#visceral reaction ficlet

[saynomorefic]

2024 fandom review

Ty for tagging me @willesredlights @phneltwrites @grounded-parasocial <3

This is going to be a mishmash of formats I've seen, so thanks everyone for giving me ideas

Fics written

I started watching and writing YR this year, so 2024 has really been huge for me in returning to fandom and fic writing. I wrote 27 works (plus tumblr ficlets) and 117k words, by far the most I've written!

First fic posted in 2024: You Kill Me (WIP) 2024-02-06

My love letter to Young Royals. Anyone who has read this, thank you and sorry, it's deeply personal and my raw initial reaction to watching the show.

Last fic posted in 2024: Ghosts of Simons Past 2024-12-23

Silly little christmas fic!

Fav fic I've written: Let's take this overboard (WIP) 2024-06-25

My Mediterranean yacht AU! Ah my beloved. Thank you to everyone for showing this story love. It's still going, I'm just putting the pieces together. How do you pick a direction when you have so many?

It's been a big year of writing :) I haven't written creatively for about 9 years, so it's safe to say Young Royals and this community have ignited a creative spark I didn't know I had in me. When I was a kid my dream was to be a writer. Getting emotional here, but it's hitting me that in a way, that dream has come true in a way! I know fanfic is not technically professional writing, but in a way it's cooler - we don't get to just message our favorite "real" authors whenever we want, nor do bigger authors get to experience being in a club of writers like this! (actually I wouldn't know, but w/3).

Thank you to every single person who has sat down and read my little stories, you guys truly don't know what you have given me and how much it means.

Fics read under the cut <3

Fics read

I can't give a number, but I have bookmarked 117 fics since 2024-02-11, and it's safe to say I've read at least 4x that.. so uh.. it's a lot :''))

This is a list of favs after going through my bookmarks, and definitely not an exhaustive list of all the fics I've read and loved from this past year. Thank you to ALL writers out there for your amazing work <3

First fic I bookmarked/ read: objects in motion by Capiche

Last fic I read: Under the Mistletoe by @vvachillessongvv (so cute!)

Some favorites I've read this year:

Stairway to Heaven by @unfortunate17

the person responsible for finding young royals, and this was one of the very first fics I read! Heartbreaking and wonderful.

Something Real as Pain by @crownedwille

I love how this story directly engages with power differences between Wilhelm and Simon, and I'm so proud of these two <3

be the place you call your home by @phneltwrites

I love them so much. No one does post-canon like you! such a unique writing voice and characterizations to match <3

Faroe Gone by @groenendaelfic

Pining Simon. Pining Wilhelm. Remote island-farm-cottage sex. What more could you want?

We Left Footprints When We Passed By by @in-amor-veritas

One of the first long fics I read, and these two will never leave me.

darling, lost in the darkling woods by Ripki on ao3

honorable mention to Align, but this noir gripped me like no other.

Fright Fest! by @enjoythesilentworld

I adore everything about this, horrorific, whumpy and visceral <33

sleep, dream, you, repeat (live, die next to me) by @espejonight28738

This little gem! The Midsommar AU. So so good, so well written.

bittersweet ecstasy (I pick my poison and it's you) by wthbaby (ao3)

An amazing ABO fic that's more werewolf /fantasy than anything!

The initiation - sorry if we got a bit rough by @silvagrey

A really interesting look at the aftermath of Wilhelm's initiation ritual, and a type of canon divergence I've never seen!

A Glimpse of Us by @simons-purplehoodie

An early love, read this in April and was swept away.

Look at us by @willesredlights

So hot, so sweet, and bonus that it was a gift for me! <33

to color with two by @wildcalendula

I love the way they communicate about sex here. So tender and loving and lovely. Just this whole series!

The Way We Were by queerofthemonth (ao3)

Damaged popstar Simon. Sad Kronprins Wilhelm. Fuck.

Cock by @stretchoutfics

Just so much to say about pining and sexuality crisis Wilhelm. It feels so realistic, and I love their communication here.

One, two, three (Not only you and me) by @skibasyndrome

So much communication, so much trust, so much honesty. And the LAPDANCING? Also, thank you so much for every kinktober contribution, promise we are all very grateful <3

Where We Left Off by @gulliblelemon

So tender, they will literally be in my heart forever. It's time to re-read!

come closer and see into the dark (WIP) by @bigalockwood

I can't decide what's better, unique magical ghosts or juicy slow burn interpersonal relationships at the YR ghost agency. Love <3

losing a friend is the hardest part by psyanky on ao3

God do a love break ups and second chances. And everything psyanky writes.

We're Going to Be Friends (Lilac Grove) by wilmonlibrarian on ao3

I'm so in love. Borrower Simon is adorable, and it blows my mind how this author created this whole world.

I am awaiting you (WIP) by @toffeelemon and thatgayprince (pls help me tag on tumblr!)

I am so in love with Princess Simon and Wille here. Uadhakjsdha

i've got power in my hands (and it's yours for the taking) by @starvalisedham

The library fight from August's POV. There are LAYERS here, and I love how much is up to interpretation reg. his perception of Wilmon.

maybe now maybe here tonight by @dreamyelectronicmusic

I love a getting back together fic, and the writing! I'm in awe.

My Home for All Time by @hergrandplan

Amazing contributions for Wille's month! Every ficlet and morsel.

words written down by @caramelpenguin

Every single one. how do I pick? Thank you for always sharing these beautiful snapshots with us <3

this is the golden age of something good and right and real (Painter AU) series by @alltoowille

I couldn't choose bc the first part was INSANE. and then I read it and realized there was 50k+ after? Think I ascended. Thank you <3

and last but not least obviously by @grapehyasynth

Changed me. Changed how I write, and then changed me again.

Final reflections

I wanted to say I loved helping celebrate Wilmonhits5k on ao3, and big thanks to everyone who participated through fic recs and commenting.

I have to mention the people that keep this fic world turning through fic recs, making gifs, fandom engagement, and more! @simonsapelsin @youngroyals-events @kruemel8 @sillyunicorn @grounded-parasocial @books-books-smolderinglooks @impossibleknots @sillylittleflower and too many more to list. You guys are truly the best <3

If we have never chit chatted, feel free to come say hi! <3 Happy new year to you all, and here's to more YR magic in 2025.

[doumadono]

Quiet grief - Shoto & Touya with a friend who lost a pet

A/N: this little ficlets were written as an emergency request for my dear @aethien11-blog but sadly, the original post crushed. I'm so sorry to hear about the loss of your kitten. It sounds like she was much more than just a pet to you—she was a cherished member of your family. Grieving such a deep loss is incredibly tough, especially when the bond was as strong as yours. It's completely normal to feel overwhelmed, to experience numbness or even physical pain as you do. These reactions are part of the profound impact she had on your life. Please be gentle with yourself during this time. It's okay to grieve in your own way, at your own pace. There’s no right or wrong way to feel. Allow yourself the space to remember the joy and love your kitten brought into your life, and know that it's okay to feel sad, to miss her

EMERGENCY REQS - PART 2

Shoto

The day had been a blur. Your thoughts were muddled, and the world around you seemed to move in slow motion. Losing your kitten of ten years had ripped a hole in your heart that you didn’t know how to mend. The pain was visceral, leaving you numb and detached from reality.

Shoto Todoroki had noticed the change in you almost immediately.

During class, you were called upon by Aizawa-sensei to answer a question, but your mind had been elsewhere.

“Y/N,” Aizawa’s voice cut through the fog, “can you explain the principles of hero ethics we discussed?”

You stood up, your legs shaky, and tried to focus. But the words wouldn’t come. You stammered, your voice barely audible, “I-I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened slightly, but he marked your answer as incorrect. “See me after class,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm.

The disappointment in his eyes only added to your sense of failure.

Shoto’s eyes followed you as you left the classroom after the bell rang. He saw the slump in your shoulders, the way you dragged your feet. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know how.

Later, in the cafeteria, Shoto spotted you again, sitting alone at the back of the spacious room. Usually, you were with Mina, Ochaco, and the other girls, laughing and chatting. Today, you were picking at your food, pushing it around your plate without taking a bite. The sight tugged at Shoto’s heart. He knew something was deeply wrong.

He approached his own group, but his mind kept drifting back to you. He couldn’t focus on the conversation around him, his thoughts consumed by your sorrowful expression.

“Shoto, are you okay?” Izuku asked, noticing his friend’s distraction.

Shoto glanced at him, then back at you. “Y/N isn’t herself today.”

Izuku grimaced with sadness. “Oh. Do you think she’s okay?”

Shoto shook his head. “No, she’s not... I mean it appears she's not. I want to help, but I’m not sure how.”

After school, as Shoto headed back to the dorms, he heard muffled sobs coming from a secluded corner of the UA campus. His heart clenched when he recognized your voice. He peeked around the corner and saw you sitting on the ground, your face buried in your hands, shoulders shaking with the force of your cries.

