's a slightly shimmering, blueish-green translucent cape over one of his shoulders.

The Crown over his head, the sentient artifact much like the Ring on Tim's finger, appears from nowhere, and, after a brief pause - Tim swears it was debating on whether or not the situation is worth the effort - promptly sets itself on fire. Blue flames cast long shadows on Danny's, no, King's face, making him look older and his cheekbones sharper.

Before, the boy was only faintly glowing, and, evidently, the others present in the warehouse were too distracted to notice him.

But now, with the flaming Crown casting dancing shadows on the walls of the warehouse, it's really hard not to see the otherworldly being making an appearance.

"Holy fuck," Tim hears Hood's quiet, astonished voice, and almost cracks a grin.

Yeah, he wants to say, that's my boyfriend. Although he suspects he and Jason are having vastly different reactions to Danny's presence. Because Tim kind of wants to take all his words about dealing with Joker back and take Danny home, straight to bed.

...He is going to have to strangle Jason in his sleep if his reaction is similar. No, that's a wrong thought, this is so not the time for it.

"Who are you, flying glowstick?" Joker sounds rightfully pissed off by the interruption, "Does Batsy employ alien kids now?"

Danny chuckles, the starry freckles on his cheeks glowing brighter, "Okay, just because you compared me to an alien, I'm not going to completely erase you from this plane of existence."

Tim snaps his head up.

"Wait, no killing," he reminds, not because he actually cares but because B would throw a fit. Danny brushes him off with a wave of his hand.

"No worries, he'll stay alive," he smiles at Tim, and to everyone else, it probably looks like stuff of nightmares, sharp, pointy teeth and lips stretched out far beyond human capabilities. But Tim sees it for what it is: a face of mischief.

"Do I get a vote in this?" Jason's deadpan voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the warehouse at the same moment as Joker screeches in rage, "Who the fuck do you think-"

"Nope," Danny pops the 'p', and Tim is not sure if he is answering to Hood or refusing to listen to the clown's monolog by it. Maybe it's both. It's probably both.

The next moment, Danny is gone, disappeared from the place he was floating at, and Tim hears a wet, very unpleasant sound followed by Joker's scream of pain.

"You see this?" He hears Danny's nonchalant, unfazed voice above the clown's pained cries, "This is your rib, bitch- Hey, quit whining and listen to me, it's important."

There's a slap, a rustle, and a sound of ripping fabric, and Joker's voice becomes muffled, like someone put a gag in his mouth.

"You're like Adam now, you know, lacking one rib," Danny continues, "Only I'm not making you a girl out of this one, I'm pretty sure you don't deserve to reproduce. Anyway, going further down that metaphor, I'm the God almighty in this situation, so if you want to keep the rest of your ribs - and the rest of other things that are supposed to stay inside of you - to yourself, you gotta do a thing for me, okay?"

There's some muffled groans that Joker makes in response, then an enraged growl, a sound of a struggle, another slap, and then that same wet, disgusting squelch.

"Two ribs, wow, okay, you're really being difficult about this!" Danny sounds so innocently dumbstruck about it that Tim suppresses a laugh. "Are you listening now?" There's a quiet, choking wheeze that answers him, and Danny sounds quite pleased when he says, "Great."

Tim debates if he should look. He doesn't exactly want to since the sounds provide enough context, but it might be somewhat cathartic for him.

And then the air around him inexplicably shifts, becoming cold and oppressive, weighting Tim down like a heavy blanket and pushing him into the floor. The dancing shadows and the blue light of flames on the walls twist and churn, like taking aim, and Tim doesn't know what Danny looks like right now but he knows he is as far from human as possible, his voice coming with a staticky, echoing whisper, a threatening hiss slithering inside Tim's ears.

"Play your little games all you want, Fallen Jester, but know that you can not win. The punchline to your joke is long overdue, and your soul has belonged to me for quite some time now," his words are cold and uncaring, and in all the time Tim has known his boyfriend, he has never heard him speak like this: with a sense of lazy power, like he is only humoring the people around him.

Like they mean nothing to him.

"I will not kill you, or at least not here and now. My Guiding Star doesn't want to see my hands dirty with your filthy remains. Besides, death is only a moment, and you don't deserve only a moment of suffering," he huffs a short, humorless chuckle, "But, luckily, I am the Eyes of the Universe, the Titan's Bane, the King of the Dead, and everyone will meet me once their eyes fall shut for the last time," there's a smile in his voice now, full of cold and merciless anticipation. Tim feels a shiver run down his spine.

"So just you wait, Jester, and I will meet you on the other side. Then we'll see how whatever is left of your soul is going to spend an eternity."

Tim's ears are ringing with the pure, somehow gleeful hatred that laces those last words. He didn't know he could literally taste the disgust and the promise of pain, and yet, here he is, with a hint of something sour on his tongue.

And then, the heavy, weighted air that has been charged with power is lifted, the shadows and bright blue lights are all gone, and Danny, wearing his pj's and smiling, is standing over him. His feet are planted on the ground for once, and the Crown is gone without a trace, but his t-shirt is still trying to float up. The boy tugs it down again, offering a hand to Tim.

"Wanna go out for a burger since I'm already here in Gotham?"

Tim had never breathed easier in his life. He laughs a little and reaches up, taking his beautifully unhinged boyfriend's hand and standing up.

"I thought you'd never ask."

[shouyuus]

cheesy af but pussydrunk Vi accidentally mentioning marriage?

she... she would tho.

so painfully 18+, mndi, merry xmas to the gays and only the gays

just fucking you slow, after pulling a good few orgasms out of you already with her mouth and her fingers, after you've also made her eyes roll back with nothing but your tongue on her clit, your fingers reaching up to tug on her pierced nipples, the buds made that much more sensitive by the metal rods, her mind caught somewhere between her lips and the high cap of the ceiling in your dorm, the winter sun pale and timid, peering behind a sheaf of clouds, shining through the half-drawn blinds.

"fuck, sweet girl -- feel so good -- mmm --" she mumbles, not all that sure what she's even saying anymore, her hips rocking against you of it's own accord, her thumb pushed against the pad of your tongue as you moan around her finger, spit slicking across your lips.

"vi -- vi -- please, please, please --" you groan, hips bucking up weakly even as she rucks down over you, her breath breaking at the catch of your oversensitive clits rubbing against one another. she squeezes out a breath, frowning down at the mess of slick skin and reddening skin at the place where both your bodies connect, her mind a blissed out smear of want and love and not much else.

"feel so good, pretty, wanna make you cum again -- yeah? you want that?" she asks, hooking one of your legs over her shoulder, you tossing your head back into the sheets, fingers scrabbling at her thighs as she adjusts her angle and your cunts are slotting against each other in just the right way.

"wanna make you mine -- you mine, pretty girl? holy fuck --" and she's rambling, she knows she's rambling, the words just pouring from her before she has the chance to think them through, "all mine -- mmngh -- gonna be mine forever? yeah? god fuck, wanna fuck this pussy for the rest of my life -- you want that, pretty? wanna be mine forever? want me to wife you up? fuck yeah -- that'd be nice wouldn't it?"

you keen, the sound going straight to her clit as she gasps, and then you're cumming too, hard and fast, gushing against her, the peak of it so sudden she doesn't quite know what to do, but its so hot watching you come undone like this that it has her gasping a second later, her high hitting just has hard, her fingers digging into your thigh as she rides her her orgasm against you, even though you're oversensitive and twitching, she holds your hips, rocking into you till you're squirming, pushing weakly at her arms.

"holy shit vi..." you breathe, fighting to catch your breath.

vi chuckles, collapsing down next to you, an arm thrown casually over your middle as you cuddle in next to her.

after a few seconds you turn.

"d-did you mean it?"

"mean what, pretty girl?" she asks, turning slightly, her eyes still glazed out and dark, her cheeks bright with the glow of her recent orgasm. you lick your lips; she's so, so beautiful like this, fucked out and messy, and a little lovesick as she looks over your face.

"when you..." you gulp, "when you said you... wanted me to be yours... forever...?"

vi blinks at you for a few seconds before her pink cheeks stain an even darker shade of damson.

"holy fuck -- i -- sorry, i didn't know i said that out loud -- i didn't mean to --" she scrambles up, shaking her head. you chase her up, tugging on her arms.

"no, no! it's -- i mean -- i didn't mind -- i just --" you swallow, licking at your suddenly dry lips, "did you... did you really mean it?"

"i -- i don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable or anything but..." vi peers at you, almost shy as she twists her fingers in her lap, the blush now spreading down her neck into her chest and back. you bite back a giggle as you pillow your cheek on her shoulder.

"it... it doesn't make me uncomfy, i just... i just wanna know if you meant it."

vi licks her lips, glancing back at you.

"i-if i meant it... would you... would you say yes?"

you chew on the inside of your cheek, your eyes flickering up to meet hers.

a beat of silence passes between you before you smile, slow and indulgent.

"yeah. yeah... i would."

vi's expression breaks into shock, and then unbridled ecstasy. she stares at you, her eyes so wide they almost look like dinner plate, before she's dragging you forward into her lap, kissing you so hard you have to thump your fists against her chest to remind her to let you go.

"i -- sorry -- fuck -- that was -- i -- you -- god i love you so much, you know that?" she asks, cupping your cheeks and pressing her forehead to yours.

you laugh, toppling into her, the pair of you still naked, but the room is bubbling over with warmth.

"yeah, i know. i love you too, vi."

vi laughs, nodding, before she traces both thumbs along your cheeks and tilts your face up towards hers again.

"hey pretty girl... tell me again..."

you let out a shy little giggle, but vi holds you fast. her eyes soft on yours.

"will you marry me?"

you nod, your cheeks still squished between her palms, but your own hands find their way to her wrists as you turn to press a soft kiss to the pad of her hand.

"yes, vi. yes, i will."

[ellecdc]

her father's daughter

prompt from @unstablereader: Barty getting a mini Treasure but then they pull a face that's all him "nonono don't pull that face, don't pull that face. You're mum worked hard to give you such a cute face, don't ruin it. Much better."

dad!Barty Crouch Jr x mum!reader and their daughter who is very much his [666 words]

CW: kid fic, kid uses a sign for 'more', Barty being very concerned about being a dad but obviously throws his whole pussy into it, fluff

Barty never really planned on being a dad. Hells, he never really planned on being a partner, either. But then he went and fell in love - also never part of the plan - and he somehow found himself being both. 

More surprising, however? He bloody loved it. 

He loved being a husband; he loved cooking meals for his wife, he loved running you baths, he loved hearing about your day as you drew soft circles into his back as the two of you drifted off to sleep, he loved starting every day of his life with you and ending it in much the same way. He even loved fighting with you, knowing that it meant he got to grovel on his hands and knees to beg for your forgiveness. He loved being wrong, he loved you being right. He loved love. He loved you. 

And then you fell pregnant; not exactly planned but not entirely prevented either. He’d been shocked, quite frankly. Terrified; who was he to be bringing a new life into the world? Didn’t the world have enough arseholes in it? Didn’t the world suffer from enough ill equipped fathers who had no business being parents raising a new generation of ill equipped fathers? Quite frankly, it was irresponsible of Barty. Selfish. Dangerous. 

But, Barty was nothing if not a selfish bastard, and it was you; his wife, his love, his treasure, his entire world. 

And if you were having a baby? Well, fuck, so was Barty. 

And you were perfect, and beautiful, and graceful, and strong, and grew new life so elegantly that gods dammit, Barty didn’t think he’d entirely mind if you fell pregnant again. 

And then he met her; your daughter. His daughter. 

Though looking at her sweet, angelic face, Barty wondered if he could take any credit for her perfection at all; she was your carbon copy. An exact replica. Your little mini me. 

Barty was in love; she was perfect. 

