#so idk i want to make you something nice!

[from-the-owls-nest]

mhm. what if you're too broken, in too tiny pieces, even the base too shattered to rebuild from. what if there's too little good left.

*swallow* that... that probably wasn't the most helpful answer. but I know what you mean. and I don't really have a fix or anything.

*drily, like, ironically* should probably clarify that the you in that first sentence meant me and just me. so. before you get any more ideas. because of course for Me that's Different! At least for my chaos brain tangles.

[ooc: Philosophy Below. idk brain ran away with thoughts call me if u find it /silly]

*silence, thinking over the words again* I don't know. All I can hope is that - that sentence from the movie Aria likes. When we can see no future, all we can do is the next right thing. the next little ray of sunlight. the next little moment of peace.

And if none of that is possible... Wait, and hold on, and look for them, and hope they come back soon. This is just my thoughts - my little agreement with myself. I gotta try the best I can, even if the best I can is a break from trying to recover. And then I'll know that Past Me did their best for me now and that I owe it to Future me to do my best for what they might become. Even if they weren't very successful. Like deciding that however I am right now is me too, and so I am all these things and parts, the good and the rough ones, and they all together make the full me. It's these nice little shortcut across the self blaming and infighting that take a long time to work out but help wherever they hold.

But like. I think I owe it my future self to hold on, and to get through the storms. Our past selves have come such a long way, and who knows where we'll go next, what our future selves and lives might be like. So like. I do think that new paths open up all the time, possibilities. Even if the ones now are all bad, who knows where we can still go. And the only way to find out is to try, and to do our best.

*they pull out their diary, and from the front a little calendar page* Look. I... It's one of these pages I'll keep forever and ever because I need the reminder, and give to others when they might need it. I don't know if it's right. I hope so. and I think the only way to find out is to try and hold on.

For me that's enough. That, little hopes, little good moments, even just the memory of warmth and hope and the knowledge that all that was once can come again - in different forms, maybe, but it can. *turning to lay it next to Will's sneaker*

*more silence* But. Well. That's really big thoughts, and hard to see when everything is so dark. Hm. okay just to throw some thoughts out. You don't have to tell me, you don't have to think about it, just... some ideas. Little windows into that maybe, whenever you're able to look.

what do the voices say? can they maybe be talked to, or be both a little right?

is there anything you wish wouldn't stop? or come back? any little thing. ignore realism and context all that. if you were playing make-believe, your own little world, what would it look like? if you want to we can take turns. I play that game regularly cause, well, bad memory, and i probably should start again.

and... does it have to be a *bad* hurt? like. yes. you're different. stuff happened, and it changed you, and that really really hurt. you might not be the same person as before. is that a bad thing? or, you said nasty. sure. right now it's raw and painful and doesnt fit yet. but... could all these little shards grow back together and become something scarred and mended, and different?

I hope they could. I'd really miss you - not you from before, you however you are right now and however you want to be. Idk doesn't make much sense but - people if they change are still that person, right? just... changed, by a situation or because they got to know themselves better or whatever. Like Butterflies. I'd like to see the next chapter, with you if you want or just knowing there was one for you.

Image Credit @thelatestkate and her website

Love love love characters that present themselves as emotionally open social butterflies but the more you see of them the more obvious it is that they’re the most closed off fuckers in the story. Sure, they want to help you with your personal problems and messy emotions, but if you turn that shit back on them, they’ll shut down or deflect every time. Why are you sticking your nose in their business anyway? It’s not like it matters. They’re not a person, they’re just a role being played. They’re the guy who fixes things and saves people. Please ignore the man behind the mask, he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

[sabsberries]

birthday sex

summary - it wouldn't really be a happy birthday without some birthday head

w.c. - 2.2k

warnings - smut, oral (m! receiving), biting idk, swearing, use of y/n, first person, fiancé Harry!!!

masterlist | taglist

When I first met Harry, I quickly realised that one of his biggest fears was growing old. He had never explicitly told me, but I could tell that as the plans we made as freshly turned twenty-one year olds grew closer, Harry’s fear seemed to grow with them. Touring Italy at twenty-five? Perfect. Turning twenty-five? Terrifying. A weekend away in France for his twenty-seventh? Wonderful. Becoming a twenty-seven year old? The worst thing in the world.

I could only imagine the turmoil in his head these past few days, gnawing away at the peaceful thoughts that usually came with his well-earned touring breaks—leaving behind nothing but a big, hot, steaming pile of insecurity and fear.

Of course, he would never admit it—not to his family, not to his friends, and especially not to me. But I saw it in the smallest of ways. The way his lip quivered when he spoke about the future, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his jaw clenched, as if bracing for impact. He talked about growing old with me like it was a dream, but his body betrayed him. He hated it.

Now, though, he looked at peace. The early morning light spilled through the curtains, casting soft shadows over his face as he slept, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. For a few quiet moments, there was no fear, no tension—just him, lost in sleep, untouched by the weight of the day ahead. But today was his birthday.

I watched him, my fingers tracing invisible patterns against the sheets as I ran through every idea I had. I could make him breakfast, of course. Or maybe we could find a new café to try. Or we could even stay in and order something special. That’d be nice. But none of it felt enough. None of it could shield him from the inevitable, the thing he was dreading so much. I wanted today to be perfect for him, but how do you make peace with something that’s impossible to avoid?

He shifted slightly, his fingers twitching as if searching for something. A faint sigh escaped his lips, his eyes fluttering open just a crack before closing again, as though trying to hold on to the last remnants of sleep. His eyes slowly opened, the brightness of the room pulling him fully awake. For a moment, he lay still, blinking at the ceiling as if waiting for the world to make sense again. Then, his gaze drifted to me—soft, familiar, but there was something else in it today, something hidden, almost hesitant.

"Good morning, Birthday Boy." I mumbled, watching as his eyes fluttered shut again, and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Morning, my love." His voice was husky, tinged with humour. "What time is it?"

"Only half nine, or something. Way too early to be awake on a Saturday."

He yawned and nodded slightly, rubbing his eye. "Come here." His hand found my waist, pulling me on top of him, his grin never fading.

I laughed as he pulled me onto his stomach, my legs straddling his waist, the duvet tangled around us. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes hazy with sleep, and his lips stretched into a wide, easy grin. "What do you want to do today?" I whispered, grabbing his hands and absently fiddling with his ringless fingers.

"Dunno. Nothing, really." His grin deepened, and his gaze never wavered from mine. His fingers twitched, almost as if he wanted to hold onto mine, but he stopped himself.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." He reaffirmed, voice soft. "I'd quite like to spend it doing fuck all with my fiancé. Who, by the way, hasn’t even given me my birthday kiss yet."

"Well, excuse me for wanting to let you wake up before bombarding you." I laughed, placing a hand on his chest and pushing it down when he tried to lean up to meet me.

I leaned down instead, brushing my lips against his, soft at first—just a gentle pressure, a playful reminder that I was here. His breath caught for a second, as if he hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon, but he melted into it, letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction. His hands found their way to my back, pulling me closer, as if testing the distance between us.

The kiss deepened, slow and easy, like it had a quiet promise behind it. His lips moved against mine with a delicate urgency, as though making sure this moment would be just ours. I let myself get lost in it, closing my eyes and feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my chest.

For a while, neither of us spoke, the world outside fading into nothing but the softness of the kiss, the comfort of knowing the other was there, and for a brief moment, all the worries that clung to Harry seemed to be forgotten. 

His lips curved into a smirk against mine, but there was something else there now—something heavier. His hands, which had been resting lightly on my back, gripped tighter, his fingers pressing into my skin like he was trying to hold me there, just a little longer. The shift between us was subtle at first, a slight change in the way his mouth moved against mine, the way his breath hitched between kisses. But then, like a current pulling me under, it wasn’t just a kiss anymore. It was heat, need, something deeper. I pulled back just enough to look at him, my forehead resting against his.

"Happy birthday, Harry," I whispered, the words feeling more weighty now than they ever had before.

He hummed quietly, his head shaking ever so slightly, and lifted his face so that our lips could slot back together. It was different now. It was almost hungry, and the way his lips took dominance over mine certainly matched the tone.

His hands slid under my shirt, warm and deliberate as he traced the curve of my waist, fingers brushing along the skin with a possessiveness that made my breath hitch. There was nothing innocent about it now. His touch was purposeful, searching, as if each movement of his hand was an attempt to tether me to him, to ground us both in this moment.

I could feel the weight of his gaze as it shifted, his eyes darkening just slightly when they met mine. The playful grin from moments before was gone, replaced by something more intense, almost desperate. It made my heart race faster, my pulse fluttering in my chest.

I leant down again, however this time to pepper light, barely there, kisses along his jawline and neck, slowly increasing in pressure until I reached just above his collarbone, where I sunk my teeth in. "Oh shit!" He hissed, bucking his hips up against mine and letting out a breathy laugh at the way it made me moan.

I moved down his chest, nipping after every few kisses, and occasionally darting out my tongue to sooth over any particularly harsher bites, before shimmying down his hips, placing a small 'thank you' kiss just above his belly button as he spread his legs enough for me to climb between.

His grey boxers had formed a darker patch where the tip of his dick had begun leaking, and, despite being covered by fabric, I could tell he had to be painfully hard by now. I pressed a delicate kiss on the wet patch, pushing out my tongue to slightly swipe across it before moving back down to his thighs and kissing from his meaty inner thigh up to his hip bone.

"Please, Y/N, c'mon." He practically cried, his hand moving to scoop a handful of hair into a ponytail, but not doing much to move my head aside from a gentle tug.

"Be patient." I mumbled, sinking my teeth into his inner thigh.

"Holy— fuck!" He exclaimed, his leg jostling in surprise.

I let go and used my tongue to sooth over the area before placing a final kiss, and moving back up.

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down his thighs just enough so I could have full access. His dick truly looked painful, with his tip a deep red with precum leaking from the top, and his base thick with his veins slightly enlarged. I dipped my head down and wrapped my lips around his tip, barely sucking whilst my tongue moved around in circles.