Shoto hesitated, unsure if he should approach. He didn’t want to intrude on your private moment of sadness, he didn't know if it was a right thing to do. But he couldn’t leave you like this. Deciding to give you space for now, he made a mental note to visit your dorm room later.

That evening, Shoto stood outside your door, a box of your favorite cookies in hand. He took a deep breath and knocked softly. “Y/N, it’s Todoroki Shoto. Can I come in?”

The evening was cool, the kind of chill that gnawed at your bones and refused to let go. You stared at the empty spot on your bed where your kitten used to curl up. The loss was suffocating, a void so profound that it felt like you were missing a piece of your soul. You wiped your eyes quickly, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, come in.”

He entered the room and immediately noticed the emptiness. The absence of your cat was palpable. He offered you the box of cookies. “I thought you might like these,” he said, his voice gentle.

You took the box with a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Shoto. You didn’t have to.”

He sat down beside you on the bed, his expression serious. “I wanted to. I noticed you were having a hard time today.”

Your eyes welled up with tears again, and you looked away. “I lost my cat last night. She was… she was everything to me.”

Shoto’s heart ached for you. He knew what it was like to lose something precious. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

He reached out and gently took your hand. “I’m here for you.”

His words broke through the dam of your emotions, and you started to sob uncontrollably.

Shoto didn’t flinch. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you cried into his shoulder. He didn't mind his shirt getting wet from your tears. “I know,” he whispered. “I know how it feels to lose someone important. It’s like a part of you is missing, and nothing can fill that void.”

You pulled back slightly, looking into his mismatched eyes. “How do you deal with it?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Shoto was silent for a moment, blinking as if he was focusing very hard, his thoughts seemed to be far away. “I let myself feel it,” he said finally. “I let the pain wash over me because pretending it doesn’t exist only makes it worse. It’s okay to grieve, Y/N. It’s okay to hurt.”

You nodded, taking solace in his words. You leaned into his embrace, finding a strange comfort in the rhythmic beating of his heart. "I think... I think I'll try."

Shoto smiled softly. “That’s all you can do. One step at a time.”

He stayed with you for hours, talking about your cat, sharing stories and memories.

You laughed through your tears as you recounted her antics, and Shoto listened intently, his presence a comforting constant. When the pain became too much, he was there to hold you, to remind you that you weren’t alone.

As the days turned into weeks, the pain of losing your beloved cat began to fade, replaced by a bittersweet acceptance. You still missed her every day, but with Shoto and others by your side, the grief was no longer an unbearable weight.

And in the quiet moments, when the pain threatened to return, you found solace in the conversations with Shoto, knowing that no matter what, you would never have to face your grief alone.

Touya

The city below you buzzed with the quiet hum of evening life, lights twinkling like distant stars, but on the rooftop, it felt as though you were in another world entirely.

You kept staring into the horizon, your eyes empty, as if you could see your lost fluffy friend in the clouds that marched slowly across the dusk sky.

Touya watched you with a pensive frown. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” he said, his voice rough like gravel, yet imbued with an unexpected gentleness. “Losing someone who was a part of you.”

You turned to him, surprised by his perceptiveness. “Yes,” you breathed out, the word laden with so much more than its brevity suggested. “It’s like I’ve lost a piece of my soul. I miss her so much... It's so hard to cope..."

He nodded, understanding you more than she realized. “I’ve been there. More times than I care to admit,” Touya disclosed, his usual fierce gaze softening. “The pain, it can consume you if you let it. Turn you into something else, something you might not recognize.”

“How do you deal with it?” you asked, your voice a mere whisper against the wind.

Touya looked away, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for answers in the fading light. “I fight,” he replied after a long pause. “Not against the pain, but through it. I embrace it, let it remind me of what I’ve lost. It’s purifying, in a way.”

You pondered his words, your heart aching with every beat as you sobbed. “And does the pain ever go away?”

“No,” Touya said simply, turning back to you with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But it changes. It becomes a part of who you are. And maybe,” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. To carry those we once loved with us, even in pain.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and Touya reached out, his touch hesitant but sincere, as he wiped it away with the rough pad of his thumb. “You have me,” he hesitated, a vulnerability crossing his features that he seldom showed. "So you're not alone."

As the sky darkened fully, turning the clouds from orange to a deep, mournful purple, you sat together, your shared silence a comforting blanket around you.

“You will get through this,” Touya finally said, his voice firm. “And I will be here for ya. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it? We survive. We endure. And eventually, we heal. You know, Y/N," he sighed, his words slow and deliberate, "For me, it’s way too late to heal in any goddamn way." His lips twisted into a bitter smile, almost mocking his own realization. "But you... You still have a chance."

“Thank you, Touya,” you said, your voice steadier now. “For sharing this, and for being here with me when I needed it the most.”

The breeze ruffled his pure white hair as he turned to face you more directly, his expression solemn. "Just don’t follow the paths I've tread. They're worn down by regrets and the ashes of what could have been. You’re here, now, with the pain fresh and raw, and it’s painful, hell, I know, but this pain, it’s alive. That means you can still shape it, mold it into something that doesn’t just scar over."

You listened, the gravity of Touya's words sinking in. Despite the harshness of his reality, Todoroki was offering you a lifeline, a chance to seize your grief and forge it into a pathway forward, not just a shadow to be buried and ignored.

"Take this pain and this bereavement, Y/N," Touya continued, his voice more insistent, "and use it. Don’t let it become a chain that drags you down into the abyss where some of us are too far gone to escape from." His hand, very warm due to his quirk, reached out to grasp your shoulder, gripping it with a firmness. "Promise me," he said, his gaze piercing, "that you’ll fight, not just to survive, but to live. Truly live. Because that’s something some of us can only dream of now."

In the quiet companionship of Touya, under the vast, starlit sky, you felt a subtle easing of the weight on your shoulders. It was a gentle indication that perhaps healing, although distant, might one day be within your grasp.

[bananasomg]

15 lestappen

16 charlos

🤗

hiiiiii! 💕 i’m still in Japan, but i wanted to fulfill a ficlet for you. i hope you have a great weekend!

here is #15: lestappen. x

things you said with too many miles between us

Charles calls Max around dinner from his balcony. His trip to Maranello ended early when he caught a stomach bug. It was over quickly, but Fred still flew him back to Monaco once the team confirmed they had all his data.

Charles taps his finger against the back of his phone as it rings. It should be morning in Los Angeles and not too early, but he doesn’t have the exact hour. He’s shit at time zones.

Max answers on the third ring.

“Charles?” He sounds surprised and breathless, like he had to sprint to catch his call.

“Why do you sound all—��

“Morning run. Daniel won’t let me relax.”

Charles hears Daniel grumble in the background and smiles. Max needs more people in his life to help him stick to a healthy routine.

“Anyway, what’s up?”

A few birds squawk in the background. They must be running near the pier. He wonders if anyone recognizes them.

Max’s exhales have evened out, and Charles closes his eyes, picturing the California sun and the distinct West Coast air. It’s different from Monaco—more briny and dry.

“Hello?” Max says again before Charles can reply. He has never been very patient when it comes to communication, always wanting to know how he feels or what he’s doing or what he wants. Charles has gotten used to it, but the urgency never fails to amuse him.

He presses his phone into his cheek. He wants to say he misses him, but now probably isn’t the best time, oceans apart. They haven’t really broached the subject of feelings. Besides, he would rather say it into his skin, against his ear when Max is deep inside him.

“Pierre saw your nudes.”

It’s not true, but Charles says it anyway. An impromptu prank is easier than revealing his own neediness.

Max is silent, giving him pause. He expected an outburst, something visceral and reactive. Instead his false admission is met with a rush of air like wind blowing over the mic.

“Oh, thank god!” Max exclaims.

Laughter fills his ear, and Charles desperately wants to follow it until they’re side by side, together again. It’s only been a week since Max left for L.A., but it feels like ages. Charles should define the significance—how his dependency on Max runs deeper than he should be allowing at this stage, but for now, he’s comfortable with the ambiguity.

“This is not the reaction I thought you would have,” he says, switching the phone to his other ear.

“Daniel saw yours like three days ago.”

Charles squeaks, almost dropping his phone. “What?! I was joking about Pierre!”

That makes Max laugh even harder, and it takes a few moments for him to gather himself before he can speak again.

“Oh, fuck. Well—yeah, of course it wasn’t ideal but—”

Max is interrupted by another rustle, and Charles can only imagine what the hell is going on. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look Daniel in the eye again.

“Hiya!” The distinct Australian accent carries through the speaker.

“Hi?” Charles’ tongue moves slowly, his body warming at an alarming rate. He feels like he’s on fire. He wants to ask which nude Daniel saw exactly. Like, did he see all of him? Does he know what color his dildo is?

“—and just wanted to say that if you hurt him, I swear—”

Wait, what? Charles snaps back to reality, embarrassment dissolving at the severity of Daniel’s tone.

“Danny, stop,” Max says in a muffled voice. “You’re scaring him.”

