#or fun non-alcoholic alternative

[tessa-quayle]

this married mother of two would also like to look and appreciate and KNOCK SOME SENSE into these “idiot dorksicles” 😂

at the risk of weeping again (it’s the onions, I swear, I'm not crying you’re crying), I need to reread and study how you wrote this because it is one of the best - if not the best - examples of POV back-and-forth switches.  So smooth, unlike our favorite dorksicles.  And that interlude where their quotes to their families are side-by-side - fucking virtuoso. it’s ferociously brilliant without being precious.  the fic isn’t even over and the audience is already on their feet. 

just a few more thoughts: 1) love how the families are low-key staging interventions, 2) I spy that Pedro tattoo shout-out ;), 3) so many mentions of holiday movies but have y’all noticed this chapter is like a holiday movie too?!, 4) appreciate the moon landing and Saturn V part - great evocative choice for so many reasons, particularly in capturing Ben and Lydia’s connection, angst, wonder, ache, and hope so overwhelmingly well.  But it begs the question: who’s Michael Collins here? 😎

Visiting - Chapter 8: Sister Winter

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: The morning after brings complicated feelings as Ben and Lydia return to their respective families for the holiday season.

Word Count: 7.7k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia is 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots-to-lovers; references to PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; serious self-esteem issues; references to panic attacks and anxiety disorders; references to the holidays; both Ben and Lydia come from families that mark Christmas; angst central.

A/N: The title of this chapter is inspired by Sufjan Stevens' eponymous song, which is one of my go-to Melancholy Winter Tracks. And yes, it was really weird writing Christmas in July.

I'm so grateful for all the love I've had for this story and for this pair. Every comment and reblog and ask is a little lift to my soul!

This chapter introduces Lydia and Ben's extended families. In addition to their chosen and found families, both in work and in their friendship groups, this pair are from closely-knit families of origin - though of course, that brings with it its own challenges.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Cross-posting to AO3.

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

@lunapascal and @julesonrecord - thank you for cheering me on and offering wise and practical advice with this difficult chapter. @tessa-quayle - I am always so touched by your enthusiasm for these idiot dorksicles (a term I am appropriating from Jules).

Taglist:

@lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro, @rhoorl

Ben is a deep sleeper - or maybe he was just completely worn out after your exploits that night. 

Either way, he doesn’t even move a muscle as you shift towards the edge of the mattress, fumbling your way out of bed and carefully tip-toeing across the floor, gathering your underwear and dress as you come across them on the floor.

The panic hit you when you woke around 5am, eyes flicking open suddenly in the dark stillness of Ben’s bedroom. The only sound was his soft, steady breathing, interspersed with the occasional tiny snore. In slumber, he somehow appeared even more handsome, more beautiful, snugly nestled into his pillow and hair sticking up at all angles. Fragments of light peeked around the edges of the blinds, picking out some of his features.

Whereas a couple of hours before his lovely face had felt like a comfort, in the wee small hours of the morning it triggered doubt. Your brain promptly forgot everything he had said about how beautiful he thought you were, how much he’d wanted you. Instead, it struck up a familiar, repetitive chorus.

He couldn’t really want you. He’s so gorgeous. You don’t deserve him. He’s sexy and kind and good and you’re a mess. Even if he thinks he wants you now, eventually he’ll realise he’s made a mistake. 

In the light of day, you might have been able to muster the little tricks you’d learned in therapy to quiet the voice of your inner bully. In the early hours, vulnerable and anxious in Ben’s bed, the chorus simply grew more insistent. 

So you carefully get out of bed and pick up your clothes. You pad out of the bedroom and find the bathroom, hoping that a splash of cold water might reset your thinking. 

Instead, the sight of yourself in the mirror just serves as further evidence for the case against you. Your makeup is smudged, settling into every line and wrinkle. You look jowly and heavy: matronly, even, and certainly not worthy of the handsome, good man whose bed you’d shared. 

You feel the defences around your heart building themselves back up again. 

You shouldn’t have let them down in the first place.

Still, you seem to want to somehow change your own mind. You tip-toe back across the hallway and peer around the door into the bedroom, as if maybe seeing Ben might quell the panic that’s beating a frantic, jolting rhythm in your chest. 

He’s still in the same position, his back to you as you stand at the door. There’s not a lot of him that’s visible, save for the tufts of messy hair and the outline of his broad form under the comforter. 

The panic eases momentarily as you feel a surge of affection and want. For an instant, you allow yourself to remember how good it felt to make love with him, to laugh and kiss and hold and touch and fuck together.

You have to leave in a few months. It would have to end one way or another. You couldn’t face that. You couldn’t go through the pain. And what if you hurt him, too? Better to get out now.

You return to the bathroom to dress quickly and quietly. In the semi-darkness, you pad down the stairs and retrieve your shoes, bag, and coat from the hallway. 

What the fuck are you doing?

“I’m getting out before he has the chance to reject me. Before we get too deep. Before I have to go home. Before it has to end. Before I hurt him.” 

Before I fuck it up, like I always do. I always ruin everything.

You remember from Thanksgiving that there’s a little notepad in the kitchen, for shopping lists and reminders. You think for a few moments before writing a note to Ben, folding it over and affixing it to the front of his fridge with a magnet. 

You know this is going to hurt him.

“Better than really hurting him further down the line, even if I’d never want to. I don’t deserve him.”

You try to block out the memory of the evening before, urgent declarations of want and your bodies pushed together against the hallway wall, as you quietly open the front door and leave. 

His immediate instinct as he blinks awake and stretches his long arms is to reach for you, to find your soft, warm body and pull you to him for another kiss, another cuddle; another chance to feel you, so wet and tight and perfect, as he sinks back into you.

“Mmmmm. Morning, baby.” Nothing.

Ben sits up and realises he’s on his own. He wanders around the upper floor of his home, calling your name, as if he’ll summon you out of the ether by repeating it.

He moves down the stairs and into the hallway, now filled with the crisp morning light of midwinter. Still nothing. 

His final hope is that you’re in the kitchen. Maybe you couldn’t sleep. Maybe you were hungry, or thirsty. 

“Lyddie?”

No you. Just a note.

“What the fuck, Lyddie. What the fuck are you doing?”

He leans back against the countertop, staring at the folded piece of paper - at his name, carefully inscribed in your neat, flowing script.

Dear Ben, 

Thank you for last night - it was great, really. I thought it would be easier if I just headed out. I didn’t want to wake you. Safe travels west. Happy holidays. See you soon. - L.

“Fuck.”

The thing that really drove you out of the safe warmth of Ben Morales’ arms and bed and out into the half-light of a December morning, walking home to your empty apartment alone and afraid, wasn’t your fear of fucking up - at least, not really. It was part of it, true, but what tipped the balance was not just fear, but feelings.

You pack the last of your things for the journey home for the holidays and try to ignore that simple fact. You had kept your defences up so sturdily and so dutifully for a long time, until he came along. Until you had to go catching feelings for a man who lived an entire ocean away from you.

You were frightened of fucking up because what you had - the friendship, whatever situation you entered into when he pressed his lips to yours and took you into his bed - meant the world to you. You were scared of hurting him, and of being hurt, because you cared about him so much. 

It was a strange paradox: you had done something that hurt the two of you now, in order to avoid the potential for greater pain further down the line. You’d always had a natural inclination to run from things that scared or overwhelmed you, after all. In your own, tortured logic, it made sense to run from the sheer force of your feelings for Ben. 

As you checked and double-checked the apartment while waiting for your cab to the airport, you remembered David’s words and felt a little guilty. You’d tried, though. You’d tried to let the light in. You just hadn’t expected it to blind you.

You’ve been avoiding your phone, save for sending a message to your family group chat to let them know you were safely en route to the airport. When your mother’s name pops up, you open the message.

MOM: Good woman, Lyd, you’re there good and early! Time to have a nice coffee and a bite to eat. Can’t wait to see you! 

Your mother was always thrilled when you got to the airport ahead of schedule, knowing your propensity for last-minute panic. You had no idea how to explain to her why you were sitting, red-eyed and heartbroken, in an airside coffee shop three whole hours early. 

You still hadn’t opened the two voice notes from Ben. A missed call on the phone, which you spotted after you got through security, then the two notes. Part of you had hoped that if you just ignored them long enough, they’d go away. Typical Lyd.

You take a deep breath and a sip of your enormous festive coffee, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles and reeking of peppermint syrup. You pop in your earbuds and press play.

The sound of his voice is like a knife to the heart. You’d feared anger, but instead Ben sounds like he’s aching.

“Hi, Lyddie - Lydia. I, uh, I got your note. Um. I guess I thought we were on the same page, about… about last night. Maybe not. Sorry if I got the wrong idea. I… anyway. I guess you’re on your way home now, or about to be. I’ll, um - I’ll talk to you. Happy holidays. Safe travels.”

It’s all you can do not to run out of that airport and hop into a cab back to his place, to hold him, to tell him how sorry you are, to beg him to forgive you for being a fucking idiot.

You’ve fucked it up. Told you you would.

You press play on the second voice note. His voice, still cracking a little, sounds stronger, steadier, more determined.

“Hi, just wanted to say - I don’t regret it. I don’t regret that we spent the night together. I’ll never regret that, no matter what. It meant something to me. I don’t want you to regret it, Lyd. Please.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press ‘call’. He doesn’t answer. 

Ben listens to your voice note again while he’s sitting in the departures lounge, a day after you’d passed through. He hasn’t slept very much in the last day and a half. This morning, when he was washing his face and trimming his beard and moustache, he was sure he’d aged a decade in the space of less than 48 hours. The delay to his flight gives him plenty of time to nurse an enormous black coffee, though he wishes it was something even stronger.

“Hi. I’m at the airport. I tried calling, but - I guess you’re busy. Or maybe you just don’t want to talk. I understand why you - listen, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what - I can explain, it’s just - it’s hard not being able to do that face to face. I promise, I can explain. I can. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ben.”

Your voice catches at that point in the voice note, and he can hear you trying not to completely break down. It breaks his heart every time he listens to the message.

“I guess I will see you in the new year, then? I promise I’ll explain then. Safe travels west. Okay, then. Bye.”

Jet lag is a bitch. But you summon the strength and focus to slip in your earbuds in the privacy of your childhood bedroom at home, and press play on the next voice note he sent you. 

You might be imagining it, but his tone is softer. He still sounds hurt, but calmer, somehow. 

“Hey there. I’m just about to fly out. I got your message and - yeah. Probably best to see how things are in January. Maybe it’ll be good to have some space, clear our heads. Anyway.” He pauses, his voice quieter. “It’s good to hear your voice, Lyd.”

Oh, fuck. He wants space. Fuck. That’s not good. 

You take three attempts at your response before you manage to record a coherent message. 

“Hey. I hope the flights are okay, and that you get there safely. Yeah - um, yeah. Space, clear our heads. So, guess I’ll give you your space, until I see you and can explain. And it’s so good to hear your voice, too.”

You press send, your eyes glancing over the little round picture of Ben at the top of the screen. You say the words you’d left unsaid at the end of your message. 

“God, I miss you, darling.”

TJ Morales waits inside the arrivals hall at San Francisco International with his twelve year old twin sons, Dylan and Carlos. There’s only eighteen months between TJ - Thomas Juan, to give him his full name - and his older brother, and despite living on opposite sides of the country for a decade, they’re very close. It’s become an annual tradition, when Ben returns for the holidays, for TJ and the boys to pick him up.

This year, the three are decked out in an array of Star Wars-themed Christmas shirts to welcome Ben home: Dylan’s printed with a pattern of C3PO in a Santa hat, Carlos wearing a shirt emblazoned with Chewbacca wrapped in fairy lights, and their father wearing a pattern rather sweetly titled ‘We Wish You A Merry Sithmas’.

The running joke in the family was that TJ was the ‘cool brother’, a title he’d given himself when they were in middle school, much to the amusement of their parents. In many ways, that dynamic held fast to the present day. TJ, with his laidback personality, his long dark locks and neat beard, his array of plaid shirts, band T-shirts, and casual hoodies, still seemed to embody West Coast cool in a way that his more serious, anxious brother didn’t. His job certainly helped - a sound engineer for a video game studio, the kind of job both boys could have only dreamed of as they hid their shared Game Boy from their younger sister, Teresa.

Even so, as Ana Morales liked to remind people when she spoke about her sons, when she’d asked a three year old TJ what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer was clear: “I wanna be like Ben.”

The sliding doors open and passengers begin to stream out, excitedly greeted by their families and friends. The two boys keep watch at the barrier, their dark curls bobbing up and down as they compete to spot their beloved tío first.

“Tío Ben!!” 

Carlos wins this year, waving frantically to his uncle as he pushes his luggage trolley through the doors.

Ben grins widely as he wraps an arm around each of his nephews, ruffling their hair as they show off their new holiday shirts. TJ throws his arms around his big brother, embracing him tightly. “Welcome home, hermano. We missed you.”

As he pulls away, TJ notices how tired Ben looks. His smile, genuine as it is, doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“You okay, Ben?” he asks in a low voice as they follow the boys out of the terminal and in the direction of the parking lot.

Ben nods, putting his arm around his brother as they walk. “I’m okay. Just tired. It’s been a long semester. I’m so glad to be home with you guys - it’s been forever.”

“Can I ask you something, Lyd?”

Your younger - only - sibling, Kate, is bouncing her one year old daughter Evie on her lap while Cora, her older girl, dances around the room and sings along to Encanto.

“We don’t talk about Bru- sure, of course. What’s up?”

“Are you alright? You’re normally full of energy when you’re home for the holidays and you just seem - I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like someone’s turned down your brightness.”

You haven’t said anything to Kate about Ben - well, nothing more than acknowledging him as part of the wider group of friends you’d established at Barrow. You certainly haven’t told her about your growing closeness, or what had happened, or - god forbid - your feelings for him.

It wasn’t that you two weren’t close enough for sharing that kind of confidence. You’d been brought even closer together since your ex-partner had cheated and left. You just felt like if you actually articulated the words, it would make it too real. Too much. Too fragile, too likely to disappear like every other crush or love affair you’d ever had.

“I’m just tired, I think. It was a lot in a few months - moving there, adjusting to a new environment, meeting all those new people, doing new classes. You know I’m always wrecked at the end of the semester.”

Kate raises an eyebrow sceptically while Evie chews on a giraffe-shaped teething toy. “There’s something off.”

You exhale, frustrated. “I’m fine.”

“Did you meet someone?”

Your eyes widen. How the FUCK does she know?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about. What gives you that idea?”

“You were happy when we’d talk and FaceTime. You were always so excited going out with your new friends. And now you’re back here you’re tired and gloomy. It just makes me wonder, you know - was there more than intellectual stimulation going on over there. If you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Kate.”

“They’re working you too hard, Benjamin. Doesn’t your poor brother look tired, Thomas?”

TJ exhales and takes a sip of his coffee. He was used to the annual routine - their mother fussing over Ben like he’d been thoroughly neglected since the last time he was home. 

“I asked him earlier and he said he was fine. Didn’t you, B?”

Ben nods. “I’m fine, mom.”

Ana Morales does not seem convinced. “Well, you’ve got a couple of weeks now to rest up. We’ll take care of you.”

TJ shoots a look at the twins, who giggle conspiratorially.

The door into the kitchen opens and Lucy, TJ’s wife, staggers in carrying a precarious stack of lilac-coloured cake boxes printed with the logo for Pun in the Oven, her bakery and coffee shop in the city. Ben and TJ immediately stand up to relieve her of the burden, placing the boxes on the kitchen table as Lucy - or as she’s more usually called, Luce - wipes her brow and grins in the direction of her brother-in-law.

“BENJAMIIIIIIIIN!” She grabs Ben and pulls him in for a hug, smiling widely. “Missed you, man!”

Ben smiles softly at her in turn. “You look great, Luce. Any new tattoos since I saw you last?”

Luce arches an eyebrow and holds out her left hand, revealing a simple outline of a heart in purple ink in the space between her index finger and thumb. 

“Hope you don’t mind, dude. Took some inspiration from your bullseye for this one, just because I always thought the placement was cool.”

Ben spreads the fingers on his left hand, flexing his thumb slightly as he looks at the small bullseye tattoo he had done during his junior year abroad. 

“I’m honoured. Any chance your husband might get a matching one, eh?” 

Luce giggles and wraps an arm around TJ. “You know he hates needles. He got our initials done, that was enough for me. He was so brave.” She plants a kiss to TJ’s cheek, triggering dry-heaving noises from their sons.

Ana surveys the stack of cake boxes on her table. “You didn’t need to, Luce. This is far too much.”

Luce shakes her head and holds up her hands. “Nonsense. Just a couple of the leftovers from today and a few extra batches of the holiday specials I threw in this morning. Plus, for the homecoming…”

She lifts the lid on one of the boxes and pushes it in Ben’s direction.

“Coffee and walnut - your favourite.”

Ben’s eyes light up and he hugs his sister-in-law. “This is the best gift I could ask for. Thanks, Luce.”

“Don’t you think he looks tired, Luce? He needs to rest, poor boy.” Ana tilts her head at Ben, who is already searching for a knife to cut a slice of the cake.

Luce does think Ben looks tired, but there’s something else that’s just not quite right. A sadness, somewhere, or a resurgence of his anxiety. You can see it in his eyes. Maybe her husband knows more.

“We’ll look after him.” 

There’s always been something special about Christmas Eve. As a child it was the anticipation and excitement for the day to come, desperate to go to bed but too excited to sleep. As an adult, drafted in to help prep the food for the next day’s dinner, you peeled potatoes, sliced carrots, and monitored the turkey slowly cooking in the oven while listening to carols and Christmas songs on the radio. 

More than that, there was something in the air - maybe not ‘magic’, contrary to the message pushed in every TV ad since November. But possibility: of transformation, of newness, of togetherness, whether with blood family, found family, or whatever community you chose for yourself.

Or, just maybe, you’d completely internalised A Christmas Carol. Never mind Charles Dickens, that was mostly the Muppets’ fault.

The arrival of your little nieces in recent years has brought back some of the old traditions from your own childhood. You’d been followed around for most of the day by Cora, who had turned three a few months before.

“How does Santa bring all the things, Auntie Lyd?”

You smile and continue peeling potatoes. “I think he has some magic that lets him have a really big sleigh that just carries all the toys for everyone.”

“But then it’s too big and won’t fly.”

“No, it will. Because it’s magic.”

“But then he has’ta come down the chimley.” She gazes up at you, narrowing her eyes. “Should just use the magic to put the presents down.”

You’re stuck there. Thankfully, your brother-in-law Marc arrives in search of another slice of cake, and you palm her off on her daddy. 

With Cora and Evie safely in bed and asleep, you and your parents help your sister and her husband set up the living room, carefully setting out the Santa gifts and filling the little stockings embroidered with each girl’s name. 

Marc takes a careful bite out of the slice of cake and drains the glass of port left at the fireplace. “I don’t know how he isn’t absolutely rat-arsed, with all the port and whiskey and that being left out for him. No wonder he’s falling down chimneys.”

With your parents gone to bed, and Marc watching Die Hard on a random movie channel, you and your sister unwind for a bit with tea and Christmas cookies. She eyes you up, as if steeling herself to make a confession. Or, as it turns out, to encourage you to make one.

“So, who is he?” Kate poses the question at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around her gigantic Christmas mug of tea.

You put down your own mug and sigh.

One of Cora’s favourite questions about Santa Claus is how he does it all in one night. Apart from magic, which even at three she seems sceptical about, you tend to cite time zones as an explanation.

After all, how else could Cora and Evie be already starting to wake up to their gifts on one side of the world, while Santa hasn’t yet visited the extended Morales clan on the other?

With Luce and TJ hosting Christmas this year, they extended an invitation to Ben and Ana to stay with them on Christmas Eve. In truth, they hoped being roped in for an 80s Christmas movie marathon with his nephews would help distract Ben a little. Maybe even get him in the holiday mood. 

By 11pm, Lucy has finished the prep for tomorrow’s meal and is shooing her sons to their beds. Their grandmother retired a couple of hours before to the guest bedroom, carrying a dog-eared copy of A Christmas Carol - she likes to read the last couple of chapters every Christmas Eve, even if Tiny Tim always makes her cry.

“I’m going to head up, babe - don’t stay up too late. You have all the stuff for the sofa bed, Ben?”

Ben turns to acknowledge his sister-in-law, nodding. “All here. Thanks, Luce, it’s really nice spending Christmas Eve with you guys.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s our pleasure. Teej, I’ll see you in a bit? G’night, Ben. Merry Christmas.”

The Morales boys are sitting on TJ’s couch, each drinking a beer while Scrooged plays, quietly, on the TV. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” TJ runs a finger along the condensation on his bottle of beer, sleeves rolled up on his blue flannel. 

Ben fiddles with the cuff of his own, pine-green checked shirt. “As in…?”

His younger brother fixes him with a glare.

“As in what - or should I say, who’s - on your mind?”

“He’s called Ben. He’s a literature professor at Barrow.”

“Her name is Lyddie - I mean, Lydia. She’s a visiting professor. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her?”

“I met him on the very first day. He was my - what did he call himself? - my ‘welcome wagon’.”

“We went to dinner, as we normally do with the visiting people. And we just…man. Clicked. As friends.” 

“I mean, I made a Big Night reference and he got it? Honestly, I hadn’t had such a good time in…I can’t remember. I told him about what happened - the shit hitting the fan, and all that.”

“I guess we just started hanging out. Having coffee, talking - just friendly stuff, you know? She was new, we had a lot in common. I - I liked having her around.”