Once again, his hips shot up, pushing his dick further into my mouth, and a loud, deep, guttural moan escaped from him, "Oh my fuckin— oh, shit, baby!"

With one hand, I pushed his shaking hips back down onto the bed whilst the other wrapped around his base, using the spit that trailed from my mouth as lube as I bobbed my head up and down.

I pulled my hand away and relaxed my jaw, allowing Harry deeper down my throat whilst my hands massaged deep circles into his hip bones.

“Shit I— please, Y/N.” He whined. I looked up at him and felt my cheeks heating at the sight of his head thrown back, his chest heaving and his abs clenched tight.

My jaw was already beginning to ache, but I didn’t care. The way he was whimpering and whining and crying out was enough motivation to plough through.

I pulled up completely. My hand shot back to continue a steady pace with my thumb encircling his tip, pushing over his slit every few seconds.

“Please, can I?” He asked, his cheeks flushed a deep pink colour, his lips red and raw from him biting them, and his eyes slightly clouded over and barely open.

I grinned, already knowing what he wanted to do, and nodded my head, allowing him to scoop up all of my hair into a ponytail and guide me back to his cock. His hand moved to replace mine, and after a couple pumps, his dick was being led right back into my open mouth.

Almost immediately, my tongue began working overtime, running up and down the vein in the underside of his cock, whilst I was gently sucking. “Okay, you ready?” He questioned, shifting his hips and propping up both of his legs so that his feet were flat against the bed.

I hummed ‘yes’, and once again relaxed my jaw. At first, his thrusts were slow, careful. Then, his grip on my hair tightened. His hips snapped forward, his movements gaining purpose. The sounds between us were obscene, messy, breathless, desperate. Each time his tip hit the back of my throat, I moaned louder, my body reacting on instinct.

As his thrusts got sloppier, Harry’s whimpers turned into groans, his back arched away from the bed, and his grip on my hair became almost impossibly tight.

“I’m gonna– shit! I’m gonna cum.” He groaned, his spare hand clutching the bedsheets next to his waist.

I bobbed my head to match the timings of his thrusts, and with one final dig of my nails into his thigh and a loud whimper, he was shooting hot bursts of cum down my throat. His grip loosened with every groan, moan, and whine that escaped him, and, after a minute or so of silence, he was quick to rub the back of my scalp and pull me off of his dick and up towards him.

"You’re fucking amazing. Do you know that?" He chuckled, breathlessly, his chest rising and falling beneath me. His hair was damp at the edges, sticking slightly to his forehead, and a faint sheen of sweat glowed against his flushed skin.

I grinned, my heart swelling at the way he looked at me, like I was something to be treasured. "I think I’ve heard it before—once or twice."

His breathing slowed, his grip on me loosening as exhaustion crept in. I traced slow circles over his ribs, my touch light, grounding him. He hummed, content, his fingers skimming lazily up my arm before coming to rest over my heart.

Our faces mirrored each other, wide, unabashed smiles stretching across pink-tinted cheeks. I traced my fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight roughness where stubble had started to grow. His eyes, still heavy with sleep and something softer, never left mine.

I shifted slightly, pressing my forehead against his, breathing him in - warm, familiar, safe. "I love you. Happy birthday." My voice was barely more than a whisper, but it carried everything I meant.

His fingers ghosted over my waist before pulling me closer, his grip firm yet gentle, like he needed to feel me against him. His smile softened, the playfulness still there, but something deeper flickered in his gaze. "I love you more."

For a moment, neither of us moved. The world outside didn’t matter; the ticking of the clock, the slow morning sun creeping across the sheets, the quiet hum of the city beyond our window. There was just us, tangled in warmth, the weight of the day which lay ahead momentarily forgotten.

------------

taglist - @harryshouseo1 @hannah9921 @hisparentsgallerryy @secretisme4 @cloudyluun @mads3502 reply here or dm to be added!

[ghostgirl-22]

so i actually need pt 2 to the older patrick younger art fic right NOW.. jk but it was amazing

Y’all. Y’ALL. I heard you. And though I don’t really love writing sequels… I’ll do anything for you honestly <33

Original.

It’s a mess and way too long which is prbly to be expected by now. Idk. Sometimes you just have to get out of your head and post 😭

18+ NSFW

CW: AGE GAP 10-11 years, power dynamics, teacher/student vibes, first time vibes, AND mild daddy!kink whoopsie! How did that happen? Obviously if any of these things make you uncomfortable don’t read. I don’t take it personally. I’ll explain myself a bit. Art in my imagination here didn’t get constantly shown up by Patrick and because Patrick wasn’t there Art got the attention Patrick got for his skills so he’s a little more arrogant (still a little insecure because that’s his core) and still messy. Patrick had the Tashi injury which makes him a little less arrogant (brought down a notch but still overcompensates and actively self sabotages because that’s his core) and still messy.

——

Art is still keyed up the next morning. His roommate, Devon, is bragging about hooking up with a senior. Art is trying to pay attention but all he can think about is how he got on his knees and gave messy head to Patrick, Coach Zweig, his 31 year old ridiculously hot tennis coach. And how Patrick practically promised to fuck him if he was a really good boy all week. He’s sitting on his hands trying not to go crazy.

“What did you get up to?” Devon finally asks him. Picking up his towel and getting ready to shower.

“Can you keep a secret?” Art asks.

That makes him sit back down. “Yeah of course.”

Art tells him about Patrick, most of it anyway, watching his eyes widen. He’s not on the tennis team but he’s heard enough about Coach Zweig from Art that he can’t help giggling.

“You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

“Holy shit. And I thought I was doing something with that senior. Wow. This would only happen to you.”

Art isn’t sure what he means by that but he’s suddenly asking a million questions. Art tells him some things, embellishing and withholding various details. The closest Art ever came to actually fucking a boy was when he used to sneak in Devon’s bed whenever he got horny at night. They were so close to fucking when Art made him stop. so he made Art promise to stop leading him on. And now they’re proper roommates with boundaries and everything. Though sometimes Art thinks if he asked for it Devon would still fuck him.

Devon thinks it’s hot, the whole Patrick thing. Thinks Patrick wants to make Art his kept boy. “Well I mean… he’s old and everyone says he’s loaded, right? He can give you whatever you want.” Devon says.

“Please, he wouldn’t even give me his phone number.” Art says dismissively. “And I don’t need to be kept I just need his dick.”

Devon chews his bottom lip looking Art over and Art wonders if he crossed a boundary. He’s so fucking messy with them.

“Lucky him,” Devon says dryly, rolling his eyes. “But maybe you should milk it. You’re young and beautiful and blonde and he’s your coach so it’s like.. it’s kind of illicit. He could get you a nice place off campus… be your sugar daddy. Girls do it all the time.”

“I think he’d kill me if I ever called him that,” Art laughs, making up his mind to definitely call him that at some point.

Devon agrees to come out with him next weekend but he still has to wait the whole fucking week. It feels like torture.

They have practice everyday and a game on Friday. Which means Patrick’s in those short shorts running them around the court every single day. Art can’t keep his mind off of him. Just wants his attention so bad, everyday he’s doing everything he can just to get Patrick to look in his direction. But Patrick’s got an epic poker face. He’s so fucking cool and calm and collected. So good at acting like nothing happened. Like everything is the same and they never did what they did.

There's one difference. Instead of having the assistant coach do it… he’ll bring Art to the side and personally correct him when he thinks Art could play better. Show him how to position himself, swing the racket, follow through. Big hands, rough hands, gripping Art's waist to turn his body, his wrist to direct his swing. The same hands that effortlessly lifted off his lap the other night.

“Can’t be all talk and no action sweetheart,” Patrick says lightly, as he’s standing behind him. God. It’s actually stupid how sexy he is. Art’s never thought this much about being penetrated, ever. He makes sure to arch his back just a little more than he usually does. Patrick presses a hand to the small of his back.

Art fingers the grip of his racket. “I don’t think I was all talk.”

Patrick chuckles, low and soft. “Stop it. Focus. Bring that energy here,” he says, “all that confidence right here and no one will rattle you.”

“Like this?” Art demonstrates. He makes a mess of it just so that Patrick will touch him again. It takes a minute before Patrick catches on.

“I think you get it,” he says dryly.

“Please show me one more time. I just wanna be a good boy for you,” Art says lightly. It makes Patrick swallow… his gaze falls helplessly over Arts body and then he looks away smirking.

“Are you having fun?” He says, leaning in close, eyes all crinkly with amusement.

Art wants to kiss him. “Mmhm,” he hums, pressing his lips together. “Though sometimes it still feels like my mouth is so full of you I could just… choke.”

“Yeah… right…” Patrick rolls his eyes, still smiling and then he takes a deep breath and drags his hand over his beard. “Hm…What’s today?”

“Wednesday,” Art says.

“And my plans for the weekend are still up in the air,” he says, patting Art on the shoulder as he takes his racket and turns to face the team. “Five laps around the court, everybody, let’s gooo!” He says loudly, blowing his whistle. “Fucking hustle!”

There’s an audible groan and the sounds of rackets dropping as everyone stops what they’re doing and starts running. “Go join them. And if you keep it up it’ll be sprints next.” Patrick says softly.

Art grins, as much as he hates running and he’s sure his teammates will assume he’s responsible for this bit of conditioning, it was still totally fucking worth it.

He probably should’ve focused more but he wins on Friday in spite of himself. Tennis is such a mental game and while he’s generally confident and loves the attention that comes with playing as number one on the center stage, he’s not consistent. That’s what Patrick always says at least. There are opponents that leave him feeling less sure of himself and then he tends to get in his head imagining he’s somehow inadequate or deficient.

One of those players is a French recruit from UCLA, Jensen Bordeaux. Art starts out strong. Crushes it in the first set. But when Bordeaux fights back in the second and he falls apart a little. It’s a bad habit. He wins another game but it’s not enough. He ends up nearly going into a third set.

“Remember what I said,” Patrick takes him to the side between points. “Stop acting like you can’t finish him off. You can have whatever you want right?”

Art gazes at him and bites his lip. “Mmhm.” He nods.

“Good. You know what you want. Just take it. Okay?”