And then she had to go and prove that she was, indeed, her fathers daughter. 

“Sorry, my love, we can’t have any more biscuits before dinner, okay?” He responded, smacking a kiss to her pudgy cheek before making to return his attention to the stove, only to notice his sweet, beautiful, perfect child pulling a face that did not suit her at all. 

“Whoa, whoa. No, no. Don’t do that.” Barty ordered, abandoning dinner to station himself in front of his daughter's highchair to level with her. “What’s that face for, hm?” 

She held her hand out in a sign signalling ‘more’. 

“You’ve had three, baby, and dinner’s almost ready!” 

And then - his beautiful, sweet, perfect, angelic daughter - actually huffed as she crossed her arms across her little chest and rolled her eyes!

Could babies even do that?!

Clearly, seeing as his baby just did. 

“No, no; don’t pull that face. Your mum worked so hard to give you such a cute face, yeah? Don’t ruin it.” He nearly begged, pressing a finger to each corner of her mouth as he tried to pull it back up into a smile. “Come on, smile for daddy, give daddy a smile.”

His cooing (and begging) seemed to work when her face lit up, eyes bright and dimples making an appearance when she squealed and banged her hands against the table in delight. 

“There’s my girl.” He sighed in relief, tickling her and pressing another kiss to her cheek before returning to his intended task of preparing dinner. “Listen, don’t tell mum, but after dinner I’ll give you three more biscuits, okay?” 

“Don’t tell mum what now?” You asked teasingly, suddenly standing behind your daughter's highchair and startling Barty into dropping the spoon into the sauce he’d been stirring. 

“Nothing! What? Salazar’s saggy balls. Hi treasure!” He rapid fired, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline as he tried to evade your piercing and perceptive gaze. 

His daughter's eyebrows were stationed high up on her forehead, too. 

Yup, she was definitely her father’s daughter.

[goqmir]

cis people reading this post, you should understand two things:

1) if you think you are being kind and have a good relationship with a trans person, and you misgender them or deadname them once or more every time you see them, you are not being kind, and you probably don't have as good of a relationship as you think.

why? because misgendering and deadnaming fucking hurts. it actually hurts more than you can comprehend. it hurts like hell. it hurts like you just got stabbed for real and i'm not joking and it never ever feels better.

so answer me this: if you wanted to hang out with someone you love, and every time you did so they stabbed you once or twice with a big sharp knife and it hurt like fucking hell and left a lasting wound on you, would you still go hang out with that person regularly? if not, why do you feel entitled that the trans person you have this relationship should come visit you, knowing that possibly more than once you'll deadname or misgender them? why are you putting a knife to their throat?

2) you actually, inherently, need to put in more effort about the little parts of speech, such as pronouns, names, and gendering words and phrases, when talking to a transgender person rather than a cisgender person. it's actually more effort. you need to take the time when talking to make sure you phrase things correctly so you aren't misgendering them or deadnaming them. because, as we've established, and even though it might be a simple mistake to you, it hurts like hell to them, like a knife entering their body.

cisgender people do not have this problem, so it's somewhat harder to hurt them in casual conversation by mixing up a pronoun (which is a common mistake when talking without thinking too much for anyone!). when talking to a trans person, you need to think about your words. every cis person i've ever met not only doesn't understand this, but feels entitled to not having to pay any more attention to gendering me correctly than any cis person. and that doesn't work, because cis people don't get stabbed by simple words that are easy to mix up. you gotta talk slower and more thoughtfully until gendering this person right is second nature and if you don't you will hurt them and they'll bleed and it will be entirely your fault.

trans people are not weak because they can be hurt by your carelessness-- rather, you are cruel for hurting them for it. and the only way to not hurt them is to stop and take a second to think about what you'll say before you say it to them. but no cis person i've ever met understands this. maybe you could be the first?

sometimes i see cis people say "trans people will understand if you misgender them at first. i call my nephew 'her' all the time and he knows i don't mean it" no he doesnt. he probably never hangs out with you for more than ten minutes because that's how long you can last in a conversation before making him feel like shit. also he thinks you're, best case scenario, stupid for not being able to figure it out, or worst case scenario, uncaring about him and his needs. he doesn't like spending time with you. you're deluding yourself into thinking you're far kinder than you are. you're weird man.

[bkgexe]

if all else fails, i was myself

bakugou x reader ✾ 4.6k

info! no smut sorry gang ✾ tw! trust issues that manifest as issues w physical intimacy/contact, dubcon in its vaguest definition (NOT bkg & reader) ✾ notes! ive been in perpetual writers block for months. is this trite idk. i miss my baby but anytime i write for him im like oops this is gonna be 60k words!!! so here is. a drabble lmao. also big lmao moment this is titled after count me out by kendrick lamar ldskfjdlkjf which was on repeat while writing so uh sorry mr. lamar abt the mha fanfic

katsuki has always known that part of him is wrong.

he’s never liked being touched. every kiss he’s experienced has made him tense as an elevator cable poised to snap. any attempt to go further than that has made him a little ill, made his gut feel like a stack of loose papers being torn to shreds, slow and loud.

it doesn’t help that he’s only ever had three kisses in his life: eijirou at a new year’s party (too many teeth), eijirou again at another new year’s party nearly a decade later (too much tongue), and then his fourth date with kyoka (when he tried to convince himself he just had to push through the discomfort to become normal).

things went further than that. it was a mistake. they both knew it right after it happened—kyoka first, and then katsuki after his head stopped pounding with what if i'm doing this wrong what if she's pitying me for fucking this up what if i don't know how to touch another person correctly what if i was supposed to learn at some point and i missed it how could i fucking miss it will it always be like this because i can't do this again i can't i don't—

“kat," she said after. she looked at him with something only a few degrees removed from pity, and poorly removed at that.

he attempted a halting non-apology. he attempted a real apology. failed at both.

"it's okay, you know," she said. "to not like it."

he scoffed even though he wasn’t entirely clear on what she meant by it, because there was so much he didn’t like. “i like it just fine.”

“if that was liking it, I’m honestly worried about your capacity for enjoying life in general.” it wasn’t a joke. her bluntness was something that'd made katsuki think he could push his boundaries with her. all of her thoughts were laid out plain for him to read, an open-source journal. “i'm just saying you don't have to like it. and you don’t have to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. don't fuck yourself over for someone else's happiness.”

kyoka still texts him often, checks in, invites him to drinks with their friends. she’s kind. she’s normal. she doesn’t have this weird, shredded thing inside her that makes her balk at the idea of someone’s hand on her skin. that makes her think she's doing something wrong, even if she's not the one that initiated the touch.

when you started your job at the front desk of katsuki’s agency, he never thought that he'd be here, wishing above everything that he could just be normal. just for one fucking day, so he could laugh at your shitty jokes and maybe brush his knuckles across the back of your hand in passing and take you on a date where he could kiss you in his car after driving you home and the thought wouldn’t make his skin crawl, wouldn't tear up his insides to pulp.

because he fucked everything up. he's standing in his empty office where you'd been spending time with him and he fucked it up and hurt you and he's not sure how to unfuck it.

the thing is, he could grin and bear it. he could deal with the odd thing inside him that hates the contact and white-knuckle it through every kiss, every caress. but he’s never been a great actor. he wouldn’t be able to hide that from you.

(kyoka told him, years later, that it’s not that the sex itself wasn’t fine—what made it nearly unbearable for her was the fact that she could tell, only after it was too late, that being physically vulnerable with her pained him far more than he was willing to reveal.)

no one wants to feel like the person they’re with is grinning and bearing it. that they’re white-knuckling it through. katsuki knows this. he knows he’s basically a fucking virgin all but in title at thirty and that he’s got the personality of a dried-out fig you find in your fridge weeks after its last edible moments. he doesn't have much to offer.

but he walked into work one day and nodded at you, curt, a grimace on his face—and you smiled at him so kindly that his stomach twisted.

with you, it wasn't the feeling of something being torn apart. it was different, lighter. leaves wrenched into the sky by a strong breeze. still a kind of tearing, but different—less destructive.

he was wearing a deep carmine sweater his mom sent him in one of her bi-monthly care packages (as if he’s not an adult, and a pro-hero on top of that), and you said, “that’s such a nice color on you. is it new?”

there was that breeze inside his chest, strong, pulling at his bones. “yeah,” he grunted. then slowly, as if remembering how: “thanks.”

it was the attention, he thought at first, that piqued his interest. he wasn't used to it. people always watched him from afar, and he had fans online that were borderline obsessive, but people didn’t approach him. they didn’t say that’s such a nice color on you. they didn’t smile the way you smile.

he’s always had a shallow streak. it’s not like he doesn’t know this. it’s become a little muted over time, a little discouraged by the visible scarring on his face and body from his time in the field, but it’s never fully been eradicated. so it was simple, he thought. you paid him attention and stroked his ego, and he preened like a self-obsessed bird of paradise.

and then you started making these little origami whale sharks.

fucking stupid. it bothered him an annoying amount. you had a bunch at your desk, all different colors and sizes, some taped to your desktop monitor, some hung up with little pieces of string under the desk's storage overhang. you drew dots on the back of each one, a distinct spotted pattern that was unique for each shark. and you made them for everyone but him. eijirou bought you a pack of high quality origami paper and you made him his own fucking school, all with little faces, winking or surprised or angry, their wide paper mouths gaping and empty, the lines of their bodies pressed careful and sure.

he hated it. it was annoying and a waste of company time and he usually didn’t ever use dumb corporate slogans like “a waste of company time” but you were really pushing his fucking limits.

it was definitely just the attention he liked, he told himself, because surely someone doing something as dumb as this would annoy him to no fucking end if he spoke to them.

and then he spoke to you and he was wrong.

he asked why you made the damn things in the first place and you told him, “i like whale sharks. but to be totally honest, i just run out of things to do."

and he saw that as a challenge. you were running out of things to do? rest assured he could find more shit for you to take care of. so he did. tasks that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, they were so dull and time-consuming. and you were so achingly competent that it drove him up a fucking wall. you completed everything he asked of you in half the time it would take someone else, and you always reported back with a smile, and you always did good work, and he could see himself having a conversation with you about something other than work but he didn't want to try because he was worried he'd begin to like you as a person.

you're pretty. really fucking pretty. he can see that now, and he sure as fuck saw it then. you're hardworking. you're just likeable, and that's something katsuki had never been. it (reluctantly) impressed him. worse than that, it turned his feelings for you into a sort of interest.

but he knows he's not normal when it comes to things like this.

he tried to distance himself from you because of it, but it turns out that asking someone to do work for you means you do have to speak to them sometimes. and sometimes turned into a lot of times.

sometimes turned into bringing him coffee in the morning, not because he asked you to, but because you're sweet like that. sometimes turned into being the person he bounced ideas off of when he had a board meeting coming up or something otherwise boring and meticulous. sometimes turned into you laughing at his prickly comments rather than going quiet because of them. turned into you saying suck it up, dynamight, this is what it means to be the boss when he complained about doing paperwork.

sometimes turned into staying late with him at the office, getting take out for the two of you to share while you finished filing claims and damage reports and other stuff he hated taking care of by himself. sometimes turned into him asking you to stay late just because he wanted you there. because even when he was quiet, you'd tell him about your day, about things that happened in the office, about how much you like the book you'd both been reading. he loved listening to you talk. felt comfortable enough to tell you things about himself when he'd never felt comfortable doing that before.

sometimes turned into you holding out a piece of fried tofu from your take-out container for him to eat while he was approving time-off forms that he should have looked at much earlier that week, and you being so close that he could notice how good you smelled, and the warmth of your body basically radiated towards him, like all your energy was focused on him, and your smile was small but somehow even more lovely than usual, a secret for him to tuck away and keep, and when you finished feeding him and he had a little sauce on the corner of his mouth and you reached forward to wipe it off for him and your hand lingered there for a moment and your eyes fell to his lips and what if you try to kiss me and i'm wrong and you hate me for it and what if i can't give you what you want and what if i'm not actually what you want what if i've disappointed you already what if—

it was too much.