“He was so sweet to me when I was settling in. Like, I have made some really good friends over there. But sometimes he’d bring me coffee in the afternoon, and - I dunno, I started to look forward to it.”

“She’s unbelievably smart, TJ. Doesn’t think it. Always puts herself down. Same as when you try to tell her she’s pretty. But she’s so fucking bright, I swear to god. And she has the best taste in movies and music. And she is pretty. More than pretty.”

“And he’s so kind and giving. He’s running this whole diversity programme to try to make Barrow less white and wealthy and he’s had so much shit about it from fucking dickheads who think Ben’s not as good as them because he’s Latino and because his parents had to fucking work hard for a living. Assholes. All that and he’s really goddamn handsome.”

“And she’s a bit of a firecracker when she wants to be. You know that culture war idiot Lacroix? She just went for him at the away day because he was giving me shit.”

“He’s so fucking funny. The biggest dork you’ve ever seen. Actually did a ‘reeling you in’ dance at my birthday drinks to get me on the dancefloor. Once, he laughed so hard in my office that his glasses flew off his face. Hanging out with him is - was - so great.”

“She’s got this knack of knowing how to lift my spirits. I said to her one day that I’ve never laughed as much in work before - I meant before her.”

“I was the only person to get who he’d dressed up as for Halloween. That was a fun night - at Evan’s. You know Evan. You’re mutuals with Evan on Instagram, right? We were a little bit merry. Well, a lot merry. It sounds so fucking dumb but we touched and I swear I could feel electricity going off in my brain, and I…I hadn’t experienced that in years. Years.”

“Had her on my lap on the ride home from Evan’s. I put it down to being a bit drunk on Spooky Margs but honestly, I didn’t want to let her go when we got to her place. I’ll explain the Spooky Marg another time, man, you do not want to know.”

“We do - did - a lot of movie nerding out together. Did I show you the gifts he got me for my birthday? And the card? He got me a Hitchhiker’s Guide card. Y’know, because -”

“42. The answer to the ultimate question. She’s 42. I don’t think I said that to you. I guess I should have known there was something there the day I ordered that card, huh.”

“I knew there was something there on my birthday, for sure. And dancing with him, to that song - fuck. For a couple of minutes I just let myself pretend, you know? But he never did anything more, not that night.”

“I wasn’t drinking when we went out for her birthday, but she was. So I didn’t want to make a move, in case she wasn’t interested and felt I was trying to take advantage. But I wish I had.”

“He ended up alone in Barrow for Thanksgiving, so he invited me to come over. I’m sure I told you about this? The parade, the movie? Well, it was - it was really nice. God, that’s such a shit way of explaining it. It was just -”

“Mom did a video call, remember? And she saw her and she was all nice as pie and then she was giving me shit about whether Lydia was my girlfriend, and why wasn’t she my girlfriend because she was so pretty and so funny, and - god. You know what she’s like.”

“And all day I kept thinking ‘I wish I could tell you how I feel’, and then I’d remember I was just fucking visiting. I’m temporary. It’s temporary, by default. And he couldn’t want someone like me. And you know I can’t go through that hurt again. You know, Kate. You saw me at my lowest.”

“I did think about asking her out that evening, TJ. I did. But she’d said some stuff about being ‘good friends’ or something, and I just thought it was safer not to. I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. You know? She probably wasn’t interested, that’s what I thought.”

“I went to give him a kiss on the cheek to say thank you.”

“I turned to meet her. I wanted it, wanted to kiss her.”

“And we kissed, accidentally. For a couple of seconds. At least, I thought it was accidental. Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t long.”

“I wasn’t brave enough to kiss her like she ought to be kissed. She panicked and I thought she didn’t want it.”

“I should have kept kissing him.”

“We didn’t see each other for a couple of weeks, between conferences and travel. And fuck it, I missed her.”

“We messaged all the time and I still missed him. We didn’t talk about Thanksgiving. Not until - well.”

“So I told her I meant it. Meant to kiss her.”

“I don’t know what it is but tying a man’s tie is so intimate and so hot and - yep. We kissed properly.”

“We ended up back at my place the night before she went home.”

“We…we were together, the night before I came back over here.”

“I’m not being ‘coy’, TJ. I - okay, we slept together. Happy now?”

“Yes, okay, yes, we slept together that night, at his place.”

“And I asked her to stay. I wanted her to stay over. I was ready to drive her home and get her stuff. I would have gone to the fucking airport with her. Anything.”

“I woke up in the early hours and I just - fuck. I just lost it. I flipped. All the dark shit just came roaring back up.”

“She left a note. I couldn’t believe it.”

“The sex was not bad, fuck off! I can’t believe I’m about to say these words to my baby sister but - best sex I’ve ever had. Four times. Four fucking times.”

“I know I’m blushing, dude. It was really, really fucking good. Really good.”

“Who am I, Kate? A fucking cliché? I left him a fucking note? All because I couldn’t handle having real fucking feelings, because I knew I’d fuck it up. Like I always do. And oh look - SHE FUCKED IT UP. Again.”

“I really thought we were on the same page, you know?”

“He left me a voice note. Here, listen.”

“I tried calling her, but she was already at the airport.”

“I called him back. No answer.”

“I don’t think I would have been able to speak to her. She left me a voice note, too.”

“It would be easier to explain in person, right? Wouldn’t it?” 

“Maybe we needed the space and time apart, anyway. Especially if she regrets it.”

“He said we could do with the space. He said he hopes I don’t regret it. How could I ever regret that, with him? I’ve fucked it up, Kate. I know it would have been pointless anyway with the temporary visiting stupid situation, but - still. I ruined everything.”

Kate reaches over to pat the back of your hand, her festive, red and green manicure glittering as the light bounces off her nails.

“You probably didn’t, love. You always think you did. Can I - can I see a picture of him, if you have one? Want to see this nerdy sex god for myself.”

You open your phone and swipe through your pictures, finding one you’d taken of Ben on Thanksgiving. He’s holding his plate stacked with blueberry pancakes, smiling and bespectacled on the couch as you watch the Macy’s parade.

“Here he is.”

Kate studies the image carefully, eyebrows raised. She zooms in and out a couple of times.

“Well, hello, gorgeous! He’s handsome. Really handsome. Look at that smile, whew. And those eyes!” She zooms in and out again. 

“May I remind you that you are a married mother of two?”

“I can look and appreciate, can’t I?” She swats the air as if brushing your comment away.  “Fuck, it’s like someone engineered him in a lab for you. He even kinda looks like a mature version of those imaginary boyfriends you used to draw in your diary when you were thirteen.”

“He is fucking handsome, isn’t he? He’s so - wait, what? How did you know about those?”

Your sister rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Bitch, I read that thing cover to cover. You were so dramatic. Still are. You got any of the two of you together?”

You open your photos and pull up the photos Ani took of you and Ben dancing the night of your birthday drinks. “These are probably the best.”

Kate’s expression changes when she swipes through the set of pictures, zooming in every so often to look at your and Ben’s expressions more carefully. She looks up at you, hands you back the phone, and looks like she might cry.

“You okay?”

“Fucking hell, Lyd, you’ve got it bad. Both of you - I mean, look at the two of you! I know they’re just pictures but on top of everything you’ve said? I don’t think he’s just got a ‘thing’ for you, I think he’s really into you.” She chews on a cookie. “Remind me what you said in the note again.”

You recount the contents of the missive. 

“It’s just… you clearly have serious feelings for him. You’ve told me all these things about this wonderful guy. You told me it was the best sex you’ve ever had. And then you say ‘it was great’ to him in a shitty note?! I can understand why he’s pissed off.”

“I screwed this up, didn’t I?”

Kate throws her head back in frustration. “Still dramatic. You screwed it up a bit, but - surely he’s not that much of an asshole that he wouldn’t hear you out?” She drains the last of her tea from the mug. “Admittedly if it wasn’t Christmas, I’d be putting you on a flight to San Fran. However - talk when you get back. Explain face to face. Don’t assume the worst. I don’t think he can turn off his feelings that easily.”

“You don’t know that she regrets it. You don’t even know why she left without saying goodbye. You said she’d had some rough shit in the last couple of years. She said the night together was great in the note, didn’t she? And she’s been in touch, so… I dunno, man. I wouldn’t write her off.”

TJ takes the last swig from his bottle of beer and slaps his brother on the thigh.

“Can I see a photo of this Lydia, then?”

Ben sighs and digs around in his jeans pocket for his phone. He chooses the one he’d taken of you on Thanksgiving, sitting in the diner with your grilled cheese sandwich and basket of fries. You’re still wearing your glasses after the movie, smiling at him in your thick cable-knit sweater.

“That’s Lyddie - I mean, Lydia on Thanksgiving. She made that sweater herself, you know. She’s a talented woman.”

TJ smiles as he studies your features, zooming in a little on your bright, happy face.

“She’s a pretty woman, too. Beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes - kind-looking, and you just know she’s smart and funny as hell.” He turns to his older brother, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” 

Ben smiles and huffs a laugh at the reference. “Quoting The Way We Were at me? Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Ana Morales has good taste in movies! Remember the VHS copy she always used to put on and cry at?”

Ben smiles at the memory. He turns to TJ, eyes full of emotion - worry, sadness, and affection. For his little brother, of course - but for you, too.

“I mean it, Ben. She is lovely. She sounds lovely - disappearing act aside, of course. And the way she’s looking at you in that picture - fuck, man. You can just see how much she likes you. You’ve every right to be hurt and angry, but - maybe don’t give up on her. You’re both too fucking old to let a chance like this slide, bro. Don’t let her go.”

Christmas Day is a chaotic whirlwind of overexcited nieces, a family dinner delivered like a military operation, and fighting over what to watch on TV. Same as it ever was. 

It’s nice. It’s comforting. But you’re impossibly lonely, embrace of a loving (if stress-inducing) family unit aside.

Since you’d cut and run a few days before, the steady stream of communication back and forth between you and Ben had essentially ceased, save for the voice notes. It’s become such second nature to you, the constant contact, and the rupture is all the more brutal as a result.

In the early hours of Christmas morning, lying wide awake in your old bed, you remember that during the Apollo missions to the moon they had a thing called LOS, or Loss of Signal. When orbit took the craft to the dark side of the moon, all communication between Mission Control and the astronauts became impossible for a time. 

LOS was nerve-wracking, particularly in the first attempts at lunar orbit. What if they never re-established contact? What if something happened on the dark side, leaving the crew lost forever while the rest of the world carried on? You have heard the recordings, the hiss of static fraying the nerves of those on the ground awaiting the return of the signal, the sound of a voice spinning through the vastness of space.

You’re in extended LOS, you realise. In spite of yourself, you smile, thinking how in any other circumstances Ben - with his Saturn V model and his Apollo 11 sweatshirt - would love the analogy.

“Did you send him a happy Christmas message yet?”

Kate doesn’t even look at you as she says it, all casual. She’s too busy scraping the remains of the Christmas dinner off the plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

“The fuck?” Her ability to read your mind is starting to become disturbing. 

She swivels. “Did you send Ben a message wishing him a happy Christmas? If I was you I’d take a nice picture and send it. You look cute in that dress.”

“Do you think he wants a Christmas message from me? I doubt it. He wants space.”

Kate closes the dishwasher and presses the start button.

“I don’t think he knows what he wants, probably. Other than you. I’m sure he wants you, going on the way he looked at you in those pictures.”

You make a whining noise. “That was before.”

“You and your apocalyptic thinking. Unfortunately, Lyd, if you want to fix this you’re going to have to be the one leading the fixing. Start with a message.”

She sidles over to the kitchen counter, where your phone is safely tucked away to avoid doom-scrolling, picking it up and waving it menacingly. 

“If you don’t, I will.”

“FINE. But I’m not sending him a cute selfie, that’s ludicrous.”

You retreat to your room. It takes you a full half-hour to pick a photo and compose a message.

A notification appears at the top of your screen.

KATE: SEND THAT FUCKING MESSAGE

Breathe. Send. Run away.

Ben sneaks another buñuelo from the pile made by his mother earlier that Christmas morning. The sweet, spicy kick of the cinnamon sugar with the fried dough lifts his spirits - as does the sight of his three niblings side by side on the couch, engrossed in a game on Dylan and Carlos’s Nintendo Switch. A twin sits on either side of their youngest cousin, Julia - Jules to all - and helps her manoeuvre the controller and work her way through the game.

Newly-turned seven, and the daughter of Teresa Morales and her Irish husband Pádraig, Jules might be the youngest in the family but is a tiny force of nature. Though he didn’t have favourites among the three, Ben had a special connection with Jules, who routinely mailed him letters and drawings every couple of weeks. He would diligently respond with a hand-written letter, usually enclosing a couple of packs of stickers or a new book for her to read.

“I’M BORED NOW.” Jules hops off the couch and saunters over to her tío Ben, who’s sitting at the table in the dining room off Luce and TJ’s living room. “Can I have a buñuelo?” 

He brushes cinnamon sugar out of his moustache and off his dark red sweater, and looks over at his sister, who rolls her eyes and nods in resignation. “Your mom says yes, so…” He holds out the plate. 

Jules scrunches her nose up in delight as she takes a bite, then cocks her head as she studies her uncle. “I think you might be sad.”

This is a perceptive kid, Ben thinks. 

“I’m okay, Jules. Just a little tired.”

She chews another bite of her snack and shakes her head. “No. I think you’re sad. I can make you happy, though!” She makes a serious face. “Wait here, okay?”

She returns carrying a bundle of brightly-coloured hair clips and what looks suspiciously like a couple of bottles of nail polish. 

“Mama always says she feels happier when she gets her hair done. And has her pretty nails.” 

The little girl perches herself on a chair, sets out her equipment, and gets to work, tongue peeking out as she concentrates on painting Ben’s nails (she adds a glittery topcoat for extra effect) and carefully placing hair clips in his hair. 

“Everyone, tell tío he looks pretty!”

The rest of the extended Morales clan turn to look at Ben. Dylan and Carlos immediately grab their phones to take photos. TJ raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly. 

“That makeover stays put for the rest of the day, Ben.” Teresa is deadly serious, not wanting her little girl to see her handiwork undone. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you, Jules. I feel much better.”

You allow yourself a glance at your phone later that evening, a glass of champagne lending you some extra courage.

Still nothing.

You cast a glance at the contents of the little gift box Ben had left for you before leaving Barrow. A beautiful, dark red notebook, subtly personalised with your initials in embossed lettering - and a set of Nouvelle Vague-themed film button badges.

“Stupendous as always, Luce!” 

Ben and TJ carry stacks of empty dinner plates into the kitchen, the family well-fed and content after their Christmas meal of beef and a seemingly endless selection of side dishes. 

Lucy is preparing dessert, which mostly consists of the cakes and cookies left over at Pun in the Oven when they closed for the holiday the day before, served with ice cream and fresh fruit.

“Your mom did a lot of the work, guys. Can’t take all the credit. Hey, TJ, can you carry this cake stand in with you? Thanks, babe.”

She notices that Ben has a somewhat wistful expression on his face as he sorts out the dirty dishes.

“Hey, I just wanted to say - I asked TJ if he knew what was going on with you, and…”

Ben nods and smiles. “He told you.”

“I’m with him, Benjamin. From what you told TJ, I think this is worth fighting for. Or at least, it’s worth giving her a chance to explain properly.” 

He casts his gaze downwards. “You know, when I saw those photos the boys took of my ‘makeover’, the first thing that popped into my mind was ‘I better send these to Lyd’.”

“You miss her.” Luce pats him on the back. “So why don’t you? Send them, I mean.”

Ben turns to her in astonishment. “Seriously? We said we were giving each other space, time… and I’m still not sure what she wants.”

His sister-in-law rolls her eyes. “If you don’t send her a happy holidays message with one of those pictures - I will. And you know I don’t fuck around.”

He stands with one hand on his hip, bringing the other up to cover his face. “I know you don’t. Shit. Okay. I’ll do it. But only so you - or worse, TJ - don’t.”

Luce does a tiny dance for joy as Ben turns to leave. She spots - and recognises - a baby pink no-crease hair clip sticking out of his dark hair at the back of his head.

“JULES, have you been in our room??”

Ben settles himself at the desk in his brother’s home office, where he’d deliberately left his phone all day. He’s still not convinced that Luce is right about sending this, but she’s a woman of her word. 

He holds your gift to him, unopened, in his hands. He unwraps it quickly.

A pair of brightly-coloured socks, patterned with books and pens. And a soft, hand-knitted, merino watchcap in a Prussian blue, with a little tag stitched inside: Hand Knitted by Me.

He didn’t expect your name to be there, waiting for him, when he turned over his phone.

You had chosen a slightly chaotic photo of yourself that your brother-in-law had taken, of Cora bopping you in the face while trying to stick a huge bow on you. It would at least, you hoped, make him smile.

Happy Christmas, Ben. I was injured in a gifting incident earlier today. - L.

He selects a photo of himself showing off his painted nails, his hair festooned with coloured clips, while Jules beams in the background at her handiwork.

Merry Christmas, Lyd. I got a holiday makeover courtesy of Jules. - B.

You each hope that the other will somehow be able to read, in the gaps, the words left invisible:

I’m so sorry.

I don’t know why you did it.

I care so much about you.

I really miss you.

I think about you all the time.

I want you.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: TJ's 'Your girl's lovely, Hubbell' is, of course, a reference to The Way We Were.

[janiehellion]

Falling Deep

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl Dixon was a quiet but curious young man—shy, inexperienced, and way more innocent than you’d expect. It was just you, him, and... a vibrator.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: VIRGIN!DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / ORAL FIXATION / CUNNILINGUS / SEX TOYS / DRUGS & ALCOHOL / NON-CON ELEMENTS

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.925

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: PRE-APOCALYPSE—ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: @dixongrimesgirl

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Thank you for your patience! I know it’s been a long wait, and I can only hope it was worth it. This might not be exactly what you had in mind when you sent in the request, but I hope you enjoy it.

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

The Chattahoochee was a whole different level of disgusting, even for a bar so close to the deep woods of Georgia. Low ceilings, broken lights, and the smell of piss and beer were present in every corner. Regulars stumbled in every night and day, a lot of them already drunk or high, but most of them?

Both.

It was the kind of place that was sticky no matter how much bleach you poured on it and where you could smell the bad life decisions coming from a mile away.

You worked behind the bar, pouring shots of moonshine and avoiding the greedy touches of men like it was just another part of the job. Which, in a place like this, it practically was. Located in the heart of the most godforsaken area of Georgia, it was the perfect place for the kind of people you’d rather not run into at any time.

Safe to say, Merle Dixon had been hitting on you since day one, coming at you with even worse pickup lines while high on who knows what. He'd lean over the counter, smirking, smelling like alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. "Hey, sugar tits, gimme 'nother," he’d laugh, putting a half-torn dollar on the bar like it was supposed to impress you.

"Watch the damn language, Dixon, or that’ll be your last drink for tonight," you’d answer, not even looking up as you poured him another shot.

"Hey, c'mon now," he’d answer you, "don't be like that. Ya know ya wanna gimme a shot at somethin’ else, don't ya?" He'd grin further, which seemed more lustful than charming, his eyes staring at your tits like they belonged there at all times.

You'd roll your eyes and shove the glass across the bar with a little more force than necessary. "In your damn dreams, Dixon. And keep your damn eyes up here, or I’m gonna rip ‘em outta your damn skull," you’d warn, but not entirely without sarcasm. It wasn’t the first time he behaved like that, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Then there was Daryl, his little brother, always standing or sitting nearby, almost like a shadow, or rather, like someone who didn't belong in a place like that. He wasn’t the type to come up and throw a pickup line at you; hell, he barely spoke at all. Just stood back while Merle tried to flirt with you, as if he was embarrassed to even be there.

You’d catch Daryl looking at you with these sideways glances, his arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for whatever bullshit his brother might do next. Or maybe he was scared, and he just had no clue what to do with a girl who would throw a bottle at someone's head and talk filthier than any man in the bar.

One night, Merle was high on meth that had his pupils blown wide, and he was drunk as always. "Y'know, darlin'," he slurred, leaning far over the bar, "I could make your night real fuckin' interestin’. Got a little somethin' else with me that’ll loosen ya up for some fun." He took out a tiny baggie—powder—white and unmistakable.

"Fuck off, Merle," you said with a smirk. "Go snort that shit somewhere else, where I don’t have to watch your annoying ass. Ain't your damn babysitter." You were used to it, but he was starting to piss you off more than usual. "And don’t even think about offering it to anyone else inside this hellhole. Last thing I need is you getting the whole damn bar high. Do that outside, with those who are probably shitting all over themselves right now."

Meanwhile, Daryl was sitting on a stool nearby, again, his eyes looking from you to his brother. You couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he looked, the way he watched Merle and every other person around. There was always something different about him—he was quieter, more... soft. The kind of guy who stood back and kept his head down.

"Leave 'er 'lone, Merle," Daryl mumbled, more to himself than to his brother. But he seemed to be sick of the whole scene. Not that Merle ever listened, or would ever listen to him.

No, Merle just rolled his eyes before shoving the baggie back into his pocket, not even looking in the direction of his brother, keeping his focus only on you... and your tits. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just tryin’ to show ya a good time for once." He grabbed his drink and stumbled off, probably to piss in a bush outside, and you were left with Daryl, who still just sat there.

Some time later, you grabbed a dirty rag and started wiping the bar down, side-eyeing him. "You gonna say somethin’, or just keep sittin' there?" You teased, soon throwing the rag under the counter and pouring him another drink.

He shrugged, looking away, clearly not sure what to do with himself. "Ain’t like I could stop him if he tried anythin’," he mumbled, looking down into his glass.