“Yeah okay,” Art says breathlessly.

“Good boy,” Patrick says, rubbing his shoulders, a little smirk on his lips. “Try not to… you know… choke.”

Art feels heated from the inside out. He goes back on the court except he’s not thinking about the game. Instead he’s so anxious for the promise of tomorrow night that all this begins to feel like a mere obstacle to that. He makes easy work of it, winning the tiebreaker and shifting it so that Stanford goes home the winning team.

Everyone on the team goes out to a frat party to celebrate and Art is so drunk and horny by the end of the night. He stumbles into his dorm at 1 am, falls drunkenly into bed and starts touching himself. Fingers in his mouth imagining it’s the heavy weight and thickness of Patrick’s cock. Imagining Patrick’s large hands in his hair, imagining the soft, easily amused tone of his voice as he murmurs. “Good boy.” Makes him come so fast and hard he passes out.

He’s a mess in the morning. In more ways than one. They don’t have practice after game days so he sleeps off his hangover and the day flies by. He takes a long hot shower before he gets ready to go. Anxiety and anticipation competing for space in his brain and body. Devon loans him clothes that are so much tighter than anything he wears regularly. “Trust me, he’s gonna be all over you in this.”

They get there at the same time as last week but Patrick doesn’t come right away. Art’s waiting and waiting and waiting for Patrick to show up at the gay bar. Devon is at a table, a new boy on his lap and they’re making out. Art is half tipsy, swinging his legs on a barstool while this guy from the baseball team stands between his thighs asking him everything about tennis like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. And that’s when Patrick finally arrives. He spots Art across the bar and smirks. Art gets up right away, making excuses to the now frowning baseball player about seeing him around on campus.

“That was fast,” Patrick smirks, as Art sidles up next to him.

“Well I didn’t know you’d take so long to come,” Art says, moving closer. “Is that an old person thing?”

”Mm, you…” Patrick chuckles, tapping his credit card on the bar. He’s got such a great smile. God. Art is so far gone. This is tragic.

“Can you buy me a drink?” Art asks in his ear.

“No fucking way,” Patrick says, amused.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, how many drinks have you had tonight?”

Art holds up 3 fingers.

“Is that how many fingers I’m gonna have to put in before I can… nevermind…” Patrick says.

Art grins. Warmth spreading throughout his body. “It’s really big,” Art whispers. “Maybe you need four?”

“God…” Patrick laughs, incredulous. “I shouldn’t even fucking be here.” He sighs, as the bartender approaches them. He orders a whiskey and because it’s two for one he gives in and lets Art pick something. He orders rum and coke.

Art feels giddy as he sips on it.

“So used to getting whatever you ask for,” Patrick says, looking him over, teasing a finger into one of his belt loops. “Twenty years old. God. You make me fucking crazy.” He whispers in Art’s ear.

Art can’t help grinning.

Patrick makes him wait while he talks to people his own age. Acting all wholesome. “Oh he’s just one of my players, I’m gonna make sure he gets home safe.” He even gives Art the key so he can wait in his jeep. Art’s hard as soon as he gets in it. Listens to music too loud and ponders touching himself.

He’s kissing on Patrick right away when he finally gets in the car. He’s been so eager all week. “Mm…” Patrick pulls back, tangling his fingers into Art’s hair. “Fuck… gimme a minute to get you home, okay?” he says and he turns on the engine and puts the music back at a sensible volume.

“Is it far?” Art asks.

Patrick huffs a laugh. “Take a deep breath.”

It doesn't help. Everything smells like him. Art puts a hand on Patrick’s thigh, his skin is so heated. He remembers how warm Patrick’s cock felt in his mouth and then his mouth starts watering.

“Is Tashi there?” Art sighs.

“What do you fucking think?”

Art leans close, just breathing him in. Resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder. ”She’s so pretty.” He hums.

“I know.”

“You’re so pretty.”

Patrick chuckles, a low vibration Art can feel from his throat that makes him shiver. “And you're so tipsy. And so fucking young.”

“But you like it.” Art says softly, rubbing Patrick’s thigh. Skin so warm he’s like a furnace. Already hard enough that Art can feel it.

”And I know I’m gonna regret it.”

Their house is actually huge. On the nicer side of Palo Alto. It’s one of the ones with a pool and a tennis court and a crazy nice view of the city. Art doesn’t know any of this until later because as soon as they're inside he’s trying to get his tongue in Patrick’s mouth. Patrick walks him back towards the living room where there’s a huge leather sofa. Art climbs onto his lap as soon as he sits down. Patrick is touching him everywhere, fingers tangled into his hair. Hands under his shirt, rubbing him, teasing him. Art is just trying his best to feel him, lick into his mouth and taste him. All while grinding against his prominent bulge. Grabbing at his zipper trying to get it out.

“Can you fuck me?” Art begs against his lips.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes against his lips, he’s gripping Art’s waist tightly. Slowing him down. He sighs like he’s trying to pull himself together. “Mmkay. God. Stand up a minute. I need to get a condom and some lube.”

Art gets up reluctantly, nervous energy making him bounce on his toes like he’s waiting on a serve. Patrick smirks, “Relax… I’ll be back in a minute.” He pats Art’s shoulder as he gets up and disappears into another room. It doesn’t matter whether Art sits or stands, he’s anxious. He looks around the lavish room, fancy furniture, paintings that look expensive. Massive kitchen like the kind you see in movies. Patrick comes back and he’s all loose, t-shirt wrinkled, hair messy, eyes soft. He’s probably done this a million times. He’s got a condom between his fingers which he hands to Art.

“You wanna put it on me?”

”Mmhm,” Art says. He’s also carrying a little bottle of lube. Art’s trying to rip the packet open but his hands are all shaky. Especially when Patrick lifts his t-shirt off, he’s so solid, strong biceps, chest hair that gets darker condensed down the line of his stomach to where his jeans are unbuttoned. Art wants to lick it.

“Okay,” Patrick settles on the sofa, kicking off his shoes. “Give me that, you pretty little virgin and take those clothes off.”

Art hands him the condom a little embarrassed, and starts undoing his jeans. Kicks off his shoes and peels off his shirt so he’s only in boxers. Patrick bites open the packet and eases his jeans down and his cock out. Art takes shallow breaths watching him roll the condom on. It’s so big the condom is a magnum size and it fits snug. He’s heard horror stories about first times, even read a few on Reddit and he’s starting to feel a little panicked.

”Look at you.” Patrick says softly, eyes dragging slowly down Arts body. He pulls Art onto his thighs, god he has thick muscular thighs, Art can’t help wiggling. Patrick’s got him close so their cocks line up, and his palm is covered in lube and he’s gripping them both at the same time. It feels so fucking good Art thinks he might come too fast. He’s moaning, eyes squeezed shut when Patrick stops. Art opens his eyes to see Patrick wetting his fingers with more lube and slips a thick calloused finger back along Art’s entrance. Art feels himself seizing up as Patrick presses slowly inside.

“Take deep breaths,” Patrick whispers. Advice Art tries to follow but it just feels so crazy. He eases another finger in and Art tenses even more.

“Mm if your so fucking tight, I can’t fuck you sweetheart.”

“Does it hurt?” Art whispers.

Patrick takes a breath. “Yeah a little at first… but I think I can make it feel a little…uh better…”

Art shivers, his body suddenly overrun by pleasure as Patrick’s teasing his fingertips deep inside him. Art can hear himself moaning voice suddenly pitched so high he barely recognizes it. “Please… please… “he begs. “Please fuck me… fuck me… fuck me daddy.” Art gasps, losing himself as he’s riding the sensation.

“Fuck… what did you call me?” Patrick whispers.

Art bites his lip, his body heating up immediately with embarrassment. “Mm sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I meant like sugar…” He says softly as Patrick slowly pulls his fingertips out. Art is breathless. Patrick doesn’t look mad but his expression has gone heady.

“Fuck… I can be daddy if you need it,” Patrick breathes. “Come…sit on daddy’s dick. Holy shit. What are you doing to me?”

Art swallows, his stomach doing flip flops for the way Patrick says it. He sits up on his knees, he can feel Patrick lining up. It actually feels like a lot. Like way too much. Impossible to take. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut and watering feeling the insane stretch as he sinks so fucking slowly down on it.

“Oh god,” he keeps whispering over and over like a prayer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes. His hands gripping Art’s waist.

He’s anxious moving slowly, gripping tightly, it’s too much, he’s too full. And Patrick starts to adjust him while gently rubbing his tummy. “Relax… lets try this angle,” Patrick whispers. Fucking into him in a way that he starts hitting that pleasure spot deep inside with even more intensity. “Good… good boy…that’s right…breathe… breathe… keep breathing… fuck…” Patrick coaches. And then slowly as it happens Art is moaning, bouncing on his lap just to feel it hit over and over and over and over again.

“I wanna… mmm I like it so much. wanna do it all the time,” Art moans nonsensically as he’s riding, not sure what’s happening, just that he’s seeing stars. “I wanna fuck you all the time. All the fucking time. wanna fuck you at school… during practice. In your bed. Wanna be your boy toy. Play with your big dick. Fuck me, oh fuck… fuck me daddy, daddy please. It feels so fucking good.”

“Jesus,” Patrick groans he barely grips Art’s cock and he’s coming loudly, spurts of it covering Patrick’s chest and his own. He can feel Patrick still pressing up into him, it suddenly feels like way too much. Every movement making him shake with how sensitive it feels and then Patrick stills, swearing over and over, gripping Art’s body tight and burying himself deep. Low gravelly sounds against Art’s ear.

”Fuck,” Patrick gasps, breathlessly. “Oh… god. You’re so… fuck I’m so screwed.”

“Mm,” Art collapses against his chest, running his fingers down Patricks soft chest hair all painted with his jizz. His knees are all sweaty and sticking to the leather but he doesn’t really care. He just wants to be close. Patrick is gently rubbing his lower back and it feels amazing. Art can feel him softening and slowly slipping out of him, he thinks he might fall asleep like this.

“You okay?” Patrick asks.

”Mmhm,” Art says.

“You sure?”