so he fucked it up. your thumb was so soft against his skin. he reeled backwards in his chair, rolling it whole feet clear of you, and he felt the tearing again, the bad kind, like paper unevenly shredded by clumsy hands, and he had to leave. he had to leave. he needed to leave so badly that it felt like pulling his skin off would be preferable to being in that office with you.

hiding in the bathroom was fucking pitiful. he remembered his breathing exercises. he remembered to ground himself. and when he came back to his office, you were gone.

if he was normal—and he wants to be normal, god fucking damn—he could have stomached your proximity. he could have eaten out of your fucking hand. he could have touched you back like a normal person probably would have and he wouldn't be here, alone, looking at a little purple sticky note you left him that says i finished organizing the pto forms. i hope you feel better!

he doesn't know whose pride you're trying to save with that. as if you didn't leave because he made things so fucking awkward by running away from you when you touched him. when you—maybe, if he was reading the room correctly—were about to kiss him.

and you don't speak to him for days. he doesn't want to push so he doesn't—just watches you out of the corner of his eye whenever you're both in the same room, which is arguably worse. he's not sure. he's just itching to fucking talk to you because he misses it.

he misses you. in a more-than-friends way.

it takes a while for him to realize this. when he does, it hits him like a metal rod up the side of the head. it's fucked up of him to miss you the way he does when he doesn't feel like he can provide you with the things a normal person could. and though he's worked on his patience over the years—worked on understanding that he can't have everything he wants—it doesn't stop him from being selfish and finally pulling you aside to talk.

and baffling as fucking ever, the first thing you say is sorry. "i know i should've talked to you about it earlier. i just—i shouldn't have done that. and i know it. i shouldn't have assumed that—i don't know. that you..."

you look helpless. it's one of the very few times that katsuki has ever felt the compulsion to touch someone. not because he wants the touch, per se, but because he wants to be able to provide comfort. he never figured out how to do that with words. he's so focused on his inability to comfort you that he barely has any idea of what you're actually talking about. instead of doing anything at all, he just stands there like a fuckwad.

"i just want you to know that i would never—like never—have touched you, or tried to... if i didn't think there was like, a vibe?" you shake your head, exasperated with yourself. "god, even that sounds so bad. i'm sorry, i just—"

"wait, what are—?" and then it clicks, because he's been slow on the uptake figuring out his shit when he should have been focusing way more on yours. "there was..." katsuki says, and he fucking hates that he can't find better words for what you were both feeling in his office, "a vibe."

the way your face changes when you're flustered is one of katsuki's favorite things, but it's not as enjoyable when he feels just as flustered as you look. "i—oh? so... so you—?"

his ears feel like they're being attacked by two heated straightening irons and he knows they're red as hell right now. he's gonna have to say this plainly even though he'd rather get his teeth pulled out one by one with a pair of pliers. "it's not you."

your expression loses any sort of hope it once held. you press your lips together and sigh, maybe a little exasperated. he's doing his best here but he knows his best is shit. "i can handle a non-cliché rejection," you tell him. "honestly, i'd prefer a non-cliché rejection—"

"i'm not trying to reject you," he says, and it's selfish of him. because he's really not. he isn't comfortable with the things you'd want from him, but he still wants you in some capacity. "i just don't—do shit like that."

"kissing?"

somehow knowing for sure that you did want to kiss him in his office makes him want you more. he likes that you're bold. he likes that you're not ashamed of that. he wants to be different than he is. "any... of it," he struggles to admit.

"at all?"

he nods.

"just—like touching, and stuff?"

it sounds so juvenile that he can't help but laugh through his nose, roll his eyes. "yeah. touching and stuff."

"oh."

you're disappointed. of course you are. it's not like he expected anything different, but—sometimes he fucking hates his life. hates that he can't be the thing people need him to be. hates that trying is so difficult, that it flings his stomach into space, like a throwing stone skipping across a still lake.

"so you don't go on dates, or anything."

"haven't tried."

"do you not want to?" you ask, and he can tell it's more of a genuine question than anything. you're curious about him, like you always are. it's more than he deserves, for all he can offer.

"doesn't make sense to."

"that's not what i asked."

it's not. and so katsuki listens as you ask your question again, and he really takes a moment to think.

considering the answer to your question leads him to his first date with you. and his second, and his third—his fourth, and he's keenly aware that his last fourth date ended with what he expects all dates are supposed to end with.

he takes you to the aquarium. because of all the fucking origami whale sharks. you still haven't given him one and it sticks in his craw like a bone. in front of the backlit tank that holds sharks of all types, shapes and sizes and teeth he's never pictured possible of a living creature before, he asks, "why sharks?"

you look at him, brow raised. "i don't know. they probably needed the biggest tank in the aquarium. and this looks like the biggest tank."

"no, dumbass—your sharks. the ones all over the fuckin' office."

"what, you don't like them?" you ask, but you're smiling, sly.

he shrugs. he thinks they're dumb as hell. he wants one to hang up at work, like the ones you've got hung up at your desk. "they're whatever. they clutter the fuck out of ei's office. and he's already got issues organizing." you've just made eijirou so many at his point, and it's getting ridiculous. "but what—are they easy to make, or something?"

you laugh a little. "no. not at all, actually." a whale shark swims by, its spotted hide shimmering in the tank's eerie blue lighting, and you watch it intently. "but it'd be boring if it was too easy."

this date ends with him walking you home from the aquarium a few blocks from your apartment and you smiling at him and telling him that you had a really great time, and he feels like a fucking freak because you don't even expect more. you don't wait for a kiss. don't look disappointed that he doesn't try to give you one. the way you look at him holds so much affection that he doesn't deserve and he has no idea how to reciprocate it to you, and somehow he lands on, "make me one."

"one what?" you ask, but he thinks you already know what he's asking. you like to play coy. he likes it when you play coy. when you're enjoying yourself.

"one of your little fuckin' paper things," he mutters, because admitting that he wants one of those dumbass sharks feels somehow demeaning. he doesn't want you to know how much he's wanted one. "ei's got a million of 'em."

your hand was on your door handle, but it falls to your side. he's keenly aware of its proximity to him. he doesn't feel that terrible ripping in his gut and its absence is almost frightening to him. your fingers tighten into a fist. it's cold out. "ah, and you're jealous?"

"no," he says, knee-jerk. "i just don't get why everyone gets one but me."

you smile when he says this and he could live in this image of you, delicate and small and made for him. he goes home and thinks about it until he falls asleep. thinks about it even beyond then, feels that strong breeze inside him tearing every leaf from its grounded perch.

here's the thing—nothing against jirou, but unlike his other fourth date, this one was enjoyable. more than. he loved watching you be amazed by the size of the whale sharks, and he loved watching you put a bunch of coins into the penny press and cranking the machine until one was squeezed out into the pattern you wanted, and he loved watching you lay your hand against the glass where the rubbery wings of a flood of stingrays battled for your attention, and—

he loved watching you. that's weird, right? he sounds like a fucking lunatic thinking that.

but he does. he hadn't realized until now how difficult it had been not only to touch people, but to look at them. maintaining eye contact, watching someone do a simple task out of interest instead of staring them down in an attempt to intimidate them. he's so much more fucked up than he thought but what makes it bearable is that he can do it with you. he can watch the way you enjoy things and feel like he's not intruding on something he shouldn't. without even trying, you make him feel welcome—wanted.

that's it. you make him feel wanted.

the realization affects him in a way he doesn't understand. at work the next day, when you smile at him over the top of the front desk, he feels something incredibly strong—something like instinct—that tells him to touch you. small. a thumb brushed across your cheek. his fingers grazing yours. he wants it in a way that can't be right because he's never wanted to touch someone like this.

he doesn't do it, but he thinks about it all day. your little smiles when you notice him watching you on your dates, the way your fingers graze your lips when you cover your laugh, the softness in the way you regard him. you're quiet, reserved, but when you laugh you laugh hard. he wants your soft, your quiet and your loud, he wants the feeling of your fingers on his lips, he wants your smallest smiles, all things he wishes he could fold up and keep and later display somewhere he can always see them. a school of paper fish, gaping mouths and drawn-on spots and such carefully pressed lines.

so on the eleventh date—(he knows it's ridiculous to count, but he's never spent this much time with one person before, not like this)—he reaches for your hand when you're walking alongside the bay, the air turning cold in the wake of the sunset that the two of you had just witnessed. that's romantic, you'd teased when he asked you to watch it with him. he'd rolled his eyes, shrugged you off.

but maybe he wanted it to be romantic. maybe he wanted to make this as normal as possible for you because nothing has been normal between the two of you so far.

you pull back when he reaches for you, as if on instinct. look up at him, confused, when he reaches out again. "katsuki..." you say, and it sounds as if he's done something wrong.

he tries not to let his brain spiral but thoughts drip inwards. water meeting a dented hull. what has he done this time? what else has he fucked up by being fundamentally wrong?

"you know..." you start, and you lose your words.

he thinks of kyoka, years ago. it's okay, you know. to not like it. he wonders if you'll still text him like she does.

your lips pull into a frown before you speak and katsuki can't breathe. "i was never gonna ask on my own because i know you don't like talking about things like this if you don't bring it up. but—um. katsuki—do you think i expect something from you?"

"huh?" he asks, dumb. breathing is still something he fails to do.

"i know that this is—different. i know you have some things going on that make the physical part hard for you." you look up at him so earnestly, and he loves looking at you. he loves looking at you and doesn't want to have to stop and he's worried that this is it. the moment he'll have to stop. you try to smile and it's small and he wants it all for himself. careful. delicate. secret, for him. "i'm not gonna lie to you. i don't know what a relationship without that kind of stuff looks like. but that doesn't mean i'm not willing to find out. it's—i don't need you to try to do something you think i want you to do."

"i'm not."

"it makes me feel a little sick, kat. honestly. it makes me feel like, i don't know—like i'm taking advantage of you, or something—"

"you're not."

"you don't have to do things like that to keep me around." you look flustered, eyes darting from his face to the skyline. "if you want me, i'm—you know."

it's okay, you know. "i don't know."