"If he tried, he'd go home without his dick. Not that it'd make much of a difference for him," you said back, smirking at him and trying to get him to loosen up a bit. "You come here just to watch me shut him down every night?"

It was a half-serious question, but you knew the answer. Daryl wasn’t like the other assholes—he didn’t hit on you, didn’t try to grab your ass or tits when you passed by, and never once called you some stupid nickname like sugar tits.

"I… jus' end up 'ere," he said awkwardly, his fingers tapping down on the counter. "Ain’t got much else to do."

"Well, at least you’re not tryin’ to snort coke off my tits or ass," you answered, making him go red in the face.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words seemed to be stuck in his throat, and you couldn’t help but find it kind of adorable.

"You know, since you come here enough, Dixon 2.0," you continued, "might as well help me close up sometime and throw the rest of these assholes outta here. Would get you a drink on the house."

It was just a passing suggestion, a simple idea, but his eyes looked up, like he was considering it, and for once, he actually looked into yours. Not in that drooling, perverted way his older brother did, but with curiosity. "Maybe," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dunno."

"You know what? Just think about it."

And so, the routine went on. Merle would walk in, and Daryl would sit nearby, quietly sipping his own drink while keeping an eye on his brother. And secretly, on you.

Tonight, though? Tonight was different. Somehow, you’d gotten him here, in your home, alone, without Merle, who was probably stinking of booze and piss all over again somewhere. His brother must have gotten his hands on something strong, or whatever it was, it gave you the perfect excuse.

You’d leaned in close while Daryl was mumbling about his brother and told him he should come over; maybe help you with something, and you told him it was important. You hadn’t even needed to lie all that much—he’d just nodded, eyes wide and nervous, and here he was, following you home like a little boy.

When he got to your place, he just stood there, all tense, and moving from one foot to the other like he didn’t know where to put himself. And you—well, you liked watching him squirm and being nervous, knowing well you were the one making him feel like that.

Daryl wasn’t even in the door for five seconds before you threw your bag on the floor, walking inside without saying anything else. No pretenses, no "make yourself at home." You didn’t bother with shit like that. If he was here, he was here on your terms, and you weren’t about to treat him like a guest.

"C’mon in," you said, standing next to the door to finally close it.

You saw him gulp, eyes looking around like he was searching for a quick exit he could use just in case, but finding nothing but trouble. So he nodded, stepping in, his shoulders hunched as he stood there, awkward as hell. Every inch of him screamed that he was nervous, but he didn’t run, not yet. You liked that about him. Quiet, sure, but still stubborn.

Meanwhile, your place was kind of a mess, clothes lying around, bottles on the tables—some empty, some half-full. A few were left over from last week, but hell, you weren’t cleaning for anybody, especially not for him. Daryl didn’t seem to mind, though; if anything, he looked like he was trying hard not to stare around too much, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his face all red once more, while you kicked off those awful heels that made your feet ache.

"Go on and sit down in my room," you said over your shoulder as you turned around, smirking as you heard his quiet huff. "I'm gonna get outta these damn clothes and put on something more comfortable."

"'Kay," he muttered and nodded again, sounding like he’d swallowed his own tongue.

Once in the bathroom, you pulled off the way too tight top and short skirt in the bathroom, letting yourself breathe for once. That outfit was a real curse; your bra always felt as if it was pushing your tits all the way up to your chin, but it kept the tips flowing, so you kept wearing those clothes.

But tonight? You’d rather die than let Daryl see you in it for too long. Poor boy was already chewing the inside of his mouth and choking on his own words like he might say the wrong thing and die on the spot.

But what you didn't know was that the second you went away to change your clothes, Daryl’s hands started twitching, like his body was on alert between curiosity and unease. A few of your clothes were tossed across the bed, smelling like that bar you worked at—smoke, sweat, and alcohol. It all felt like a place he shouldn’t be at, but here he was, sitting down on your bed and touching your clothes to shove them aside.

He told himself he wasn’t snooping, just trying to figure you out as he sat there nervously. Hell, you were already a mystery to him—a tough girl working in a bar where skirts and shorts barely covered what they ought to and heels high enough to bring any man to his knees.

So here he was, and his mind started running wild, wondering if every woman’s place was like this—half-dirty, with clothes tossed around, magazines piled up, and so much more.

Then his eyes landed on a big box sitting half-shoved under your bed, an open corner poking out like it had been forgotten as his foot bumped against it. He should’ve left it alone, but there was that itch, like he couldn’t look away. Daryl crouched down, sitting down on the floor, his fingers fumbling with the top until it opened up. His eyes went wide, lips parting as he looked inside.

It was filled with... things. Smooth, soft, strange-looking things in different shapes and colors, each one making him more confused than the last.

"What's this stuff?" He whispered, eyes squinting as he picked up a small pink thing with a rounded end. It fit in his hand, smooth but with some weight to it. "This for her... work?" He mumbled, rolling it over in his hand like it might magically turn into something he recognized. Maybe it was a tool, or even one of those weird bar gadgets he didn’t know about.

Another catch of something sparkly and soft shoved down in there made his heart beat faster, and before he knew it, he was pulling out more—the things looking weirder by the second. There was a wand-looking thing, and he held it like it might explode, wondering what the hell you were doing with all this.

"Drugs? Gotta be for drugs," he muttered, frowning as he inspected the box. Could be some kind of injector, maybe? He knew about that stuff—the guys that Merle met sometimes, passing around different things for the good times. But nothing here made sense, and there wasn't any instruction manual in sight.

He looked around like you’d come back any second and catch him, heat burning inside of him as he thought about what this meant. Were you hiding something? Was it… Was it for some kind of secret thing you did when no one was around?

"Damn it, what’re ya up to?" He said, biting his lip, his hand brushing over the surface of the smooth, strange thing, feeling his pulse race at the thought that you did know exactly what these were for.

And yet he didn’t. Not a damn clue.

"Hell’s this?"

He felt a cord between his fingers, pulling it slightly, as if tugging on it might magically make it make sense. Maybe it was for listening to music? But it had no sound, and no little earbuds or anything that he could see.

Setting that one down, he picked up another—an oblong thing with ridges along one side. It looked almost like a flashlight, but there was nowhere for the light to shine from. He pressed his thumb over it, turning it this way and that, but nothing happened.

"What the hell?" It had to be for something specific. You wouldn’t just have random stuff lying around like this for no reason, would you?

Then he found another, rounder one, with a strange little button on the side. He pressed it, flinching a bit when it buzzed all of a sudden. The damn thing nearly jumped out of his hand, and he held it tight to stop the vibrations.

"Damn thing’s possessed," he nearly yelled, feeling his cheeks burn. It felt... weird. Too weird.

And you? You had barely slipped into the bathroom, taking off your work clothes and enjoying the idea of how Daryl would squirm alone for a moment in your bedroom. The way he’d stumbled his way in earlier, not wanting to make eye contact like he didn’t know what to do with his own hands? It was almost way too easy to tease him.

And there he was, practically glowing red, sitting next to the box you kept under the bed. A simple big box—hell, he was behaving so cautiously, like he’d just discovered a bomb or a dead body. But what really caught you was the thing in his hand. A vibrator.

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me," you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. His head moved up, eyes wide as if he’d just been caught robbing a bank.

"Shit!" The vibrator fell out of his hand, hitting the floor, but that was only the start; the thing started buzzing further—vibrating across the floor and right toward your feet. Daryl didn’t move; he didn’t even reach for it. He just sat there, staring at the buzzing vibrator like it was going to bite him.

"Gonna tell me what you’re doin’ with my stuff?" You asked, half-amused, half-teasing, waiting to see what half-assed excuse he’d come up with, as you leaned against the door frame. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out at first.

"I… uh—" he stammered, swallowing loudly, his hands fidgeting like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. "I thought… I mean—thought it was, like, stuff for..." His voice trailed off, eyes looking to the ground, too ashamed to meet yours.

"Yeah? Stuff for what?" You pressed further, stepping forward, taking the vibrator and turning it off, stopping the noise but not the look of pure mortification on his face.

"I… thought it might be, y'know... Maybe it was, uh, y’know, things for... for bar stuff, or somethin’. Yer work." His voice was quiet, like he might get in trouble just for saying it out loud.

"For work?" You laughed and crouched down to sit next to him. "Yeah, Daryl, because every bartender needs a vibrator in her kit. So… You wanna tell me why you’re snooping, or am I just supposed to guess?"

You reached over, brushing a hand along the edge of your toy box, taking in the way his eyes tried to look at each item inside. Poor boy had no clue what half of it was for, but he looked at everything like it might burn him.

"Am sorry! I wasn’t… Jus'… waitin’ on ya an' got curious, I guess," he murmured. "Didn’t mean nothin’ by it."

You leaned in closer, enough that he could probably feel your breath on his face. "Curious, huh?" You asked, eyeing the way his shoulders tensed up. "You don't know what that stuff is?"

"Uh…" He blinked, looking between you and the vibrator like it might suddenly start buzzing again. "Not… really. No."

"Oh, you really don’t?" You pretended to be surprised. "It’s a toy, Dixon. A fun toy. For women. And men sometimes as well."

"That for real?" He asked, voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

"As real as it gets, sweetheart. And judging by that look on your face, I’d bet you don’t have much experience with this sorta things." You raised an eyebrow, daring him to admit it.

He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping back to the floor. "Ain’t never… really..." He trailed off, his whole face full of embarrassment.

"Never what?" You asked, leaning in so close you could smell the cigarettes and sweat on him, and somehow, it drove you wild. "Fucked a woman? Or even fucked yourself, huh?"

"I—" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, a sound that told you everything you needed to know. "I don’t… don’t really know… how… t'do any of that."

"Oh, honey." You leaned back a little. "You look like you’re about ready to pass out."

Daryl trembled, trying to look anywhere but at you, his whole face burning. "I—I jus'… I dunno what to do with... all that," he continued, motioning awkwardly toward the box.

You smirked, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. "Guess no one’s shown you how a woman uses one of these before, huh?" You watched his reaction, loving every little deep breath he took and every embarrassed flinch.

"N-no… But what if... maybe they could've been... for, uh, drugs?" His face somehow went even more red, and he looked ready to sink into the floor.

"Drugs? What, you think I’m hiding some kind of dealer setup in my own bedroom? And especially right under my damn bed?" You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Trust me, they’ll get you high, alright—but not the way you’re thinkin’."

The embarrassment on his face was almost painful to watch as he shifted on the ground. "Like I said, I—I don't... Ain’t never done stuff like that before, okay? I—I mean, I done that with myself... sometimes. But not really... okay?"

You smiled, letting your fingers move over his, watching as his breath stopped, his eyes looking up to meet yours for a desperate second. "Well," you murmured, "maybe I could show you a thing or two. If you’re up for it, that is."

Daryl swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he glanced between you and the box again. He indeed looked like he was about to pass out, but he seemed curious—curious in a way that he couldn’t quite hide.

"Oh, c'mon, I know you want to," you whispered, clicking your tongue, standing up, and taking off your shirt slowly. His eyes looked up fast, staring at you, and he shifted on the spot, pressing his thighs together. That’s when you noticed the growing bulge in his pants—it was more than obvious he was already hard as a rock.

"Damn, Dixon," you chuckled, "you’ve got a real problem, don’t you?" You let your shirt fall down to the floor. "Hey, don’t just sit there looking lost—c’mon, no way you're that scared of undressing a woman!"

He stammered something, some half-strangled "n-no," his hands gripping his own thighs like he had to hold himself back from reaching for you. That only spurred you on, raising your brows as you grabbed him to stand up and guiding his trembling hands to the hem of your pants.

"Well, here’s your chance," you smirked, waiting for him to open the button. You watched his fingers fumble with it, shaking as he pulled down the zipper, and then, when he managed to pull your pants down over your hips along with your panties, his eyes widened like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

"Keep goin’, don't be shy," you whispered, guiding his fingers down your thighs until your clothes hit the floor.

He just stood there, staring, mouth opening like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next. You leaned in close, eyes locked on his, before you knelt down again and took the vibrator out of the box once more, pressing the button and letting it hum.

His eyes shot to the toy, watching with pure terror and fascination, and when you pressed it into his hand again, he held it like some foreign, sacred object he was too scared to break.

"Here," you mumbled, laying down onto the bed, legs spread just enough to give him a view he couldn’t tear himself away from even if he tried, before you pulled him next to you and guided his hand between your legs, pressing the vibrator to your thigh and dragging it higher. "Just like that, Daryl. Feels interesting, doesn’t it?"

Daryl could barely breathe, staring down as if hypnotized, the muscles in his whole body tensing up. When you moved his hand to press the vibrator against your pussy, you felt him stiffen, his other hand gripping his thigh to stop himself from trembling. The toy was vibrating against you, and you let out a quiet, satisfied sigh, glancing up just in time to see the way his eyes stayed on you, watching every little twitch and shiver of your body.

"I bet you’re a quick learner," you teased, reaching down to guide his hand again, moving it with the toy so it hit just right, and damn, if it didn’t feel good. His mouth fell open a little, and he sucked in a breath when you suddenly moaned, pressing yourself harder against the vibrator. His hand moved a bit awkwardly, like he didn’t quite know if he was supposed to be touching you this way, but the look in his eyes said he wanted to keep going more than anything.

You let out another moan, a little louder this time, just to see the way he reacted. His grip on the toy tightened, and you didn’t miss the way he was fighting with himself, clearly struggling to keep himself in check as his cock pressed harder against his pants, his breath coming out faster and shorter.

"Poor thing," you whispered, pulling his hand away for a moment, just to watch him struggle. "Bet you’ve never been this hard, huh?" Daryl's eyes looked at you, wide and mortified, like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. But the look he gave you—so desperate, so needy—only made you want to push him further.

"You wanna see what this thing can do to me?" You asked, not giving him time to answer as you pressed the vibrator into his hand again and guided it back between your legs. "Just keep it steady, like that. Right there." You rocked your hips against it, letting out a shaky breath as the lust built itself up inside of you, still watching as he clung to every little sound that left your lips.

Daryl's eyes were glued to you, his mouth open, and you noticed the way he kept moving his hips, trying to get rid of his hard-on. But no matter how much he squirmed, it wasn’t enough. He was near leaking through his pants by now, his cock being so hard he couldn’t think straight, and the sight of you practically coming undone in front of him had him on the edge himself.

"Feels good, doesn’t it, Dixon? But... don't you want to feel that too?" You taunted, moving your fingers along his wrist, pushing him to press harder and the toy just a tiny bit into you, wanting to let him feel every little tremor that wracked your body. He just nodded, lost for words, breathing hard, his eyes moving between your face and the way your hips bucked against his hand.

"Keep going, just like that," you urged, and he obeyed, pressing the vibrator a little harder, his other hand softly brushing against your thigh as if he needed something to hold onto to keep himself from falling apart. His face was so close now, so flushed, eyes wide with need, lips parted as he struggled to keep his breathing steady.

"Y’know, Daryl," you moaned, "you’re doing a hell of a job for someone who’s never touched a woman before, not even with toys." His face burned, but he kept going, kept pressing that toy against your pussy, completely mesmerized by the way you reacted.

"You like watching me, don’t you?" You murmured, letting out another moan that left him swallowing hard. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed... that you can’t keep your eyes off me and how damn hard you are."

He tried to come up with a response, something about "I... I didn’t mean to..." but his words trailed off, and he was just there, helpless, utterly at your mercy, his hand tightening on the toy as you let out one last moan that left him breathless and staring, before you snatched the vibrator from him and clicked it off.

The little tremor it left in his hand was nothing compared to the way he stared at you now, still holding onto that last bit of control.

"Think you can do it without help?" You asked, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to your pussy and to make him feel how wet you were, his fingers twitching as they moved along your folds. Daryl nodded but was holding on for dear life and trying not to slip.

"I... I dunno," he mumbled, eyes glued to your pussy.

"Oh, for the love of... here," you growled, placing your hand over his, guiding his touch lower, rougher, until you dragged his fingers exactly where you wanted them. But Daryl was a mess, barely holding himself together, his other hand still clamped over that hard bulge in his pants as he lay there beside you.

"Now, watch closely," you instructed, pressing his fingers just the way you liked it. "Doesn’t take much, does it?" You smiled, letting your free hand move down his chest, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. "Bet you’d come just feeling me touch you."

He whimpered, the outline of his cock pulsing through his pants, a wet spot already forming itself. It didn’t take much to notice the hesitation in his every move, making him so easy to toy with.

You leaned back a little, pushing your tits forward. "Go on and position yourself over me," you dared, and as soon as he did, you lifted his other hand from his bulge to your tits, watching as he sucked in a breath, his hand shaking as if he were holding something he had no right to touch. "Ever felt these before?"

Daryl shook his head, still wide-eyed, his eyes looking into yours for a second before dropping back down, like he was afraid to look too long.

"Then make the most of it." You reached down, pressing his other hand harder against you. "I want you to use that mouth of yours now," you smirked, pushing him down to press his lips against your nipples. His breath was warm and shaky, and he hesitated, his mouth just an inch away from you. You raised an eyebrow, daring him, and after a long, deep breath, he finally leaned in.

"That's a good boy," you praised, your fingers running through his hair, feeling him shiver under your touch. He was so damn easy to play with, each little whimper and moan only turning you on more, urging him to suck and lick, his tongue slow but eager, desperate for more.

"Gently," you ordered, glancing down to see him lose himself, his hands now touching you like he didn’t want to let go. The poor guy was panting, his eyes squeezed shut as he sucked and kissed your nipple, as if the sight alone would push him over the edge.

You soon moved your hand down, feeling the outline of his cock through his pants, feeling him flinch, his breath stopping as you gave him just a bit of what he wanted. "This what you want, Daryl?" You whispered, teasing him and squeezing his shaft just enough to make him groan, his hips bucking, desperate for more. "You do, don't you? But now, I want you to eat me out."

Daryl couldn’t even get out a response, his mouth still on your nipple, but the look in his eyes told you everything.

"Pathetic, but also really cute," you laughed, unzipping his pants just enough to reach inside, your fingers wrapping around his cock and making him gasp, his whole body tensing as you squeezed him. He was thick, hard, already wet from the pre-cum that leaked from his tip, and the way he moaned, quite high, only made you want to drag it out and tease him until he was begging to come.

As you quickly positioned yourself over his face, you could see how he was a nervous wreck the moment your ass hovered above him. "Oh, please, don’t just lay there. Get to work," you teased, lowering yourself down, your pussy brushing against his lips.

When he finally opened his mouth, it was like you flipped a switch. The moment your folds hit his tongue, he moaned, the sound muffled against you. It sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but grind against his face, pushing him harder against you.

"God, you’re a natural," you gasped, encouraging him with your hips. "Just like that, baby. Don’t be shy; use your tongue."

Daryl’s mouth worked hesitantly at first, but the more you ground down, the more confident he became. His face was buried in your pussy, the taste of you driving him wild as he licked and sucked, trying to figure out what made you feel good, and the way he looked up at you, eyes full of wonder and lust, only made you want to ride his face harder.

"Yeah, keep going," you panted, feeling your legs tremble as he finally got into a rhythm. "Good boy, just like that," you moaned, feeling the tension building inside you. He was so focused, so eager to please, and the way he hungrily licked and sucked made you see stars.

"Don’t stop, Daryl. I’m so close," you urged. "Yeah, that’s it," you moaned, pushing your hips down even harder. "Don’t you dare stop. Just like that—yes!"

The way he held your thighs, trying to hold you against him, and the way he whimpered against you—those sweet little sounds pushed you right over. "I’m cumming! Fuck!"

Your body tensed, and you ground down harder again, shaking and feeling him groan against your dripping pussy as you let go and came, completely lost in the moment.

You felt him drink it all in, and you knew he was just as lost as you were. The second you pushed yourself off his face and watched him, face red and lips parted, you could tell Daryl had no idea what to do with himself. Wide-eyed and panting, he lay there as if you’d just dragged him straight into some fever dream he wasn’t even ready for. He seemed so helpless as he tried to piece together the storm of feelings that’d just hit him.

"Still with me, Daryl?" You asked, letting your weight push him further into the bed. His eyes looked down between your legs, then looked away, like he didn’t have the courage to watch.

"Y-yeah…"

He shuddered, that helpless little whine slipping out as you leaned down, your mouth right over his. He was as stiff as a board beneath you, looking both horrified and desperately curious at the same time.

"Think you can handle more of this?" You whispered, one hand moving down and wrapping around his cock as you took it fully out of his pants.

"W-wait," he stammered, trying to close his legs in a last attempt to get some space, but you only held him tighter, giving his cock a slow, teasing stroke. It twitched in your hand, leaking all over your fingers like he couldn’t stop himself.

"Sweetie, look at you," you smiled, swirling a finger over the tip, just to watch him jerk, hips lifting up like he was begging. "So needy aren't we?"

Daryl let out another whimper, his face going beet-red, those shy eyes looking away once more as though if he didn’t look at you, he’d somehow be less mortified.

"Feels so good, huh?"

His whole body was practically trembling with need, and he was leaking—a lot. His cock throbbed in your hand, pre-cum dripping so much it smeared along your fingers.

"Damn, Daryl," you whispered, smirking as your fingers now teased along the underside of his cock. "Didn’t know you’d be this easy, really."

You soon leaned down, your mouth just over his cock; the slightest lick of your tongue along his tip pushed another bit of pre-cum out, and you couldn’t help but laugh, loving every bit of his need.