”Yeah. Can we do it again?”

“God,” Patrick laughs. “I need at least five minutes and I need you to get up cause I gotta piss.”

“No,” Art whines, unhappy about anything that means he won’t be warmed by Patrick's body heat even for a second. He wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders.

Patrick chuckles. “I can’t go anywhere?”

“No,” Art says. “You’re my pillow.”

“Guess I fucked your virgin ass good,” Patrick says.

“For an old guy,” Art says softly, smiling against Patrick’s throat.

“For your daddy, you little freak…” Patrick says gently, squeezing his ass. “Come on, get up or we’re gonna have a bigger mess to clean up.”

Art groans and unwraps his arms. “Can I come?”

“To piss?” Patrick raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Art nods.

Patrick smirks and rolls his eyes before gently curling his fingers into Arts hair. “Yeah sure, come on.”

Art kisses him and he sighs into Arts mouth. “I need a fucking cigarette too.”

“Can I stay over?” Art asks against his lips.

“Mm…” he ponders and sighs. “Fuck it I don’t know why I bother pretending to set boundaries with you…” he says, helping Art to his shaky feet. “Tashi will be home tomorrow afternoon. So you know… better not sleep too late.”

Art grins at him. “Does she know about me?”

“Does she know that after I finally got a good job as a tennis coach at my old school that I’m this close to losing it because I can’t help fucking my barely legal 20 year old star player? No actually. She doesn’t know.” He says dryly.

Art laughs. “I wouldn’t tell. But I mean imagine if I slept with you both. I’d learn so much about tennis.“

Patrick snorts, “This kinda talk is gonna make me take you home tonight actually…”

“Mm too late. You let me call you daddy,” Art grins. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

[corseque]

I honestly just wanted one single plot step that I could not predict given the 10 year wait. More behind the cut, I talk about Emet too, and I'm comparing his writing favorably to Solas' writing and why it worked better for me personally, but I am just talking about the writing skill that went into the games and not the dudes themselves, I love them both dearly of course. idk this is a mess and I am not going to edit it for clarity

For me, the game was a series of me saying

"ok I knew that. cool."

"oh yeah, I knew that. I guess it's good that the larger fandom knows about that now."

"nice, but yeah I already knew that too"

"that was something we've been talking about a lot for years"

"this thing they are acting like is a huge enormous reveal that the characters could not possibly have deduced through simply thinking about it in depth over the 10 years... the fans easily figured out by thinking about it in depth 10 years ago. So you would think his girlfriend would be able to figure it out more easily than we did. Like, why couldn't the game have been like 'oh lavellan already figured that out a while ago' it would have cost them nothing"

"this is something I've been thinking about for years, and now that it's being revealed, the companions' reactions to it are very irritating and jarring and unnecessary and I really dislike the experience I'm having right now, in this, the hour of my greatest triumph"

"this thing that is happening on my screen right now is something that I wrote an essay about 2 years ago describing how it would be a letdown if it happened without the correct setup"

"this way that they're characterizing Solas makes him less likable and less interesting than I have been finding him for all these years, and I have had people tell me 'no, he's simpler than you think' for years but I guess I was wrong, he really is simpler than I thought, so that fucking sucks. I wish I could take that information out of my brain."

"this thing is a retcon of information I have been thinking about for 10 years, and so I don't know how to follow along with this new direction, and I'm not sure if I even want to because it's not particularly interesting anyway"

"aw that was sweet"

"why is it like, so very impossible to have an honest back-and-forth with my favorite character about the dilemma that was most interesting to me about the previous game"

and then, as soon as, like, the other fans had caught up to the Solas lore that was really obvious from the other games, the game was.... over without anything surprising happening, or introducing a new element or plot point or perspective, or a real true twist (or two, or three) for those of us who have thought about it too hard for too long. It was very simple and easy, much, much, much, much easier than I was imagining. It all felt sort of like that Nicholson quote:

The thing was, the whole story was so interesting to think about because in 10 years, I couldn't figure out a good solution to it!!!!! It's why I was never able to write post-game fanfic about it. So I was stoked to find out some reveal we never knew about, some new information, in maybe a SERIES of steps of new information, that made the situation more complicated but also something that could be navigated by everyone involved. I know it was asking for a lot, but they had TEN YEARS, and they seemingly had set up the things they did in DAI on purpose, so surely they had some idea of a complex and satisfying narrative that would reconcile everyone.

The reason why I was expecting this is because FFXIV did a very similar story arc, which was started AND concluded WITHIN those 10 years (so it took the FFXIV team far less time to deliver as well). And the conclusion to the story in FFXIV did what I was expecting Dragon Age to do. So I thought, "holy shit, if this is the FFXIV version of this plot, how much more complicated is DA4 going to be!?!?" The DA devs also PLAYED FFXIV so they were completely aware, several years ago, of a satisfying story ending that was pretty darn similar.

People are probably going to think "oh, well Chelsea was disappointed because she spent too much time building it up in her head" but that's exactly it - I actually speculated and thought about FFXIV's story IN DEPTH NONSTOP for a year+ before its ending came out, and the ending absolutely blew me away. FFXIV Endwalker managed to introduce information and new story elements that I was not able to figure out in the YEAR I spent speculating on the ending of FFXIV's story. It took a complicated situation and revealed several several more facets to it that I was not able to predict, but were very interesting and thematically compelling, and took us all to surprising and climactic places that we could not have predicted.

Endwalker ("end" is in the title on purpose) too, was written to be THE ULTIMATE SATISFYING ENDING for a very long-running story in the exactly way that Veilguard SHOULD HAVE for Dragon Age, so while this complexity is being explored, FFXIV also gave catharsis to many different plot threads that have been built up through the previous expansions, until finally it ends with a bang. The story is desperately good to me, I loved it, it gave me closure for Dragon Age long before Veilguard was even revealed, and going back and looking at its story has made this whole thing far less painful for me.

So, I actually did not have a picture in my mind for how things SHOULD go. I just had the thought "I hope it's complicated and there are points of view or facts that we haven't before been exposed to, and the situation is resolved respectfully for Solas, not making him look like a fucking idiot (lol, the only thing I asked for). I don't even care what happens to Solas and Lavellan, I just need the story to be complicated and interesting to think about. Please, god, don't let it be "solas is wrong and he just needs to be convinced" because that's like the simplest story you could tell with this setup"

(btw they managed to tell Emet-Selch's story without making him seem like he's being an idiot on purpose or can never get anything right, and in fact the more the story goes on, the more you think of him as smart and capable and cool, so it is possible to write.... I wasn't asking for the entire moon)

And I played it and... yeah. Most of the story beats were more simple than I wanted them to be, a lot of them didn't make sense in my heart given the writing from Inquisition. (This is another essay, but if Solas' thematic story arc was always about him needing to let go of regrets, why was his personal quest the way it was? After that quest, doesn't he end up regretting not doing more....? Why did he never really talk about regret during Inquisition? If he was so trapped by regret, why was he able to do so many actions? It doesn't mesh well to me. The whole regret thing was very quarter-baked to me, I don't even like thinking about it.) His story never seemed like one that was as simple as being about one man's regrets, but then, I guess, it was always just about one man's regrets.

Emet-Selch's personal storyline (and the way it interacts with and affects the larger story) is very similar but much more cohesive and satisfying to me. It would be difficult to explain why without the aforementioned 5-hour essay. Emet-Selch's story IS about grief and anguish on a world-shaping scale in a similar way that Solas' was apparently always about letting go of regret, but Emet's story was also very pointedly and beautifully about that one theme for the entirety of his story from every tiny detail, from beginning to end - meanwhile, it seemed to me that they tried to introduce 'regret' as the main thrust of Solas' story only in the short story with the Regret demon onward.

From Inquisition just by itself, the closest I personally could get to a story theme for Solas was his inability to trust others hurting him and the world, but his trusting others in DA4 wasn't really addressed to my satisfaction. He is never required to trust anyone before the ending, he never opens up or makes himself vulnerable at all. People find out information about him, he never really dynamically opens himself. So the personal story I thought he had was never addressed at all, while a new one about regret was introduced that never made a ton of sense to me. And I don't think this is just because of my expectations - my reaction to FFXIV proves that I am able to meet good writing where it goes in surprising directions, as long as it's interesting and thoughtful and clear.

And I think this might be part of what people felt was off about the ending - Solas is sort of uninvolved in the revelations that are about him, and doesn't do much to be part of his own ending. Part of what I loved about Solas in Inquisition is that he is not controlled by you in any way, and so he feels like his own person with a very strong sense of character.

Anyway, Emet-Selch, in a very comparable and arguably more extreme plot position, is very involved in the revelations about himself, he always feels like a very strong character who cannot be affected by the player, and the whole situation is handled with deft emotion and care and delicacy. The story is comparatively very uninterested in litigating Emet-Selch or putting him on trial - the story allows you to simply feel the way that you feel in an organic way, and Emet's story spends that energy instead actually exploring his thematic material about grief and legacy, and the larger story theme of existentialism instead, in a way that is very refreshing and interesting. I've seen a lot of western stories tie themselves in knots over "redemption" and frankly it's almost never been interesting at all. Who cares about any of that. lol

(Now, I guess this is a matter of preference, because some people really like being able to shape a character's story, but idk I rewatched the ending of FFXIV and even though there wasn't a choice with Emet, because it isn't a branching story, his story felt more satisfying to me, maybe because there isn't a patronizing choice to be made for him. He is who he is, and he fulfills a very beautiful narrative role and purpose that no other character could in the story.)

I don't know how this could have been improved to me and still allowed players to choose Solas' ending for him, but I can actually think of a few different methods, none of which involve Rook condescendingly and patronizingly lecturing Solas as if Solas had never thought about a single aspect of this horrible situation he's in before that very moment that Rook lectures him lmfao.

All this to say... idk I'm writing this and I am not going back to edit it so it's stream-of-consciousness. But yeah

I just wanted the story to be complicated on a few more levels than I could have predicted. I genuinely don't care what happened, but I thought of a few twists like the Veil coming down and yeah, I was expecting A Single Twist or reveal to happen. In a Dragon Age game.