"i'm yours," you say, and cringe immediately at your words. "or like—i could be, you know, kind of whatever you wanted, if you—if that's what you want. would want."

katsuki can only remember a few times when his head was this quiet in the presence of someone else. when he trusted someone enough to let his mind go blank, to let himself act on instinct. "can i kiss you?"

you sigh. "this is what i was saying. i don't want you to—"

"no," he says, quiet, and he's closer to you than he's ever been. he likes the way you smell. he's not gonna apologize if that's weird. "i just want—god, i feel pathetic asking again. can i just—?"

just, just, just. just a touch, just a kiss, just a moment of your fucking time—it's all he wants. and he's never wanted like this. he's never trusted like this. his head has never quieted entirely because he's so sure that he's not going to disappoint you, or be something you don't actually want, or be wrong.

you've shown him that he can't be wrong with you, regardless of whether or not something within him is broken.

your lips are warm, a little chapped from the dry air, and he tries to remember what kissing chastely is but it's like something breaks in him further the second the two of you touch. his hands are cradling your face, his tongue is gliding against your tongue, his teeth are clacking against your teeth, and he knows the kiss is bad and wrong and messy but he suddenly needs it. he needs to feel you.

you make a noise against him and worry slices into his stomach before he realizes it's a quiet, breathy moan, and maybe you've been okay without the touch but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy it when you receive it. he can tell he hasn't made his boundaries clear enough—your hands circle his wrists, too cautious to go further, too hesitant to grip him like he thinks you want to. like he wants you to want to.

his teeth hit yours again and you laugh, and he pulls back, stomach tight. there's a hope in him that's ready to be torn.

you see it in his face—the fear. "i love kissing you," you blurt out, as if it's the only reassurance you can think of in the moment. "i mean—you're just." you laugh again, and he realizes it's nerves. you're just as nervous as he is. "can i—can we go somewhere warm? and maybe do this more? or—if this was enough—"

he's pulling you towards his apartment before you can get another word out.

kissing you is easy because you make him feel like it's relatively new for you as well. maybe that's how it feels for everyone every time, but he wouldn't know. he just feels comfortable with you. like you're not so much better than him, like you're not waiting to laugh at him when he fucks up, like you're touching him because you really want to.

so he takes you to his apartment and puts you on his couch and kisses you until your back is against the armrest and he's looming over you and you feel comfortable enough that your hands stray from his wrists to his shoulders to his hair and he didn't even know touching someone could feel like this.

put aside the fact that he's nearly finished in his fucking jeans three times just from your fingers running across his back, from the way you cup his cheek when he pulls back for air because he keeps forgetting to breathe—just having you close is intoxicating. he wants to bury his face in the curve of your shoulder, he wants to bite marks into your skin that'll stay vibrant for weeks, he wants to etch himself into you so deeply that he doesn't have to leave. these wants aren't even sexual—it's something about having you be his. i'm yours, you'd told him, and he hadn't even known that it would be exactly what he needed to hear.

he's in love with you, which isn't shocking to him, but he knows he shouldn't be in love with you yet because people that aren't fucked up in the head don't feel shit like this so quickly. he's not gonna tell you this for a very long time, but he knows—so completely and confidently—that he will reach a point when he can tell you.

"you sure you want this?" he asks, breathy, between kisses.

you stop kissing him, brows raised in surprise. "katsuki, we don't... this is a lot for one night. we can take it slow, still."

"that's—i'm not talking about that." he gives in, then—lets himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, lets himself breathe in deep, lets himself find your hands and intertwine your fingers, and you can probably feel that he's hard as fucking metal for you but that's not what's important right now. it sure as hell makes it awkward to try to have a serious conversation, though. "you sure you wanna deal with all... you know. my stuff."

"are you sure you wanna deal with all of my stuff?" you counter, and he pulls back to look at you. kissed rotten and smiling. "of course i want to deal with it. i like you."

and he likes you too. god, he likes you so fucking much.

the next morning, long after you've left for home, he finds a little orange whale shark hidden behind the alarm clock on his bedside table, stars in the place of eyes, and the trace of you is enough to make him feel warm. to hope that over time his apartment becomes full of the little paper creatures until his home is its own aquarium, until everywhere he looks is a memory of all you've brought him—pieces of you, perfectly arranged and delicately folded by your careful hands, much too gentle to tear.

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

come back. l Joel Miller

Summary: first steps together

Warnings:  +18, smut, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that), Ellie is mean to Joel

A/N: I guess I'm not done with them yet. Sorry!

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

Everything was getting out of control, or maybe that's how it was supposed to be. Maybe he had already forgotten what it was like to lose control over himself, to be carried away by the moment and emotions, when instincts take over you, when you're a little selfish. Now it was all happening at once and Joel felt like a hurricane was raging in his body.

Your lips tasted of sweet wine, he felt the curves of your body under his hands, your fingers were intertwined in his hair. And he felt amazing. 

You were sitting astride his lap. The dress you were wearing was rolled up enough so that Joel's hands had access to your thighs.

Holy shit! Everything he had closed so tightly years ago was now exploding with new force.

He invited you to dinner, to spend the evening as if the world outside the walls of Jackson hadn't gone crazy, and you were just two people close to each other. When you showed up at his door in that dress, Joel believed that this could really happen.

You looked different than usual. You were a little embarrassed, it had been years since you last wore something nice. Joel's reaction was also specific, he was totally surprised and had a hard time greeting you.

And now you were on this couch, and his tongue was deep in your throat. Big, strong hands squeezed your buttocks, and you moaned feeling the hard bulge in his jeans under you.

"Wait." he whispered, pulling away from your lips for a moment, his hair was already a total mess from your hands. "Are you sure you want this?"

"Joel..." you sighed, smiling. "Do you think I would wear a dress if I wasn't sure?"

You saw him swallow. The last parts of his brain were trying to fight something he wanted so badly. He saw your glazed eyes, swollen lips, you were breathing deeply and your chest was heaving gently.

"Don't you like me?" Your question tore him from his stream of thoughts.

He grabbed your hand and slid it between your bodies where his hard cock was trying to get out of his jeans. You smiled and bit your lower lip feeling the hard shape under your fingers.

"That's a nice compliment." you stated "Please, Joel... I've been thinking about you for so long. Don't make me wait."

"Were you thinking about me?" he asked and you nodded eagerly.

"I didn't want to tell you anything though. We were friends, partners. Besides, Ellie was with us. I didn't want to, I didn't want to say something that you wouldn't reciprocate, and I would ruin what we had."

"Fuck, darling." he sighed, with difficulty pulling your hand away from his crotch. Just a little more and he would have exploded into his jeans like a fucking teenager. "I- I thought about you too. So many times..."

"Did you touch yourself then?" he looked at you surprised. "Once, when you were on watch, I woke up and I think I heard you. I didn't want to disturb you, but then I heard my name and..."

Joel cleared his throat. "Yeah, I guess I did. It's embarrassing."

"It's sexy." you corrected him and kissed him hard so he would definitely believe your words. "Take me to your bed, Joel."

You didn't have to repeat it a second time.

Although Joel had seen you naked before, he had never seen you like this. His eyes took you all in. When the dress fell to the floor, his heart stopped for a moment, then started racing.

"What do you think?" you asked uncertainly.

He was unable to answer, his voice caught in his throat. Instead, his hands rested on your face and he kissed you hard. Your fingers unbuttoned his shirt and soon moved to his chest.

Joel couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like this. Gently, with feeling. Your closeness and tenderness were peeling off layers of him, and it wasn't just about clothes. 

You stumbled backwards and your legs hit the edge of the bed. Joel slowly laid you down, and then his eyes moved over your entire body.

"Stunning." He said quietly, and you could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth.

He slowly unbuckled the belt on his jeans and slid them down, his dark eyes never leaving your face. Without a word, his hands reached for the edges of your panties and slid them too.

Your skin was already so sensitive that every touch of his was felt by you even more strongly. You had never felt anything like this before.

Joel climbed onto the bed and closed you between his broad shoulders. Your lips found each other again. The heat radiating from his body was overwhelming and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. You wanted to feel him next to you, on you, inside you, in every way possible.

Only him.

Kisses went down to your neck and cleavage, you moaned softly as he squeezed your breast.

"You're perfect..." he whispered "So fucking perfect..."

"Joel, please..." you moaned.

You needed anything to help you, to give you relief, from the growing arousal between your thighs. And he gave it to you. The same hand slid down your hip and found your hot center, you were already wet and slippery with desire.

"For me?" Joel smiled slyly, and you felt the heat creep up your neck.

"Please..."

The colossal fingers slid over your folds and soon you felt a pleasant pressure as they slid into your heated core.

"Fuck, baby..." Joel looked in awe where his fingers disappeared inside you "You wrap them so well. I can't wait to be inside you."

You couldn't answer. The feeling was overwhelming, you would never be able to give yourself something like that. Joel's fingers seemed to find all the spots in you that made your head spin. You gasped as his warm lips captured your nipple, sucking hard. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling it harder than you intended. You were so close...

"I'm holding you, baby girl." his warm breath on your sternum "Let it go."

He lightly bit your other breast, his fingers sliding in and out of you harder and harder and soon you were tightening your legs around his hand as the pleasure flooded your body.

"Fuuuuck!" you moaned, arching your back.

Joel had never seen you more beautiful. He wanted more. To see, to feel, to taste, to experience. With you. 

He slid down his boxers, and his hard, swollen cock appeared in full. Joel grabbed it at the base and rubbed your juices along its entire length.

"It's been a while." he said, noticing your gaze. "I can...fuck... I might not last long."

"I don't care, Joel." you said. "I want to feel you. This is enough for me. I want you to cum too."

The head of his cock brushed against your entrance. For a moment you felt anxiety whether he would fit, whether you would be enough for him, but then you felt him start to slide into you. Inch by inch. 

Your walls stretched and took him inside, your hands tightened around his strong shoulders. When Joel entered all the way, you both froze for a moment. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, breathing deeply.

"Fuck..." he sighed "I didn't expect this, give me a moment."

"Take as much as you need." You replied, stroking his shoulders. "You feel wonderful. You fill me completely."

After a short moment, his hips moved. He pulled out a little and pushed, as if to see if he could hold out. You pulled your legs up, and he tightened his grip on your thigh, then lifted his head and looked straight into your eyes. You didn't need words.

Joel's movements were steady, aimed straight at that spot he found inside you, that made you fall apart under his hands. He wanted to see it again, he wanted to feel you clenching around his cock now. Your panting mixed with the dirty sounds of skin slapping against skin, with how wet you were as he entered you at that steady pace.

You pulled his face to yours, kissing him hard. A hot tongue slipped between your lips and you moaned, but he silenced you well. He hit you harder, the air flew out of your lungs. Again and again. 

You woke up everything in him, between your thighs he could find fulfillment and redemption, he wanted it all, and you gave it to him with pleasure.

Another orgasm was building inside you incredibly fast.

"Joel..." you moaned.

He rested his arms on either side of you and didn't slow down. His eyes were black as night, he wanted to see you lose yourself in him again. He needed it.

"Give it to me again, baby. Don't hold back." he panted.

You didn't have a chance to answer. Another wave flooded your body and all your senses. Your eyes rolled back, you almost bit your lip. Joel didn't slow down, even though he was already close to the edge.

"Fuck!' he groaned loudly and pulled out of you.

His seed spurted onto your lower abdomen in hot streams. Although he was breathing deeply, he felt like he was constantly out of breath. He squeezed his eyelids shut trying to calm down. Only your delicate hand, which rested on his cheek, brought him back to life.

"Shit, baby..." he mumbled "I'll clean it up right away. I didn't think that... That was..."

You lifted yourself up and kissed him, and Joel returned the kiss with pleasure. You felt the smile that appeared on his lips and you smiled to yourself. 

This was it. This was the guy who was always there for you, who always gave you his arm as support, who shielded you with his body, who was there for you. He was everything.

His heart gave a strange throb when, going downstairs, he heard familiar chatter in the kitchen. Ellie was delighted with something and was telling you about something, and the pleasant smell of breakfast and coffee filled the house.

His clean shirt clung to his still damp body, and his hair was still wet, even though he had combed it back. When he woke up next to you in the morning, he couldn't help himself. You were still a bit sleepy when he slid into you, but you welcomed him with pleasure. 

It was slow, tender and gentle. He imagined mornings like this when he allowed his thoughts to be carefree for a moment. After everything, he pulled you into the shower, where his hands shamelessly explored your body. He didn't know the words to describe what he felt.

When he went down to the kitchen, Ellie's gaze immediately landed on him. A victorious smile appeared on her face.

"I see the evening was a success." she said, and seeing Joel frowned, she quickly added "Can you still do these things, old man?" 

You barely managed to stop yourself from bursting out laughing and were glad that you were standing with your back to Joel, making him coffee. Ellie was probably going to give him hell.

"That's none of your business, kid." Joel grumbled.

"I hope you're wrapping yourself up, because I'm not going to babysit your kids." she added. "You have to be a fucking responsible adult, Joel."

"Can you... Fuck!"

You quickly turned around and put the cup of coffee in front of him, giving him a gentle smile. Ellie looked at both of you and shook her head.