"Baby, look at you, leaking everywhere," you teased again, wiping the tip with your thumb before bringing it to your lips, licking off the taste. Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, you pulled back slightly before leaning up to kiss him, letting him taste himself on your lips.

It made him moan again, his hands reaching out to grip your body as if needing to ground himself. "P-please…" He whispered, but you didn’t give in just yet.

Instead, you reached down, grabbing your vibrator again. You saw the way his eyes narrowed, with pure nervousness all over his face, as you suddenly pressed the toy to his cock, starting at the lowest setting. The buzzing made him gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily against you as you dragged the vibrator along his shaft, right along that sensitive spot just under the head. Every time it brushed up and down, he leaked more against your hand, only making it messier.

"Oh s-shit…" He whimpered, sounding utterly wrecked.

With a smirk, you leaned back and held up the vibrator for him to see, his eyes following it, dazed, and lips parted. "I think that’s enough; otherwise you might explode on the spot," you said, watching his expression drop just slightly as he looked at you switching it off and tossing it back into your toy box all of a sudden.

Leaning up, you gave his lips a slow, lazy kiss, feeling him melt against you, even more needy when you pulled away and slipped back down. And damn if he didn’t start leaking more, a fresh drop of slick pre-cum glistening right there, just begging to be tasted.

"How sweet you are, Daryl," you murmured, slowly moving your tongue along the underside of his cock, not missing the way his hips jerked up instinctively, even though he didn't seem to understand why. One gentle lick. That’s all it took for him to be close again, and he was helpless against it.

"Just relax and enjoy it," you continued, letting your tongue move along the tip of his cock and the desperate little gasp of his driving you wild as he grabbed the sheets, practically sobbing as he tried to hold back.

You wrapped your lips around just the head, barely enough to count as anything. But to him? It was like fireworks going off.

"N-no, I—oh fuck, I can’t—" He breathed out as his head fell back, his body shivering under you.

And when you took him just that tiny bit deeper, that was it—he lost it. Hard. He tried to hold it, tried to push you back even, one hand weakly pressing against your head, but he was already too far gone. The orgasm tore through Daryl, overpowering him completely.

His whole body stiffened, a helpless cry coming from his throat as he finally lost it, filling your mouth with his cum as he came. Before he even had time to process it, you’d swallowed every last drop from his throbbing cock, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked back up at him.

He was still shaking, his mind clearly blown, and when he finally managed to look at you, it was with that same wide-eyed shock.

Daryl just lay there, still in shock, his body trembling as reality sank in. "D-did ya really jus'—" His voice cracked with disbelief all over his face as he tried to wrap his head around what just happened.

You smirked at him, leaning in close, your lips moving softly against his in a teasing kiss. "What’s the matter, sweet boy? Never had someone swallow your cum before?"

He quickly shook his head. "I—I thought ya might get pregnan' or somethin'!" He stammered in embarrassment, his mind racing with the wildest thoughts.

"Oh, cutie. You really think it’s that easy? I'm sorry, but that's not how it works," you laughed, nudging his arm, enjoying the way his shoulders tensed up like he was trying to hide from you. "What? Can’t even look me in the eye after that?"

He opened his mouth, but whatever words he thought he might stammer out just died right there, and his hand went up to scratch the back of his neck.

"I... I didn’ mean to..." he finally managed to say, his voice cracking in the middle, his face still as red as a tomato.

You raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t mean to what? Coming in record time?" You let out a sarcastic scoff, and he near cried, ducking his head as though it would save him.

"I-I dunno, I thought... I jus', I mean—" he stumbled over each word. "Jus' ain’t never been with... y’know, anyone... like that."

"No kidding," you replied dryly, watching him shrink even smaller, if that was possible. "Anyone coulda guessed that, by the way, you freaked the hell out." He winced at your words, but hell, it just made him look all the more adorable, laying there.

When you placed a hand on his thigh, he went stiff as a board all over. "Easy, Daryl," you murmured. "No one’s laughing at you... much."

"I-I’m... sorry," he mumbled again.

"Sorry?" You scoffed, tilting his chin up to force his eyes to look at you. "For what? That you came too soon, or that you actually loved it?"

He tried to look away, but your fingers held him in place. "Both, I reckon," he answered, his voice shaking. It was like he thought he’d done something wrong, like he needed to apologize for being human.

"Nothing wrong with it, Dixon. Means I sure as hell did it right." You laughed, running a thumb over his jawline as he stared back at you.

"Bet that head of yours is just spinning right now, ain’t it?" You said, half-mocking. "Poor, sweet Daryl, don’t know what to do with himself now."

It was easy to see what he still needed—what he wanted, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it. You didn’t have to guess, though. He was desperate for something more, desperate for you to just tell him what to do. It was obvious that he had no experience with women or anything like this, but it didn’t matter to you. If anything, it just made it better. You wanted him nervous.

"Hey," you said softly. "It’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed. Not at all." You could see that he wanted to apologize again, wanting to make up for how pathetic he felt.

"Tell you what," you said, kissing his cheek. "You’ve got a lot to learn, Daryl Dixon. But I think you’re gonna like it. You just need to stop worrying." His hands moved to your waist, but they were hesitant, unsure. "And me? Well, I’m not here to judge you."

You took his hands and placed them back on your body, guiding him again. This time, he didn’t hesitate much, but it seemed as if he was trying to copy the way you had guided him earlier, trying to find some way to make up for what had happened. But that, for now, was enough.

"Don’t worry," you said, grinning at him, "I’m going to teach you."

Because you would. And he had no choice. Maybe that was what you liked most. The way Daryl needed you now, the way he didn’t even know what he wanted, but he was willing to follow you with your help along the way.

And he was only going to fall deeper.

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema — (also tagging @darylsdelts as requested)