I wanted Solas to seem cool and capable and noble and smart, and actually feel like he was as old and experienced as he is.

I wanted a clear theme I could sink my teeth into

Like notice I didn't even say anything about Solavellan. Like I never in 100 years thought they were getting a happy ending where they were both alive in bodies, and I like that we got that, but I would honestly trade it for a more complicated story. To me, if a story is sad you can always write fanfic, but if a story isn't COMPLICATED, that's a much more urgent issue.

These 3 things DA4 didn't give me in a way that satisfied me but FFXIV did. anyway idk the way my hyperfixations work, I completely switch to a new subject so talking about Dragon Age is actually hard for me right now.

[delugyu]

hi!! i was wondering if i could request a one shot based on the GGUM mv where yeonjun is a cocky and bratty k pop idol that belittles everyone and basically the reader is like his mananger who’s had enough of his behavior and decides to teach him a lesson and he’s super submissive.

btw i LOVE your writing. cold, curse city was amazing <3

jumped for joy when i saw submissive yeonjun YAYYYYYYY (also thank you!!! hehe)

(wc: 2k / warnings: mean dom!reader, sub!yeonjun, reader’s kind of a bitch but yeonjun is too so it’s okay, degradation, humiliation, oral kinda idk eating pussy thru the panties, unprotected sex, edging..?)

you’re pretty sure that the biggest source of your headaches on any given day is the man you’re watching right now—on a tuesday at eight in the morning—who’s trying to convince you that the interviewer deserved it earlier when he called her an idiot.

“yeah, no. that’s never happening again,” you say plainly, cutting off his long-winded explanation. if only he could catch on when you’re trying to leave no room for argument, but unfortunately he has the most major case of lacking respect and decorum that you’ve ever seen.

“so you think it was okay for her to say that being bratty is my whole brand?” he asks.

“well, if you keep acting the way you do, then you can’t be surprised if that’s what people focus on.” you won’t lie: his brash personality is definitely good for gaining attention. his PR team never has to work too hard, since they know yeonjun’s going to do something stupid to get him on the news anyway. you’re jealous, cause you’re over here busting your ass to make sure he doesn’t go too far and ruin his career.

“i’d be selling a fake image if i was out there kissing babies and shaking hands,” yeonjun says.

“so the better alternative is running your mouth until half the country wants you beaten up?” you don’t want him to act like someone he’s not, but you also don’t want him to be such a dick to everyone.

“stop acting like you know me or the things i want,” he says. it lights a fire inside of you, rage burning at his insinuation. “i don’t want a nice, clean image. i fucking hate it when you try to force that onto me.”

he walks away into his dressing room, probably done with you and this conversation, but you’ve had it. you’re pissed, and he needs to learn that he doesn’t sit on top of the world. you mutter out quick apologies to the staff you push past in your haste to follow yeonjun.

before you can step into the room, yeonjun slams the door in front of your face. “yeonjun, are you fucking kidding me?!” you bang your fist against the door when turning the knob doesn’t work.

“go away,” he says from behind the door. you let out something like a growl in your frustration, feeling like you might just rip all your hair out. it’s too early to already be doing this.

“why do you throw fits every time i try to tell you to have some respect? you can never just bite your tongue for a second.”

you’re met with silence. you hate when he starts tuning you out. you’ll have to pop a few tylenols after this to keep your headache from killing you.

you start up once more, “you think anyone’s gonna look at your art before they look at you as a person? what’s the point in making good music if the person behind it is such a jackass?”

again, no reply. you sigh, running your hands down your face as you try to collect yourself. this isn’t worth it. he’s never going to change.

“i’m thinking i should just quit and let you deal with whatever asshole comes in after me,” you say, just trying to stir him into giving you a response now. you usually keep yourself from going back and forth with him like this, but he’s been on your nerves way too much recently. you were bound to explode with how much he’s been testing you.

the door finally opens. you don’t waste a second when you push it wider and enter the room, shutting it behind you. he’s crossing his arms, eyebrow raised like he’s waiting for you to scold him some more.

“you actually gonna quit, or was that all talk?” he asks.

you scowl and push on his shoulders until he’s sitting on one of the chairs. his eyes widen for a second like he’s surprised you actually put your hands on him. he should be grateful you don’t do worse.

“listen, i’m not going to take your shit anymore. i’m not giving you a choice. you need to have some respect.” you look down at him with ice cold eyes. he squirms a little in his seat; you almost find it funny.

“i don’t know how you expect me to do that. this is just how i am,” he counters.

“shutting your mouth would be a good start.” you put your hand over his lips when he opens them to start talking again. “see, you’re already trying to bark. just listen.”

you keep your hand there, and you’re kind of surprised that he doesn’t even try to move you away. your other hand grips the back of his chair so that you’re leaning over him, and you finally feel like you’re more powerful than him. you feel like he might listen to you for once.

“if you don’t want to be seen as a brat, then don’t be a brat,” you say. “you can have a tough image without annoying everyone. people see you more as a toddler than as some cool guy.”

his eyes dart down, and you realize that, with you leaning over him, he has a great view of your cleavage. he’s staring at your tits. scandalized, you grab his jaw to tilt his head all the way up, so he can either stare at the ceiling or look at your face. he chooses the ceiling.

“are you trying to make me hate my job? do you want me to quit?” you ask.

his eyes find yours at that, and you’re a little surprised to not find any fight in them. he shakes his head and keeps his mouth shut.

“you can answer now,” you say, letting go of his jaw.

“don’t quit, i like you as my manager,” he answers quickly. you huff out a laugh.

“well you sure as hell don’t act like it.”

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes—and sounds completely sincere, too.

you stand up straight, assessing him silently. you let your eyes rake down his body, noticing how he doesn’t move an inch. looks like you’ve finally put him in his place. it’s such a shame that it practically takes you bullying him to get to this point.

“so you’re gonna cool the tough guy act?” you ask.

“i dunno, maybe you should test how obedient i can be,” he prompts with a growing smile. wow, and you were doing so well.

“get off that chair.” immediately he does, standing up and waiting for his next instruction. you laugh at how pathetic his switch up is. you’d love for the nation to see yeonjun now, so eager to follow your orders. how far will he go?

you decide to test it out. “kneel.”

he’s just as quick to follow through with that, too. a power rush is already surging inside you, pumping adrenaline through your body. he looks up at you from his position on his knees. there’s still some space between you, though.

“come a little closer. crawl to me.” your pleased smile stays on your face as you watch him obey, keeping eye contact as he inches toward you.

“this is so funny,” you say as you look down at him. for the first time in your life, you see him look embarrassed. his eyes dart off to the side, unable to take the torment. “eyes on me. don’t you dare try looking away again.”

his cheeks glow with a subtle red tint, you notice as you take in his face. “would you be so kind as to apologize to me again?” you ask.

“i’m sorry,” he answers promptly.

“hm. better than that.”

he looks confused, but you know he’s desperate to follow because he’s quick to oblige. “i’m sorry i was such a brat to you and everyone else.”

“you were a brat. what do you think brats like you deserve?”

you feel him shiver. “punishment,” he answers meekly.

“that’s right.” you place your foot on his crotch, not paying any mind to how hard he is already. “what a shame you were so bad. you could’ve came today.” you take your foot off him and spread your legs apart. “get me nice and wet for your cock.”

“w-what?” he stammers, looking up at you all scandalized.

“i’m not in the mood to repeat myself.” with all the eagerness he’s ever had, yeonjun grips onto your thighs and dips his head beneath your skirt. he starts licking your cunt over your panties, tongue working adamantly against you like he’s scared to do it wrong or poorly.

you sigh, relaxing into the feeling. this is better stress relief than any amount of medicine could give you. maybe you’ll be resorting to this more often.

he wraps his lips around your clothed clit and sucks, then swipes his tongue across the swollen bud. he’s deeply focused on pleasuring you, repeating any little action that makes your legs twitch. you hate to admit it, but he’s getting you wet so fast.

“guess this is the only way to shut you up, huh?” you ask, and you feel him nod in response. “should i do this more then?”

“yes,” he pulls away to say, replacing his mouth with his fingers rubbing quickly against you. “do it as much as you want.”

“is the promise of pussy the only way you’ll—fuck, just like that—respect me?” his fingers run wildly over your clit, desperation oozing off of him.

“only yours. i’ll do anything for it.” he presses into your core, grinding his hand against you. “you’re so wet. please sit on my cock.”

you hum, wanting to say no and torture him more, but you can’t deny how bad you want to feel him inside you.

“sit on the chair and undo your pants,” you instruct. you slide off your panties as he does that.

you sit on his lap and give his dick a few quick jerks before aligning it with your entrance. he makes more noise than you do as you sink onto him, which would make you snicker if you weren’t so busy adjusting to his size.

“you moan like a bitch,” you hiss out as you finally take all of him in. you stay bottomed out for a minute, letting yourself get used to the stretch, grinding your hips every now and then to hear him whine.

“please move, i need more,” he says after a minute.

“don’t tell me what to do.” you start moving anyway—not because he begged you to, but because you’re getting needier for your orgasm. “this isn’t about you, brat.”

he keeps whining as you bounce on his dick, throwing his head back and dropping his mouth open. he sounds so much better when he’s moaning like a whore instead of bitching at everyone on earth.

you gasp when you feel his fingers on your clit, playing with the bud with endless need. even when he bites his lip, little noises keep spilling out of him, and a part of you is almost afraid that someone’s going to hear him.

“i’m close,” you say as you lean back a little, letting his dick hit a new spot inside of you. his eyes shine when he sees your body start twitching.

“i want you to cum so bad, please please give it to me!” his begging throws you ever the edge, biting your lip so you don’t make any sound. breathy little noises escape you instead, which yeonjun seems to like just as much.

you swat his hand away when it becomes too much, catching your breath while you ignore yeonjun’s twitching dick inside of you. yeonjun’s losing his patience, grabbing your hips needily.

“i need to cum too,” he says, brows upturned and almost looking pitiful. you enjoy the feeling of him inside you for a couple more seconds before getting up.