Daniel scoffs. “He needs a warning! Pretty face like that? He’s a fucking heartbreaker!”

He’s speaking directly into the phone, even though he’s not addressing him anymore, and Charles resists the urge to defend his honor because it’s not like that.

Not with Max, at least.

Before he can speak, there’s another static scramble, rustling and a few grunts. He imagines the two fighting for dominance on the pier, the prize Max’s phone, and by proxy Charles on the end of the line.

“Sorry.” Max hesitates. “Um, is that okay?”

Charles sucks in his bottom lip, trying to pinpoint what Max is asking.

“Is what okay?”

“That Daniel knows about us.”

“Oh. Sure? As long as he’s not telling everyone.”

“He wouldn’t,” Max says, voice low.

It’s a serious matter, and Charles knows that they trust each other fiercely—wouldn’t dare break that bond for all the money in the world. If anything, Charles is more endeared by their friendship than jealous. Usually he can’t stand when gorgeous men are close to Max, rubbing his shoulders, making him laugh, deep-bellied and loud. But Daniel’s just Daniel. It’s hard to explain why he doesn’t feel possessive when it’s him.

“Okay. Just—keep my nudes to yourself from now on.”

Max chuckles. The sound sinks straight through Charles’ ear and settles on his heart.

“You got it, baby.”

Jesus. Charles’ throat seizes, a startled noise tumbling from his mouth like a strange question mark. He hears Daniel’s voice in the background.

“I’m still here, Maxy!”

“Yeah, well. Get used to it,” Max snaps. Then a beat as he shifts focus back to Charles. “Are you still picking me up from the airport tomorrow?”

Charles hums. “Of course. Message me when your flight gets in.”

“Okay. See you soon, baby.”

Daniel’s muffled groan makes Charles grin.

He knows Max. That man won’t stop teasing Daniel until he doesn’t get a rise out of him anymore. If anything, the Aussie can be their look out when he sneaks into Red Bull’s hotel on race weekends.

“Max?” Charles asks.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to tell Pierre.”

“Really?”

The hopeful spark in Max’s voice curls pleasantly in Charles’ stomach, and he inhales slowly, allowing the warmth of his excitement to fill his lungs before answering.

“Yes. I want to tell him you’re my boyfriend. He’s already suspecting.”

“Ah, right. If you’re comfortable, I think—”

His voice trails off, and Charles waits for the gasp he knows he’ll hear when Max finally comprehends the word he used, finally acknowledging them for what they are. A relationship with a title to match. And when it finally comes, Charles thinks he’s never felt more alive.

[wand-erer5]

I love my smut… one look at my reposts and it’s OBVIOUS. It’s basically my digital “spank bank”. On days like today though…. I need a fully fleshed 9 chapters (minimum) fanfiction with oc character development/world building seamlessly integrated with familiar and established TLOU storylines, Triple frontier storylines, with some creative angst or otherwise tension building for the male character and the reader UGH. Like the smut is not a sign of instability… me wanting to get sucked in and lost in an established specific fictional world as a character and have irl visceral reactions to it all day long… that’s true instability. Anyway HAPPY MONDAY! Who has some fanfiction recs ??? (not one shots, drabbles or ficlets)

[wanderingwriter87]

untitled ficlet

Garak's fingers twitched over the holographic keyboard. There were already two versions of the message in his drafts, both of which now felt unnecessarily combative. He knew he should just leave it alone. They would talk in the morning - Julian's anger burned hot and quick, and he'd be in a better mood by then. 

They had simply gotten off on the wrong foot today. Garak still struggled to judge when he had crossed the line between playful banter and an actual argument, the kind that humans tend to take personally. But no, of course that wasn't entirely it. He'd known from the beginning this was personal. 

What he hadn't expected was to take it so personally himself. 

He regretted it - all of it, even the innocuous things he'd said that led to this. He regretted how, when it turned ugly, he'd let it slip that he had broken into Julian's private comms before to delete messages that he thought better of sending, before they could be seen. 

Of course Julian had always known, had said as much, but the fact that Garak brought it up gave him the opportunity to mention it, with a good bit of pent-up frustration behind it.

Betrayed my trust. 

That was the phrase he used. And certainly he had every right to - and he hadn't intended the visceral reaction from Garak. Of course he didn't. How could he have known?

Certainly, coming from anyone else, Garak likely could have brushed it off. He had before. The Kardasi word for betrayed (which the UT had helpfully chimed in with) certainly got a lot of use, and there was really no reason for him to fixate on the one person in his life who had said it more than anyone else.

And in his mind, his own pathetic response echoed:

I never betrayed you! Not in my heart!

But Julian, of course, didn't know. With his human sensibilities and his Federaji optimism, how could he? He had only met Enabran Tain once (and that was one time too many, quite frankly) and he was never going to understand the complexities of that relationship. What betrayed my trust meant to a man like Tain. What it meant to Garak, dragging him back to the first moment of his exile as surely as a temporal anomaly.

Garak stood up from the console abruptly and walked to the viewport. The little stabs of pain behind his eye, the headache that was probably to blame for his state of mind in the first place, throbbed a little harder.

What he wouldn't give to breathe fresh air tonight.

He imagined explaining it to Julian (horrifying!) and couldn't decide which outcome would be worse - a rush of sympathy, or indifference. After all, the intent of his words was to hurt, and he'd certainly accomplished that.

No, not to hurt. To correct your behavior. That was Mila's voice, and he was biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

He went back to the console and wrote it all out - not the exact truth, of course, but something like it. Then, line by line, he deleted it all.

Just for good measure, he went in and deleted the other two drafts as well. There was simply no telling what kind of technical glitch this place might experience that would send them off to Julian in six months when all of this would be forgotten.

It occurred to him that maybe Julian wouldn't be apologetic or indifferent, but perhaps offended at the implicit comparison. Of course Julian was nothing like Tain, in anything but perhaps the level of devotion he inspired. But that, too, was better left unsaid.

Garak stood again, locked the console, and went to his bookshelf. He had a few paper books still, precious stowaways from a former life, but most of them were on PADDs and datarods. And now, after years of exchanging literature with Julian, every single one of them bore some memory or association with him. No, there was no escape to be had there.

A game of kotra against the computer - no, in addition to being thoroughly uninspiring, he would only be able to think of Julian across the table frowning in delightful concentration at his pieces.

Somehow the doctor had become entwined with every part of his life, and it was far too late to attempt untangling it - even if he'd wanted to.

He laid down then, on top of the blankets, head flat on the mattress and eyes staring widely at the dull red lights on the ceiling. His head ached. His heart ached. This was the price he paid for letting someone in so close, close enough to really hurt.

For Julian, he'd pay it. Again, and again, and again.

[lothiriel84]

No Cause to Repine

Not once, in all the one-and-twenty years of her life, had Elizabeth considered herself the missish sort; she had always prided herself that her courage rose at every attempt to intimidate her, and yet, it would appear she was finally met with a challenge she was utterly and irrevocably unequal to.

A Pride and Prejudice ficlet. Sex-repulsed asexual!Elizabeth.

Not once, in all the one-and-twenty years of her life, had Elizabeth considered herself the missish sort; she had always prided herself that her courage rose at every attempt to intimidate her, and yet, it would appear she was finally met with a challenge she was utterly and irrevocably unequal to. And she had no idea how to go about fixing any of it.

Between her mother’s intimations and her aunt Gardiner’s kind advice, she had thought she knew what to expect from her wedding night; and yet, nothing could have prepared for her own visceral reaction at everything that transpired between man and wife within the confines of the marriage bed. Her husband had been wholly mortified at her reaction, and promised he would endeavour to do better by her on future occasions; indeed he had acquired a series of texts that would make many a gentlewoman blush, and done his best to replicate the advice thus imparted on his reluctant bride.

In the end, Elizabeth found herself in the awkward position of begging him to stop with his continued attempts at pleasing her, and just go about what was required of him with as little fuss as he could manage. It wasn’t to be hoped that Mr Darcy would take such a request with the serenity that might have been expected of a man any less ardently in love with his wife; for all that he tried to conceal it from her, she could clearly see his hurt at being unable to share the joy he clearly felt at their union, and feeling rejected in his own marriage bed.

The truth was that she herself had not the slightest idea of why she found the whole affair so distasteful; her husband was very considerate of her, and with the one exception on their wedding night, there had scarcely been any physical discomfort to speak of. Once or twice, he had even managed to bring her to that peak he always appeared so keen to reach himself; only, she had found the experience more uncomfortable than pleasurable, and not one she could see herself eager to repeat anytime soon.

In vain she had tried to reassure him of her readiness to fulfil her wifely duty; invariably, he could see through her pretence, and it only seemed to hurt him more that she apparently had no qualms about wilfully deceiving him. A series of letters exchanged with her dear aunt had brought no clarity when it came to her particular issue, and neither had her correspondence with a very happily married Jane who often waxed lyrical about how much she enjoyed her beloved Charles’ assiduous attentions. In her last letter, her sister had confided she suspected herself to be with child already, a mere five months after the wedding; and for all that she was of course very pleased for her dear Jane, Elizabeth could not but take it as further confirmation of her own deficiencies.