[bee-the-loser-recs]

~~~☼ My Joshua One-shot Fic Recs ☼~~~

𖤓 Amortentia; Honeydukes lover By @http-mianhae 16.7k, Hogwarts au, Slytherin reader, Hufflepuff Joshua, reader has trauma, cold reader, lovesick Joshua, themes of sexual assault

𖤓 Boyfriends By @milfgyuu 2.7k, reader is in a toxic relationship, domestic abuse, Joshua is their safe space, fluff, angst, pining, friends to lovers, comfort

𖤓 New By @luvidzy 2.1k, slice of life au, fluff, slight angst, long term mutual pining, stargazing, Joshua is moving away

𖤓 Winning team By @viastro 1.4k, slice of life au, capture the flag game with nerf guns, hidden relationship, fluff, kisses, competitive nature, cute

𖤓 In a span of three months By @viastro 20.3k, terminally ill reader, mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, Joshua finds joy in life again, falling in love, only 3 months left to live, sobbing, major character death, it's so sad

𖤓 Wildest dreams By @viastro 6.7k, getting married for 24hours, best friends to lovers, fluff, getting free benefits, cute relationship, fake dating kind of

𖤓 Birds of a feather By @onlymingyus 14.3k, college au, smut, fluff, reader going around with a petition, strangers to lovers, crack, hot tub scene, talks of further dates, alcohol and drug use, simp!Joshua, cuties, very fun

𖤓 To you By @onlymingyus 15k, Joshua x reader x DK, college au, art students DK & reader, med-student Joshua, monogamy to polyamory, fluff, smut, angst, cute relationship, going on holiday together, relationship discussions, mild jealousy

𖤓 Love they neighbour By @onlyhuis 5.1k, college au, friends with benefits situation, fwb to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, smut, idiots in love, happy ending

𖤓 Cranberry concoctions By @onlyhuis 4.6k, 1920s au, bartender Joshua, smut, fluff, slight angst, mentions of bartender Vernon, jealousy, speakeasy au

𖤓 Mr Nice guy By @toruro 5.3k, neighbours au, moving into a new apartment, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

𖤓 Isohel By @toruro 26.2k, modern royalty au, prince Joshua, florist/botanist reader, slow burn, developing feelings, slut shaming, fluff, angst, references to Greek mythology, literally so stunning to read [alternate ending if you want to read it as well 00:00]

𖤓 Fighting for your love By @rubyreduji 5.5k, Jeonghan x reader x Joshua, boxer au, competing for reader's attention, physical fight for love, threesome, smut, fluff, poly situation

𖤓 Thinking Joshua is just nice but he has a crush on you By @kimbappykidding Idol au kind of, friends to lovers, pining, noticing secret looks, best friends Vernon & Seungkwan, entire group ships them, fluff, love confessions

𖤓 Shipped By @suhnshinehaos SMAU, university au, teacher Joshua & reader, students shipping them, revelation of feelings, fluffy and cute

𖤓 Oceans & Engines By @renjunphile 15.2k, ex lovers to lovers au, idol Joshua, music producer reader, based on songs from Niki, fluff, slight angst, literally so good omg

𖤓 Splashed By @smileysuh 5.5k, Joshua x reader x Jeonghan, idol au, references to the 13 shadows going seventeen episode, smut, poly relationship, fluff, established relationship

𖤓 Beautiful day, Sunday morning By @sluttywoozi 7k, non-specified au, mutual pining, friends to lovers, being in love, smut, fluff, pasta and puzzle dates, hopelessly in love

𖤓 Under the rose By @just-come-baek 6k, historical au like 1950s?, childhood frenemies to lovers, reader calls him Jisoo to piss him off, smut, fluff

𖤓 Hoax By @lovelyhan 18.6k, gangster/mafia Joshua, strangers to lovers, falling in love, hostess reader, loan sharks mentioned, reader is in trouble & debt, angst, smut, slight fluff, reader is left behind

𖤓 Eyes meeting, hearts apart By @lovelyhan 30.2k, fantasy au, prince Joshua with plant magic, bartender reader with ice magic, fluff, angst, royalty, requited unrequited love, part of a series of one-shots

𖤓 An interview with an angel By @hannyoontify 2.5k, reporter Joshua, nationalist fencer reader, being late to important events, meet cutes, fluff, slight panic attack, flirting

𖤓 So beautiful By @blue-jisungs 3.8k, Atla au, water bender Joshua, Prince Joshua, army general reader, assassination attempt, fluff, angst, mentions of war and killings

𖤓 Envy By @berriesandjunnie 1.9k, idol au, idol Joshua & reader, jealousy surrounding his members, comebacks, fluff, slight angst, some insecurity

𖤓 Prove it you won't By @leejungchans 19k, tattoo artist Joshua, nurse reader with tattoos, fluff, angst, miscommunication, past breakups, humour, slowburn, flirty behaviour, adorableness

𖤓 Cast me in a better light By @seungkwansphd 5.9k, musical au, band member reader x cast member Joshua, fluff, karaoke, coffee dates, becoming closer

𖤓 Fade into you By @writingmingyu 4.8k, childhood friends to online friends to lovers, fluff, meeting again after years, autumn fair dates

𖤓 Curse the stars By @shuadotcom 8.4k, 70s au, Hollywood, actor reader, washing machine salesman Joshua, strangers to lovers, fwb to lovers, mentions of dynamics, fluff, smut

𖤓 Stay till sunrise By @shuadotcom 9.1k, Joshua x reader x Mingyu, unspecified au, non-idol au, confessions, pining, poly situation, fluff, smut, bets on when they would date

[rememberwren]

CW: perceived noncon? Alcoholism. PIV. Oral Sex. This is my one dark thought a month quota I’m fulfilling

You don’t consider them bad men, per say. They keep their mouths shut about your drinking problem, they charge you a fair portion of the rent, and they clean up after themselves. Johnny can be funny and silly when the mood strikes him, and though Simon is a little too intense most days, he always thinks to bring you home food on his way home from work when he’s grabbing Johnny food too so. It’s not like they’re monsters.

You’d probably want to fuck them even if they were though. They’re both attractive, well-maintained, tall and wide and thick and everything you could have dreamed of in a male specimen. The fact that they’re together puts more horny thoughts into your head than it should, and you’ve touched yourself to the sounds of them fucking in the next room on more than one occasion.

You start small and subtle: wearing less around the apartment. The shorts that barely cover your ass, the thinning tank tops that show off your every curve. You get your hands on their laundry and sometimes walk around in their shirt. And it works—to an extent. You feel their eyes on you. You catch them swapping glances. You spot Johnny adjust his hard on one or twice. You can’t fathom why they won’t take you up on your blatant offer.

Then one night you overhear them talking about it, and Simon says that it’s simply too risky. It would overcomplicate things, put the apartment and the rent at risk. It’s not smart. Definitely not tactical. Fucking you is off limits. If only there were a way to do it without repercussions—without any strings attached. Without you knowing.

So you start coming home drunker than usual. (You have a problem, it’s well known by all parties involved, but as long as you make it to work on time in the morning sober, you consider your life to be put together.) You make drunken passes at them, and you find that your drunken state makes them feel more secure. You steal kisses from Johnny, convince Simon to grope you over your cute little clubbing dress. And in the morning you play dumb, pretending to have blacked out, ignoring the looks that pass between them.

Until your big performance: coming home barely tipsy but playing at blackout drunk. You’re sloppy, dropping your keys outside the apartment door and knocking to make them let you in. You’re tripping to get your shoes off in the entry way, flashing them the cute lacy scrap between your legs.

You collapse on the couch and let yourself go limp. Out. “Gone.” Then they start to argue—they shouldn’t. But they want to. But you want it. But it’s wrong. On and on until they’ve talked themselves into it, and then they are slipping up the hem of your dress and peeling the lady underwear down your thighs. They take turns spreading you open and eating you out, messy and sometimes mean, and you sometimes tremble and shake, lashes fluttering, but you are limp enough to convince them that you’re still unconscious.

They pull down the straps of your dress and each toy with a breast until you are soaked between the legs, Simon continually having to snap at Johnny and warn him not to leave any marks that might make you suspicious in the morning.

They use condoms to make sure no evidence is left behind, twisting and turning your body like a doll, Johnny taking the time to gently stroke your hair back from your face before he slips his cock inside you. Every orgasm rewires your brain, wipes it clean of what you thought you knew about pleasure and fills in the gaps with what they teach you of it, and all you can do is try to keep still and cum quietly, listening to the sound of their moans and shared kisses.

Afterwards they carry you to bed. You never do get your panties back. In the morning you wake with an ache between your legs that rivals the throbbing in your skull, but it’s alright because Johnny has made pancakes.

What good guys.

Having very dark thoughts about fem!reader pretending to be sloppy drunk/passed out so that ghoap will “take advantage” of her. 😵‍💫

[nyoomfruits]

How long until wag AU fest is unveiled?? I cannot wait for a new Landoscar fic from you! Can you share anything new??

ONE MORE WEEK. anyway you know how i said no more snippets??? eeghghgh it's been so long i barely remember saying that. anyway here's a snippet

It doesn’t get much better, because the boys decide that obviously they have to go clubbing now, and for some ridiculously insane reason both Lando and Oscar say yes. In Lando’s defense, at the time it had seemed like a good idea. Go out, let off some steam, have fun. Relax.

He doesn’t realize his mistake until he’s already in the club, diet coke in hand, wedged between a sweaty, clearly buzzed Max, and a slightly flushed, bashful Oscar.

Oscar clearly isn’t the going out type. Lando’s pretty sure Oscar’s told him he isn’t the going out type. And yet, there’s something about Oscar, in the strobing lights of the club, with a healthy red flush from the alcohol, hair sticking to his forehead a bit from salt water and sweat, that makes Lando feel. So many things.

Oscar turns to him then, a small private smile on his face, leans forward to yell in Lando’s ear about the music selection, and Lando laughs, can’t help but think about those stupid alternate versions of them again. The non famous ones, who actually did have a dumb little meet cute in a supermarket. They probably do stuff like this all the time, go to clubs together, party together. Maybe they don’t, maybe they stay home and have friends over or just watch TV-shows together.

Maybe they fall asleep in front of the TV every Saturday, Alternate Lando’s head tucked onto Alternate Oscar’s shoulder, Oscar drooling in his sleep a little, until eventually one of them wakes up and urges them to go to bed, all half awake and drowsy. They curl around each other in bed, fall back asleep in minutes.

Or if they do go to the club, maybe they both get a little drunk, lean on each other as they make their way back home, giggling as Oscar fails time and time again to stick the key into the lock of the door, sloppily and drunkenly make out against that same door when they finally make it inside.

And that’s. It would be so easy, right now, to lean over and kiss Oscar. Make a part of that fantasy reality. And he could. Everyone thinks they’re dating anyway. It would make sense. But it feels wrong, somehow. He doesn’t want it, if it’s not the real thing.

And so he turns away from Oscar’s smiling face, takes another sip of his coke, starts jumping along to the music with Max, and tries to forget about all the what if’s that keep haunting him in the back of his head.

[modernidolater]

🎃Wheel of Halloween🎃

There's a post of a tweet saying that every 31st of the month should be a Halloween, and you know what? I'm a Halloween Witch. I'm an Idolater. I'm an urban techno witch who lives an air conditioned life, can't stand nature bigger than a park or local landscaping, and hates leaving the city except to drive to another damn city.

I have been struggling to connect to the Wheel of the Year or the Solstices/Equinoxes for freaking years.

But a cycle of Halloweens?

That.

That I can fucking do.

So, without further ado, I present the shit I will be actually celebrating. Ya don't have to join me, but I will be posting about it for those that wanna follow along, with options and cutouts for those who don't want to or can't do the more party elements.

With luck, I'll pick up on August 31st and go from there, if not, I'll start with actual Halloween.

Halloween

October 31st

It's muthafucking Halloween. I have ideas and will post about them more as we get closer, but you know what this one is.

New Year's Eve

December 31st

This one actually also exists, but I have plans for tying it to the January 31st one to bookend the year. The primary purpose of this Eve is gratitude and sharing the good things from the year before, casting off the trappings of the old year, and to bring the new one in with luck and prosperity.

Candle's Eve

January 31st

One month from the casting out of the old year, it's time to set things for the new. Cleansing and cleaning, setting intentions (not resolutions) for the year to come, making the Mask of the Year to call on who I aspire to be, burning the intentions set last year with last years candle, and blessing a candle to burn this years intentions next year are all features. Food and drink suggestions available when I actually post this up.

Hallow Ides

March 31st

Couple of these have fun names, and this is one of them. It's a party holiday, involving a picnic and a special cake/cupcakes/muffins.

The costume element is that I'll swap clothes or looks with someone I'm celebrating with (or dress up as someone else if celebrating solo).

There's a drinking element (non-alcoholic is fine) that results in a stack o' good luck charms.

And for my trick, I can and will sing the filthiest songs, tell the dirtiest jokes, read a romance novel or erotica, just go ham on the bawdy shit.

Alternatives for ace and non-sexing folk will be forthcoming in the relevant post, but it's my damn Wheel and I'm doing bawdy shit for myself.

Blessed Eve

May 31st

Not a bonfire person, but I'm definitely gonna have a cookout and grill up some burgers! Also a neat drink and cookies that both double as offerings!

Flower masks and crowns are involved to hide from the spring spirits that might fux me upa.

There's a Blessing Bouquet that goes up early, is used to exorcise and re-bless my property/house, and then is ceremonially burned.

An ash blessing to seal the prosperity into my house ties the whole thing off.

Fortune's Eve

July 31st

This one pretty heavily revolves around a ritual game of betting and chance that I came up with based on a cool concept tied into the holiday I'm aiming at. Game generates lucky candy and a good luck charm.

Hella apples involved including a ceremonial apple and cider. Veils worn for the blindness of luck, and a strong theme of having a game day.

Neewollah

August 31st

I'm actually pretty stoked for this one, and will do a more expansive post on it later this week. I really hope I can pull this together in time this year.

Idea is a bit Opposite Day, a bit of LiarWeen vibe.

Trick the cosmos into taking away the bad shit and giving me good shit through a ritual lying ceremony, wearing a mask of duality to further confuse the issue. Ritual ash anointing to lock things down and ensure I get the stuff I want and ward off the shit I got rid of.

Candy (obvs) but I (and anyone celebrating with me) has to ask, and the person giving it has to make a point of saying no...while forking over.

And of course, games like Never Have I Ever or Two Truths & A Lie, drinking optional. (I will...probably...drink. Just saying.)

Where's the Eighth One?

Wheel has eight Sabbats, yeah?

In the grand tradition of the Satanist/Luciferian practices I stuck with for so long, Number 8 is my Birthday.

Or yours, if you decide to try this.

I'll decide what I wanna do about Birthday when I get there. You do you, tho.

And That's The Wheel of Halloween!

So yes, some of those are closer to recognizable Sabbats. Some of them are so far off that they're not in the same neighborhood. Spoiler: the ones you don't recognize are based (very, very loosely) on Roman festivals that occur in the corresponding month.

Why Roman?

Cause they had a religious festival for everything, there's records I can squint at, and they had a strong mystery tradition that plays well with my schtick.

I am not a dedicated Rome fanby, to be clear, the empire is just very much gone, very well attested, and I can most likely swipe the shape of their shit without worrying about stepping on anyone.

And even then, I'm mixing time periods, even up to hijacking Medieval Xtian shit where and when I see fit. Cause I was baptized Catholic, and that shit is my culture to use.

Neewollah Posting Hopefully Soon! Stay Tuned!

And of course, feel free to reach out for asks, questions, and readings if ya want 'em.

[mydetheturk]

Hi! My name is Myde, and for @trigunfanfic’s rare pair day, I’m going to rec a bunch of my own fics, because I’ve written an amount of rare pair fics. These are in no particular order, just kind of how I’ve found them in my AO3:

Zazie/Knives:

put your mind in my brain and you'll see (everything is better when you're everything)

Rating: E

Word Count: 2,582

No Archive Warnings, but the warning that it is both Knives and Zazie. My favorite way to describe this fic is “a comically biblical plague worth of bugs brings a (fallen) angel of the lord to climax.” Knives explodes! Semi-Literally, even! Some fun Plant and Worm lore/shenanigans, mostly me going “how weird can I get with this?”

Elendira/Razlo//Elendira/Livio

All my Elendira/LR Fics are post-Trimax currently, in an AU where Elendira lives and goes through some serious recovery from her fight with LR. They all get Attached

give in to this holy terrible mess

Rating: E

Word Count: 1,235

No Archive Warnings, but Elendira is elbow deep in LR’s guts after the boys have a run-in with a Worm Cult. Tender Organ Touching. We love it. (keep in mind this fic in particular was written for body horror week)

Tags Include: Bugs & Insects, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Organ Touching, Declarations Of Love, Body Horror, Mild Dissociation, emergency surgery, Blood and Gore, Intense Emotional Realizations, Elendira having A Moment(tm)

in over my head and she's a high tide (that keeps pushing me away)

Rating: M

Word Count: 1,942

No Archive Warnings, but Elendira’s going through it. The trials of recovering from getting a yard long nail going through you sometimes include setbacks. Sickfic! With that fun aspect of Elendira’s where she can project horrible ways for someone to die. LivRaz are Sweet on Elendira tho.

(also written for body horror week, though the body horror is not the main focus)

Tags Include: Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Telepathic Projection, Flaying, Sickfic

Hand Grenades and Razor Blades

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,143

No Archive Warnings.

The Official AO3 edition of my Kissies For Razlo Agenda. I should write more they’re silly and cute and we take the Razlo and we KISS the Razlo!

Features: Razlo being shy and blushy and angy about it because Elendira’s kick ass and he wants to smooch her and for her to kiss him again. I compare Razlo to a sunflower at one point.

Millions Knives/Domina

-leans very close into the microphone- I am unwell about these two. I want her to Wreck Knives. I accidentally created the tag on AO3, and please please please enjoy the fics I write about them. My mainline fics for them have them sharing a body but I do currently have something in the works that’s a little different.

Generally, fics for dominaknives include some fun and sometimes weird, exploratory Plant Stuff.

They’re all post-Trimax, by default, really, and Domina lives, with some caveats of course. The grief is baked in, it’s Trigun.

They have an emotional support alien terrorbird. I gotta include that bird more

Here on a Less-Travelled Road

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,927

No Archive Warnings.

Domina and Knives are having breakfast in some quiet, half-forgotten little town when Vash the Stampede slides into their booth.

Domina’s protective of Knives, Knives is afraid, and Vash is Tired. Minor allusions to Vash’s canonical alcoholism.

Six A.M., Mulholland Drive, Moonlight Sonata and I

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,336

No Archive Warnings

My first actually posted fic about the two of them, I think.

Chronica meets that which is KnivesandDomina. It goes about as well as you’d expect, honestly. Lots of tears. Some explorative Plant stuff in this one! It’s got some fun wording that I really enjoyed writing.

Millywood

Haystack Boy and Dust-Cake Girl

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,815

No Archive Warnings

An alternate first meeting, for an AU of mine.

A heat exhausted Nicholas D. Wolfwood collapses at the gate of the Thompson Ranch. Milly nurses him back to health.

They’re cute. I loved writing this. It’s more proto-Millywood than Millywood proper, but shh

[ahumblenipple]

I got to take place in this year's Reverse Big Bang @dbh-bb with the lovely @pichuxcreatesthings ! They did some gorgeous work and came up with the concept, and yours truly has been writing it down. There's a lot of other really great pieces coming out for the collection, so definitely keep your eyes open if you want to see more : )

Hank Anderson has endured much in his life, and the years after the Android revolution haven't been any different. So when a new case leads him to the far coastlines of Maine, he half expected the town to offer him a bit of respite from the chaos of Detroit. He could not have been more wrong. He's partnered with the strangest android he's ever met. A man by the name of Connor who leaves his hair on end, and makes him question more than just the events of the sleepy town. But they have a job to do, and no matter how pretty or strange the Android is, Hank knows his time here is temporary. There's no way he could ever get attached. Never again. A story of mourning, loss, and finding something decent in the cold waters of reality.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Relationship: Hank Anderson/Connor

Characters: Hank Anderson, Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Upgraded Connor | RK900, Sumo (Detroit: Become Human)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Mer-Connor, canon typical alcoholism in Hank, Trans Male Character, Trans Hank Anderson, Top Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bottom Hank Anderson, It's gonna be rough for a bit before it gets tender, Case Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and for the FUN tags...., Tentacle Dick, Connor has two dicks, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex

Language: English

Collections: Detroit: Become Human Reverse Big Bang 2024

[thesquid06]

I have been thinking non stop about what would fix the final season of umbrella academy. I think I found the easiest solution.

That being said, (HOT TAKE WARNING) I didn’t care for the third season and believe it changed the vibe of the show. (This is coming from someone who has not indulged in any previous umbrella academy media. I just watch the show)

The easiest fix is to make the alternate reality they’re in the perfect reality. That way, when they sacrifice themselves at the end, it actually hurts.

One: LOVED the fact that he was a stripper. It shows confidence in his new body while being extremely hilarious.

I don’t think bringing back Sloan would be reasonable, her powers would change the dynamics. However, giving him a daughter who resembles her would bring him joy. It would fix his need for a family and give him a reason to keep going.

He still lives in the old rundown mansion. Except it’s a little more livable. While it’s very clear that he’s struggling to let go of his past, he’s still trying to provide for his kid. They go antiquing on the weekends to find fun things for the house.

Two: Him and Lila are happily married and completely crazy. The kind of couple that says the freakiest things and is always all over each other.

The kid from the third season (I don’t remember his name) is actually theirs this time. He’s always stuck babysitting his younger siblings and is absolutely pissed about it. Diego is teaching him how to throw knives.

While his job still isn’t the best, he gets to come home to the perfect family. While maybe hacking into the police radio and suspiciously arriving on the crime scenes. Just to see if they need him.

Three: She’s acting in one of those sitcoms that everyone hates but knows the name of. Probably has never been on another show but her sitcom just got renewed for another season.

Her and her daughter get along just as well as every other teenage girl and their mom. They scream at each other across the room but she will get a hug and an ‘I love you’ before the day is over.

She’s still married, they’re happy enough. Maybe he has a job where he travels a lot so he doesn’t have to affect the season.

Four: Still a recovering alcoholic germaphobe living in his sister basement. He spends time gossiping with Claire and watching movies with the family. Him and Allison don’t fight.

He’s got a date next weekend.

When he’s offered the drug in the middle of the season, he does take it. Holds it in his hand on sobs. Except he doesn’t swallow it, throws it as hard as he can and focuses on escaping.

The story isn’t much but for the first time ever, he has hope. He finally believes there is a future where he can be better.

Five: Works his shitty FBI job and spends his free time with conspiracy theorists. He’s finally in a stable job and hates it.

Except his family is okay and happy. Thats all he ever wanted.

Also, there is this really annoying girl he’s forced into working with. She goes to the conspiracy meetings with him and he hates it. Something happens and he grabs her to jump her to safety. They end up in the subway. They get stuck.

It parallels the first time he was stuck in time, away from family. When he was a kid, he found solace in the idea of having someone to fall in love with. This time it’s for real. Without the need to protect his siblings, he falls in love the only way he knows how: in an apocalyptic setting.

Until, HE has to decide to go back for his siblings. He has dedicated his entire life the rescuing them, this time will be no different.

Six: I kinda like where his story went. Not sure if it needs to be changed.

Seven: All he’s ever wanted was to be included by his family. Sometimes they call him, he’s always invited to events and is excited to go.

Has his bar, it’s closer to home. Also, he gets some goddamn therapy.

That way, the sacrifice means something because, in the first time in their entire life, they have something to stay for.

Also, huge fan of Victor successfully draining the evil stuff from Ben, saving his life, and the audience gets gaslit into believing everything is okay.

Until it starts affecting Victor. Then they’re screwed and have to pull the self sacrifice move.

[starvels]

starvels’ Cap-IronMan Event Recs for @cap-ironman Steve/Tony Fic Rec Week 2024

For Cap-Iron Man Event Recs, jump yourself into these varied bananza ball pits filled with hurt, comfort, fluff, angst, tropes, comic science and more! Please remember to leave a comment, add a kudos, hit a reblog on a fic post in order to show your gleeful appreciation of such nice balls.

Check out all of starvels’ Cap-IM 2024 Rec Lists [here].

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Apply Pressure by dirigibleplumbing @dirigibleplumbing

Tags: Established Relationship, Bondage, Rope Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Top Tony Stark, Sub Steve Rogers, Fluff, Nicknames, Curtain Fic Summary: Steve has trouble concentrating and clearing his mind. Tony and some rope are there to help out. Notes: Playful kink that draws you into the warmth of Steve and Tony's relationship like chocolate chips sinking into a gently churning ice cream.

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respiraro, si te videro by starvels

Tags: Canon Divergence, Secret Invasion, Post-Civil War, Fix-It, Director of SHIELD, Commander Rogers, Enemies to Friends, Skrull(s), Extremis, Savage Land, Temporary Amnesia, Sex Pollen, Trans Tony Stark, Rough Sex, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Transhumanism, Comic Book Science, Team Dynamics, Superhero Realism, Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, holy shit what's happened to Tony? Summary: Tony spins around and comes face to face with Natasha Romanova with a gun trained on him, Logan Howlett with one clawed arm out towards him and - worst, worst of all Steve Rogers. Tony stares at him, at this Skrull in full Commander of SHIELD regalia, looking at him with his deep blue eyes all wide and sincere and knows for sure that the Skrulls have found the way to beat him, because there’s no way he can look this Steve in his eyes and kill him. “Steve,” Tony breathes and then he cusses. Way to reveal your own weakness, numbnuts, Tony thinks furiously and that’s all the time he has before the Skrull raises its gun at him. Notes: A story as lush, dramatic, and CRASH-BANG-BOOM filled as the Savage Land itself. Complete with jokes at Steve expense and a canon-typical loss of clothing for Tony.

-↘↘↘-

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a four-dimensional object by veslarkinson @vicarioussleep

Tags: Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Civil War, Transhumanism, Identity, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Hurt/Comfort, Philosophy, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Attitudes, Injury, Carol Danvers & Tony Stark Friendship, Trans Carol Danvers, Computer Programming, format: computer code, Mental Instability, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Angry Steve Rogers, Christianity, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, self-destructive behaviour, Artificial Intelligence, Steve "why have you abandoned (me) your humanity" Rogers, very brief csa mention, Superhero Registration Act, Politics, Brain Damage, Sharing a Brain, Temporary Amnesia, Dark Reign, Tony Stark Whump, Heavy Angst, Mild Gore, Extremis, Homophobic Slurs semi-reclaimed Summary: The year is 1975: the stonewall riots were only six years ago, the CD has yet to be invented, and Tony Stark is taking his first steps into trans-humanism. >>initializing(extremis-setup)… Notes: Utterly compelling and delightfully unique. You WILL be dragged head first into this intricately coded maze and you WILL love it and live for it.

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two's company by welcoming_disaster @welcomingdisaster

Tags: Mentions of Laura Bush, Oral Sex, Idiots in Love, Affection, Sneaking Around, Closet Sex, Closeted Character, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Dirty Talk, Bad Dirty Talk Summary: Steve and Tony sneak a moment. The time and place are a little inopportune. Notes: ULTS WHITE HOUSE SEX. WITH FUN TWIST. SEND TEXT.

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Glass Gardens (The Witching Hour Remix) by Woad @tinctoriawoad

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Alternate Universe - Victorian, sanitarium, Psychological Horror, Possession, Supernatural Elements, Muteness, Semi-involuntary Detention, Abuse of Authority, Water Torture, ghost story, Victorian Norms Summary: The year is 1883. Spiritualism is at an all-time high, "taking the waters" is a popular cure-for-what-ails-you, and sanitariums offer retreats to restore the health. When Tony is shipped off to one, he is convinced his stay will be an utter waste of time. That is, until things take a disastrous turn, and Tony begins to doubt everything about himself. Notes: Exceptionally fascinating premise here, with a considered take and some ripping one liners that will linger like good cologne.

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[Art] Gift of Consequence by oluka (lomku) @oluka

Tags: Steve Rogers/Tony StarkSteve Rogers Tony StarkDragon Tony Stark Alternate Universe - Medieval Alternate Universe - Fantasy Summary: Art for the stevetony RBB 2024, paired with Kandisheek's Gift of Consequence Notes: A beautiful grand piece showcasing the best of a fantasy AU, with some fabulously golden nuggets of character details for both Steve and Tony!

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As Luck May Have It by CaughtAGhost (ghosthan) @ghosthan

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Tony Stark, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Sheriff Steve Rogers, Christmas, Fluff, Happy Ending, First Kiss, Canon-Typical Violence, One Shot, Human Disaster Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Feels, Getting Together, unestablished relationship, Blood and Injury Summary: T.S. MURDERED BY ASSHOLES CRSMS EVE 1872 Local drunk Tony Stark spends his Christmas Eve getting his ass kicked, and things look bleak. Will Sheriff Rogers be able to save the day in time for the Christmas celebration? Notes: A vibrant, immersive adaptation of the 1872 comics which includes all the great details from the pages you could want, but now with a hopeful, tender ending! What's better than this!

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[Art] Small Universe Stony Bingo by sheepl @somekindofsheepl

Tags: Venomverse, Earth-17084, Earth-11326, Tentacles, Body Horror Summary: Two small universes where Steve and Tony's lives are entangled. Notes: Stop! You will be arrested by these compositions and this gorey universe! Oof! Wow! More please!

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stop bath by starvels

Tags: Canon Divergence, Blackmail, Friends With Benefits, Internalized Homophobia, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Anal Sex, Light Masochism, Complicated Consent, Power Dynamics, Team Bonding, Gender Related, Queer Themes, honeypot mission, Rescue, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Homophobic Language, Body Dysphoria, Gun Kink, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Mentions of Cancer, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Developing Relationship, Anxiety Summary: It’s not complicated. One piece of paper. Short, to the point. Times New Roman. Repulsive. "Continue engagements with Tony Stark until further instructions." ‘Engagements.’ Such a pretty, innocuous term. ‘Until further instructions.’ Such a sweet, auguring threat. They don’t even have to say, or else. Steve gets the message: keep his private life private and his employment gainful by continuing to suck dick. Notes: Oh gay Ultimates Steve, we're really in it now. Tune into the Blackmail Channel to watch this one little paper unspiral Steve's reticent life.

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Give Up The Ghost by foldingcranes @foldingcranes

Tags: Post-Civil War, Canonical Character Death, Director Stark, Kink Meme Summary: Director Stark gets a late night visit. Notes: Oh what yonder yearnings does out guilt best brew? Every inch the frothy, wrenching sadness we want from Director Stark.

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Recursion by Missy_dee811 @laexploradoraaa

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extremis, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Male-Female Friendship, Body Modification, Interviews, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Issues, POV Alternating, Hurt Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark Friendship, Suicidal Thoughts Summary: Tony finds himself at a crossroads when he receives a call from a long-time friend — Maya Hansen. Then, things take a sudden turn for the worse. Will Tony ever be the same? And more importantly, will Steve come to his aid? Tags: A keen take on Execute Program and all the mess that entails, that pulls you deep into the whirlpool of Tony's transhumanist transformation.

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All Good Things by snowynight

Tags: Character Study, 5 Things, Fluff, Geeky Summary: Five cult classics Tony introduces to Steve, or, the geeky indoctrination of Steve. Notes: Sweet and easy as a twirling cotton candy; let it melt on the tongue.

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Reconnection by Penumbren

Tags: Friendship, Angst, Challenge: Cap_Ironman Fic Exchange Summary: Sometimes it's the quiet moments that a friendship needs the most. Notes: Peeking through a small stained glass window and recognizing the tune you hear faintly on the wind, that's what we're doing here.

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the consonant i forget by starvels

Tags: Major Character Injury, Civil War, Amnesia, Character Study, Horrible Agonizing Betrayal, Canon Divergence, Extremis, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending Summary: The man who comes to see him in on the 9th day in the hospital is gaunt. Greasy. Less clean than everyone else who's trundled in, asking if Steve knows them and then lied about being disappointed when he’s said no. This man is a spindle. A man spun around too many times. Wind chapped full lips and scratchy threads of his haphazard beard peak over a strange metallic, full-bodied suit of armor that makes something behind Steve’s eyes hurt. He blinks them slowly at the man, just to see if that helps. It doesn’t. Notes: Like an emergency alarm in a hospital, this piece proffers things that should be and things that are worrying and things that require immediate and aggressive attention. Look closer to figure out which is which.

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Sky by resurrectedhippo @resurrectedhippo

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Dark Abuse, Violence, Hydra Steve Rogers Summary: For the prompt: “Hydra Cap/Tony non-con.” Notes: WYSIWYG for fics and what we see and get is horribly, precise, and wrenchingly clear here. Peep into the delicious dark!

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We'll Make Our Own Tradition (The Cap and Gown Remix) by wynnesome

Tags: Established Relationship, Identity Porn, but not the typical kind of ID porn, Roleplay, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Rimming, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Tony Stark's Red Thong of Justice, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Bliss, No Side Pairings, no infidelity Summary: It’s Steve’s and Tony’s anniversary. They have a date for dinner, but the workday comes first. Steve’s includes a very important business lunch. But the person who makes a beeline for him as he waits at the bar is not who he thought he'd be meeting… Notes: What fabulous fun, like hopping on a rollercoaster you've only heard described in the vaguest sense, you will swoop and whoop and grin in delight at the turns.

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trophy hunter by Red (S_Hylor) @s-hylor

Tags: Ultimates, Shameless Smut, Anonymous Sex, Hook-Up, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Hand Jobs, Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Mentioned/Discussed Anal Fisting, Mentioned/Discussed Anal Sex, Face-Fucking Summary: If he had nothing to live for, he had nothing to lose. That was the excuse Steve gave himself when he made eye contact with the man he’d felt watching him for the past few minutes. There was no denying that the man was attractive, sitting at the adjacent side of the bar to Steve. Dark hair and bright blue eyes, mischievous smile framed by carefully trimmed facial hair. He eyed Steve with such blatant interest that Steve knew all he had to do was reflect some of that back at him, and then they could just go from there. Notes: Oh what a delicious premise we DO want to see played out in 20 different ways. This way is particularly fun in its grit and glam.

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It's Because I Need to, Not Because I Want To by Anon1Adult @anon1adult

Tags: First Time, Getting Together, Stripping, Crossdressing, Misuse of Science, Mutual Pining, Sex Pollen Summary: “So I’m learning forty-five minutes is about my max.” Tony said casually. Steve smirked, “Is this you asking to hold my hand?” “No this is me admitting I have a medical condition.” Tony replied reclined on the couch, kicking his now bare feet up on the coffee table. “Now get over here so I can hold your hand.” Or the one where the Avengers are going to leave street crime to Spider-Man because rolling around in the mud apparently makes you dirty. Notes: A great pace and enthusiastic superhero realism will have you hopscotching through this fun tale of needy, situationship comic shenanigans.

That’s all folks!

Thanks for reading and make sure to kudos and comments fics you explore! Fandom is a circle and we are all passing it forward.

[victorsandvanquishers]

The Red House (and all who live in its walls) - Chapter 4

Fandom: DC Comics

Ships: Slowburn Eventual Bart Allen/Kon El; past Kon El/Tana Moon, past Kon El/Cassie Sandsmark, past Kon El/Knockout, past Kon El/Cassandra Cain

Ratings: M+

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers; Southern Gothic Horror; Suicide Ideation; Mentions of Alcohol & Drug Abuse; Intrusive Thoughts; Depictions of Child Grooming and Repeated Sexual Abuse, People Be Vomiting, Big Sadz, Dead Dove Do Not Eat Unless Iron Stomach

Story Synopsis: When former child star and Metropolis sweetheart Kon 'Superboy' El loses the last vestiges of his career to rampant partying and a budding alcohol addiction, he's forced to move into an old house in the Georgian woods because he can't afford his apartment or his bills anymore. Never the quitter, Kon embraces the crumbling antebellum house and all of its possibilities.

[Bart Allen/Kon El, No Powers AU, gothic horror romance]

Chapter Summary: Kon had been an industry plant, and like all failed plants, he was dumped immediately.

~~~

I decided 15k into this story that if Kon was gonna suffer, I should probably commit to the bit for the time being. I am also tagging this book as a slowburn now because it will be a while before the BartKon becomes real. It will, but it will take some time. Having much fun just remixing Kon lore for the non-powered Southern Gothic vibes.

Hope the house and its many intricacies are enjoyable to y'all. If I wasn't a loser in corporate America, I might have one day designed pretty houses.

Thank you for reading, and don't forget to leave a review! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

[scottxlogan]

StonyAUniverse Bingo Master List

It's that time of year again for another round up and this is my master list for the Stony AUniverse bingo up at @stonyauniverse that I had a blast participating in and helping out with. For anyone who loves these two I would highly recommend you heading on over and checking it out as there is a lot of fun to be had. Under the cut is my personal master list for my fills this round. Thanks to all that were part of the bingo! It was a lot of fun!!!!