“isn’t that too bad,” you say. his jaw drops, and he goes speechless yet again. “don’t look so surprised. didn’t i tell you that you won’t be cumming today?”

the betrayal on his face suddenly makes this job worth every penny.

[boobook3ys]

Dating Curly headcanons!!

-A bit emotionally unavailable, but not intentionally. He's used to not opening up about his own emotions, so he doesn't exactly know how to respond when you're venting for example. But, this leads to my next hc:

-Love language is quality time. He tends to show he cares by going on quiet dates if your choosing. He makes sure to remember where you said you wanted to go and surprises you with them :)

-But, also likes to buy you things you talk to him about. He's rather sentimental, so of course he remembers the small things about you.

-Rather traditional in values, but it isn't a deal breaker for him if you want something different! You want to work too? He doesn't care, as long as you're happy. You don't want kids? He might be a bit sad, but he has you, he can deal with it.

-Buys you flowers for EVERY special occasion. Like I said, he remembers things, so he'll make sure they are your favorite type of flowers. He gets them for every date you go on, holidays, and just sometimes just because he wants too.

-Won't admit it, but he likes cuddles. Idk what it's called, but his favorite position is when both of you are facing each other, your head on his chest. It's a nice stress relief for him, to just lay in bed or on the couch and hold you, it grounds him.

-This man is a CHRONIC insomniac. Sometimes, he gets out of bed just to get a drink or something, but accidentally falls asleep on the couch. Over time, you began to catch him and take him back to bed. He doesn't mean to, it just happens!

This is everything I can think of rn, I've never written anything like this, so please be patient with me!!

[floodonthefloor]

pedestals just become babys first fic to hit over 2k kudos!!

vanity metrics are just vanity metrics etc but its nice for my closeted 17 year old kid self writing lesbian fanfiction in secret - like literally i was so scared someone would find it that i wouldn't ever write it in a saveable document and write it directly in the ffnet/ao3 box like an absolute fucking menace... (yes it caused catastrophes for me. no i did not learn from my mistakes)

idk. lots of mento health problems up in here- some of u have asked how it is i write so fast and it's because i literally. need to be writing something at all times or thinking about writing at all times bc - without getting too specific- i get super self-destructive when i can't write (again i dont like getting personal on here but sometimes the moment calls for it and im feeling yappy and self-indulgent okay) and my irl creative endeavour/hobby has been facing loads of creative blocks/challenges...being able to channel it into something like fanfiction has been really healing. a lifeline of sorts, as dramatic as that may seem. even if fanfiction isnt 'taken seriously' it still matters to me and i think it matters to a few of u too?

i dont fool myself into thinking that having a bunch of kudos and tumblr followers all having lots of fun with it makes me the next great literary mind but knowing that so many people have read it an enjoyed it enough to toss that little kudos button click on there PLUS do something as BATSHIT INSANE AMAZING as make FANART is very affirming for me so thank you :) fotf bookclub friends forever

idk if i have any stories i want to pick up post-pedestal or eoyo but there are a few ideas percolating and i certainly don't think i'll be leaving it behind anytime soon if only because you guys are so much fun and such a welcoming community that has made me feel so much less alone!!! i love u all x sam/flood

[cillivnz]

MOMMY’S MESSY BOY [THE BOY]

pairing. brahms heelshire x care-taker!reader

warnings. [18+ CONTENT] nsfw themes (cursing, fucking, y’know the drill), afab! reader, pet-names, dry-humping, SPIT-KINK, using spit to clean? cow-girl, unprotected sex (a big no-no!), breast/nipple-play, spanking, scratching, bruising, crying (brahms’ ur whiny lil bitch), BRAHMS HAS A HUGE MOMMY KINK (this is what u came for right?) reader’s kind of oblivious (bimbo u)

author’s note. dude im so horny its insane. i wrote this in the middle of jacking off (sorry for tmi ;) so idk how this has turned out but i had to give you guys something for you to remember me, lol. not proof-read, idk the wordcount.enjoy. 💋

it was your life’s delight to look after brahms heelshire. looking after the boy gave you purpose, and he was such a gem— never a bother— just happy to be around his mommy care-taker.

today was just another slow evening. you hummed along to some song on the radio while brahms played in his room. “sweetheart, dinner’s ready,” you called out. when no response followed, your brows furrowed together.

“brahms?”

you back away; not anticipating for him to be right behind you. a low growl left brahms when your plump ass pushed into his crotch. “oh! baby, i didn’t see you there!” you giggled, turning around to face him. “i’d been calling you, you didn’t hear—” you pause when his mask came into your view, as you looked up to meet his eyes.

“brahms, what did you do to your face,” you groan. the boy fiddled in his place, embarrassed.

“did you play in the dirt again?” his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, “sit down, let’s get you cleaned.”

brahms was quick to please you, manspreading on the couch. you crawled into his lap, getting closer to his face (his mask). you tsk’ed at the dirt collected on the mask, like it was pristine in the first place. his eyes were fixated on the sight of your thighs on top of his, your cleavage practically flowing out of your blouse, your gentle arms wrapped around him in such concern, and your worrisome face. what you did next, however, pulled him out of his trance.

“here, let me just—” you bring your thumb to your lips, your tongue peaking out from your plump lips to wet it, before making its way to brahms and scrubbing.

his breathing fastened, hips involuntarily pushing into your mound. you bit your lip at the sensation of something long, thick, and indubitably hard pushing into you. “don’t move, brahms,” you said solemnly, but the boy simply couldn’t.

his arm snaked over your waist, pushing you deeper into his crotch and grinding for friction. “need you, mommy,” he said, in his child-like voice. “what did i say about using that voice around the house, brahms?” you scold. “only when i’ve been a good boy,” he said, still acting chaste. “and have you?” you quirked a brow.

“NO,” he said in his adult voice. that gruff, deep baritone sending waves of arousal coursing through you.

you sigh, “if i give you what you want, will you let me clean you?” he nods, fervently.

“okay,” you take off your trousers, “mine, too,” he says, shyly, and you comply. you straddle him again, to continue cleaning him.

after minutes of turning down his advances, brahms looks at you with tearful eyes. “hurts!” he palmed his hard-on.

“please, please, please, mommy,” he grabbed your hips and rutted into you through your lace panties. “i-i don’t know, brahms… you haven’t exactly been the best boy—” you took your index and middle finger into your mouth, wetting them before gliding over the corners of his mask.

“I’LL BE GOOD, PLEASE, I’LL BE SO GOOD FOR YOU!”

he whined. you then see a glass-eyed brahms behind the porcelain you were cleaning.

“okay, sweetheart, but you have to be nice,” you began to take off his boxers, setting free his fully erect cock. you’ve seen it limp, you’ve seen it hard (for you!) but never so painfully erect. “oh, poor baby! mommy’s gonna make it feel better…” you were shifting your panties to the side but brahms beat you to it by ripping them apart.

“brahms! yo— oh!” your scoldings were interrupted by the feel of his thick mushroom head practically kissing your clit. his pre-cum mixing with your wetness lead to gushing sounds which were music to brahms’ ears. he’d slip the tip in between the lips of your pussy, only applying pressure at the hole, but not enough to penetrate.

now, it was your turn to go dumb with lust. “baby, what are you doing to me,” you moaned. his cock would slide along your slit, gathering your wetness up to your clit where he would poke and slap your nub with his pre-cum. “when-how-how are you so good at this?” you were left flabbergasted. your sweet brahms was a perverted, grown man. seemingly more mature than you with fur-like black hair adorning his muscular chest. his hands were far bigger than yours, gripping your hips like a vice. his thighs were strong and thick, sending waves of arousal coursing through you as you grind on him.

“i practice, mommy.” he used his good-boy voice. you frowned amidst your pleasure, and he was quick to change. “i watch you through the walls. ‘think of you when i’m alone.” you blushed. “what do you think of?” you tilted your head to the side, curious.

“these,” he cupped your breasts. you moaned in pain and pleasure. he was toying with your ample breasts, twisting and turning your erect nipples. you let out a scream when he slapped your tender flesh, fascinated by watching them wiggle. “brahms,” you moaned, and you looked up at you expectantly. “can you put them in your mouth?” you bit your lip, not caring about how desperate and promiscuous you sound.

he paused his assault on your breasts, momentarily. this, of course, meant he’d have to take his mask off or at least uncover his lower face. he hesitated, but the sight of you splayed out— breasts perky and swollen, your pussy gushing, your waist and hips bruised from his grip, your hair, always beautifully neat, now sexily messy, your lips plump and rouge— you looked straight out of an erotica— because of him. for him. so, who was he to deny you?

he lifts his mask up, just enough to let his mouth out, and licked your areola. his hot tongue traced around your nipples before wrapped around them and sucking. “mhm, just like that,” you moaned, rocking your hips over his cock.

“GOOD BOY, BRAHMS!”

that was the last straw. a raging fervency overcame the boy, and he had you lifted and seated on his cock within seconds. you let out a scream, unable to process the painful penetration. he grabbed a hold of your ass, squeezing fistfuls and scratching with his nails. he spanked you, feeling your ass bounce against his thighs.

“keep cleaning,” he groaned. you could barely interpret what he meant until he left your nipple with a wet, ‘pop’ sound, to take your digits to his mouth. he sucked your digits, butterflies making their way into your stomach, and placed them on his mask.

you tried your best to continue scrubbing off the dirt, but most of it wouldn’t budge. you wrapped your arms around his strong neck, letting him have his way with you. he sucked your nipples till they were puffy and sore, while pounding the brains out of you.

“messy boy, aren’t you?” you giggled, breathless, as he made you bounce on his cock.

“MOMMY’S MESSY BOY,” you moaned, and brahms’ cock twitched inside of you.

you scrubbed the cracked porcelain of his mask, pussy convulsing at the feel of him hitting your g-spot over and over again. “cum for mommy, brahms.”

“cum right inside mommy— make a mess out of me, too!” you screamed, feeling him speed up.