"I think I'll go now." she said, standing up and putting the last piece of toast in her mouth. "The atmosphere is getting stuffy."

"It's not getting stuffy at all." Joel replied, but she was already putting on her jacket.

"Wrap yourself up!"

"Ellie!"

The girl smiled at him widely, seeing that she hit all the soft spots and quickly gathered her things. Soon the front door slammed and her footsteps echoed on the porch.

"Don't be mad at her, she loves to tease you." you said seeing Joel roll his eyes "She was happy to see me here this morning."

"The house was empty without you, she wasn't the only one who missed your presence."

He walked up to you, his hands resting on your waist. You were wearing some of your old clothes and he wished it was yesterday's dress. You looked so good in it.

"I'm glad you stayed," he said.

"Me too." you replied stroking his cheek, he kissed the inside of your wrist tenderly and you smiled "Are you hungry? I made breakfast."

"Come back here." Joel interrupted you, a small wrinkle appearing between your eyebrows "Move back here. I don't want another morning without you, it was torture."

"Joel..." your lips lightly brushed his "Are you sure? Maybe we shouldn't..."

"I'm fucking sure. Listen, I've wasted a lot of time. I don't want to do this anymore. When you left..." he sighed as if he remembered something really bad "It wasn't just this house that was empty, you know."

"I felt the same way. I was hurt, but I couldn't stop thinking about you or Ellie. You're all I have."

"So come back to us. To me. Please..."

Your smile was the answer he needed. He leaned in, kissing you hard. That day, he felt like he was finally alive.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi

[ocean-of-junk]

My original PhD Dr is about 50-60 years old always with the lose weight prognosis.

Then I got a FNP-C/FAMILY NURSE PRACTITIONER that works under her who is like early 30s and bro did I get the care I needed and she is more than happy to help me figure out my post covid shit ass body. And has never once said or implied that I need to lose weight.

Currently I weigh 330lbs

On my part though I make sure I reference medical research papers and not just pissvortex on Tumblr when bringing forth my findings and observations.

And we figure out what we can do.

And I figured out that constant feeling of hunger I've had all my life is one of the main drivers for my anxiety. The human body is not prepared to live in a world with easy access to food and still thinks you gotta eat every precious berry you come upon.

That being said I did get put on bupropion xl and boy does that shit work. That side effect of smoking cessation also works for food. I've lost 30lbs in two months because I can intermittent fast no problem now.

I once stopped taking all my meds to observe myself and BOY did I feel like eating my own flesh from how insanely hungry I felt even after I had just eaten, I also had the insanely strong desire to steal food. Like bro this instinct is no joke.

Here's my food schedule after bupropion

Wake: protein bar and maybe coffee because I take All my meds in the morning and they make me nauseous on an empty stomach. On my days off I'll eat an actual breakfast but it's usually eggs and sausage or something.

cheese or protein bar (more than 10g of protein) or handful of nuts and dried fruits w/honey or cane sugar if I feel energy deficient through out the day.

5-7pm eat whatever the fuck I want.

7pm-bedtime Greek yogurt with cinnamon, honey, and chopped fruit with Splenda if it needs to be sweetened up a little bit more. I use the tiniest spoon I have, because it's cute, fun, and takes me longer to eat, thus satisfying my desire. Protip DO NOT put it in separate dish or you will feel the need to refill the dish once it's empty and that will make you feel sad.

Also use a tiny cup to drink anything that isn't water, you'll be a lot more satisfied than just gulping it down.

I have an alarm on my phone at 7pm just in case I do forget to eat.

I don't count calories because fuck that micromanaging bs.

Anyway hope this helps someone out there.

it’s also fucked up that fat people literally fear going to the doctor for anything because they know the first thing out of their dr’s mouth no matter what their ailment is, is gonna be “lose weight lol” broken leg? lose weight. rash? lose weight. whooping cough? lose weight binch!!!!! like we get it. but can you just write my prescription you bitch so i can go eat a salad and not call you again until im about to die of the plague????

[vhswolf]

McLaren Christmas Dinner | Landoscar x Reader

Warnings: none I think, just a jealous Oscar wanting to go home

It's time for the big McLaren dinner party, the dinner I thought I wasn't going to participate in. I've been dating Lando and Oscar for a couple of months now, it was something that was difficult to know if it was going to be a great idea or an awful one, none of us had done this before, dating one person is hard to imagine two and imagine one of them being your teammate. Even everything being a recipe for disaster, we made it work. But the idea of going to a full on McLaren celebration was off my mind until Lando said we need to have a meeting (a stupid way we had to say that we needed to talk).

"I'm the bringer... bringer? I bring an idea for you two."

"We're listening." I said, cuddling up on Oscar's arm as Lando stood in front of us with a big smile on his face.

"Since we can bring a plus one to the McLaren dinner, what about we bring our girl?" Lando said like it was an obvious idea.

"I agree." Oscar said.

"Agree? Boys, are you guys thinking? That's a bad idea." I said sitting up.

"Why?"

"Because people will want to know who I'm, and you're going to say what? Our girlfriend? I don't think PR would approve of me being girlfriend of one of you."

"We can say you're our mutual friend." Osc said.

"Handsy like the two of you are? I don't see this working."

"You're overthinking it, babe." Lando sat by my side. "First of all, we can keep our hands to ourselves if needed and nobody will be there to out us, because if they do, they lose their job."

"And, they wouldn't believe we got luck enough to date you." Osc said, and Lan nodded.

"Yes, Osc is right and to be honest they think Osc is too boring to even try anything like this."

"I'm listening, Lando."

"I'm not saying it, McLaren people are, and come on, you look like a church boy, Oscar." Oscar rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Whatever, they won't figure anything, love, we promise you."

"This is risky as fuck."

"We just want to show up our girl a little bit, can you please go?"

"I'll go, but if anything happens, you both are the ones going to the PR meetings, not me."

"Deal." They both said together.

I got a gala worth dress, it was one of the Clio Peppiatt ones, and I asked for them to personalize it with a little McLaren logo in papaya, it was so beautiful, popping out in the middle of the whole black and silver dress. Both of my boys in black suits, Oscar with a traditional tie in dark dark midnight blue, and Lan with a black bow tie, both looking like a Disney prince. The two drivers were stopping at every step talking to everyone, I was a bit behind, not wanting to be seen by anyone, but it didn't work for long.

"This is (Y/n)." I heard my name as I was looking around, completely lost in my own thoughts. I looked at them and saw Zak Brown looking at me, so I smiled.

"Hi."

"Hello, nice to meet you." He looked at both boys and back at me. "So, you're friends with my drivers? How come I never saw you?"

"I was never invited to the paddock." I joked and Lando looked at me shocked.

"What? That's not fair!"

"Not a lie, though."

"You two need to learn how to treat a pretty girl, that's why you guys don't have a girlfriend." He shook his head and I chuckled. "You will be very welcome anytime."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, and you two, invite the girl, c'mon."

"We will." Oscar said, looking at me, then Zak walked away. "We never invited you?" Oscar asked and I laughed.

"Sorry, what I was supposed to say? That I didn't want to go?"

"Now you're going, I don't care what you say." Oscar said in a low voice before walking away.

"Uhh, Osc is mad, you're fucked." Lando whispered in my ear.

"Osc!" I called, walking a bit faster to get to him. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not." He is.

"I'm sorry, baby." I whispered in his ear and he looked at me, but didn't say anything. He walked to the bar and Lando put his hand on my shoulder.

"Didn't work, did it?"

"Nope, can you talk to him?"

"I can try, but I won't be getting punished because of you." He said walking to where Oscar was.

"Hello." I hear a voice behind me, when I turned I saw Pato O'ward with a big smile on his face. "I'm Patricio O'ward, but you can call me Pato, nice to meet you."

"Hi, I'm (Y/n), nice to meet you too, Pato." I smiled.

"I never saw you around, I'm wrong?"

"You're not, I'm Lando and Oscar's friend." He nodded.

"I love your dress, you look good in McLaren." He joked.

"Thank you, maybe I'll use more McLaren." He nodded.

"You should." His flirty aura is bigger than Lando's and I thought this was impossible. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you..." Before he finished his question, I felt a hand on my waist, and then another one.

"Hey, Pato!" Lando said smiling. "Everything OK?" Pato nodded.

"Yes, I was just saying her dress is gorgeous."

"I agree." Oscar said, squeezing my waist even more.

"That was all, see you guys around." Pato said and walked away.

"Pato, really?" Oscar said through clenched teeth.

"I was just being nice." I turned to look at them and get away from the touches on my waist. Both men had a drink in their hand, Lando was more in a happy mood than Oscar.

"He wanted to fuck you, you don't need to be nice in this case."

"Osc, it is not like I was going to give him my number or anything."

"Is kinda funny, Osc, did you see his face?" Osc bit the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress his smile.

"That was nice, but still, no more talking with that womanizer."

"You say it like your boyfriend isn't a womanizer too."

"Former womanizer! Now I'm a family man." Lando said, crossing his arms. Oscar chuckled and shook his head.

"I can't be mad at you for long, can I?" He ran his fingers through my hair and sighed. "I love you."

"Love you too, baby."

"Too much for pretending to be besties?" Lando said looking at the scene. Oscar rolled his eyes and pulled away.

"I want to go home."

"After dinner." Lando said, hugging Oscar shoulders. Osc nodded, and we started to walk off, but not before listening to a person behind us commenting.

"Does Oscar know Lando wants to fuck his girlfriend?" We looked at each other and laughed.

[thewertsearch]

Echidna's Palace looks suspiciously like Jade's foyer - although, I think it's probably more accurate to say that the foyer looks like the palace. Kanaya and Jade both lived in houses derived from the Frog Temple, which explains this resemblance, as well as Jade's Prospit-themed bedroom.

We still haven't learned why Sburb provides these houses, though. Are we about to?

PCG: OH GOD, HE'S STILL FOLLOWING YOU?

Yeesh. That’s got to be at least a little unnerving. We know his protective instincts are powerful, but are we quite sure that they're inviolable?

?GG: its ok though. as long as he is tailing me like a lost puppy, at least hes not killing anybody

Only because he’s running out of victims, Jade! He’s already killed the other three Players, and their Dream Selves have either fled the session or attained immortality.

I honestly think that the main reason he's tailing you is that he's at a bit of a loose end. You know, after killing all your friends.

PCG: DON'T TRUST HIM JADE, I'M TELLING YOU. HE IS A STAB HAPPY PLANET EXPLODING ASSHOLE.

PCG: REMEMBER WHAT HE DID TO DAVE? […] ?GG: […] im kind of starting to think that was just his way of saying hi ?GG: my dog used to fetch my bullets too! ?GG: i really think he believes he is my dog, on some level

That is an indescribably fucked-up way to parse Dave’s murder.

...and to make matters worse, I’m pretty sure you’re 100% correct.

PCG: DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON THE PUPPY. ?GG: dont worry, im keeping my eye on him ?GG: aaaaaa no no no, bad jack, bad!!!!!!

LMAO

Paperkind is normally a pretty useless specibus, but if your goal is to bully an evil demidog, there’s nothing quite like it.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Angst Villain x civilian where the villain cheats on civilian with hero

“If it is of any comfort, it didn’t mean that much to me." The villain cocked their head, as if they were thinking about something intensively - which they weren't. They looked at the civilian, but failed to conjure any pity.

Their partner, well, probably ex-partner now, looked at them with wide eyes and tears rolling down their cheeks.

"I-" The civilian's hands were shaking, their face contorted in pain. "What did I- what did I do wrong?"

Their voice was shaking.

"Nothing."

"I..." The civilian took in a deep breath. "Oh god..."