Title: One Step Closer Author(s): scottxlogan Rating: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Peggy Carter Friendly, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Artist Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Popstar, rock star Tony Stark, Rancher Steve Rogers, Second Chances, Sexual Content, Divorced Steve Rogers, Divorced Tony Stark, Rehabilitation, References to Depression, Angst and Romance, Not Howard Stark Friendly, Drug Addiction, Swearing Summary: Tony Stark was pushed into popstar fame by his ambitious father early on, but over the span of more than two decades Tony has seen the highs and lows of stardom hitting rock bottom in more ways than one. Through it all there was always one person that Tony felt was his saving grace. Steve Rogers was always the one that got away and no matter how many times they tried to cross that line into love they couldn't quite get there. As Tony's once close friend and brief roommate, Steve turned Tony's world around in all the right ways until fate intervened, and they were pulled in separate directions. Now fresh out of rehab on his 45th birthday and looking to keep from making the same mistakes, Tony reflects on his past and follows his heart to new beginnings hoping that it's not too late to find his way back to Steve in his hopes for a second chance. Square Filled: T1: Multiple Orgasms, T2: AU: Popstar, T3: Unresolved Sexual Tension, T4: Car Sex, T5: Au: No Powers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48437332

Title: The Quest Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Week: 1 Profession Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe, Treasure Hunting, Archaeologist Steve, Swearing, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Implied/Referenced Sex Summary: Archaeologist Steve Rogers finds himself in the thick of danger and adventure after teaming up with his former mentor's son and current sidekick Tony Stark to chase down a rare treasure set to unlock all of humanity's mysteries along the way. Square Filled: N2: AU: Archaeologist Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49077973

Title: Out with the Old... Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Week Two: Time Period, Bingo Square Y1: AU Cashier Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Non-serum Steve, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, New Year's Eve, New York City, Dirty Talking Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Swearing, Sexual Content, Alcohol, Hook-Up, Hopeful Ending   Summary: AU: Alone on New Year's Eve in 1989 in New York City, Tony decides to go all out in throwing a solo party for himself until sexy cashier Steve offers him a better alternative to a night of drunken loneliness. Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49199674

Title: The Journey Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Explicit Pairing: Bucky/Steve/Tony Tags: Esta https://archiveofourown.org/works/49272082 Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Anniversary, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom Tony Stark, Light BDSM, Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Restraints, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Role Playing, Dirty Talk, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Pole Dancing Summary: Steve and Tony decide to take a special trip for their anniversary together. To spice things up they decide to gift each other a vacation with Bucky who is ready and willing to be what they need to make their anniversary even more memorable. Will it prove to be exactly what they needed to strengthen their marriage or will they find something more in their playtime with Bucky? Square Filled: N5: AU Dancer Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49272082

Title: Just Like That...Back to Love Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Idiots in Love, Feelings Realization, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Swearing, Light Angst Summary: Super spy Steve Rogers reflects on the mission he and his work partner/on and off lover Tony Stark put behind him and what it means to their future moving forward where matters of the heart are concerned.   Square Filled: Week Three: No Powers, N3: Wrapping him up in a blanket  Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49366717

Title: What If We...? Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, AvX Fix-It Fic, Mention of the X-Men, Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Implied Sexual Content Summary: Caught up in deciding what to do about the problem of the Phoenix returning to the world again and causing chaos, Tony offers Steve a suggestion to prevent a war between the Avengers and the X-Men from happening. It sounds like the perfect plan, but along the way Tony finds that perhaps there's something more beyond saving the world with Steve that he's looking to find in their conversation. Square Filled: AUgust Stony AUniverse: Week 4: Nice Try, Canon, Stony AUniverse Bingo N1: Friends to Lovers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49535506

Title: Lazy Weekend Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Domestic Fluff, Tony's POV, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Implied Sexual Content, Fluff, Morning Cuddles, Sleepy Cuddles, Established Relationship, contemplations, Reflection Summary: Snuggled in bed with his lovers, Tony contemplates how far they've come together from their sexy beginnings. Square Filled: O5: Domestic Fluff Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/51525229

Title: Only In New York Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Meet-Cute, First Meetings, Mild Sexual Content, Awkward Flirting, Blind Date, Flirting, Miscommunication, Threesome - M/M/M, Shy Bucky Barnes, reclusive Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Summary: Tony grudgingly agrees to go out on a blind date in the city that Pepper has set up for him. In doing so Tony meets devastatingly handsome artist Steve Rogers who is catching Tony's eye in all the right ways. When a series of mishaps and misunderstandings brings Steve and Tony closer to one another, will it prove to be the spark they need to fuel the fire between them or will fate have other plans with Steve's sexy roommate Bucky in the picture?   Square Filled: S2: Meet Cute, Stony AUniverse JAnUary Week 1: No Powers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/52923937

Title: Sweet Dreams Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Romantic Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting, Kissing, Anxiety Attacks, Insomnia Summary: For years Tony abandoned the idea of ever finding his soulmate, yet somehow after he's hit with a panic attack at one of the worst possible times and Steve comes around to comfort him, Tony discovers that perhaps his soulmate is closer than he thinks. Square Filled: O3: Free space Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53104438

Title: A Journey Through Time Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Endgame, Post-Canon Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship Summary: Post endgame after Tony's death Steve makes the decision to go back in time to travel to the past to see Tony in the hopes of changing what's ahead for them. Together Tony and Steve share a touching reunion as Steve's journey leads him closer to fixing the mistakes of the past and being close to where he's always wanted to be. Square Filled: Y4: AU: Time Travel Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53155555

Title: After The War Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Established Relationship, Amputee Tony Stark, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sexual Content, References to Depression, Aftermath of war, survivor Tony Stark, Dirty Talk, Swearing Summary: Weeks after the battle with Thanos, Tony finds himself in a place where he's left feeling uncertain about himself and what remains of the man he once was. Lost in his struggles, Tony tries to sort his thoughts out, but struggles with his new life until Steve offers him a reason to get lost in a welcome distraction. Square Filled: Y2: Steve’s blush Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53443666

Title: The Gift Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Short One Shot, Established Relationship, Amputee Tony Stark, Tattoos, Artist Steve Rogers, Bonding, Romance, Short & Sweet Summary: Steve and Tony share a moment together after Steve puts his new artistry skills to the test in bringing to life a tattoo design he created for Tony. Square Filled: O2: Body Modification Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53486125

Title: Jealousy Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Miscommunication, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Idiots in Love, Reunions, Feelings Summary: For some reason even though it's been a while since Steve and Tony have been together, Steve can't shake the sudden burst of jealousy he feels in seeing Bucky and Tony getting along with one another. Steve knows it's for the best that his best friend and former lover are at peace with one another, yet Steve can't shake the unsettling ways it feels to be on the outside of things with Tony knowing that Tony's still the only one in his heart. Square Filled: Y5: Jealousy Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53830381

Title: Wrong Turn Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Tattoos, 5 Times, Romance, Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers Summary: Tony reflects on the five times that Steve made a mark on his life while Steve takes a moment to consider the one time Tony made a mark on his Square Filled: O4: AU: Tattoo Artist Steve Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53831182

[catguangcorner]

Can I get thoughts on shiguang + ql during their uni days? Or just pre-canon in general?

omg yes of course !!! this is probably going to be a rambling mess cos i am Uncertain about some things but i hope it's fun nevertheless!!! i may add more in subsequent reblogs if i think of anything else :)

first off i have to think about majors/degrees for a bit. i believe the director said we'd find out more about their uni days including what the trio studied during the upcoming yingdu chapter. if I had to guess, I'd say QL did something like a business degree. I like the idea of CXS doing photography and I've seen that hc floating around, and for LG im sorry i have no fucking clue.

OK OK im not completely at a loss with LG. assuming this is like the third or fourth timeline, maybe he just chose whatever course CXS was on to stay close to him (im not crying you're crying). i think it would be fun if he studied literature though (saying this as a lit student, lol)

Alternatively, maybe they All did a business degree?? i say this for two reasons—one, it makes sense for both QL and CXS. for QL it's cos she's just business savy, and for CXS it's a fairly practical choice since he has the studio to think about. two, it makes for maximum fun as the trio suffer through their studies together :)

moving on—in the same way that LG buys CXS and QL boba, i bet he did similar when they'd all have early lectures, maybe with coffee, (or maybe he's had their drink orders memorised from their uni days)

CXS consistently leaves his studying/exam prep/turning in assignments until the night before which causes LG Immense stress lmao. CXS's like "lu guangggg help me studyyyy i promise i won't do it againnnn ive learnt my lesson I swear :(" and every time, LG calls him a fool and says good fucking luck. and every time QL brings over caffeine and snacks and LG stays up with CXS to help him/scold him

QL is definitely the most organised with her studies. she has the most detailed lecture notes and she's always the first one to hand in projects/assignments. LG has to drag CXS to lectures otherwise he won't go, notes are a mess/non existent, and he is usually playing a game on his phone (he is however, the sort to scrape by with fairly, or perhaps unfairly good grades). LG is the true neutral student who does Exactly what is required of him and Nothing more lmao.

QL is ALWAYS trying to get the other two to be more sociable and go to mixers and things. she probably has to bribe CXS with food, and then in turn CXS will pester LG until he relents and agrees to go with them

out of the three, QL has the best alcohol tolerance and when she drinks she's even more bubbly and social. will Occasionally drink too much after deadlines or exams have passed cos celebrations yippee, and in those instances she always insists she's FINE she ABSOLUTELY can do another round (is not fine. LG has to step up as the mum friend if CXS is also drinking)

next is CXS who has a pretty okay tolerance if he didn't continually push his luck and end up drinking a little too much. he gets all rambly and is (even more) of a drama queen when drunk. he has, on more than one occasion, had to be escorted out by a very angry looking LG. oh and of course he's also very clingy when drunk (with LG in particular; that poor man cannot escape from under CXS's arm).

I don't imagine at these sorts of big social gatherings LG is the type to drink Much, if at all. CXS has only ever seen LG drunk, truly drunk, like so drunk it could be described as stupid drunk, one time. and if he ever mentions it to anyone LG is murdering him. so. CXS doesn't discuss it, he values his life after all.

[nixxsmokeweed]

How Accessible Is Victoria square on East Hastings

A review on accessibility

Every Thursday at 8pm you can attend a punk show at Victoria square on East Hastings in Vancouver I love these show you are Guaranteed great music and a amazing community The music is a mix of alternative punk And Grunge But this isn't a review about music. This is the review about accessibility.

Seating

Most people hang out on the grassy field in front of the stage it is on a hill. For most people, this is going to be fine if you have a cane crutches, etc. I don't see this being too much of an issue. I have used to my Walker and my cane here. And haven't had too Many issues myself one time. My Walker did try to roll down the Hill. But some people went down and grabbed it. When it comes to wheelchairs, this is difficult though personally. Sometimes I have my friend or partner. Push me on the grass. And I get to talk and hang out with my friends. If the grass is an issue there is more areas to sit, and enjoy show.

You can also find a bench to sit at but the ones that face the stage are usually Already took by much older people so you Would need to Come an hour early To grab those seats.

The stage

You will find a large stage at the end of the field The show technically starts at seven, but usually doesn't. Actually, start to around 8 regularly do open night And surprisingly, I have not found a band / singer I dislike Besides that, they regurdy have local banner Throughout the month, with 3 to 4 bands playing per night. Shows are Thursday and sometimes Friday night. You can always check their Instagram. Ahead of time to know the set for that night there There's a decent amount of room to dance I was personally able to get my wheelchair and have come so fun and the pit. I do find people are a little nervous. To dance with me, I was in my Wheelchair But Majority don't seem to care. And what treat you just like everyone else If you don't want to get too involved, I would suggest staying in the sidelines as the pit can get. A little violence Personally, I don't know the care. And I like to get as close to the stage as I can. What I mostly Don't have a hard time with.

How many stairs?

In total, they are 3 sets of stairs, not including the bathroom which we will get into These stairs are mainly avoidable. He just have to go around. Watch can be a little difficult in some areas due to the Hill.

Bathroom access

The worst part about this Venue is the bathroom. There are 2 bathrooms, one men's ones, women's. Both bathrooms are underground. With no elevator the only way down is a very steep set of stairs. Due to this, there is obviously No disable bathroom stall I said it's an outdoor show. You can most likely find another bathroom somewhere else. But as a night goes on, that becomes a harder

Food and drink

There are 2 places in the actual park. To get food at drink, there is one lady who sells banic / fried bread and fresh jam They're also are trying to start selling sacks and drinks by the stage. This is Non-alcoholic drinks usually pop and Gatorade. Usually, pretty cheap drinks don't cost more than a couple of dollars.

Personal opinion and files score.

Person I love this place and i go every Thursday the Communities it Friendly Kind and very queer If they're in vancouver looking If they're in Vancouver looking For Free Event meet local punks I would a 100% suggested it as an ambulatory wheelchair used her. I do have my issues getting around the hill and The bathroom I could not see someone who could not get out from their wheelchair Get around comfortably Without assistance Overall, I give Victoria square 5.5/10 If you're interested in more reviews please Give me a follow as it's my goal to. Review venues/seams. That way, people with disabilities can find out what is accessible to them.

[daimyosprincess]

INTERLUDE: IDYLL

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SUMMARY: Taking a little inspiration from some literature, Professor Fett indulges you in one of your fantasies.

—WORD COUNT: 10.4k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, alcohol consumption by reader and others, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), lots of petnames, praise kink, dirty talk, mild degradation (discussed beforehand, use of “slut” and “whore”) choking, (sugar) Daddy kink, money kink, consensual non-consent (marked in story, can skip over and still enjoy the rest of the spice)

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Welcome back y'all! I hope you guys have a sweet tooth because this ten thousand words of pure sugar baby filth 🤑 I chose the title "Idyll" because of its associations with romance and the fact this one-shot is an interlude between Vols. I and II, and to keep with the literature theming for part titles (and yes also because I think I'm clever lmao).

A big thank you as always to @agirlnamejacq and @rexxdjarin for betaing this series, and thank you to you my beloveds for all the support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

<Part V

The idea hadn’t left your head since you read that Maker-forsaken chapter in the book Selena recommended to you. It’s dogged you for days, scrambled your thoughts, and ruined every pair of panties you’ve worn this week just thinking about it. You’d come embarrassingly quickly on your fingers the night before fantasizing about the plan you’d made to turn the chapter’s plot into your and Boba’s reality this weekend. Watching the clock tick down until five o’clock today had felt like literal torture; you’re so ready for the work week to end and your sexy little scheme to begin.

Your nerves thrum with excitement as you make your way to Boba’s front door with your overnight bag slug across your shoulder and the groceries you’d picked up balanced on your hip. Jiggling the key he’d given you in the lock, you ease over the threshold into the house, careful as not to drop anything. Setting your bag to the floor, you begin flicking on lights as you make your way to the kitchen.

Boba had to deliver some materials to another member of his department after class, giving you just enough time to start some dinner to surprise him with when he got home. With midterms fast approaching, he’d been putting in longer weeks and though he never complained, you know he could use a good home cooked meal and a little extra fun in the bedroom to take the edge off.

Once the groceries are sorted, you put on some light music and pour yourself a glass of the sweet wine Boba gets especially for you since you don’t care for dry reds he prefers. The kitchen is soon filled with the fragrant scent of onion and garlic as you busy yourself with the meal preparation, cutting and sauteing and seasoning, losing yourself in the familiar process.

Sometime later you hear the front door shut, signaling Boba’s arrival home. You wipe your hands on the blue-striped dishrag to your left and pluck another wine glass down from the shelf, filling it with the velvety red wine your professor favors.

“Careful, princess,” Boba’s luscious voice warns, “a man could get used to coming home to a beautiful woman cooking his dinner.”

And I could get used to doing it, you think as you re-cork the bottle, especially since this domestic stuff always has him on his knees wanting to have me for dessert. 

You can’t help the flirty smile that blossoms across your face as you take his glass in hand and turn to face him. Your response evaporates from your wine-sweet lips, however, when you see the colorful bouquet of flowers in his hand. Your eyes travel up his arms to his broad shoulders before landing on his pleased expression and twinkling eyes. “Looks like we’re both full of surprises,” you grin—the flowers are your favorite kind. 

Boba winks, “Gotta keep my best girl happy since I haven’t gotten to see her much this week.” He closes the space between you, setting the flowers on the counter so he can link his arms around your waist. 

“And I have to keep Daddy fed so he has the energy to keep up with me all weekend,” you tease before pressing a kiss to his lips. Boba eagerly accepts it and his hand slides down to grab a fistful of your ass, jostling the wine glass in between your bodies. You pull back, doing your best to look annoyed. “If you spill this on me, I’m going to make you lick up every last drop.”

A chuckle rumbles in Boba’s warm chest pressed against you. “Is that supposed to be a threat, sweetheart? ‘Cause it sounds like an incentive to me.”

You make a scandalized noise, your free hand falling onto your chest. “Sir, how dare you! I am a proper young lady who-” You’re cut off by Boba’s mouth on yours, his tongue dragging slowly along your bottom lip and making the rest of whatever you were going to say slip from your mind.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmurs smugly into your kiss, grinding his hips into yours.

You lean back farther this time, arching a brow at him. “Keep it up, professor, and your dinner’s going to be burnt.” After a moment, Boba sighs dramatically in defeat and releases you to peek at what you have on the stove. Pressing his drink into his hand, you shoo him away. “Ah ah ah! No taste tests! Go change and it’ll be ready by the time you come back.” Grumbling, he complies and you watch him disappear off to his bedroom. 

Oh, just you wait until you hear the plans I have for you, Professor Fett.

After dinner, you’re curled into him on the couch with your shared nightcap in your hand. The sated, cozy atmosphere of the room combined with the low light of the lamps lends an intimate feeling to the space as you finish your dinner discussion. 

“So there’s something you wanted to ask me about, pretty girl?” Boba asks, his fingers trailing up your arm leisurely. 

You take a quick sip of the whiskey, not that you need it, and smile up at him. Finally, the time has come to reveal the desire that’s been consuming you all week. “Mmm, yes there is. It’s about what I want to do with you this weekend… something I read in the book Selena recommended to me.” Thrilling heat begins to creep up your neck at what you’re about to describe to him.

Taking a sip of the liquor from your cup, Boba sets it on the side table to give you his full attention. “I’m all ears, princess,” he purrs with eyes brimming with glimmering darkness, his other hand clamping down on your hip to pull you even closer into him. His posture remains attentive, however, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Welllll,” you draw out, enjoying the last of the suspense, “in this book, the girl falls in love with a super good-looking guy who gets coffee at the same café as her, who, as it turns out, is also super rich.” Boba hums in amusement and you have to swallow back the urge to jump him right then and there, though just barely; as tempting as making out with him is, your next words are far more important. “This rich, handsome man ends up taking the heroine out to buy some very expensive jewelry so that he can fuck her in nothing but the diamonds he bought her.” 

Glancing up, you see Boba has a devilish smile on his face. In the beginning of your relationship, you might have gotten a little shy at this point, a bit bashful about the nature of your desire for this god of a man.

Not now, however. With Boba’s reassuring hand and your agreed-upon rules at your back, you’ve sailed into uncharted seas, uncovering more than you ever thought possible along his shores: pleasures and comforts more satisfying and valuable than even the most lustrous of the ocean’s treasures. He is your north star, a guide who impels, rather than compels, as you discover your personal and shared splendors.

 Boba’s large hands snake around your waist to pull you over the thick of his thighs, your knees hugging the outside of his hips. “And has all this given my little princess some ideas?” he prompts with a knowing smirk.

A breathy laugh slips past your lips as he grinds the growing bulge in his pants into your core: your professor can get harder quicker than the boys half his age you’d been with. Focus, you chide yourself, you haven’t even gotten to the good part. Anchoring yourself in the depths of his mahogany eyes, you bite your lip. 

“Lots of ideas,” you confirm, tipping forward to place slow kisses up his jaw, “Ideas about how I want you to give me that full sugar baby experience… designer clothes, shoes, jewelry, everything.” Scalding heat flashes through your entire body as you relay your wicked request. When you reach his ear, you can feel the way his breath catches when you trace its shell with the tip of your warm tongue, his burning heat washing over you. “Then I want you to make me earn every single kriffing penny you spent, want you to make me prove that I’m Daddy’s girl inside and out.”

The unfiltered grit of Boba’s groan has you gushing like sin itself is stroking you between your thighs. “Oh babygirl, you want Daddy to spoil you then put you in your place? Give you everything your little heart desires then take it out of that sweet pussy? Fuck you like that’s all you’re good for?” he grunts, yanking your shirt to the side so he can suck a bruise into your exposed shoulder. His teeth graze over the damp skin under his lips, nipping at the tender flesh. “Fuck, you’re so filthy and perfect, just for me… mmph, just for me. Come here, sweetheart.” 

Cupping your face with battle-worn hands, Boba crushes his mouth against yours, hot, hungry, and demanding. Your chest is already heaving with the weight of your arousal from the mere discussion of your fantasy as he steals the air from your lungs, his tongue greedily licking into the heat of your mouth. Licentious warmth pricks your cheeks and simmers in your belly to see he’s also turned on by your lewd wishes—it makes you want nothing more than to tear into him right here and now.

Boba’s hands are already rocking your hips over the straining fabric of his erection, sending all your blood and attention to the slick apex of your thighs; the sinful huffs of pleasure coming from him are eating through the last of your fluttering restraint. Fisting the collar of his t-shirt to gather your resolve, you pant out the last of your request into your kiss. “A-and I want you to-shit-to shove your money down my brand-new dress and panties and fuck me in it.” 

A deep growl of pure desire claws its way up his throat, and straight to your pussy. “Kark, shit, w-we’ll talk about the rest of this later, filthy girl, I need you right fucking now.” 

You’re in his bed with open arms and open legs before the minute is out.

Clipping the straps of the garter band to the rest of the gorgeous lingerie set, you smile at yourself in the mirror of the elegant dressing room. The entire day has been better than you ever could’ve imagined, and kriffing hell if you don’t look good in this scarlet lace. It’s been worth every minute you spent waiting… and Boba hasn’t even fucked you yet.