“i’m yours, mommy, your good boy. your good boy. mommy’s messy boy, i’m mommy’s messy boy, ah! FUCK!”

tears spilled down the eyes of the two of you. brahms’ rambling was what drove you to the edge, and you were spasming around his cock before you knew it. he shot his load inside of you, and it kept on oozing for what felt like ages. you were plastering his mask with kisses, while he still rocked your hips back and forth.

the minute you were going to get up, he pulled you by the wrist and kissed you. your tongues fought for dominance, before you pulled away (much to his dismay), and kissed his porcelain cheek. “come on, messy boy. let’s get you cleaned before we get dirty again.” you threw him a wink, grabbing him by the arm and leading him to the bathroom.

“yes, mommy.”

[midnight--sadness]

I JUST READ ALL OF YOUR FOUND FAMILY AU HC AND I LOVE IT and I want to add more stuff about uncle junho

Sometimes when inho and gihun are on a date or having a "just the two of them" moments they would ask junho to babysit, even though some of them is already grown up(bc trust me the minute they're out of inhun sight it's a mess). And the kids were like "oh come on we dont need some to babysit us" and gihun was like "nope not again the last time we left you guys alone, you almost burn the house down". But really we all know that junho is absolutely trying his best to be everyone's favorite uncle and mostly just ended up letting them do whatever they want, even letting the younger ones to eat candy or ice cream after dinner

Idk why but I feel like the older kids would try to help junho find a partner, probably even setting him up on several blind date and made him a dating app acc. They even tried to match him with the salesman(inho's personal assistant,not sure what inho's job in this au but i think it would be nice) which went better than his any other dates they set him up with so after that everytime they see them talking or sitting next to each other they would ship them for fun and junho actually went on a second date but they don't need to know that and probably some time after they finally starts dating and when junho tells them they were ecstatic bc their "incredible" plan as they called it was working(junho x salesman shipper here🙋)

Bc his plan of being everyones favorite uncle "failed", he tried even harder to become the twins favorite when they're born and it's seems to be working and some time when they're older and can talk, they gave him a nickname which is "uncle ju-jun" and he was so happy that he felt like he just won a world championship

Sometimes when the older kids are going out to have a drink(when they're legal ofc) and accidentally gets too drunk, they would call him to pick them up and told him to swear on not telling their parents(inhun were out on vacation or something)

His first reaction when he was told that inhun are having another child was "AGAIN?!?" Bc he knows that means he have more presents to bought on Christmas, in which the next Christmas after the announcement he gave inhun a pack of condoms as their gift and made the kids burst out laughing including gihun meanwhile inho is giving him a death stare(junho's face: 😌😁)

Let me know what you think!!

(I purposely not making this anonymous bc you're cool and i hope we could be friends if you want!!)

YES!!! LET'S BE FRIENDS PLEASE 🥰🥹🥰😩💖💖💖

i really love the found family au too, it's so cute but there is a possiblity for angst (my beloved 🫶)

you guys have such good headcanons!!! i'm jealous i can't come up with stuff like this 😩

the salesman being inho's personal assistant is so funny jienoaujnjrif i can imagine him using his position to just barge into the house and sit down for breakfast with the rest of the family; inho doesn't know why he isn't scared of getting fired but that man doesn't even blink when inho threatens him with unemployment, especially after he flirts with gihun or starts dating junho

in this particular au, i had initially put inho down as a senior detective because i wanted to include silly shenanigans with junho at work. and maybe they have money because his old uncle (oh ilnam) on his mother's side left inho an absurd ammount of money (4.56 billion wons to be exact 😉).

maybe if inho is like the chief or whatever he can have the salesman as his personal assistant still! that way both of our ideas work 💖

oh, the kids would def try to play matchmaker with junho! they have a list of potential future uncles/aunts ranked by how likely they are to survive the hwang inho shovel talk/interrogation.

junho pretends to be upset that his brother is still breeding his wife but he loves his nieces and nephews and when the twins are born he fights with the kids to be able to hold them more.

uncle junjun is so cute 😭💖

the kids call junho when they're too drunk to get home but also to bust them out of the jail because he's a detective and of course he has connections. except one time, when he left them in there overnight so they could learn their lessons (maybe thanos, since he has a period where he acts out).

[burner141]

My favorite movie genre is 2000s childrens movies (the clique, sleepover, 16 wishes, geek charming) very much girl, very much cliché. So here's what character trope I think the 141 guys would fall into.

The most obvious one to me is Johnny being in a garage band. Black graphic tees, washed denim pants. Occasional crop top. Bad boy charm. All the older women swore that he was a loud nuisance in the neighborhood, but secretly swooned when he gave them that toothy grin. You're not so different from them, it seems. He tried to impress you with his drum solo (bc ofc he's a drummer), but you just commented on how sweaty he was. He tried to rub himself all over you, claiming his scent would keep all the other boys away. You told him how gross he was, but you gave a delighted squeal when he finally lifted you up in those muscled arms. Safe to say, bro was always trying to get you to watch him at practice. Surprisingly, one day, he took the mic from the lead singer and started singing his own song. Your awe was slowly overshadowed by confusion, then shock. The lyrics were incredibly explicit, and he hadn't broken eye contact with you for two minutes. No more band practice viewings from you...

Next is golden boy Gaz. He is the perfect son, friend, student, everything. He offers to help the younger neighborhood kids with homework and even offers to mow lawns. He chooses to mow your lawn for you on a particularly hot day, making a show of taking off his thin shirt and throwing it over his shoulder like a rag. Afterwards, as if there's no end to his stamina, he plays ball with the guys in the street, his every move perfect and precise - a parrot showing off his pretty feathers. When he lends a hand with taking in your groceries, your mom fawns over what a gentleman he is. You aren't so sure. Something about him is a little too perfect. Your suspicions only make him want to keep up his image more. If that's what it takes for you to pay attention to him, then he'll let you try and find a crack in his porcelain mask.

Now, Price, I'm not so sure how to fit him into this other than hot dad. Maybe he's a friend's dad or just the neighborhood dilf. He's just so nice to you, gentle with everybody, really. So, of course, you offered to babysit his kid. One day, you came up to his bedroom to offer him a small snack of sliced apples. You stopped dead in your tracks as you heard his gutteral laugh through the slight opening of the door. Uncharacteristically crass words flew out of his mouth as he laughed with a friend over the phone. You could't help but stand behind the bedroom door and indulge in every curse and innuendo that slipped out of his mouth. Once his call ended, you circled back to the stairs, grateful that the carpeted floor hid the sound of your footsteps. This was a secret you could keep. A side of him you'd personally heard. Not the other neighborhood ladies that pined for him, but you. Little did you know he could see you through the reflection of the window. Funny girl.

Ghost is... idk, some guy? Community pool lifeguard? Freelance mechanic? Weekend plumber? Nobody really knows what he does, but he somehow does it all. Local odd-jobber. He would most definitely do sumn strange for a piece of change. He comes over to fix your pipes, and you find yourself staring at him positioned under the sink. Is he... having trouble fitting under there? You reach out to ask if he needs help. He just grunts, pauses for a few seconds, then tells you to hold the flashlight over him so he can "see the bloody pipes." You can't tell if the encounter is more awkward or intriguing. Not often do you have a huge slab of muscle under you. Also, not often that you have to hold a flashlight at such an angle. You brain malfunctions for the next, um, 10 minutes? It could have been your determined focus with the flashlight or him bucking his hips upwards every now and then. You see him next week manning a lemonade stand.

[sheeezu]

It's my first time seeing DPS shifter!! That movie is such a comfort for me (I know haha). I even got matching tattoos with my sibling based off of it with "Make your lives extraordinary". I would love to hear you talk more about it if you're comfortable with that. Do you maybe have any stories from that DR? Do you have an S/O there or made it different from the source material?

Hi :) I actually got a similar ask, asking about my dps society, it got lost in the drafts.

(I hope that person sees this)

(What fun boys they are)

My dead poets society dr

It was mostly based on the source material but a special someone does not die. Also I couldn't fit a girl in an all boys school, nor did I wanted to, so I went in as male.

It also took place in 1989, I wasn't going back that far.

I love Neil Perry, I wasn't going to leave him alone so we ended up as roommates, and adjusted Todd with Knox.

My S/O was my unassuming Neil Perry (ofc)

I actually have a lot to talk about, but I'm just going to break down how each character was like, kind of like a storytime which could fit in one post (if you're unsatisfied, you can always ring my inbox again, even disguise yourself by changing your tone of writing a bit)

Neil Perry

I'd like to say, this guy has no object permeance. If he get's excited then he becomes a literal hazard. One time, he pulled me so harshly by my wrist, to the point of dislocating my shoulder. disclaimer, he will vent out to you all night long if he's upset, not realizing it's 3am and you both have classes tomorrow, and you can barely keep your eyes open. Otherwise he's really sweet, and nice class participation as well. (idk why i mentioned that)

Todd Anderson

Todd, even though he claims "he can take care of himself", he can't. He's always lost, and childishly likes to ignore social cues. He's actually very gullible, at least with me. Other than that, for no reason at all, i'd sneak into his room to read his personal diary; like it was simply an interesting novel and not an invasion of someone's privacy, he wrote about every single social interaction he had that day.

Charlie Dalton

CHARLIE, CHARLIE, CHARLIE. other than his usual obnoxiousness (as seen in the media) he will get serious when required, personally for me, he had been the person I could tell ANYTHING to. He's responsible for writing inappropriate words in the bathroom stalls (this is the dr where i removed urinals, because excuse you, i am not man-ing like this; instead there were stalls) Sleeps with his mouth open, hits on every breathing things, but doesn't have interest in anyone.

Mr. Keating

I ASPIRE to be this man. Honestly throughout the lectures, when they took a weird turn, i was very much the "I'd like to be excluded from this narrative" type of guy.

He would never get mad if any of the student were to visit him, no matter the time, whether it was late at night, he never got mad at all!

I ended up having an entire convo on the multiverse with him, and he agreed and patted me on the back, saying "you're onto something, pal."

...

This was getting long, but tbh I enjoyed writing this (this had been in my drafts for weeks) im pretty sure their are only a handful of dps shifters, a handful of people shifting for THE BEST MEDIA EVER.

i get that your ask, requested a storytime, and this isn't that, i'm sure i'll make one, that'll actually be in the form of a story.