How was she to get with child, when she could scarcely bear to share her husband’s bed once in a fortnight, if even that? She had always taken it as a given that she would have children of her own one day, and she still cherished the hope that she might see herself a mother in the not too distant future; and while she didn’t fear her husband’s reproach for her failure to immediately produce him an heir, she knew it was expected of him, and it could not be postponed indefinitely.

Oh, that she could take her mother’s advice – just lie back and think of England, my dear, and you’ll be fine. It wasn’t as if theirs was a marriage of convenience, after all; they had married for love, and it made no sense for her to be this reluctant in accepting her husband’s attentions. Why couldn’t Fitzwilliam be like other men and simply take what was his by right, rather than wish for it to be willingly bestowed by his ungrateful wife?

And what if he finally grew tired of her continued reticence, and started seeking his pleasure elsewhere? It was not unheard of for gentlemen of his station, and while she did not for one second doubt his love nor the rectitude of his character, it was still unfair of her to deny him what she had promised him as his legally wedded wife. She wasn’t so naive as to be ignorant of a man’s needs, and while she felt sure he would never impose upon her, she could hardly expect him to stick to his vows when she was so loath to fulfil hers.

Feeling a headache coming on at the impossibility of her conundrum, she decided she might as well get some fresh air, and announced she was going for a walk. Let Fitzwilliam regret his choice of a wife in peace, she thought to herself bitterly, ignoring the clouds gathering at the far side of the lake. Perhaps Lady Catherine had the right of it, after all.

.

. 

The first light of dawn saw the Master of Pemberley scouring the grounds of his estate accompanied by several footmen and farmhands. Cursing himself for his own stupidity in failing to check whether the Mistress had returned from her walk the previous afternoon, he had only been informed of her disappearance upon his return from Lambton close on midnight. Georgiana had been beside herself with concern, and he had insisted on searching the grounds immediately; however, the scarce light provided by torches had proved to be insufficient for the task, and they had been forced to put it off until the morning.

Furiously, he searched his memory for any unwitting offence of his that might have caused Elizabeth to absent herself in such an inexplicable manner; he could find nothing, except perhaps his own selfish conduct when he had sought out his wife twice in a week upon his return from his most recent business trip to London. Even then, it would not account for her leaving Georgiana in such a distress over her wellbeing, and he was therefore obliged to consider the greatly unwelcome idea that something must have happened to her.

So uncertain was yet the light he would have probably missed the forlorn figure huddled under a shrub of hawthorn, had his horse not bolted upon sensing her presence. In a moment, he had dismounted and was kneeling at her side, trembling hands reaching for hers as he anxiously checked for her breathing. Relieved to see her chest rise and fall as if in sleep, he resolved to gently shake her, her name falling off his lips with increasing urgency.

“Fitzwilliam?” she murmured, even as her eyes fluttered open. “Am I dreaming again?”

“Elizabeth! Thank God I found you. What happened? Are you hurt?”

She winced slightly, and gave up her attempt to push herself to a seating position. “Only my ankle. It is my own fault, I wasn’t paying attention – I fear it might be broken.”

Darcy wasted no time in checking her injury, his fingers gentling their touch when she hissed in pain. “I fear it may be so, yes. I will have the physician summoned post-haste. In the meantime, we need to get you back indoors, before you catch your own death.”

Elizabeth gave a feeble laugh at that. “It is winter no longer, husband dear, and my constitution is not as frail as you suppose it to be.”

“Your hands are cold,” he pointed out, somewhat sternly, and gathered her closer to his chest. “Do you think you can bear the ride back? I promise I will lead the horse as gently as I can.”

“Take me home, Fitzwilliam,” she replied simply, didn’t hesitate when he indicated she should put her arms around his neck.

.

The doctor had come and gone, and Elizabeth was now resting in her chambers. Darcy paused momentarily before knocking at the door, wondering whether his presence would be welcome at all; he was invited in, much to his relief, and immediately commandeered the chair that had been left at her bedside. Most likely sensing that her presence was no longer required, the maid curtsied and promptly left the room.

“How’s your ankle?” he enquired with genuine solicitude, and was rewarded with a warm smile for his pains.

“As well as it can be, I am told. I am only sorry my own foolishness caused you any distress, and dear Georgiana, too.”

Darcy was silent for a moment, considering his next words. “Elizabeth, I – I can scarcely conceive how such an accident might have happened, as I well know how fond you are of walking. I beg you to tell me, were you – preoccupied, or perchance upset, because of something I have done?”

He could see her searching for a conciliatory reply before her eyes filled with tears, and she was forced to give up the pretence of calm. “It is very noble of you to try and shift the blame on yourself, my love, but I – I know I cannot deny the truth any longer.”

“What truth? Elizabeth, please, you’re scaring me.”

She allowed him to grasp her hand between his own, let out a shuddering breath as her shoulders drooped, her gaze no longer meeting his. “That I am a poor excuse for a wife, and you would have been much better off without me.”

He gasped in horror, squeezing her hand with unnecessary vigour. “You cannot seriously believe such – such nonsense. I remember very vividly how meaningless my life was when I thought I had wasted my every chance at gaining your affections; I would much rather die than be forced to go through it all over again.”

Elizabeth was crying in earnest by now, and he gingerly moved to the edge of her bed the better to put his arms around her. “I do not know what is wrong with me, Fitzwilliam. You have to believe me, I have tried – I have been praying every day that I might find the strength to be a proper wife to you.”

“You are my wife, Elizabeth. Nothing could ever change that. I – I won’t hide it would be difficult for me, but I swear it upon my honour – one word from you, and we shall never need to share a bed again.”

“That is not a sacrifice you ought to be required to make,” she sniffled. “And I still wish to bear your children, besides.”

Instinctively, he tightened his hold on her. “I would love nothing better than for you to be the mother of my children, my love. But even that – I would still be content to spend the rest of our lives together, just the two of us, and let any son or daughter of Georgiana’s inherit Pemberley instead.”

“You are too good for me, Fitzwilliam,” she murmured softly, and he felt her relax into his arms. “I feel sure you shall make an excellent father someday.”

His heart suddenly full of longing for a child bearing both his and Elizabeth’s features, he pressed an affectionate kiss on her temple. Regardless of his own inclination and wishes, he would stand by his promise, and never seek her out again unless she expressly desired him to. He felt sure he would not come to regret his decision, so long as he still had her by his side.

[minisoysquares]

cut out all the ropes and let me fall - Chapter 1 - minisoysquares (JenovaVII) - 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian [Archive of Our Own]

Chapters: 1/3

Fandom: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: He Tian/Mo Guanshan (19 Days)

Characters: Mo Guanshan (19 Days), He Tian (19 Days)

Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Chapter Related, Coda, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Aftermath of Violence, Language, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Pre-Slash, Post Chapter 371

Series: Part 20 of 19 Days Missing Scenes | Chapter Codas | Inspired by Official / Fan Art

Summary:

(Post ch. 371)

Taking in his sorry state, He Tian took a step forward and Mo Guan Shan couldn't help it - he flinched.

In a flash, He Tian’s face was a pinboard of unbridled rage.

“I'll kill him,” he rasped and turned to go do just that.

Post ch 371 visceral reaction ficlet - editing and posting to ao3 later. This is just the beginning because I'll obviously be squeezing all the hurt/comfort I can out of these beautiful tragic boys on the next part.

Oxian's take/canon is gonna be superb, I'm certain - and this isn't even worth typing, in comparison - but I just had to exorcise my thoughts.

[aerodaltonimperial]

[ thumb ] sender starts gently caressing receiver's knuckles with their thumb

(I need some mental stimulation so have a ficlet?)

It's the prickly sensation that snakes down his spine that's actually the worst of things. Contrary to popular belief, it isn't the touch itself so much as the visceral gut reaction to it, the waves of discomfort he can't fight, and the way the whole interaction ends up pooling in his belly, a heavy stone. Hook doesn't avoid touch because he hates the touch itself; he avoids it because he hates the way it makes him feel afterwards when his skin gels and gums and slides across his limbs like an ill-fitting coat.

Which is why he's surprised when, as he sits in the locker room struggling to bandage his split knuckles with the other hand, a weight creaks down on the bench as fingers reach for his. He's too shell-shocked to react, too punch-drunk to catch the situation as it unfolds, operating a beat behind. Danhausen curls his hand around Hook’s and takes the wrapping, unwinding half of it to start over again.

Hook's whole body clenches. Surely Danhausen knows this, has heard the locker room talk: no one touches Hook and gets away with it. Their strange partnership is new, but Danhausen has ears. He should have picked up on this undercurrent.

Clearly, he hasn't, because he holds Hook’s hand with an almost infinite gentleness as he continues circling the bandage. "Hook did well out there today. But he needs someone to assist with the bumps and bruises that come with."