He’s taken your fantasy very seriously—wining and dining you at restaurants you didn’t even know existed between trips to stores you’d only ever heard of from fashion magazines—and, if the hard-on he’s rubbed against your ass at every opportunity is any indication, is enjoying everything just as much as you are. You couldn’t help but suck him off in the backseat of his Audi wearing your new emerald earrings and bracelet to show him just how grateful his little princess could be.

As promised, the two of you had negotiated the details of today’s fun after your tryst the night before: materially, you’d get whatever you wanted but you’d have to be on your absolute best sugar baby behavior, meaning no sass, no back talk, and using good manners all day. The professor has quite enjoyed the deal thus far, and hasn’t hesitated to remind you of it every time a brattish look colors your expression. You’d been good though… mostly.

“Careful, little one. I’d hate to have to take you back early and remind you of the rules before you got to pick out something to wear tonight.” 

“What? All I said was that you’re an old-”

“I know my babygirl isn’t going to make the same mistake twice, is she?”

“Erm-I mean no, sir. Sorry, Daddy.” 

For the actual sex itself, you’d gone over the terms, bondage, and acts you both were comfortable with since you wanted a more intense scene than your usual. You made sure to ask what aftercare Boba wanted for the same reason: you’d read about dom-drop and wanted to avoid it at all costs, especially since your boyfriend is being so solicitous of your fantasies. The overwhelming amount of unspoken love in his eyes after you asked him nearly brought tears to your own, even more so when all he requested is to hold you skin to skin in a warm bath—Boba Fett is truly a man like no other. 

You give yourself one last once over in the floor length mirror before parting the dressing room curtains to step into the private viewing room. Boba’s eyes go wide when he looks up to see you standing there: you’re a vision of rosy temptation, ready, willing, and wrapped up in a bow just for him. His hand brushes over his crotch and you spin around so he can see just how much of your ass is not left to the imagination. 

Peeking over your shoulder with big doe eyes, you flash him a dazzling smile. “I really like this set, I think it might just be the one.”

He wets his parted lips with a slow tongue, his eyes sable and voracious as they rake over you. “Oh really now, princess? How about you come over here and show Daddy just why you like it so much.” 

Biting your lip, you bend slowly, pushing out your tits even more as you slip on the red bottoms he’d got you and saunter over to where he’s seated on the plush couch. With your hands on the curves of your hips, you lightly kick his feet wider apart so you can step between his open thighs. He allows it, amber flames dancing in his irises as he watches you preen under his gaze—there’s nothing like his little angel to bring his hellfire to the surface.  

Hooking your thumbs under the bra’s dainty straps, you pull them out a bit and slowly slide your hands down as you keep eye contact with him. “See, sir,” you murmur with a silky voice, “I like the little bows… the ribbons…” When the backs of your thumbs slide over your nipples on their path downward, your eyes slide shut at the sensation. “Mmmph, I like the pretty lace, too.” You release your fingers and slide your palms slowly down your waist; when you feel the garter belt, your eyes flutter open.

Boba’s jaw is clenched and his eyes locked onto where the tips of your middle fingers have come to lazily trace the heart cut-outs just above your hip bones. The skin over his knuckles is stretched tight as he balls his hands into fists on his thighs, the buttons of his crisp shirt are straining from the depth of his breathing. 

“I like these little hearts,” you continue, your tone dropping to sultry smoke as your fingers slip down to the panties, “and this cute bow…” Your dominant hand slithers farther between your legs to stroke over the thin material covering your folds while your other hand finds its way back up your torso to knead your breast. “O-oh, and I… I-I like how these panties feel over Daddy’s little pussy.” Your own breath shakes with your arousal and your head tips back, exposing the smooth length of your throat, liquid heat pumping under your pulse point. 

A ragged curse slips from Boba’s lips and it makes your entire body tremble; you’re unraveling this masterpiece of a man thread by thread without so much as the whisper of a touch. The taste of power is thick on your tongue—he might be in charge, but he is still a man at a woman’s mercy. 

Your fingers slide under the waistband to pull the lower garment up so that it sinks into your slit and your lips spill over the sides. “B-but most of all, sir,” you rasp, bobbing your head back forward to stare directly into his yearning soul, “I like how much it makes you want to fuck me.”

The earth stops spinning for a heartbeat as his pupils blow out to eclipse his umber eyes. “Put your fucking dress back on, princess,” Boba orders roughly, “because the second I’m finished paying, I’m leaving with you in that, covered up or not.”

You do as you’re told, making sure to toss a cheeky wink at the silently judgemental sales clerk on the way out, and another one to the amused woman behind the hotel desk as Boba guides you with a firm hand on your hip up to the penthouse suite he booked for the night. You can practically smell the ozone of the imminent storm that’s been building between the two of you since the night before—all that’s left is to pierce his dark cloud and be washed away down to your most primal being in the tempest of his desire.

No sooner is the room’s door shut then you throw yourself into the howling winds of lust that have been tearing through bones all day. There’s no time to admire how stunning the suite is, not when his hands and lips are on you with a bruising, burning passion that might as well be a force of nature. For a few minutes there’s only him and the sensations he elicits, a wild and unrestrained fervor that almost convinces you that you’ll get away with having him easy. 

Of course, once the eye of the storm swirls around the pair of you, that flimsy hope is banished when Boba draws back from your kiss. “Hey, easy now, babygirl. I need you to listen so we can start.”

The way his glossy, kiss-swollen lips form around his words threatens to derail your focus completely, but you swallow down your fervor as best you can; you won’t get what you truly want if you don’t check in with him first. You squeeze your eyes shut in a hard blink. “I’m… I’m listening,” you rasp, your voice already ragged at the edges.

“Good girl,” he praises gently, brushing his lips on your forehead. “The role play we talked about last night still what you want to do? Any changes you want to make?” His right hand comes up to massage the tension in your neck.

Your heart is pumping hot and ready in your chest, it’s all you can do not to grind your thigh into his very obvious erection. You can’t look at him, not when he’s too tempting with his earth-warmed eyes and sun-colored features. Burying your face into his neck, you sound an affirmative from the safety of your favorite spot.

A cimmerian chuckle rumbles in his warm chest. “You’re so ready, aren’t you, pretty baby? I know, I know. Tell me about the stoplight system we talked about yesterday and I’ll make all your dirty little dreams come true.”

“Green means good, yellow means slow down and check in, red means stop like our safeword and three taps,” you rattle off without hesitation, curling your fingers into his shirt over and over again as electric anticipation crackles through your nerves. You’re embarrassingly wet and Boba hasn’t even done anything yet… Maker help you when he does.

He presses a kiss into your hair, guiding your head up to look into your eyes. “That’s my smart girl,” he beams, the edges of his eyes crinkling, “Now remember, we’re checking in again before the actual sex since this is our first time doing a scene like this.” Accepting your nod of understanding, he asks if you’re ready to start.

“Fucking stars above, yes, I’m ready!”

[start of consensual non-consent]

It’s like a whole new man materializes before your very eyes, one with lurid intentions and inescapable demands as the gentle hand on the back of your neck comes to settle possessively around your throat. “Well then, princess, it looks like you have some debts to settle with me,” he informs you, his canines flashing in a wolfish smile.

Your game has only just begun and the thrill of your vulnerability has your pulse jumping under his thick fingers. You blink at him with wide, innocent eyes, playing along. “But Daddy, what debts? I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Boba tuts, the sound lush with false sympathy, his eyebrow arching up in a cruel look. “You think all those pretty things I got you just come for free, little one? That there would be nothing taken in return?” His words are followed by a greedy handful of your ass that crushes you against his chest and makes his belt buckle dig uncomfortably into your soft stomach.

“W-what do you mean?” you whimper, squirming and ensnaring yourself further into his trap, “I-I thought you bought me all those things because you l-love me.” Offering up a flowery smile, you paw at his chest in an effort to ward off his perverse intentions, your heart hammers out danger against your ribs. It pushes you towards fight or flight, but your self-preservation is no match for your fatal attraction.

“Love?” he scoffs viciously, icing out your budding attempt to sway him, “Who said anything about love, sweetheart? Is that what you think this is, is that what you’ve been filling your pretty head with?” His fingers twitch around your throat and your lip starts to tremble pitifully. “Aww, poor baby,” he mocks with a sardonic smile, his hand releasing its grip on your neck so his thumb can roll down your quivering lip. “You gonna cry about it?”

Maybe it’s your latent instincts actually kicking in, or maybe you’re just that much of a brat, but either way you’re not going to let this man get away with everything, especially in that tone of voice. Jutting your head forward, you bite down on this thumb and shove your hands between your bodies to push away from him. You manage to turn and take a harried step towards the other side of the room before you’re roughly snatched back by the hair. Yelping at the sudden sharp pain in your scalp, your hands flying up in an attempt to free yourself.

“Oh no you don’t,” Boba hisses, ignoring your pained protests as he pulls your back against his body, locking his arm around your waist.

You struggle and kick at his shins, doing your best to escape the much stronger man. As sweat beads along your brow and your muscles begin to burn with exertion, you realize far too late that he’s just letting you tire yourself out. “Let… me… go!” you demand with the last of your strength, slamming the ball of your foot down onto his shoe.

Boba sucks in a sharp breath and you know you’re fucking in for it now just from that sound alone, your thighs pressing together against throb between them. “You done now? Made your point?” he asks with a dangerous amount of calm, his voice as still as the sea before a storm. “Because the harder you fight, the rougher I’ll have to be, sweetheart.”

That should not be as hot as it fucking is. His threat has the twin flames of arousal and fear burning you alive from the inside out, your opposing desires for mercy and ruin warring within your chest. “No, wait! I’m sorry," you plead, "Please don’t hurt me, I-I promise I’ll be good!” You sniffle and do your best to well some tears in your eyes, wanting to make your performance as good as your boyfriend’s. “I’ll do anything you want, just… please!”

Boba bites down into the soft flesh of your shoulder and you have to stifle a moan. His hand in your hair loosens fractionally, allowing you enough movement to give him access to your neck, which he greedily claims with harsh kisses. “Anything you say? But princess,” he taunts, his breath hot on your damp skin, “you were already going to give me whatever I want… you know why?”

Heart in your throat, you choke on your own lust-fueled words so that all you can do is shake your head in the negative. His absolute dominance and your prurient desire are melting away the last of your reason and restraint, especially when his lips find that sensitive spot just below your ear. Alternating between sucking his mark into your skin and muttering into your ear, he continues in a coarse, strident tone. “Because I own you. From the top of your pretty head down to all ten of your princess toes, you’re mine. You’re Daddy’s girl and you’re going to do just as he says… isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

As sinfully delightful as all this feels, Boba is way too smug for your liking. The wheels turning in your head are spinning furiously to come up with another escape plan to further provoke him and draw out your game. Grinding your ass back against his crotch, you sigh and go loose like you’ve given up, even letting a few small moans slip past your lips for good measure. Boba takes the bait—and truthfully, you think about taking it too—releasing your hair and hips so he can grope your tits.

Now!

Forcing all the air from your lungs, you slide down out of his grasp, stumbling a bit in your high heels but making out of his reach all the same. Boba growls and you can feel the flurry of air as he makes to grab you again, but you duck and manage to dodge him. Heart pounding in your ears, you make a run for the next room, hitting the lights so they go dark. Panting, you lean against the wall next to the door to suck in a lungful of air only to have it knocked right back out of you a second later when you’re slung over his strong shoulder.

You howl in dismay at being caught so soon, kicking and pounding on Boba’s back as he hauls you over to the king-size bed. He asks for your color and you answer “green,” to which he squeezes your hip affectionately before falling back into character. “You sneaky little brat, you really thought you could get away from me?” he laughs cruelly, slapping your ass with a stinging palm. He reaches the bed in a few strides and tosses you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing. 

It makes you gush, your pleasure in your core already beginning to tighten as your ass cheek prickles and burns. Head spinning and vision blurred at your sudden change in position, you scramble up the sheets to put distance between the two of you in a final desperate attempt to elude the man you so desperately want to catch you.

“You got a tight little cunt and a warm little mouth that will pay off your debt nicely. There’s no point in fighting it, sweetheart,” he continues to taunt, his fingers unbuttoning his shirt with practiced ease, “Might as well enjoy it, because you’re not getting out of it.” He discards his shirt, his tattoos gleaming in the sunlight peeking in through the windows; he’s as handsome and dark as a panther about to pounce on its prey. 

In all your haste, you’ve tangled yourself in the bedclothes well within his reach, and the wet heat slicking the inside of your thighs and underwear is bleeding the fight from you. That’s not going to stop me from giving this old man a run for his money… literally, you smile to yourself. You have one more trick up your sleeve but you don’t have much time with the way Boba is prowling toward you with the ease of someone at the top of the food chain. 

“W-what are you going to do to me?” you whimper, doing your best to distract him from the fact you’re untangling your foot. 

He gives you a chilling smile. “Oh, little princess,” he husks with a tantalizing, twisted heat, “I think you know exactly what I’m going to do to you.” 

He leans down to grab you, but you pull your knee up to catch him in the center of his chest with your designer heel. Boba’s expression flashes with wicked desire at the challenge, a hungry smirk turning up his lips. “Fast little thing, aren’t you?” he grunts in pleased surprise, locking his grip around your ankle, “Won’t save you though. I like my girls with some fight in ‘em.” His brown eyes are blown so wide with lust that they’re an abyss of black—maybe even a shade darker. In a flash, he snatches up your other ankle and yanks you back down the mattress, riding your dress up and rubbing your skin hot from the friction.

“No, no, no! Please, no!” you cry out, kicking your legs uselessly as his eyes zero in on the damp fabric nestled at your apex. No matter how much you pretend you don’t want this, you can’t hide your traitorous arousal.

Ignoring your pleas, Boba forces his way between your thighs, shoving his crotch against yours and making you gasp a moan. “Stop fighting,” he warns, crowding into your prone space, “I know you want this, dirty girl, you’re fucking soaked. Quit with the dramatics and Daddy will give you everything you want, just like he did earlier when he bought you all those nice things.” His hips grind into your center enticingly, accenting his offer.

You whimper and give a final kick before falling still, your only movement the heaving of your chest. Your blood is hot and torrid in your veins and sweat slicks your skin; you couldn't escape him even if you really wanted to and it burns you up. Knotting your fingers into the bedspread, you dig in your nails to keep from reaching for him—you’re enjoying your game far too much to give in and let it end now.

“Promising to spoil you makes you give it up quick, huh?” he smirks, kissing up to your ear, his right hand releasing your ankle to skate up to your damp panties. “Yeah, I know this is what you want. You want Daddy fuck you senseless in all the pretty things he bought for you, don’t you? To be his sweet little baby he uses however he wants? You can admit it, princess, you don’t have to pretend for my benefit.”

“Fuck you!” you spit back, knowing it would seal your fate. “I’m not some whore you can buy off and screw!”

[end of consensual non-consent]

Boba has the gall to laugh directly in your face. “That’s not what your panties are telling me. In fact,” he pauses to fish something out his pants pocket, “They’re telling me that if I make a little deposit… you’ll let me do whatever I want to you without a single complaint.” Before you can even ask, he pops the rubber band off a half-inch thick stack of hundred dollar bills with one hand. Your eyes widen and you clench around nothing, stunned into silence. 

He smirks, his shoulders set and his eyes glinting dark with desire. “Oh, is a few thousand dollars all it took to make you learn some manners?” he mocks. “Of course it is, my filthy girl, you’re spoiled rotten and all mine. Daddy knows how to get you to behave, doesn’t he?” You open and shut your mouth several times but you can’t get your tongue to form any words in your hazy, aroused shock. “Well now, if you’re not going to answer my questions, I might as well put something in that pretty mouth.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he reaches back into his pocket and stuffs his wallet in your open mouth.

All you can do is moan, your eyes rolling back inside your skull as carnal desire overtakes you. Your teeth sink into the buttery-soft material, the tang of leather flooding your taste buds as you writhe on the mattress seeking any sort of friction to quell the overwhelming need in your core.

Boba groans your name, long and deep, the rumble accompanied by the sound of a belt dropping to the floor. Your eyes flutter open to see him stroking his leaking cock with his free hand, his own eyes heavy with desire. “Look at you… so needy and pretty like this. I can’t wait to feel that perfect pussy strangling me.” He gives himself a few more tugs before releasing himself to ease his wallet from your lips, placing it and the money on the nightstand.

A whine sounds in your throat and he shushes you gently, coming back around to massage your thighs. “We have to check in, remember? How’re you feeling, babygirl?” 

Jagged shards of lust lodge themselves into your sweat-slicked skin, sharp and urgent, and every beat of your racing heart continues to pump unrelenting need into veins. “Everything is good, green, just keep going, please!” you beg, your mind spiraling closer to frantic desperation as the coil in your belly begins to unwind.

“Shh, shh,” he eases, stroking your hair back from your damp forehead. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, princess, but this isn’t optional. Do you need help calming down?” he asks in his even, guiding voice. Squeezing your eyes shut as hard as you can, you nod. “Okay, sweet girl, keep your eyes closed. I’m going to move and I want you to sit up. You want a pillow to hold?” 

Nodding again, you roll up to a sitting position, the empty loss of his touch soon soothed by the pillow he places in your arms. Boba praises you gently and guides you through a couple deep breaths and soon the overbearing buzz of desire wanes enough for your muscles to relax. After a few more exhales, you’re able to come back into yourself and you open your eyes, blinking against the sunset filtering in from the tall windows. Boba is standing in front of you, his drawn look of concentration melting into a smile.

“Better now?” he questions. You hum an affirmative in response and reach out a hand. He takes it, stepping closer so he can brush a kiss over your knuckles. “Ready to talk, sweet girl?” Taking a deep breath in and out, feeling your racing pulse slowing; when you’re sure you can focus, you confirm you’re ready. 

Boba sits on the edge of the bed, holding open an arm in invitation knowing that you need the added comfort of his touch during breaks. He waits until you’ve made yourself comfortable in his lap before continuing. “I know how bad you wanted to keep going, princess, so thank you for listening and being honest when I asked if you needed help.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Emotionally intense scenes like this one can be much different in real life than in our heads… sometimes it can catch up with you all at once and become overwhelming in a bad way. I want to give my little princess everything she wants, but I can’t do that unless I know everything’s alright up here,” he says, kissing the side of your head.

 “I understand, Boba, that’s why we have our rules and discussions to keep us safe.”

A warm smile spreads across his handsome face. “That’s exactly right, my smart girl. Now that things are calmer, how’re you feeling about everything? Anything that made you uncomfortable or want to change before we continue?”

Wrapping your arms around his torso, you hug him as tight as you can; Boba is everything to you and you want him to feel it in the strength of your arms and the beat of your heart. “I like it, like really, really like it. You’re amazing, all big and bad and mean… you’re so goddamn hot it drives me crazy. Makes me want to rip off all your clothes and ride your co-” 

Boba clears his throat, eyeing you sternly to remind you to stay on track and you snap your jaw shut with a sheepish grin. Rolling your gaze up to the high ceiling, you watch the patterns of the sun’s final light while you ponder his question. You certainly would never dream of acting out this kind of thing with anyone else, that’s for sure; not only because Boba is the only man you trust with such a fantasy, but also because it was precisely that, a fantasy, make believe. It ran so counter to who Boba is and how he treats you—that’s what made it so damn sexy.  

After a few moments of quiet consideration, shake your head. “There’s nothing I didn’t like or want to change. What about you, what did you like?” you ask, turning the question around and snuggling up against his warm chest.

He hums in dark delight, pulling you in tighter to his body. “When you kicked your leg up and got me in the chest, kark, sweetheart,” he puffs out his cheeks, “I almost lost my cool. Wasn’t kidding when I said I like a little fight in my women.” He pinches your ass playfully and you giggle, wriggling away from his fingers.

Sensing things are turning back towards continuing the fun, you twist around to straddle him, though keeping your hips still against his. “Well that’s no secret, professor,” you tease, linking your wrists behind his neck. “Don’t think you’d be with me if you didn’t.”

Running his hands up your sides, Boba’s fingers wrap around the swell of your ribs. “Mmm, I suppose that’s true,” he chuckles with a wry grin. When you ask him about any dislikes, he shakes his head, but there’s a caveat in his deep set eyes. “I’m enjoying it all and I definitely want to do it again, but…” He trails off, his brow furrowing in that pensive look he got when he’s trying to string together words to describe his feelings. You know it’s still a new practice for him, so you wait patiently, tracing little shapes on the nape of his neck. “But, not every time,” he concludes after a few moments.

Setting your forehead against his, you mumble in agreement, “But not every time.” You have a feeling you know why, not that you wanted it every time either, but that is a discussion for another day. For now, you would tuck it away in your heart. “Boba?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Thank you,” you smile, big and genuine, hoping he can feel all the emotion and gratitude behind your words, “For everything, for all of this. You’re amazing.” Pulling back, you capture his face between your hands so you can place a languid kiss on his beautiful lips. “I love you.” 

The way he always seems so surprised and hungry to hear those words is as endearing as it is heartbreaking; he should’ve heard that sentiment more often in his life.

“I… you,” he stammers, his usual stability thrown off.

“Shh shh,” it’s your turn to soothe, giving him another kiss, “I know.” You both hold the golden glow of affection between your bodies, warm and safe, for a few peaceful minutes, silently basking in its rays. When Boba begins to shallowly roll his hips against yours, a grin lights across your face. “If you’re ready, Daddy, I think there’s something your babygirl needs finished.”