(also of course, some people are left out, will come to them later ..?)

...

[heartsforjh]

buying something they want but won’t buy for themselves

receiving

beckett

heyyy so… idk if this is actually good or not! i wrote it at like 3am yesterday and barely edited it. let’s hope! also random, but i hope Quinnifer is okay. i’m so scared rn. 💔

“Aww, look how cute that is, babe!” you exclaim, flipping the FaceTime camera to show your boyfriend, Beckett, a tiny stuffed duckling perched on a store shelf.

“Get it,” he says, casually.

You shake your head, bringing the camera back to your face with a small laugh. “Nah, it’s a stuffed animal. I don’t need it. It’s more of a want-it situation, you know?”

“Sure, sure,” he nods, pretending to understand. Truthfully, he has no idea what you’re talking about but he doesn’t mind—he loves your rambling.

“What was the next thing I was supposed to be getting for the new apartment again?” you ask, slightly scrunching your face in concentration as you try to remember.

Beckett chuckles at your expression, finding it adorable. “Soap, baby.”

Your eyes widen a little in realization. “Oh, yeah! Soap, that’s what I was getting!”

Beckett stays on FaceTime with you for the rest of your shopping trip, talking with you about random things to keep you company as he sits in his hotel room, wishing hockey wasn’t keeping him from being there.

When you finally return to your new apartment, you feel the weight of the day pressing down on you. Between the errands, the unpacking, and the exhaustion, even getting your key to work feels like a battle. Thankfully, before you can lose said battle, the door swings open, and Beckett meets your gaze with a soft smile.

“Hey, I’ve got it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “Don’t worry—it gave me trouble the first couple of times too.”

The deeper into the apartment you go and closer to your bed you get, the harder it is to keep going. You sigh, shoulders slumping, as the day catches up to you all at once.

“Are you okay? What’s the matter, baby?” Beckett asks, stepping in front of you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulls you close, letting you lean into him completely.

Another sigh escapes you. “I’m okay. Just… tired. Really tired.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “My poor baby. I’ve got something for you. And after that, we can cuddle—sound good?”

A small, sleepy smile creeps onto your face. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He chuckles at the way your cheek is pressed up against his chest. “Come on, we have to move to the table.”

You groan, making no effort to move. Beckett only laughs and tightens his hold on you, carefully walking backward, steadying you as he guides you to the table. “Hey, look, honey.”

You lift your head, and your eyes land on a little pink basket sitting on the table. The exhaustion melts away as soon as you recognize what’s inside.

“The duck from the store!” you gasp, grabbing at the basket.

Beckett grins, watching you dig through the different items that are also in the basket. There’s the stuffed duckling, a throw blanket, a new cup, candy, and other small things that scream “you”.

“Awww Beckett!” you gush, holding up the duck for him to see again.

“I know—I bought it,” he reminds you, rubbing your back as you keep digging through the gifts. “Do you like them, baby?”

“I love them,” you say, clutching the blanket and duck to your chest. Without another word, you head straight to the bedroom, flopping onto the bed with your new treasures.

Beckett follows closely behind, his laughter filling the quiet room. He adjusts you on the bed, before crawling in beside you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry you had such a long day,” he says softly, his fingers gently running through your hair.

You nuzzle closer, letting out a content sigh. “It’s okay. I feel better now.”

His smile grows as he pulls the blanket over the both of you. “Yeah? Feeling better?”

You nod with a yawn, tucking your head into his neck. “Mhm. Thanks to you.”

tags: @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @azure-edits @joesnumerouno @macklin-celebrini-71

join the taglist here! :)

[henkdeplank]

Phew, took me quite a while to respond to this. Sorry about that, had my final week of midterms and I really didn’t have any brain capacity left to respond in any semi-meaningful way.

First I want to emphasize that I am digging this story. Honestly its so interesting.

And I completely agree with you, I think it makes the most sense now that you’ve explained it. I think the HicLout dynamic is one of the most versatile ones, and in this context I think you’re right in that Hic might be able to diffuse (Is diffuse the right word? Does that make sense?) snotlout and get him onboard first. It would actually be quite nice to read another potentially “good (cousin? Idk what you want to do about that) Snotlout” fic, since a lot of the fics I read paint him in quite a harsh way.

The premise that he doesn’t want to take part, but it’s kinda his only excuse so he has to is completely in character. And the fact that he doesn’t want to win dragon training makes sense aswell ofcourse, and its good that he realizes he has to rush so that astrid doesn’t kill Hookfang.

However, maybe you can play with the idea of letting the dragons go before the final exam, somehow? Idk if that fits into what you’ve got going right now, and idk how/if you would want to implement this, but I think that hiccup wouldn’t want to keep the dragons locked up in the cages. (They’re kinda inhumane, cuz they are kept in complete darkness and in a relatively small area for, say, a Monstrous Nightmare) Its a big undertaking, but maybe thats how you can manage to convince Astrid? They take the dragons to the woods (perhaps they stumble upon the cove? Thought with hiccup not finding toothless there…idk) and the now convinced teens go there to meet up with the dragons and start training with them, like actual flight training. One of the days astrid is perhaps suspicious and follows them, or she is frustrated and therefore already murdering trees, and then she sees them head through the forest and follows them, or something like that, whatever you get the gist. And then they have a confrontation and manage to convince her? (Perhaps with another round of “kidnap the viking girl and drop her atop a massive tree and give her no real choice”, who knows, could be fun)

Okay, sorry for the dump of thoughts and stuff. Idk if any of that made any sense, and I don’t know if you even care for the crap I’m currently outputting. Its just some random ideas, you’ve probably already thought about these types of things and considering I have 0 experience with writing I really don’t know a whole lot.

Safe to say though, in the past week when my mind wasn’t focused on my uni courses, it was most likely focused on this. I’ve never really engaged myself with the pre-fic happenings and ideas, if that makes sense? I usually just read the fic, and from there start thinking what if’s and whats-next’s, yaknow?

Anywhoo, if you made it this far, just another thank you. Its been a very nice distraction from the hellpit that is exams, and I’m very intrigued for this story.

HTTYD Fan Fic Idea

A Time-Travel Not! Fix-It

Uh, basically (I don’t know the cause but SOMEHOW) post-RTTE but pre-Drago Hiccup wakes up 3-4 years in the past in his 15 year-old body about a week before the day he shot down Toothless.

Cue in panicked attempts to figure out how that even HAPPENED and Hiccup trying to find a way back to his own time, while also knowing the raid that caused him and Toothless to meet and changed his life is fast approaching and “what if I can’t find a way back to my own time, what if I’m stuck here and what if I never see Toothless again if I don’t shoot him down like last time, I don’t want to hurt him, what if something WORSE HAPPENS TO HIM IF I DONT–“

And then he shoots the bola, afraid of the result, regardless of which one it ends up being.

And he misses.

And now he’s stuck without Toothless and trying to figure out how to fight the Red Death without his bud but also without putting anyone else in unnecessary danger, meaning he can’t just go around training dragons because his dad will do what he did last time–

So he tries to be discreet in the beginning.

Eventually he gets caught by someone from the gang for sneaking into the dragon arena after training hours and actually walking OUT of where the DRAGONS are. (I’m like 75% sure I’m gonna go with Snotlout.)

One thing leads to another, Hiccup connects the gang with their dragons. But also they’re left wondering “Okay, but where’s your dragon? How do you know so much and yet you never fly on one of your own?”

Cue in Hiccup missing Toothless and struggling to give them even a vague explanation to the situation and them not really getting it and trying to get his spirits up and pushing him to find a new dragon partner.

I’m not sure what happens next but I want a random chance encounter between Toothless and Hiccup at some point after this. And Hiccup is just standing there, SO happy to see his best friend and missing him SO much because he know Toothless hasn’t the slightest idea who he is.

But then maybe dragon hunters come after Toothless and when Hiccup hears about it he runs to the rescue and jumps in to protect Toothless (maybe even gets a little hurt in the process, don’t we like drama in this house).

Roughly around that time he finally tells the gang that he’s technically from the future? Because “Hiccup, WHY are you so obsessed with that dragon???” I have a little snipped of him and Astrid talking some time after the reveal.

Toothless is very confused by Hiccup’s behaviour but eventually decides to trust him and when Hiccup ends up in danger instead, Toothless moves in to protect him.

And that’s how they manage to find their way to each other!

I have no idea if I want to keep going with this plot in a way that it just settles back into canon to some extent, or if I want to let Hiccup go back to his own time eventually.

I would have to figure out if I wanna make the time travel make sense first or not. XD

But if it DOES end up making sense, I can see it as like young Hiccup and older Hiccup having switched places in time until one of them finds the solution and reverses their places.

Uuuuuh… typing that out made a lot of ideas flood into my brain. Ideas that may require of me to move some plot points around.

Oh yeah, for extra angst, of course I considered the option for older Hiccup to have been post-Drago Hiccup. Because him interacting with Stoick in the past would be… yeah.

But then like, that would imply he knows about his mom and the Sanctuary, and I kinda didn’t want him to because he could just fly there, meet his mom and then the whole fic turns into him trying to help the dragons by trying to get his parents to just MEET.

… which would be an interesting fic that I wouldn’t mind reading either, but my focus here is different. XD

Also, in the case of a switch, I didn’t wanna put young Hiccup through the pain of finding out his dad is dead and he’s chief now.

…

So that was a long rant.

I guess I’m dropping this off here because as many fanfic ideas as I do have, I write them out impossibly slowly. So I just gave snippets of this thing. Not a single even half-way done chapter.

And it would be sad if this never sees the light of day, you know? I need more “Hiccup and Toothless would die for each other” centric fanfics in my life.

[whyeverr]

simblreen is fast approaching and it occurs to me i could use a poll to find out what kind of builds to make for y’all instead of letting indecision paralyze me??? 👻

what a concept

[xxplastic-cubexx]

give me some whiskey and ill draw The Most Thing i can come up with

bonus:

[lukazade]

These kids are NOT studying rn