They gasped for air desperately but the villain couldn't help but think about the hero in their bed, moaning lovingly. It was true that the civilian hadn't done anything wrong. They were quite good company to keep around. They were tidy (which was very important to the villain), they were nice, avoided conflict, didn't ask too many questions. The perfect kind of person to keep around, someone who wasn't getting involved in the villain's business.

But when it came to pure desire, the hero was simply more tempting. It was about power.

The civilian wasn't a challenge in bed.

The hero on the other hand...

"Oh god...I can't-" The civilian gasped for air over and over again, coming very close to mimicking a panic attack.

"I can move out if you want, or you do. Whatever you like."

"I wanted to marry you, I - I love you, I..." The villain raised a lazy brow.

"We can still get married if you want to, but I'd like to screw the hero every now and then," the villain said. The civilian turned away, but the villain could obviously tell that they were crying harder now. They would have never brought this up, but unfortunately, the villain had gotten a bit lazy and the civilian had found out about the affair.

It wasn't the end of the world, but the villain had planned to keep the civilian around for a little longer. More than once, they had thought about proposing to the civilian out of pure necessity, but the amount of work linked to that, had spoiled the idea quickly.

"You don't have to decide now," the villain clarified. "It's an option, that's all."

The civilian's back was still turned towards them.

"I had so many plans for us," they whispered, almost mumbled the words. "What did I do wrong, why are you doing this to me...?"

The villain rolled their eyes.

"Like I said, it didn't mean that much to me. They're attractive. They showed up at my work. We fucked on the desk and started to meet regularly." A lot of lies. Technically, they had been flirting with each other for the last year. "Work" meant their usual nightly activities. The thing with the desk was true, though.

The civilian turned around, eyes bloodshot.

"Did they force you? Because they're the hero?" The villain pursed their lips. Interesting. It was probably pretty easy to turn themselves into a victim in this situation (the civilian was by no means rational right now), but they had already admitted that they wanted to meet the hero in the future, so keeping up with that lie was going to be exhausting.

"No," the villain said. "Their ass just looked great that night."

"I don't understand, I thought you loved me?! We've been together for three years..." The civilian wiped away their tears but new tears followed and followed.

"...I like your company, yes."

"That's it?"

Once again, the villain cocked their head, staring at the civilian.

"Come on. A hero. The hero. Who can say no to that? It's a sexual thing. Has absolutely nothing to do with you. You're great." They shrugged. "Stay here. Get some sleep. We can talk about the rest tomorrow."

The civilian stood there, didn't dare to move.

"My love, you must be exhausted."

The civilian took in a deep breath. They nodded.

"There we go," the villain said softly. "You look lovely right now, by the way."

It wasn't that the villain liked being cruel - they just couldn't help it.

[kylieneko]

Happy birthday and Hogswatch to this post. It's not the most reblogged Discworld quote I've posted, but its had some of the best comments/tags. And I swear it's been reblogged at least once a month since posting, making it the first time the pretentious "let's have this Christmas thing last all year" has actually happened, to my knowledge.

I could post a new quote, but I just feel like these reactions are worth more. You want more Hogfather quotes, read the book -- it's basically quotable from start to finish. Or there's a two-part TV movie adaptation. It's alright, and has this scene, but there's so much that got cut due to simply being unfilmably unadaptable.

@justafterjericho added: #there's no better present than a future #love him love him so much #the best anthropomorphic personification

@lancrewizzard simply #sits and cries a little

@memorijemand wrote: #I barely remember my reading order #but I think hogfather was one of the first discworld books I read in the original english #I do know for certain that “there's no better present than a future” fundamentally changed me as a person

@purgknight said: #Death has legitimately changed my brain chemistry for the better #“THERE'S NO BETTER PRESENT THAN A FUTURE”

@bad-choices-and-femslash has the feels with the rest of us: #this part always makes me cry

@emmalily, who is an abomination unto Nuggan by the way, has an impassioned (and correct) opinion: #this scene is like me getting revenge on the bitch teacher who made us watch the Little Match Girl in 2nd grade #& then tried to tell me ''things like that [unhoused people freezing to death on the street] don't happen anymore!'' #but I knew the truth #there's nothing more infuriating than a grown up condescending a child over something that really matters & is actually true

@anthropomorphique can still find a chuckle nonetheless: #matchstick girl was probably the saddest story I've heard #thank you terry for fixing it #poorer than a disabled banana though😂😂

@milk-powrit joined us for Hogswatch in Grune by adding: #I’m glad death did this #always hated that story #what kind of Christmas story #has someone die at then end? #in no way is that a happy ending #there's no better present than a future

@krbgirl comes in swinging right before the 1 year mark with: #this really is amazing #heaven is not a happy ending #not when it's a literal fucking child

There was a moment of horrible silence as they both stared at the lifetimer. "You're for life, not just for Hogswatch," prompted Albert. "Life goes on, master. In a manner of speaking." BUT THIS IS HOGSWATCHNIGHT. Very traditional time for this sort of thing, I understand," said Albert. I THOUGHT IT WAS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY, said Death. "Ah, well, yes, you see, one of the things that makes folks even more jolly is knowing there're people who ain't," said Albert, in a matter-of-fact voice. "That's how it goes, master, Master?" NO. Death stood up. THIS IS HOW IT SHOULDN'T GO. . . . "You know you're not supposed to do this sort of thing, master. You know what happened last time." THE HOGFATHER CAN DO IT, THOUGH. "But . . . little match girls dying in the snow is part of what Hogswatch spirit is all about, master," said Albert, desperately. "I mean, people hear about it and say, 'We may be poorer than a disabled banana and only have mud and old boots to eat, but at least we're better off than the poor little match girl,' master. It makes them feel happy and grateful for what they got, see." I KNOW WHAT THE SPIRIT OF HOGSWATCH IS, ALBERT. "Sorry, master. But, look, it's all right, anyway, because she wakes up and it's all bright and shining and tinkling music and there's angels, master." Death stopped. AH. THEY TURN UP AT THE LAST MINUTE WITH WARM CLOTHES AND A HOT DRINK? Oh dear, thought Albert. The master's really in one of his funny moods now. "Er. No. Not exactly at the last minute, master, Not as such." WELL? "More sort of just after the last minute." Albert coughed nervously. YOU MEAN AFTER SHE'S-- "Yes. That's how the story goes, master, 's not my fault." WHY NOT TURN UP BEFORE? AN ANGEL HAS QUITE A LOT OF CARRYING CAPACITY. "Couldn't say, master. I suppose people think it's more . . . satisfying the other way . . ." Albert hesitated, and then frowned. "You know, now that I come to tell someone . . ." Death looked down at the shape under the falling snow. Then he set the lifetimer on the air and touched it with a finger. A spark flashed across. "You ain't really allowed to do that," said Albert, feeling wretched. THE HOGFATHER CAN. THE HOGFATHER GIVES PRESENTS. THERE'S NO BETTER PRESENT THAN A FUTURE.

[shouyuus]

Pitfighter!vi who makes you keep eye contact with her and say her name while she fucks you because she wants you to know that it’s HER who’s making you feel that good 🙏 (request ish but also responding to the vi thirsts thingy)

i... have such a thing for eye contact!vi u have no idea.

18+, mndi, smut, slight angst, and fluff at the end

"eyes on me, princess --" she says, twisting your jaw towards her as she fucks her fingers into you, her makeup in black streaks running down her cheeks, her skin peppered with cuts and bruises, fat and dark as summer plums.

you whine, blinking up at her, your lashes clumped with salt as she fucks you through the nth orgasm that night, and you know that it's one of the bad nights, one of those nights where she comes home angry off a loss and already drunk. you bite your lips, her name trembling on the tip of your tongue even as she forces your mouth open to bury her own groans in the depth of your throat.

"moan for me --" she says, her voice a honey-bee's rasp against your lips, thick and syrup-sweet, but just as suffocating, the way it slicks across your tongue, "say my name --" she breathes.

you hiss, eyes squeezing shut as her dull nails scrape along your inner walls, making your legs kick out, your belly roiling within you at the relentless pressure.

"vi --" you force out, the breath punching from you as she angles her fingers up into that one gummy spot inside you that has you keening.

"i said look --" she clasps her whole hand around your jaw, squeezing so tight your mouth falls open, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth, "at --" she thrusts three fingers into you, "me."

you force your eyes open to meet her gaze -- and it's well-dark depths. you make a noise somewhere between a sob and a whimper, feeling her fingers digging into the soft plush of your cheeks as she gives you face a tiny little shake.

"vi, please --" and you don't even know what you're begging for anymore. mercy, perhaps, or just some kind of absolution. she stares at you, her gaze flickering from one eye to the other, as if searching for the answer there to a question she's never had courage enough to ask out loud.

finally, she lets you go, and your head thumps back against the pillows, though your hand reaches out to clasp around her wrists as she holds you by the hips and fucks you into the mattress, groaning when she feels you clamp down around her.

she laces her fingers with yours, this one single tenement of softness, as she groans, feeling you come apart around her.

she doesn't say much as she pulls out of you, staring at the shiny slick that coats her skin, brings it to her lips for a taste before shooting you a sharp, crescent-moon grin.

"violet..."

and she stills at the sound of your voice wrapped around the full weight of her name -- like a wish, or a promise. she sighs, leaning down to drop a kiss to your shoulder. you sit up, your fingers still linked through hers.

"it was a bad night," she'd say, looking anywhere but at you, pulling away to run her hands under the murky water from her tiny sink. you watch her from the bed, the mattress nothing more than a few stacks of cushions shoved together, empty bottles littering the floor.

"yeah?" you ask, shifting back a few inches as she settles on the edge of the bed, her head hung low. you reach forward, waiting for her to pull away. but when she doesn't, you curl yourself around the bend of her back and press your cheek to her shoulder, careless of the inky black paint that transfers from her skin to yours.

she lets you hold her for a few, long, solid minutes. they slick by like river water, made thick with silt or shimmer. you trace your fingers along the dark, smudged-out shapes of her tattoos -- and you think to yourself that she's beautiful -- even like this, broken and bruised and so, so angry.

"look at me," you whisper, turning her head with a finger, and she gives a the tiniest bit of resistance before letting you coax her face towards yours, her eyes bright in the slantwise light.

the moon slits a scimitar sliver through the sky, and down here, even the stars take on a sickly purple glow. but, as vi looks you over, allows herself the pleasure of admiring your face, she thinks that you somehow have the gall to be beautiful, even now.

she doesn't stop to think that you might be thinking the same of her.

you are.

"have you got a fight tomorrow?" you ask, reaching out to trace a thumb across the smudged paint on her cheeks. your finger comes away dark, but the tattoo beneath her eye's just a bit more visible now. she shakes her head.

"no. medic said i've gotta take a few days off."

she scoffs, her gaze cutting away.

"good," you say, "a break is good."

"i don't need a break," she gruffs, and you laugh.

"i know. but... that means you can sleep in tomorrow."

she quirks an eyebrow, "i can sleep in any day i want. the fights don't start till --"

"i know, vi -- i'm just saying," you say, imploring as a grin twitches over her lips, "we can... do something together, if you'd like."

vi blinks, "we?"

you purse your lips, looking down at where your fingers are inches from hers.

"unless --"

"yeah. no -- i mean -- it's fine. we -- we can."

and for a second, she sounds so nervous, so uncertain, that you almost laugh. because since when has vi been this bashful in your presence? but when you look up again, it's to catch her watching you with a strange, halfway light in her eyes. and you're not sure if it's the moon or the stars, or simply the cheap alcohol eating through both your veins, but you fancy that it looks just a little bit like affection, stained at the edges with tenderness.

it spreads warmth through your limbs, and tingles at your nose and your fingertips.