Hook is still waiting for the onslaught of misery that has, as of yet, failed to materialize, and that alone is enough to throw him. His tongue swells. He shakes his head, hopes that it's enough to convey that he doesn't have anyone for this. That he's never had anyone for this.

Danhausen seems to understand. His expression softens when he meets Hook’s gaze, fingers stilling just a bit in his ministrations. "Danhausen does not mind doing it."

And it's the fucking weirdest thing, because Hook doesn't mind Danhausen doing it, either. His skin hasn't been set aflame; his nerves aren't frayed and exposed. His body has failed to react as usual beneath someone else's hands, and Hook doesn't understand why.

Danhausen is quiet, concentrating. And then, lower, as though he fears someone else overhearing, he adds, "If Hook would be amenable to this, of course."

Five minutes ago, Hook would have punched him in response. Now, he can't breathe from his spot on the bench, because his body has finally begun to react, and it's...nice. His chest uncurls and his muscles unclench. Danhausen finishes the wrapping and ties the end before flipping Hook’s other hand over, seemingly to check his knuckles there, too. He runs his thumbs over the ridges, the rough skin, the scrapes that have gone pink.

It's nothing. It's less than nothing, a brush of skin against skin. It's also so fucking intimate Hook might combust. When Danhausen raises his eyes again, they are ringed with a thousand things Hook can't put a name to: hooded and dark.

"Yes," Hook whispers. His voice sounds awful, all hoarse and flayed. He's two minutes behind the conversation because his reply got lodged in his throat.

But once again, Danhausen understands. He just does that, over and over. He smiles, the slow sort that begins small and widens until it's pulled his cheeks taut, the kind that claims his whole face. "Okay."

Hook's never had anybody backstage to patch him up after the matches, but he thinks, wildly, off-kilter, that if this is what it feels like, he understands why everyone else does.

[ticklefits]

OOoh, how about a ficlet / dabble with Kirishima and Bakugou with prompt # 8, if you want? :D

30 tickle prompts | kiribaku | #8: "Don't you dare." | @just-open-the-fridge-yo ♡

☆ ☆ ☆

slowly, but certainly, kirishima is beginning to see just how important his quirk is for the type of hero he wants to be. he is a shield; a pillar of strength and protection to those around him and with his hardening quirk, he's able to take on the worst of the worst and still come out the the other side swinging. it's this quirk that first caught bakugou's eye when he saw it in action and when kirishima displayed that power, proven time and time again his stalwart determination and drive to take on anything and everything in order to help others, bakugou knew this kid was going to be a mighty hero. a hero worth keeping his sights on.

but, there are cons to kirishima's quirk, the same as all quirks. the biggest flaw of it is one he's kept a secret ever since he realized it, and so far, the only person he's revealed it to is bakugou. it's times like that that kirishima is so grateful for bakugou being the extremely private person that he is, because he knows his boyfriend isn't a blabbermouth like SOME people ( mina and denki ) and the secrets shared between them are always locked safe. but that doesn't mean that, sometimes, when an opportunity presents itself, bakugou doesn't jump at the chance to take advantage of that specific flaw.

like right now, while he's got kirishima trapped underneath him on his bed, almost smothering him with the weight of his body ( bakugou's muscular, but still pretty slender, so it's not as if it's too much of an issue, especially considering that kirishima is just a little bit bigger than him ) and the redhead suffers a visceral twitch when bakugou's fingers absentmindedly stroke along his sides while the other hand scrolls along his phone. he hopes to god that bakugou didn't see that reaction, but bakugou sees everything because he's bakugou, and the way those stupid, pretty cardinal eyes of his look up at kirishima and just stare. in the same breath, the corners of his stupid, pretty lips perk and kirishima's entire stomach drops into his legs.

"katsuki," the sturdy hero warns, but bakugou is completely, obviously, unphased.

"y'know, i'm kinda surprised at myself for not noticing this shit sooner, eijirou." he bites back, playful, soft, all too smug for kirishima's liking.

"mhm, mhm - dunno what you're talking about." kirishima has never been a talented liar, something he hasn't ever necessarily needed to be good at, besides in situations like this.

"oh yeah? that's weird, cause i coulda sworn you told me a few weeks ago about how stupid fuckin' hypersensitive you are as a backlash to using your quirk so much."

kirishima swallows in a dry throat and nearly chokes.

bakugou grins, setting his phone down to the side of the bed in order to regain use of both hands, which plant themselves gently against kirishima's sides. the little jump under his fingertips causes bakugou's heart to flutter, his boyfriend is so damn cute.

a shade of red to match his hair paints over the skin of kirishima's cheeks, worrying his bottom lip into his mouth to fight off the smile that's spreading across his lips, knowing damn well it's only going to encourage bakugou to go on ( as if he doesn't totally want it too ).

"don't you dare." he releases a final warning, much too lighthearted and on the verge of a giggle to be taken seriously.

bakugou's eyes widen and he shoots kirishima an incredulous look - one that absolutely says who the hell do you think you're talking to right now? he doesn't even need to say anything, because his expression tells it all, and he gives kirishima not an ounce of mercy for his insolence when he digs his waiting fingers into his sides.

the reaction is instantaneous; boundless, raspy, and delighted laughter pouring from kirishima's grinning, wide open mouth. he kicks at the blanket underneath him, hands shoving at bakugou's shoulders with barely any strength to it, because they both know he has no desire to escape.

"wahahAHAIT-! waitwaitwaHAHAHA-! KAHAHATSUKIHIHI!" kirishima howls, the entirety of his visage flushing that beautiful red.

"nah, no way, i wanna know who you thought you were orderin' around two seconds ago." he taunts him, flaunting that murderous grin he likes to wear, that kirishima loves to see even when it's focused on him, his fingers already beginning to travel towards his stomach, but not without hitting all the best landmarks along the way first, the secret little areas on his sides and ribs that make kirishima snort or squeak.

"plEHEHEASE! NOHOHO- CRAHAHAP, I'M SOHOHORRY―!" he has nothing to apologize for, he knows this, but he also knows that bakugou tends to show a tiny bit more mercy when you just tell him what he wants to hear.

unfortunately for kirishima, it isn't an apology bakugou's after, not after basking in his damn adorable glee. he wants to make kirishima squeal.

which, as soon as he finally moves his ticklish assault to his boyfriend's stomach, digging and scribbling into the softer parts of his waist, he's rewarded with just that. kirishima's squirming kicks up a notch as well, bucking hard enough that bakugou has to reposition himself after being shifted all askew.

"bAHAHABY― BAHAHAHABY, NO MOHOHOHORE!" aw, shit. bakugou's face joins kirishima's in color, as it is annoyingly want to do whenever he hears kirishima call him baby. there's just something so tender and fuzzy about it coming from the redhead, like he fills every single syllable with as much love as his enormous heart can muster and it makes bakugou want to do anything and everything he asks of him.

so, as much as bakugou wants to continue and further reduce the love of his life into a blushing, tomato red pile of laughter, his fingers do finally begin to slow their movements to a full halt, simply resting against the clothed skin. kirishima's loud mirth dies down rto bubbly little giggles and he fully melts into the mattress underneath them, pliant and tired and delighted.

bakugou's eyes roll but there's a fondness sewn into it, moving to plop right on top of kirishima, the cheeky little shit, who responds with a groan and a chuckle of "ohohoof.. mercy, katsuki, im still in the recovery stage."

"oh whatever, you were totally asking for it." but he hides a grin behind his arm, only peeking out at the corners, just for kirishima.

"we'll see who's asking for it for next time," kirishima teases and relishes in the temporary flash of anticipation that twinkled in bakugou's eyes. "you're lucky i love you so much."

the blond exposes his smile then, crooked and warm, because how could he not be when he's with kirishima? in a voice softer than before, he answers, " ― love you too."

[the-pale-goddess]

How would Ethan react if your MC slapped his ass as she was passing him in the corridor?

Thank you for thinking of me and my fictional couple, dear Anon! Please, accept this tiny ficlet of a response ❤️

_____

Fully engrossed in updating his demanding schedule for the upcoming week, Doctor Ramsey leans against the wall on an empty corridor, his clear focus nudged by the familiar, penetrative staccato clicking of stilettos.

In a flash, the sweet menace is right beside him, a resounding slap on his ass denying him the chance to acknowledge her presence. Though he’s unable to control the visceral thrill taking him hostage, he’s successful in concealing the damage it’s done.

The minx excitedly awaits a very specific reaction, but it’s an unabated game he has no intention of losing—not even to the creamy vanilla enveloping him ruthlessly and his pounding heart betraying his innermost feelings.

He lets out a deep groan, his eyes unyieldingly focused on the screen as he taps through the app.

„As I recall quite vividly, that’s not the sound I heard from you last night.” Tiffany teases, openly trying to summon his gaze.

Undeterred by the arousing memory of the event mentioned, Ethan clings to his matter-of-factness. „We’re at work, Addams.”

„Are we, really?” She covers her mouth with a hand, her every word dripping with sarcasm.