“Oh, yes I think there is,” he agrees, nipping at the plush of your bottom lip with a devious grin. Sliding his hands under your thighs, he hoists you up with him as he stands to walk the pair of you to the long side of the bed. “Why don’t we get rid of this,” he suggests, tilting his chin down at your dress, “so Daddy can get a good look at his sugar baby all dressed up.”

He lets you down on your feet and you happily oblige his request, sliding the dress off your curves and tossing it in the direction of his clothes. The heat of his gaze as it rakes down your body is enough to brand your skin and reignite the coals flickering in your core. Brushing your hands over your tits and waist, you admire how the red lingerie flatters your form—as well as the effect it has on Boba. 

“Well,” you drawl slow and saccharine, batting your lashes, “if I’m not getting out of this terrible debt, I suppose I might as well enjoy it like you said.” As you echo his previous words, you sink back onto the bed behind you, spreading your legs wide. As one hand traces over your nipple peeking through the lace, your other one follows Boba’s hungry eyes down to the wetness staining your panties.

Your fingers dip under the damp fabric and swipe through the copious amount of slick coating your folds before coming up to breach the seam of your lips. “You make me so fucking wet, Daddy…” you moan, hollowing your cheeks, you softly moan as you suck the tang from your digit. Trailing your spit-cleaned fingers down your chin back towards your cunt, you simper up at him. “Wanna taste?”

Boba groans, his slitted gaze trained on your mouth as he smears pearled precum over his stiff length. “Oh, sweetheart, there’s a lot of things I want from you.” He enters your space, taking your jaw into his large hand. “Like this hot little mouth, for starters.”

Humming and blinking big blowjob eyes at your boyfriend, you grin and stick your tongue all the way out, tilting your head back for full effect. The air whooshes from Boba’s lungs in a debauched sound and the muscle in his neck twinges as his jaw clenches. “Such a sweet little angel when she wants to be…” he murmurs under his breath, almost to himself, collecting a leaking drop on his thumb to deposit on your waiting tongue. 

The salty taste of him has the coil of your release forming in your belly once again, salacious and hot. You lean forward to lap up more of his delicious taste, alternating between kitten licks and suckling at his tip while Boba continues to pump his shaft. Being the greedy little thing that you are you soon become unsatisfied with what small bit he’s allowing you—so you ask for more.

“Please, I want more,” you whine with a pout, “I want all of it.”

“Careful what you wish for, princess.”

You were, in fact, not careful for what you wished for and quickly became quite the little mess. Ravaged and ruined, and spoiled by the enjoyment of his cock down your throat as he clasped a diamond necklace around your neck. Your knees are now raw, hair wild, and your makeup is running down your cheeks. You’re a complete wreck.

You fucking love it.

Boba is standing over your kneeled form, gloriously naked and slowly stroking his dick that’s lubricated by a generous coating of your saliva. The dark look in his brown eyes and viperous grin send a shiver of arousal down your spine. “This is all you’re fucking good for isn’t it, sweetheart, spending my money and sucking my cock? Kriff, I think you like being a little slut as long as it gets you what you want.”

You blink up at Boba’s broad frame through clumped lashes. “Well, what can I say? We are living in a material world and I am a material girl,” you grin with puckish charm. You shimmy your shoulders just enough so that your tits jiggle and the light catches the trails of spit that have begun to dry on your neck and chest. You’d long given up your innocent act for your usual bratty self.

Boba huffs in amusement, rolling his eyes. “Do the jokes cost me extra?”

“Seeing how your dick’s not in me,” you reply blithely, “they absolutely do.”

You don’t even have time to pout before he snatches your face up in a tight grip, his thumb and fingers digging deep into your cheeks. “You really are a greedy little thing,” he chuckles, turning your head from side to side to appreciate the way the jeweled necklace sitting on your chest glitters in the low light. Hot arousal streaks through you, leaving shimmering trails of lust in your veins.

You try to shake off his hand but he only pushes his fingers in father. “There’s only one thing to do with greedy brats… you know what that is, sweetheart?” he asks with poisonous condescension. You glower up at him, unable to speak through his grip. “It’s to fuck it right out of them. You want more? I’ll give you more. I’ll give it to you until you’re begging and crying for me to stop, and then you know what?” Boba crouches down, resting his warm cheek against your burning one to hiss into your ear. “I’ll stuff those pretty panties in your mouth and keep going.”

The strangled groan that sounds in your throat is unlike anything you’ve ever made as you push out your chest to get closer to him. You’d give anything for him to fulfill that threat of promise because when he gets like this, it means you’re getting the fucking of a lifetime. Watching Boba as he fucks you is a treat in of itself, but witnessing that galaxy-stopping moment where he slips into that all-powerful, unshakable dom state? A truly indescribable delicacy.

Boba releases your jaw, yanking you up by your shoulders and roughly shoving you back on the bed. “You really are a dirty little whore,” he sneers, his lips quirking to a self-satisfied smirk, “begging for me fuck you to tears while you taste yourself. You’re lucky I’m in such a generous mood, princess, because you are absolutely ruined for anyone else.”

And the Maker knows it's true. “Daddy,” you whine, opening your legs wide in invitation, “please, I want you inside me so bad, please fuck me!” Boba likes to hear you beg and you’re all too happy to do it when it gets you what you so desperately want.

He looms over to you, his shoulders set and his eyes glinting dark with desire. “You finally learned some manners, have you? Figured out good little girls get more of Daddy’s money than bad ones?” He’s toying with you now. You both know what you really want: to have him filling you up over and over on a pile of the money he has stacked neatly on the nightstand where he left it. 

Truthfully, you’d do anything he asked at this point anyway—all this sugar daddy play has you step away from selling your soul just for a single stroke of his thick, perfect cock. You suppose it wouldn’t kill you to stroke his ego a little more if it speeds the process along. “Oh yes, sir, I’ve got it all figured out,” you answer agreeably, a picture of sweet submission, “I’ll be so, so good if you fuck me, I promise.”

“I bet you will, sweetheart,” he chuckles with a glint of mischief, “now that Daddy’s got you so well trained.” He’s testing you, seeing if you can keep up your obedient act, his dark eyes sparkling in challenge. When you swallow back your snarky response for a genteel smile, he relents. “Go put the heels back on and crawl back to me,” he commands, scooping up the stack of bills.

Scalding heat flashes through your body to settle between your thighs at his order, mixing with the excitement of finally having him inside your aching cunt. You jump up and eagerly hurry around the other side of the bed where you’d shed your shoes earlier. After slipping them back on your feet, you settle onto all fours and make your way across the expanse of the large bed, keeping your lust-dark eyes fixed on his own. 

The luxe bedding pools coolly between your fingers, the raw skin of your knees skimming pleasantly over the material; when you reach him, he caresses your face in a moment of tender affection. Before you can lean too far into his warmth, however, it’s over: he yanks down your bra and stuffs wads of bills into it. Wasting no time, he spins you around to continue slipping money under the edges of your lingerie, layering in a few bright slaps to your ass as he covers you in his paper wealth.

Your ears and cheeks are aflame by just how fucking dirty he’s treating you: like you’re a set of holes to be bought. It sets off a goddamn waterfall between your legs and you know he can see the slick starting to spill down your thigh—Boba Fett has corrupted you totally and completely, and kark if you couldn’t be more grateful for it.

“Look at you,” he goads, shoving a hand between your shoulder blades to force your front down and ass up, “such a greedy little whore, fucking dripping from just a bit of Daddy’s money.” He’s begging to be tested, pushing and prodding you for a reaction. Boba likes your submission, yes, but he wants to earn it, wrestle it out of you. He craves a challenge and you’re his favorite one, his perfect, bratty little match.

He slaps the blunt head of his cock against your ass and notches himself at your entrance. Just as he’s about to push in to feel that first bit of your sinful heat, you bow up your back so he slips out. “Ah ah ah,” you crane over your shoulder, smirking up at his genuine look of surprise, “I might be a whore but I’m not a cheap one. Don’t think that just because you can lay down some good dick that I’m going to give you a discount on this million dollar pussy. Finish paying up, old man.”

Boba grins like the devil, barking a sharp laugh. “Fuck, you’re so in for it, little girl. You and that kriffing attitude.”

You wink, jiggling your ass just out of his dick’s reach. “Aww, I know you like it when I misbehave, that’s why I do it just for you, Daddy,” you tease in a sing-song voice.

“I know it’s just for me, naughty princess, ‘cause no one else is ever gonna treat you this good or fuck you like I can.” Boba starts thumbing bills off his stack so they flutter and twirl like autumn leaves, landing around you. “So tell me when I get to enough, sweetheart.”

Biting down hard on your lip, you let the hundreds fall for a couple seconds until you can’t stand to be empty of him any longer. “That’s a start, but don’t get stingy on me.”

“Behave and take my cock like a good little princess and I won’t,” he retorts smugly. Tugging your hips back flush against the furnace of his skin, he smooths a roughened hand up your spine to massage your neck. Then, more gently, he requests, “Tell me what you do to make things stop, babygirl.”

“Kamino or three taps anywhere,” you answer dutifully, doing your best not to wriggle and grind against him while he checks in, your desire to have him inside you just barely kept in check.

Pleased, Boba hums and places a quick kiss to your shoulder blade. “Good girl. Because I’m not stopping for anything else, not when… fuck, when I can smell how much you want it.” Grinding against your thigh, he fills his hands with the globes of your ass. “Now, let Daddy see his pussy.”

How can you deny him when his voice is pure honey, sinful and spiced with everything you could possibly dream of? Sliding forward and widening your knees, you put yourself on full display for him, arching your back in a seductive curve. You’re rewarded with a deep, throaty groan from your professor and two quick slaps across both your cheeks that quickly dissolve into tingling pleasure. 

Pulling your ruined panties to the side, Boba groans again. “You’re so beautiful, so perfect…” he traces your curves reverently, bending to lavish pious kisses your dimples of Venus. “Fuck, I’m gonna tear this little pussy up... I'm gonna do it just how you like it,” he promises, his deep voice scraped with desire. 

Your response is snatched from your throat when he enters your dripping heat a second later. Gasping and cursing at the sheer girth of him splitting you open with each rut of his hips, you bury your face into the duvet, your eyes rolling back into your head. The sinful stretch burns you from the inside out in the most gut-clenching, obscenely delicious way that all you can do is moan into the mattress. By the faint sounds making it through the thick haze of pleasure fogging your brain, it sounds like Boba is fairing about the same as you are.

“Fucking kark,” he pants through gritted teeth, “Always s-so tight and wet.” He snaps his hips in the final way, making you both exclaim in pleasure; it feels like he’s throbbing in your damn throat. “Ready, pretty baby?”

Turning your head so he can hear you, your response comes out as a desperate warble. “More, please, more, you feel so fucking good!”

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart, Daddy’s gonna spoil his little princess, gonna fuck her full of his cum just how she likes.” His free hand grips your opposite hip so he can pull you back into the roll of his thrusts. “‘Cause that’s what you really want, isn’t it? To be so full of me that you can’t take a single step without remembering who owns this pussy, who takes care of you and makes you feel this fucking good?”

You’re already losing your mind, all the build up of your fantasy and your extreme angle making it so his tip is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you already. Throwing a hand behind you, you curl your fingers into the bouncing flesh of your ass to spread yourself farther, desperate for more of him deeper, faster, harder. You feel the feather-light touch of more money brushing your skin as it rains down on your back, making the well of desire inside you roil and churn as you bear down on him. “W-wanna see, wanna see… please,” you beg, unable to form any more of the necessary words, your brain melting from the blood boiling in your veins.

“Does my little girl want to watch Daddy’s money while he fucks her? Hmm? Tell me.”

Part of you wants to continue bratting, summon the last of your strength from some hidden cavern within you to bite back at him, come up with some scalding quip to throw in his face. A larger part of you, however, wants to delight in everything his dominance has to offer, revel in the way Boba can fuck and make love at the same time. “Yes, sir, please, sir!”

You’re on your back, legs over his shoulders, with his dick sinking back into you before you even fully register him pulling out. He gives your clit a few sharp smacks with the remainder of the cash in his hand before he starts flicking it out over you again, making you cry out in ecstasy. “Aw, you like this, sweet girl? You like how I treat my pretty princess?”

You’re already on pleasure’s cusp, waiting to ascend into its unholy heavens when he leans forward to hear your answer, hitting your g-spot perfectly and making your insides bloom with the heat of release. “Oooohh fuck yes, r-right there!” you cry, throwing your head back into the downy mattress, “Please don’t stop, t-this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“Not yet it’s not,” Boba chuffs between grunts, reaching over to the bedside table. Before you can utter the first sound of protest or question, Boba slings the rest of the bills onto your heaving chest and stuffs his wallet back into your open mouth. Your pleasure snaps so tight at the familiar taste of the leather that you scream around the makeshift gag. He immediately starts rubbing wet, slippery circles on your clit. “That’s it, this is what’s gonna make you come, isn’t it, pretty baby?”

Time slows down, or maybe even stops, stretching out into oblivion on either side of you, divided by this infernal ecstasy Boba is pounding into soul. Tears of pleasure spill out of the corners of your eyes and you can’t seem to catch your breath before his thrusts force it from your lungs again; all you can do is moan some semblance of a response around his wallet and take him deeper into your waiting walls.

That’s when it happens, that subtle shift that brings Boba into that raw, glorious version of himself where he is the master of your twin universes, all-powerful and all-mighty. It’s in the set of his jaw, the snap of hips, and the inky depths of his eyes that it happens, where your energies fall into flawless, seraphic balance. You become two halves of the same whole as he gives and you take, as he pushes and you pull in unspoken harmony. You’ve never had a religious experience, but at the risk of blasphemy, you think this is what one must feel like.

Where else would the divine exist except at the meeting of two souls?

You’re blubbering what you can of his name over and over as your one and only prayer, knowing that your devotion would reap all that it sowed. It’s so much, it’s all so terribly, perfectly much: the pressed open stretch of your ankles over his shoulders, the impossible fullness of his cock inside you, the force of his powerful hips—you need something to hold you against his unrelenting tide. Releasing the sheets, you throw your right hand over your head, curling and uncurling it to tell Boba you wanted his hand in yours.

“I got you, cyare, I got you,” he assures between ragged pants, leaning down to redistribute his weight to interlace his fingers with yours. He shoves his other hand under your hips to adjust your angle and you arch up with a cry when he hits that spot dead on. You know he can feel it too, his eyes screwing shut against the overwhelming pleasure. “Fuck, baby, you feel s-so good, you’re taking me so well. I-I know you’re close, beautiful. Spoil Daddy and come for me… strangle my cock w-with that perfect cunt. Come on, sweetheart, l-let go and let me feel you.” 

You’d do anything for him, anything: fight off his many demons, kiss away all his pain, and protect his heart until your dying breath. Coming on his perfect dick when he sucked your nipple between his teeth was the least you could do, right after being his little angel who took every last drop of his cum when he pumped it into you a few bruising thrusts later. Rutting and cursing, Boba rides out both your orgasms, prolonging your combined pleasure until his muscled arms begin to shake with the effort of holding both you and him up. 

Blissed out and impossibly, wonderfully content, you enjoy watching how Boba’s dark eyebrows knit together and how his pretty lips form around his little pants as he comes down from his high. When his eyes finally flutter open again, they’re the luscious color of exotic wood polished and shining in the tropical sun—he’s so beautiful all you can do is stare and appreciate the wonder that is Professor Boba Fett.

Gazing lovingly down at you, Boba smiles softly and removes his wallet from your mouth so he can sprinkle sparkling kisses all over your face. “My beautiful, perfect girl,” he coos between the brushes of his lips on your skin, “my sweet, precious babygirl.” Without pulling out, he rolls the two of you over so you’re resting on his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck and your head tucked under his chin.

You slowly come back to your senses together, wrapped in one another’s warmth, easy and unhurried. Saving your post-scene debrief for your bath later, you lazily trace over the ink decorating Boba’s chest, over the slopes and planes of his pectorals and ribs, while he massages your back and shoulders. Much to your dismay, he has to slide out of you so you can sit up and drink some water; he just feels so good, so right inside your velvet walls that you never want him to leave you empty.

Setting down your water bottle after draining its cool contents, you pick up one of the hundreds scattered around the bed, now curious in your orgasmic glow. Holding it up to the light, you curse and sit up when you see the watermark through it. “Kriffing kark! Are all these real?!” you exclaim, shocked at your discovery. You hadn’t dwelled on the details during your romp in the sheets, but now that you're more clear headed, it dawns on you just how much money is in your presence.

Boba watches with open amusement as you repeat your test a few more times to find that the other hundreds in your reach are indeed genuine. “Why wouldn’t they be?” he questions with an impish smile, “I only get the best for my babygirl.” He’s smirking, doing his best to stifle a laugh at your obvious amazement.

Smug, wonderful, sexy bastard, you grumble to yourself, shoving at his shoulder. “Quit laughing at me and get in the bathroom, old man,” you order with mock annoyance, “I’m sucking your dick as soon as you can get it up again, and maybe even before then if you’re lucky.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, still chuckling as he swings his legs off the bed. “Order us some room service and I’ll be all ready for you to choke on.” He winks and you roll your eyes as you head towards the room phone. “Oh, and say whatever you want, princess,” he throws over his shoulder, “but no one's ever made you wetter or come harder than this old man.” 

Damn if it’s not true, you think with a shrug and a smile—not that you’re going to tell him that, not yet anyways. Looking over the menu placed next to the handset, a warm feeling of contentment washes over you pleasantly, like sunny waves lapping at your mind’s shore. Fucked, filled, and happy with the man of your dreams, you can’t imagine it gets better than this.

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

cyare - beloved, love

<Part V

[sidewalkchemistry]

Transforming Energy-Depleting "Self-Care" Habits 😫 ➡️ ☺️ | Holistic Leveling Up!

there are a lot of bad habits we've picked up as ways to "treat ourselves," but in the long run, they are more injurious than beneficial. the few moments of gratification they provide are deceptive. they can often be the hidden energy vampires in our lives. i've shared not just a small selection of these habits may be, but ways to overturn them to be nourishing and revitalizing instead 🥰

💔coffee & energy drinks: they run the adrenal glands ragged over time, which prevents us from existing moment-to-moment in the restorative parasympathetic nerve states. sure, many tout that coffee has benefits because of its antioxidants. you're better off getting your antioxidants from a more nourishing source like berries. a need for coffee or energy drinks in your life is often a sign that you're not being adequately refreshed by your sleep or eating enough fruit (want for sweet, nutrient-dense foods). rather than continuing to neglect your needs, start your day with fresh cold-pressed juice, a smoothie, herbal tea, and/or fruit.

💔alcohol: everyone knows it's better for you to do without drinking, but culturally, it often points in the opposite direction. transform your viewpoint over drinking when you consider that it's a tradition based in poisoning ourselves. if it weren't so long practiced in our histories, we would be quite alarmed by the hangover effects of alcohol. also, in drunken states, we are often influenced to do more things which deplete us - whether that's who we choose to hang around, how we speak to others, what we eat, etc. show greater respect for your body and set higher standards for your precious liver who has so much work already to do in today's world by forgoing alcohol. it's much more fun to experiment with creating mocktails because you can drink at much as you want, and the effects are often health-promoting. and if you want to have a close experience to the real thing, there are non alcoholic alternatives sold in many places now.

💔ordering in/out: this is one of the most insidious habits because the restaurant business thrives based on menus made hyperpalatable with unnecessary amounts of oil, salt, refined sugars, and artificial ingredients (even at many of the healthier restaurants). such dishes often make us sluggish, cause mood fluctuations, stimulate cravings for more oversaturated flavors, diminish levels of inspiration, pose problems to digestion, provoke skin problems, cause a tendency to overeat, etc. and worst of all, it makes you lazier about making beautiful efforts for caring and nourishing yourself. it's a night-and-day difference from enjoying your own homemade meal, especially if it is a whole food plant based meal (with little to no oil, salt, and refined sugar). plus, you're able to infuse your own love in your food, exercise your creativity in the kitchen, and seduce yourself with your creations :)

💔hitting the snooze button/procrastinating tasks: this causes us to need to rush. one of the lesser known ways of hurting yourself is existing in the mindset that you are running out of time. try to frame your life in such a way that you're able to take your time. and when you're in time-sensitive situations, still continue to treat and speak to yourself kindly & exist in the now. often, when you act mindfully, you may surprisingly find that you accomplish your tasks more speedily. all the flustering and frustrations we catch our mind up in slow us down. catastrophizing about what might happen doesn't help us to defy physics. so, always be intentional with your usage of time. it's one simple kind act to show yourself, to not put yourself under pressure, no matter the circumstances, because it doesn't help to be harsh with yourself. in fact, it will help to develop a solid & loving relationship with yourself.

💔staying up just a bit later: a poor nighttime routine leads to poor sleep, so it starts your next day on the wrong food. adequately wind down and exist in a frequency of peaceful calm in the last hours of your day. use ambient warm lighting (candle lighting is preferable) instead of artificial blue lighting after sunset. tidy your space and your body, to reduce the stress of clutter. set aside the day's emotional/energetic baggage with reflective contemplation, meditation, body scanning, reiki, and/or forgiveness exercises. and don't fight your sleepiness. it's far better to fall asleep with intention, rather than from exhaustion or by accident while watching a screen. structure your nights to feel luxurious and supportive by remembering the value of a proper wind-down routine.

so, there it is. stop having the bliss stolen from your life by expanding your levels of care & compassion for yourself. always seek to increase your abilities to nurture yourself. contentment & joy await you on the other side. may all beings be blissful💚