"okay then," you say, nodding, even as she pushes you back onto her makeshift mattress and slots her lips over yours once more.

the kiss is long, but soft. and when she pulls away, you're both just a bit breathless. though, not on the heavy, panting way you usually are off the deep, desperate kisses she gives you. no, this is something sweeter, something lighter. something that tastes very much like heartache at the back of your tongue.

"c'mere..." you say, tugging her into you even as the pair of your collapse onto her bed, her rucking the thin blanket haphazardly over the shape of your bodies, nothing more than a tangle of limbs, her cheek pillowed against your sternum, her lengthening hair tickling your chin.

you run a few fingers through the rough patches at the sides of her head.

"the dye's coming out."

vi grunts, her body heavy as she sinks into the heat of your embrace.

"whatever. let it grow."

you grin to yourself, thinking that you'd always loved the natural color of her hair -- bright as rubies in the hungering dark. but as you thread your fingers through them again and again, vi shifts against you, looping her arms around your middle to pull you into her.

she mumbles something into the skin of your chest that you don't quite catch.

"hm?" you ask, leaning down.

she sighs, her breath hot as it washes over your collarbones.

"you'll still be here in the morning, yeah?"

you pause, wondering for a second if it's a question or a plea.

you let out a tiny laugh.

"if you want me to be, then... yeah. i will."

vi only curls her fingers against your waist. she burrows her face more deeply into your chest, holding you close, and then closer.

"right," she says, shifting till the both of you are comfortable, "yeah," she adds after a few more seconds.

then, she lifts her head to look at you, her eyes catching yours in the dust-stricken moonlight -- and you can swear that she's smiling.

"good."

"goodnight, violet," you whisper, as her eyelids flutter shut, and she softens against you.

"night, princess. see you in the morning..." she says, her voice quiet and just a bit slurred.

"yeah. see you then."

[a1ecmcdowell]

troubles in paradise — 90s!jensen x actress!reader (18+!!)

his hand is so tight over your mouth that his fingertips are white, the blunt edge of his short nails digging into the soft skin of your cheek. you're bent over the counter of his trailer's countertop, his free hand between your legs and holding your thighs open.

you'd already came twice. tears prickled in the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation of it all, but you're still just whipped enough to let him use you how he needs, exes or not.

"not so fuckin' mouthy now, are you?" he asks in your ear, words hissed through clenched teeth, the slapping sound that punctuates each of his thrusts as he buries himself in you the only noise in the small space. other than your muffled noises behind his palm, but you work to keep them down, knowing the louder you are, the tighter his hand gets. "not so bold?"

"mmm," you try, try to speak, but it only comes out as a shuddering throaty whine. "mmfuck you—"

his hand grasps your thigh tighter, forcing your hips back into each of his thrusts, deep enough to rock your hipbones into the edge of the counter, surely to bruise. just as bruised as you knew your cervix was becoming. "that's not very nice, sweetheart," he growls in your ear, his teeth clamping around the lobe, leaving a wet scrape as his mouth falls away from the biting kiss, "'ve been nothin' but kind to you... treatin' you better than you fuckin' deserve."

he's pissy. pissed that you had a kiss scene with another one of the actors on dark angel's set today, pissed that you did your job. he wasn't yours. you weren't his. not anymore, at least. but you kept him up at night, and his lingering stares made you crumble, even despite the disdain that you were convinced he felt toward you.

there was no guessing about it now. he was fucking you now like a punishment. "no, baby, i don't deserve that," he says to himself, his mouth dropping to your neck, sucking a maroon spot onto the untouched skin.

your eyes are fluttering into the back of your head, but all you can think about is how you are meant to explain this to your makeup artist in half an hour. his hand finally falls away from your mouth, though it doesn't go far. his fingertips are harsh when they snap your jaw to the side enough to look at him, to see his eyes.

half-lidded, glazed with the feelings he'd lost himself to, pupils blown into his irises. "i shouldn't care about you anymore," he whispers, leaning forward to drag your bottom lip back with him in the half-attempt at a kiss. "tell me why i do."

"i don't know," you whimper. the eye contact is... a lot. this no longer feels like a punishment but a plea. a broken heart expressing itself in the only way it knows how; with his fingers leaving purple and red kisses on your skin and his cock buried inside of you.

it's ironic, that those three words leave him just as speechless as the first time you said i love you did. just like then, he thinks you don't mean them. this time, you're not sure if you mean them either. there's a million unspoken words that hang like a swinging rope between you two, and nothing is said.

he grunts a couple of times in your ear, the sound softening into a little noise that could be a whimper but you know him, and he'd never say so either. his cock twitches as he spills inside of you.

he stays like that for a long while. his grip loosens on your jaw, and his fingers release your thigh, but his forehead falls to your shoulder.

the words linger on the tip of your tongue. every apology, every attempt at a reconciliation, and yet they stay there, just as unused as the last time you'd come in here with the intent to tell him off and ended up riding him on his trailer's couch.

a part of you knew that you only came this time to get any bit of his touch that he'd offer. a part of him knew, too, that this was not a proper breakup, but an angry, aggressive dance you guys did around the idea of it.

all of his anger is gone when he kisses the space where your jaw meets your throat, right over your racing pulse. "lemme get you cleaned up, alright?"

you can hear it, too, the words he meant to say and doesn't — never does. i'm sorry.

you don't say them, either, and so you know that you'll be back in here by the end of the week.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

i just wanted this out of my drafts to be honest so if it's bad ... no it's not thank YEWWW

. . . @deanswidow @titsout4jackles @cosmicanakin @jasvtsc @figthoughts @depressionbarbie2023 @deansbite @aileenunfiltered @ultravi0lence14 @ostaramoon

[saltnsugarbear]

one of me is cute (but two, though?) (18+)

summary: aka Rocky's conception <3

title from: "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter

word count: 1.4k

content warnings: smut MDNI!!!! prone boning, choking, bicep choking and biting, erm a little bit of alluded somno

side note: written for my beloved Olive!!! right up her alley, my Christmas present to she! and happy holidays to you guys <3

Lip doesn't mean to wake you.

And it's not his fault. You've been aware this day was coming since he told you. He took a fight outside of Chicago. It's a great opportunity.

It just means he's going to be gone for a couple of days.

Neither of you has really been without the other for more than a couple of days since you got together. He all but moved into your place as soon as you both started dating. He chipped in with rent, with groceries, with it all. Half his winnings for his family, half for you. He didn't need much, he was happy to give it all to you.

So it's safe to say you're all too aware when Lip gets out of bed.

You can't help the whine you let out at the loss of warmth, listening as Lip huffs from where he's finishing packing. You helped him get most of it done before getting... Distracted...

When you hear him shuffle within reach you stick your arm out, grabbing for him in the air. Lip's hand is quick to slide into yours and he's malleable as you drag him back onto the bed. You encourage him to lay on top of you, tugging him up your body.

He's easy to conform, wriggling his way on top of you. The side of his face rests against your head, winding his arms underneath you to hold you close to his chest. You can't help but wiggle your hips back against his, a subconscious action your body does with him this close to you.

You hear him groan above you, tugging your hips close. He huffs against your ear, "Mmm... Gotta go soon.. Can't, baby..."

He says this every time.. And every time.... He says it for show most of the time now, like a tease. Trying to trick you into whining and begging him to stay.

Lip is warm on top of you, hands moving to hold your hips tight as he grinds against your ass. You can feel his growing erection as he attempts to appease you but it's not enough.

"Lip.." You whine, bringing one of your hands to push at his. Trying to hook your thumb in your waistband and tug off your underwear.

"Baby, I don't know..." Lip mutters, groaning into your hair. "Don't think- Don't think I got time t-to fuck ya' proper.."

You groan at his words, pushing your hips back into him. Lip swears under his breath at your action, letting himself succumb to his more primal instincts and grinding into you.

"Jus' need a li'l bit.." You get out, managing to push around Lip's hand and tugging down your underwear with the best of your abilities. Lip grumbles in your hair as he lifts himself off you briefly, tugging your underwear off and tossing it to some corner.

He's back on you in a moment, sliding a hand around you and cupping your mound. You whine at the warmth of his palm, grinding down into his hand for some sense of pleasure.

"Look at ya..." Lip scoffs, dipping his fingers to collect your arousal from your core. It's embarrassing really, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

Just as you open your mouth to say something, Lip prods at your entrance with two of his fingers, slipping in with little resistance and starting a steady pace. In your half awake state it feels like heaven, bringing one of your hands to circle his wrist to ground yourself. The grinding of his hips against you forces yours to grind into his hand, whining at the sensation.

After a few minutes of this Lip slips his fingers out of you, making a noise of protest that's incoherent to your own ears. Lip gives you a quick kiss to the cheek before his weight is off you again. Surely he won't leave you like this?

"That's not what I meant by a little bit.." You complain, pushing yourself onto your forearms. Lip scoffs before you can look back at him.

"Y're so impatient.." He says, reaching over you to grab one of his pillows before lifting your hips and placing it under you. You inhale softly, eyes wide as you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

Lip is off the mattress, sliding his boxers off and leaving them on the floor before climbing back on the bed. His length resting against your ass makes you whine, grabbing your own pillow for grounding. Lip lowers his chest to your back, moving his hips back as he does so.

"Gotta make sure you remember me while I'm gone.." He whispers in your ear before pushing the head of his cock into your entrance. You can't the whine that leaves your lips as he pushes further into you, burying your face into the pillow while he burrows into you.

"Mm-mm.." Lip grunts, bringing a hand to grab at your chin, lifting your face out of the pillow. The tight grip on your jaw makes you groan, pushing back into his hips against your ass.

"Mhmm.." You groan at the angle and the feeling of Lip's length nudging deep inside of you. "Fuu-ck.."

"Yeah?" He asks you before pulling back and slamming his hips back into you. You can't muffle the squeal you let out with the way he has your head angled. Lip moves his hand from your jaw down to your neck, applying just enough pressure to make you dizzy.

It's not enough.

You whine at the dual sensation of lightheadedness and the way Lip is fucking into you. He moves his hand down to your clavicle, letting you babble his name incoherently. "Lip... More.."

"More?" He asks you, and you can picture the smug smirk on his face without seeing him.

"Mhmm," you groan, nodding quickly.

Lip huffs before you feel his weight against your back. The second sensation of his forearm wrapping around your throat drives you mad, making you gasp.

"Like this?" Lip chuckles as he picks up his pace, rutting into you in an animalistic way. You can't hold back the moans and whines slipping out of your mouth. You're going to get a noise complaint later...

You don't care. Not when Lip's bicep is in the perfect place for you to bite down on.

And you do, taking his arm in your mouth when you feel the telltale sign of your release. You know Lip knows too, by the way that he slows down to long, deep strokes.

You let go of his arm when your walls clench hard around his cock, hearing Lip grunt by your ear as you try and catch your breath.

Lip makes a few more noises next to your ear, always getting more vocal when he reached his own release. The feeling of him twitching as he grinds against you is enough to let you know how close he is.

It's a few rolls of his hips before you can feel the warmth of his release along your walls. The sound of his shallow thrusts are filthy, a mixture of both your releases slipping out with each movement. Lip loosens his arm, lettong his hand fall to grip gently at your shoulder and pressing soft kisses against your neck.

The way he sets your upper half down is gentle, letting your head rest against your pillow. Your head is hazy with afterglow, eyes fluttering shut as you breathe deeply. The feeling of Lip's mouth against your skin is soothing, coaxing you deeper into sleep. It's a duet between his lips and the way he's twitching and nudging inside you.

"Mmh.." you groan as you feel him start rocking against you again. "Y'gotta go..."

Lip hums softly next to your ear.

"Gotta fight... 'nd I gotta sleep b'fore work..." Your words have little fight as they're muttered into your pillow, nuzzling your face into the fabric. The idea of Lip fucking you to sleep makes your stomach flip, you're already half way there.