His stern gaze finally lands on her face, her ever-present glow and the most dazzling smirk almost demolish his composure.

„Some semblance of self-restraint is not only expected, but urged upon.”

She steps closer—so close Ethan falls victim to her soft whisper as her slender fingers wander up his forearm. „My urge to push your buttons is much stronger than whatever is expected of us, Doctor.”

He clears his throat, staring into her enchanting emerald eyes. „Shouldn’t you be someplace else, Doctor?”

„I’m just passing through. Thought I’d say hi to my boss.” Her hand finally rests on his biceps, squeezing ever so slightly as his muscles tense under her touch. „Are we still meeting for lunch later?”

„Of course. We’ll eat in my office today.”

They exchange a knowing look, the corners of their mouths form into shameless grins announcing the highly anticipated plot twist.

„Oh? Fancy something spicy?”

„Just the usual.”

Ethan’s thumb brushes her lower lip for one split second before Tiffany gives him a challenging wink as they part to stroll away in opposite directions.

„I’ll make sure to check on your self-restraint then.”

_____

I’m terribly sorry for the late reply! Life’s still absolutely hectic and exhausting. But worry not, I’ll deal with my tumblr backlog…eventually kdhdkhdkb Thank you for supporting my nonsense ❤️

[thegirl20]

Okay but you know how some students ‘admire’ Yennefer what is their reaction to Tissaia and Yennefer getting married??

I couldn’t think of a whole ficlet about this, so have a little mini thing. 

----- Yennefer is making her way down one of the winding corridors when she hears her name being spoken around the corner ahead. Coming to a stop, she augments her hearing a little so as to make out the words more clearly.

“-just jealous, Glacella.”

There’s a scoff, Yennefer assumes from Glacella. “Hardly.” There’s a slight pause where her companions attempt to dispute this. “I mean it! I don’t even think she’s as pretty as everyone says she is.”

“That’s not what you said before!” 

“You said she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen! You said her purple eyes made you feel all funny down be-”

Yennefer bites her lip to keep from laughing out loud

“Okay, fine. Maybe I used to think she was pretty. That was before I realised she’s just as bad as the rest of them. Worse, perhaps. Because she’s a hypocrite into the bargain!”

Frowning, Yennefer cocks her head. This isn’t generally an accusation that’s levelled at her. Headstrong, impulsive, infuriating, yes. And those are when Tissaia’s in a good mood. Hypocrisy, though, isn’t really her thing. She tends to be upfront about her feelings and backs them up with actions.

“A hypocrite?” One of Glacella’s friends asks. “How so?”

“Yes, exactly,” Yen murmurs under her breath. “How so?”

Glacella laughs, but it’s entirely fake. “Remember when she burst into your room and started talking shit about this place? We all thought she was so amazing, but now she’s in with the bricks like the rest of them. And remember how she was all ‘fuck that old bag’? Well, now we know she was fucking that old bag.”

All of them laugh at that and Yennefer’s teeth clench at hearing her words parrotted back. Deciding she’s heard enough, she steps around the corner. Two of the girls see her immediately, their eyes widening in horror. But the main culprit, Glacella, has her back to her and is seemingly blind to her friends’ panic. 

“I mean, how desperate do you need to be to marry your old teacher, eh? And I mean old. Tissaia’s been around for centuries. ” She laughs again, the same false tinkling sound. “She probably had to send a chimney sweep up her fanny before they-”

“Glacella!” One of the others finally decides to interject.

“No, let her continue,” Yennefer says, causing Glacella to spin around, eyes wide and cheeks flaming red. Yen folds her arms. “What was it you were saying about my wife?”  

It still gives Yennefer a visceral thrill to say those two words. 

“N-nothing, Lady Yennefer,” Glacella stutters, dipping her head and averting her eyes. “I was just- we were just-”

“Gossiping,” Yennefer supplies. “About the person who holds your whole future in her hands.”

“Please don’t tell the Rectoress!” Glacella begs, taking a step closer to Yennefer then thinking better of it, returning to her demure stance. “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean anything by it!” 

Yennefer lifts her chin, looking down her nose at them. “I showed you what happens to girls who don’t ascend, didn’t I?” All three of them nod. “You’d do well to keep that fate in mind the next time you spew hateful words about the person who makes that decision.”

“Y-yes, Lady Yennefer,” Glacella says. “I promise I’ll never say anything bad about anyone ever again.”

“Well, let’s be realistic,” Yennefer says. “Just curb your tongue about Rectoress De Vries, and I shall be satisfied.”

“Yes, yes of course,” the girl babbles, clearly willing to agree to anything.

“Good.” Yen nods down the corridor. “You may go. And you’d do well to study extra hard tonight. I may feel the need to recommend an extra test of your abilities tomorrow.”

The three of them scamper off, the other two berating Glacella for causing them extra study time, even though Yen has no intention of suggesting a test. She watches their departure, and turns to make her own, rounding the corner and letting out a yelp when she sees Tissaia standing there, hands clasped at her stomach, a soft smile on her lips. 

“You need to start wearing a bell or something,” Yen mutters, tilting her head in question when Tissaia approaches her silently. Going up on her toes, she presses a gentle kiss to Yennefer’s lips.

“Thank you,” Tissaia says.

“For what?” Yen asks. 

“Defending my honour.” Tissaia rolls her eyes. “Not that it was needed. I’ve heard much worse said about me by students.” 

“Oh?” Yennefer growls, grasping Tissaia’s hips and pulling her close, wrapping her arms around her. “Give me their names and locations immediately.” 

Tissaia laughs, batting at Yennefer’s shoulder. “Ridiculous girl.”

“You married this ridiculous girl,” Yennefer points out. “So what does that make you?”

Tissaia purses her lips, as if she’s thinking hard, but a smile soon breaks over them as she answers Yen’s question with a single word.

“Happy.”

And there’s really nothing Yennefer can do in response but kiss her. 

So she does. 

[ltleflrt]

Ltleflrt’s Writing Year in Review

Once again I felt like I could do more this year, so this is the theme for the decade.  But I got SO MUCH DONE too!  And more than I did last year, so I’m happy to see an improvement :D

Total 2019 Word Count: 215,491 Total 2019 Kudos: 7,581 Total 2019 Hits: 63,620

My 2019 Fics:

Dreaming in Digital: 173,818 words (44,142 from 2019)

When Dean finds a deactivated sex bot, he knows it’s his lucky day.

Set in a Cyberpunk world where global warming and climate change has driven most of the human population into domed cities, Sam and Dean hunt rogue tech and science experiments gone wrong in the shadows, protecting the lives of those the government doesn't care about anymore. On a trip to the dump to scavenge for valuables Dean finds Castiel, an Angel Industries sex bot, which is worth his weight in credits. But when he turns the sex bot on, he learns that Castiel is sentient.

Artificial Intelligence is illegal, and for good reason, but Cas doesn't put off dangerous vibes. That doesn't stop Sam from researching his creators while Dean's off making friends with the android. If there's someone out there creating a robot army unconstrained by the 3 rules of robotics, Sam's going to make sure the operation is shut down for good.

Castiel just wants to exist. He wants to read and work in the Winchester's greenhouse and have movie nights with Dean. But he also wants to understand. Himself. His unexpected reaction to Dean. What it it means to feel.

I started this fic in February 2018, and finished it in April 2019.  As of this post, it is the longest thing I’ve ever written.  And definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever written.  You know that saying about blood, sweat, and tears?  So true. (the blood was from a cat scratch when Kitty Cas tried to jump in my lap while I was writing and I got clawed, but it counts!)  I am proud of the results, even if I got tired of it and cut out a bunch of stuff I wanted to do.  2020 goal is some timestamps!

Where The Heart Lives: 12,876 words

Home is where the heart is, but it's nice to have a cozy little love nest too.

A collection of related short ficlets without a plot. Just small glimpses of Dean and Castiel being happy and in love.

This was a 30 day art challenge called Cottagetober, that I turned into writing prompts and added a 31st day since it was an October thing and I wanted a ficlet for every day.  Writing these fluffy snippets every day made me very happy, and I think I might do something similar in 2020 if I can find a list that sparks joy.

Reunited: 2,681 words

Castiel has changed a lot in the 10 years since he was a shy bookworm in High School. But it seems like few of his previous schoolmates have grown up much, if the revival of the rumor mill as soon as he walked in is any indication.

Dean Winchester certainly grew up, though. And he seems far more interested in Castiel than the rumors.

Written as a prompt from  @melilovesmakeup-blog, this little fic spawned much joy, and inspired a prequel from @bendingsignpost, which is honestly so dang flattering.  I love this little universe, and I’m heckin’ glad I randomly decided to take prompts.

Cloud Nine: 2,254 words

“Hey, angel.” Dean’s voice is warm with love and pride, and it makes Castiel squirm in his bindings. “You think you can take more?”