"I know... But just gotta- huh... Gotta keep y'filled while I'm gone.. Make sure t'clean up b'fore I go..." Lip drags his tongue over a spot along your shoulder.

"S'okay..." You mutter, mind fuzzy as you teeter on the edge of sleep. "Won't let it go t'waste..."

Lip groans into your skin, snapping his hips sharply into yours.

"Know you won't, baby.... Jus' gotta be sure..."

[strawberrypinky]

fic recs - best of 2024 ✨🍓

With 2024 drawing to a close, I have decided to do a "best of 2024" fic rec list. I already did a round of recommendations in May of this year and I loved the positivity I was able to spread by sharing a few kind words about some fics that I have read and loved.

2024 was year of immense personal growth and changes for me (though I suspect 2025 will be equally... challenging) and I haven't read as many fics as I usually would have. However, I still came across quite a few wonderful ones, so without further ado here's my best of for 2024!

This is also me making up for the fact that I don't ever comment on fics. Sorry to the authors of the mentioned fics - I'm usually very awkward, but I promise I loved your fics. Otherwise they wouldn't have ended up on here

Baldur's Gate 3 Arguably the fandom I participated in the most this year after getting the game in January of 2024. I think precious little fandom content has stayed with me as intensely as anything Baldur's Gate, and I am so so appreciative of all the wonderful people I have met through this game. I wish I would've had more time for the amazing content people created (and continue to create!) for this game, alas, here's my top fanfiction for 2024:

❦

dealbreaker [A!Astarion x Tav] - @goodgirlgonebard

❦ Plot: "Dealbreaker" explores the dynamic between Willow (Tav) and an ascended Astarion, as they try to navigate their feelings for one another post breakup and post-brain, both with wishes and desires of their own, such as marriage, children and the possibility of an eternity together. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: I’ve only ascended Astarion once (purely for the plot, of course), and I firmly believe it’s his bad ending. That said, when it comes to fan fiction, I absolutely devour the dynamics between an Ascended Astarion and Tav/Durge, because the toxic complexity of their relationship is endlessly fascinating. Dealbreaker does an exceptional job of capturing the push and pull that defines both Astarion and Willow, even though it portrays A!Astarion in a somewhat softer light. It works perfectly within the context of the story, thanks in part to how delightfully idiotic Willow and Astarion can be when it comes to their own feelings. The blend of drama, fluff, and angst is just right, and I absolutely adore watching them navigate their way through it all together. There's also a song rec at the start of each chapter and Ms Ambs has taste 🤌🏻 Definitely my favourite BG3/Astarion read of the year!

❦

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal [A!Astarion x Durge] - @brain-rot-central

❦ Plot: After becoming the first ever Vampire Ascendant, Astarion begins to forge a new path for himself. Months after the defeat of the Netherbrain he returns to his former lovers life and the two grapple with the changed dynamics of their former relationship. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: "Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal" delves into a darker exploration of the relationship between Ascended Astarion and a redeemed Dark Urge, yet it remains utterly captivating. The crafted narrative feels both believable and seamless, drawing you into Durge's deeply personal fears as she becomes entangled once again in Astarion's life. The portrayal of her anxiety is so vivid that it transfers to you as a reader. The tension between them feels palpable to you - a sort of nightmare fuel that has you anticipating something bad is going to happen at the next second and you somehow know it will. I'm very curious to see this continue, because it's so beautifully fucked up. ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content.

❦

The Last of the Silverboughs [Halsin & Tav, Astarion/Tav] - Stillmaurauding (AO3)

❦ Plot: Halsin, burdened by the weight of his past, encounteres Lythra, a young Drow woman whose nature leaves him utterly perplexed. Meanwhile she is relentless in her efforts to break free from her own trouble history in Menzoberranzan and the two forge an unlikely bond as they navigate a the journey to Baldur's Gate. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Considering Halsin's character in the game, I understand why there’s minimal exploration of him as a father figure in storytelling, apart from scenarios involving Tav or Durge making him one. That said, he fits beautifully into the role of a quasi-father to Lythra throughout this narrative. The story delves into some very dark themes, but I’ve truly appreciated the nuanced approach to trauma, especially through Lythra’s character. The progression of the relationships, as well as the tensions within the group, feel very natural and there is enough intrigue with every chapter to make you want to continue. I hope the author eventually picks this up again. I'm also fairly certain they are on tumblr, however, I haven't been able to find them. If anyone knows their handle, let me know. I'd love to give credit where it's due :) ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content.

❦

O, Fortuna [Raphael/Dark Urge] - @gufu-vire

❦ Plot: Post the events of BG3, a redeemed Dark Urge and Raphael renegotiate terms to fulfil a contract sworn upon during the crisis of the Absolute. An adventure fraught with tension, frustration, conflict, and more as the reader partners up with the devil you love to hate ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Most biased spot on this list, especially if you've been following me for a while. I do not read Raphael fics, because while I understand the appeal, he's simply not my guy. However, I've been here for "O, Fortuna" since it was still in early development and Gufu said she hasn't got another longfic/slowburn in her, and thus it's ending up on here. It's definitely the longest fic on this list and quite an emotional journey, but I promise it's worth it. ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content, specifically towards the end.

❦

In Another Life, I Knew You [Astarion/Tav] - spaced_egg (AO3)

❦ Plot: After 200 years of believing him to be dead, Tav is once again faced with her ex-fiancé Astarion, who has little recollection of his life before Cazador. Now having to navigate tadpoles, the end of the world and feelings of both the past and the present, Tav and Astarion journey through Faerûn together. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: When I first read the summary of the fic I was quickly intrigued, because the concept of Tav and Astarion having known each other before he became a vampire offers up so many possibilites and adds layers of depth I really appreciate. "In Another Life, I knew You" does a wonderful job of expanding on their past and focussing on their present situation and as a reader you find yourself easily engrossed into the story. The dynamic between the two of them is written in a very believable way and I dearly hope the author is going to continue the story in 2025.

❦

Judgement by the Hounds [Gortash/Dark Urge] - @septembersummer

❦ Plot: A look into the relationship of The Dark Urge (Seren) and Gortash, from their first meeting up to their shared end. "The rise and fall of the worst situationship of all time" indeed. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: "Judgement by the Hounds" is getting a place in my fic recs for a second time, because it is quite possibly the best portrayal of Durgetash ever. It's basically canon to me at this point, because of how realistic their relationship is depicted (as in, realistic for them). I went through all fives stages of grief reading that story, and I so desperately kept hoping for a happy ending, even if Durgetash are the last people to deserve it. 10/10 fic - there's literally nothing else I can say.

❦

Miscellaneous One Shots/Short stories (Includes the ones I already recommended in May bc let's spread some love): legacy with no memory by @discordsmuse on AO3 - Gortash x The Dark Urge The Weight of A Promise by @sserpente on tumblr [Part 2 is equally good!] - Gortash x Tav/OC kiddo. by @avocado-writing on tumblr. - Gortash & OC to have and to hold by @littlejuicebox on tumblr. - Astarion x Tav choices. by @deadtired-highkeyenergetic on tumblr - Astarion x Tav how to win a custody battle in one easy step. by alltears on AO3 - Astarion x Tav Dangerous by NaeveTheWizard on AO3 - Astarion x The Dark Urge

The Ascendant Takes A Bride by @deadly-diminuendo on tumblr - Astarion x OC lilac and gold by @sorceresssundries on tumblr - Halsin x Tav Until We Wake, also by sorceresssundries on tumblr - Gale x Tav pygmalion's folly by AutopsyGarlands on AO3 - Gortash x Tav The Dark Prince by @reverieblondie on tumblr - Rolan x Tav For Old Times' Sake by @sserpente on tumblr - Gortash x Tav Ma'am by @kimberbohwrites on tumblr/AO3 - Rolan x Tav To Care Enough by @locallegume on tumblr - Astarion x Tav colors of the wind by al9ayf on AO3 - Halsin x Tav To Sever the Thread by anotheropti on AO3 - Shadowheart x Tav

❦

Honourable Mentions: Honourable mentions go out to several artists whose work I have throughly enjoyed throughout the year!

@starrforge - Incredible Halsin x Tav artwork! @lirotation - My favourite Astarionx Tav artwork, including amazing comics! @shellytheleo - Utterly beautiful Bloodweave content @heyitsjaki - THE BEST COMICS. I love how Gale suffers. Immaculate. @infernaldaydreams - Added to the BG3 category for the amazing Durgetash art, but damn if the DA art isn't immaculate as well.

Hogwarts Legacy I left behind Hogwarts Legacy at the start of the year, however one fic has still managed to secure a spot on my best of 2024 list:

merry and bright [Sebastian Sallow x M!MC] - @heyitszev

❦ Plot: Years after having left his magical hometown of Feldcroft, now streamer Sebastian Sallow returns home for the holidays to celebrate his sisters' nuptials. He expects a short visit, until he meets Charlie, Feldcroft's baker and potions master, and realises what he's been missing all along. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: I am a sucker for Hallmark movies - the cliches and predictability are something I eat up time and time again. So when the wonderfully talented Zev decided to write a hallmark fic with a gay couple at its center, I knew I would eat it up. "merry and bright" is perfect in taking itself serious enough yet also allowing for the typical hilarity and easygoing nature of Hallmark movies. The main characters are adoringly clueless yet charmingly witty and I cannot get enough of the dynamics between all of them.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Having not played the first three DA games, I know precious little about the universe as a whole. I have several opinions on the game/plot itself, but the community has created some incredible content that deserves to be honoured and appreciated!

❦

Rookie [Viago de Riva & F!Rook, Lucanis Dellamorte/F!Rook] - @marcell-arts

❦ Plot: Rook (or "Rookie") de Riva navigates growing up as a Fledgling of House de Riva as a former slave, before eventually becoming the Hero of the Veilguard. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Confession time: there’s nothing I love more than a good 'found family' dynamic, especially when it includes a reluctant father/brother figure. That trope alone is usually enough to win me over. I stumbled upon this fic late one night when it had about 15 chapters. Safe to say, I didn’t get much sleep because I was hooked from the very first chapter. The writing is absolutely phenomenal, with pitch-perfect pacing (seriously, it’s masterful) and just the right blend of detail, headcanons, and canon divergence. It manages to stay true to the game while carving out its own identity, and the dynamic between Rook and Viago is equal parts heartwarming and hilarious - ultimate tsundere/reluctant dad meets the kid he practically scooped out of a dumpster energy. Additionally, the relationships Rook forms before teaming up with Varric add so much depth and dimension to her as an original character; they really make her feel alive. This is hands-down one of the best fics I’ve read all year, and I still can’t believe it’s the author’s first.

❦

Misdirection [Emmerich Volkarin/F!Rook] - @jainydoe (AO3)

❦ Plot [AU Setting]: Working for the FBI, being a Professor and a single dad has left Emmerich celibate for years, but the return of his estranged ex wife renders him desperate enough to sign up for a Sugar Dating Website, through which he meets the disaster that is Rook, a broke college student equally as desperate as him. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: The prose of this fic is absolutely fantastic, but what really gets me is the humour. Rook is such a disaster that I can't help but laugh every five seconds and yet "Misdirection" manages to be serious enough that it never comes across as silly or irritating. Emmerich's characterisation, specifically the struggle between his hopeless romanticism and hurt, is written beautifully illustrative and I'm endlessly curious to see where the entire fic will eventually lead.

That's it for my 2024 fic recs! I will definitely be doing this again in 2025, because it brings me a lot of joy to uplift so many fantastic creators and their work. I would love to know what everyone else's "best of" fics were this year, so feel free to drop some wonderful recommendations! Let's create positive and loving spaces for each other, especially in times like these.

For now, Merry Christmas to those celebrating!

Much love xx