I love finding new ways to write non-traditional a/b/o!  One day I was driving around, and thought you know what I need?  Dom!Omega!Dean and sub!Alpha!Cas.  Not a lot of it out there yet, so had to write it myself.  And I really want to revisit this and write a prequel.  I Have Ideas!

The Git (you) Up: 1,323 words

Dean's been crushing on his new neighbor across the street from afar. When he gets an invitation to a neighborhood BBQ, he's finally going to meet the hottie. Now if only he can get the courage to talk to him.

I saw a ridiculously cute video on the internet and I was inspired!

Burning For You: 1,998 words 

Due to their busy schedules, Sam and Eileen hire a wedding planner. As Best Man, Dean steps in to help as much as he can. The fact that Castiel is gorgeous and immune to the dangers of Dean's touch is a bonus.

Another prompt!  I do prompts like never, but I’m so glad I did and got this one.  I had an immediate, and visceral need to write this fic as soon as I saw the ask, so thank you very much @alessariel!  This prompt was for both of us! :D

To Build A Bower: 633 words

Dean decorates his home to attract a mate.

Look.  Look.  I just really fuckin’ love bower birds okay?  Okay.  Thanks for the prompt @zarauthforsaken!

Special Delivery:  2,012 words

Castiel accidentally gets a package meant for his sexy neighbor.

Another prompt! From @queenandthree <3 

Fun story about this fic, the premise was originally going to be used in Satin and Sawdust, but got discarded.  I’m thrilled I found a reason to use it in a short story!

Work Life Balance: 2,227 words

As leader of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, one of Dean's duties is to balance Order with Entropy, and enforce the will of the Fates. When Castiel's nature as the demigod of War urges him to destroy more than he should, he seeks out Dean's council.

A prompt from @kazshero!  I have had Four Horsemen headcanons for years, and could never come up with a story for it until I got this prompt.  Super grateful for it!  Death!Dean is my jam :D

The Menagerie: 1,452 words

Baby the Pegasus is giving birth to her first foal. Dean and Castiel are there to help her through it.

A prompt fill for @nickelkeep!  An excuse to turn Baby into a pegasus!  FLUFF! <3

A Trip To The Beach: 734 words

Camp Counselors Dean and Cas take the kids on a field trip to the beach.

Yes, this was definitely based on a conversation I had with @jupiterjames.  When I got the prompt from my bestie, I *had* to make it about us lol

Quoth the... Wait that's not a Raven: 930 words

Dean, Castiel, and Sam are paranormal investigators. Tonight's haunted spot is a Pet Store.

A prompt from @purgatory-jar!  And to be honest, I may revisit this idea with something longer someday.  Writing TFW as paranormal investigators is too much fun to pass up :D

Hunter's Caress: 142,229 words (WIP)

Castiel Jameson won't rest until the outlaw who murdered his brother faces justice, and Dean Winchester is the only man alive who can help him track the villain down. Some say Winchester is a cold-blooded killer himself; others say he'd been wronged his whole life. All Castiel knows is that the desire glinting in Dean's green eyes is even more dangerous than he is. Castiel fights to keep his mind on business, but during the long nights on the trail with the dangerously handsome hunter he finds himself dreaming of yielding to Dean's illicit kisses and losing himself in lawless passion.

Dean Winchester is about to hang when Castiel saves his neck with his crazy plan. But dying might be better than spending day and night playing nursemaid to such an infuriating city slicker. He appreciates the stubborn detective's desire for justice, but he'd appreciate Cas a lot more if he'd stop being a lawman long enough to just be a man. He certainly has all the right equipment. Dean aches to run his fingers through Castiel's dark hair, yearns to know how Castiel's golden skin will feel against him. And before the coming of the next dawn, Dean vows to teach him the pleasures and sweet rewards of a Hunter's Caress.

I’ve had this idea since the first year I started writing Destiel fic, and it’s been sitting in my WIP folder since 2014.  I don’t want to be done writing Destiel, but I’ve been struggling with my writing for about 2 years now, and I’m afraid it will only get worse when the show ends and the fandom starts to slow down without new content.  I figure if I don’t do this story now, it’ll never get done.  And that’s unacceptable, because this has been on my mind for far too long to let it never see the light of day.  Of all of my stories, this one is the most For Myself thing I’ve ever written.  And based on the way it’s going, it’s probably going to overtake Dreaming in Digital as my longest fic by the time it’s done lol

[annerbhp]

If an idea for a drabble strikes you, do you feel a pull to write it through your armistice view of Harry or Ginny or through canon? For example, if you got a prompt for a scene of Hinny at the grocery store, are you instinctively writing canon Hinny or Armistice Hinny?

I think I still usually default to not-Changeling!Ginny. Mostly because the idea of writing and AU of my own AU feels almost...I dunno. Strangely narcissistic. Or masturbatory. Which I am not sure it at all is, but that’s my visceral reaction. So I usually default to not-Changeling!Ginny (which does not necessarily mean canon!Ginny).

Part of that also, I think, is that Ginny’s core characteristics and inner self is still pretty similar, no matter to AU. The thing I only miss being able to leverage are Ginny’s specific abilities she has in The Changeling, but more than that, the OCs that only exist in that universe. It’s usually me wanting to reference The Parlor or Tobias or something that makes me go, man, I’d love to put this in a Changeling AU.

ALSO, I was thinking about this ask before I went to bed and after I got woken up at 3am and couldn’t go back to sleep I started dreaming up a ficlet about Harry and Ginny in a grocery store. No, I didn’t get up and write it. ;) But I might just jot down and idea or two...

[greyias]

wip tag meme

Take three (or less if you are a responsible writer who is not all over the place ;) ) pieces you’ve been working on in the past few weeks and post a paragraph of each and give a short description and tell people why they should look forward to it! (praise yourself like you deserve it!)

tag your fellow author friends for a peak into their heads!

Tagged by: @kunstpause -- thank you for the tag!

WIP No 1:

Although he wasn’t sure that any of the romantic entanglements quite met the definition of that term before he’d met one very frustrating, odd, and wonderful Jedi. A Jedi who he was certain wasn’t hiding something — mostly because to hide something, a person had to make an attempt to conceal their behavior. And either Grey had never learned the art of subterfuge or didn’t realize that her face turned the shade of wasaka berries whenever she saw him. Or both. And whatever conversation she was having seemed to dry up the moment he walked into a room.

A short-ish fic that explains “The Skytrooper Helmet Incident” that I’ve hinted at throughout several stories.

Why you should look forward to it: It should hopefully be a mostly humorous, fluffy piece overall, but it also delves into a bit of Grey’s insecurities when it comes to the relationship that Theron is... kind of oblivious to.

WIP No 2:

Granted, the day had dragged on because most of said properties they’d looked at here on Rishi he’d personally eliminated spending their hard-earned credits on — but Theron had a very particular list of things he expected out of a home. Or vacation home. Or whatever this was. (He probably shouldn’t make grand, romantic promises in the midst of honeymoon bliss — all of the blood definitely wasn’t rushing to his brain. But that was another issue entirely.) Still. He had some basic expectations for a residence, like: running water, sound infrastructure, no visible rust or mold, decent HoloNet access, lack of backstabbing pirates as next door neighbors, possible escape routes if things went to hell, and so on. From the looks he was getting from his beloved bride, you’d think he was being unreasonable. Instead of, you know, sane. And forward thinking.

The Adorkables Buy a Summer Home. Also there’s a turtle.

Why you should look forward to it: When Grey met Speedy, and Theron wound up buying beachfront property because of it. Pure fluff, inspired by this piece I commissioned from Dingoat.

WIP No 3:

Theron approached slowly and cautiously, as if any sudden movement might spook her. If there had been anyone for kilometers around to watch the scene, they might have thought he was attempting to calm a skittish orback rather than his wife.

A short reaction ficlet that was inspired by one of the dailies during the Dantooine event, and an explanation for why I had such a visceral reaction to it during the PTS stream. 

Why you should look forward to it: If you like angsty angst and supportive spy husbands, this might be for you. There’s also a little bit of delving into Grey’s backstory, both concerning Dantooine and her time as Vitiate’s Thrall. 

Tagging: @keldae, @lumielles, @captainderyn, @queen-scribbles, and @for-the-flail

and any of my writer peeps I may have missed bc of scatterbrain rn

[bucksomecontent-blog]

We wish you a fluffy Christmas...

Here is my entry for @buckychrist​‘s Christmas Writing Challenge!  Just a little fluffy ficlet. This is the first fic I’ve ever actually written, so feedback would be loved <3  

Pairing: Established relationship Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 751

Warnings: Light swearing, gooey fluff, slight reference to sex.

(Prompt is bolded)

“Die Hard is the best Christmas movie and I won’t hear a word saying otherwise,” Y/N said firmly, flicking through Netflix.

“What the hell? Have you even seen Love Actually, that shit is unBEATable! Honestly, it’s the most heartwarming, charming, Christmas-spirit-y movie ever made. Die Hard doesn’t even count, it’s an action flick!” an impassioned voice exclaimed from behind the kitchen counter.

Y/N flipped herself around to stare incredulously. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Bucky shrugged as he came around to the sofa. “Being set during December does not a Christmas movie make, sweetheart.”

You stood up to meet him, doing your death glare. “Fight me.”

“Such unnecessary aggression,” he winked, “Have a little Christmas spirit, doll!” He smoothly produced a glass of…. something, and thrust it into your hands. Eggnog, maybe? But you didn’t think eggnog was supposed to be so… textured.

“Oh god, what’s this?” You wrinkled your nose suspiciously.

Bucky took a step closer and grinned wickedly. “This, my friend, is Christmas spirit.” You clinked glasses and took a tentative sip, while Bucky chose to take a big glug. Immediate regret.

You spat the drink straight back into the glass with a gasp, your reaction too visceral to worry about hurt feelings. “Oh,” you coughed, “Oh no.”

Bucky’s eyes watered as he swallowed his mouthful. “Come on, I think it’s alright…” He insisted, lip quivering as he forced himself to take another gulp of the drink.

You tried (and failed) to repress a giggle at his stubborn refusal to let you steal his thunder. He’d spent a long time in the kitchen, following an internet article on the world’s best eggnog (“Why do they need to tell me their entire life story before I get the recipe? They’re supposed to a recipe blog not an insipid anecdote blog!) while listening to Slade’s Merry Christmas Everybody on repeat. Just to be a prick, the only lyrics he pretended to know were “Are you hanging up your stocking on the wall?” He’d driven you (and himself, if he were honest about it) half insane by the time he’d finished. After all that, he wasn’t about to let a simple thing like taste stop him from enjoying his cocktail.

“This doesn’t distract me from your terrible taste in movie, by the way. I can’t believe I let myself fall in love with Mr Soppy Romance Film,” you teased, trying not to smile.

In one movement, he flopped onto the sofa, pulling you down onto his lap and putting your glasses on the coffee table. “Oh, so you’re in love with me, are you, sweetheart?” he purred, arm whirring softly as he smoothed his hands down your back.

“Not for long if you keep ruining Christmas,” you threw back as you grabbed a pillow and starting wapping him.

“There you go again with the aggression!” He laughed out loud, grabbing the cushion off of you and chucking it across the room.

As he said this, you absent-mindedly grabbed your glass and took a sip, before remembering too late why you weren’t drinking it. “Jesus, this hasn’t gotten any better,” you breathed, putting it back on the table with a firm clink. “I can’t believe you ruined Christmas music, movies, AND cocktails all in one night!” You draped your arms around his neck, putting on your best plaintive expression.

Bucky gazed at you with those startlingly clear blue eyes, affection and mirth shining out. “I’m awfully sorry, doll. What can I do to make it up to you? Something to make this night not such a bust…”

“Well sergeant, I might have me some ideas,” You lowered your voice conspiratorially, running your fingers through his dark, oh-so-soft hair. Your lips met, sending tingling shooting through you (you thought it would be less startling after so many times, but kissing him never got old), before he pulled back from you a moment later.

“I can still taste it…” Bucky grimaced, “The eggnog.”

“I thought you didn’t mind it so much, stud?”

“And I thought you wanted me to treat you real sweet tonight, but if it’s gonna be like that….” He began.

“Let’s go brush our teeth,” you interrupted quickly, grabbing your chortling boyfriend and pulling him with you into the bathroom. He stood behind you distractingly as you wet your toothbrush, whispering everything he wanted to do to you as he wrapped his arms around your front. The two of you ended up staying in that bathroom for longer than planned…

[thedeevirus]

Could I request a nygmobblepot ficlet with this prompt please 8. “Very little slips past me these days.”. Thank you!

Anonymous said:Hi, could you write anything on a) “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” b) “I’m never letting you go.” (preferebly dark and said by Oswald) or something cute with the two of them being found out by the GCPD when Ed still works there?

buntesfuenkchen said:51. The jittery, sick feeling when you can’t do anything… Maybe some Angst nygmobblepot with happy end? 🙂

Enjoy!

Added to Nygmobblepot Ficlet Collection on AO3

***

Ed tries to whistle nonchalantly as he busies himself with filing reports. Wincing athow loud it seems in the confines of the GCPD forensic lab, he purses his lipsto silence the wavering sound.Even as he switches to muttering the facts and figures on the reports aloud, hecan hear the echoes of the conversation he had shared with Oswald the previous night rising to the fore.

‘What’swrong Ed?’ Oswald whispers in his head.

Alanguid voice heavy with sleep. Ed can almost feel the warm weight of Oswald’sarm around him, the ticklish sensation of his breath on his neck, Oswald’s cockpoking him in the back even as it softened, the blankets tangled around theirankles, the perfumed smell of the lube in the air mingling with the salty tangof sweat-

‘Whatmakes you think there’s something wrong?’ Ed asks, not noticing how he repeatsthe question under his breath.

Puttingthe folders down, he begins to clean his glasses. He can feel Oswald’s eyes onhim just as they were the previous night even though Oswald is not there withhim now. They shine like glass in the dim light of Ed’s apartment as he scrutinisesEd’s overtly cheerful tone.

‘Idon’t need informants to know something’s bothering you’, Oswald says, ‘Verylittle slips past me these days’.

Ed triesnot to tell Oswald. But the feeling of those fingers soothingly tracing alonghis back and arm is akin to drawing poison from a wound.

‘Just… stupid things people are saying at work’, Ed recites.

Hefeels like a child again, the verbal jabs of bullies akin to physical blowsleaving him reeling and shocked. Their snide side glances and laughter is likeinvasive insects on his skin. Insects that burrow down deep inside and squirmin his stomach whenever he thinks about work.

‘What kind of things?’ Oswald asks.His tone is too affectedly casual. Ed looks over his shoulder at him and is metwith the watchful eyes of a predator. Ed imagines lethal claws uncurling andswallows hard even as he plasters a fake smile on his face.

‘It doesn’t matter-‘ he begins.

‘What kind of things’.

It’snot a question and Ed fights down the urge to flinch even as his cock pulses atOswald’s dangerous tone.

‘Thatyou’re just using me’, Ed says weakly and tries to stifle a compulsive, shakylaugh.When said aloud it sounds ridiculous. What he and Oswald have is special: a bondforged in blood. Someone else’s blood.But when Oswald does not laugh with him, Ed clamps his jaw shut to stop the writhingimaginary insects in his stomach from bursting out of his mouth.

‘Doyou think that’s true?’ Oswald asks, tone calm and measured.

Hissoft voice makes cold sweat break out on Ed’s skin. It’s so at odds with thepassionate growls that had issued from his throat when he had been fuckinghimself raw on Ed’s cock a few minutes before.

‘Ihope it’s not’, Ed says, feeling his throat constrict, seemingly in an attemptto stop him confessing his fear to the predator in his bed, ‘It’s just I’venever had anyone care about me and…I guess I’m just scared’.

‘Of me?’

‘No’, Ed answers truthfully, ‘That one day I’ll wake up andyou’ll be gone’.

Ed isstartled to notice wet drops on his glasses when he looks down. He reaches upand realises he has been crying. He inhales and exhales as he looks around forsome paper towels to clean his face.He knows why he is crying. He’s surprised he hasn’t started sooner.When he had woken up that morning, Oswald had been gone.

Ed doesn’tknow what’s worse. The feeling that he has perhaps ruined his chance withOswald by casting doubt on their relationship or the horrible, sickening possibilitythat his co-workers have been right on the money. That Oswald has indeed justbeen using Ed for a cheap thrill.

Edcurses as he sees there are no paper towels but the sound of a door opening makeshim start.

‘Takeit easy Nygma’, Officer Eckhart says snidely as he enters, ‘Don’t have a girly fit’.

Ed’s jaw tightens as Eckhart looks over his shoulder. Ed’s keen ears pick up ‘talkin’ to his imaginary friends again’ followed by quiet sniggering.

‘Howcan I help you Officer?’ Ed asks robotically, suddenly extremely interested inthe tabletop.

‘Areyou crying?’ Eckhart asks with audible savage delight.

Eddoesn’t look at him. He can hear giggling from the doorway and realises Eckhartis not alone. He never is. He’s always with his cronies. Ed wonders if perhapsthey suspect his hand in their former compatriot, Dougherty’s, death butswiftly realise they are too unintelligent to make the connection. They’re herefor the same things all monkeys enjoy. Shit slinging and dick measuring.

‘Howcan I help you officer?’ Ed repeats, crossing his hands behind his back,determinedly not wiping at his eyes.

‘Meand the boys’, Eckhart says, rubbing his stubbled chin ponderously in an futilephysical attempt to convey contemplation, ‘We were just wonderin’ aboutsomethin’. Maybe you can help?’

‘Shoot’,Ed says through clenched teeth, eyes drifting to the selection of toolset outto the right of where Eckhart’s hand is resting on the table. The scalpel looksparticularly appealing but Ed has always liked the obvious lethality of abonesaw.

‘Wewere just wonderin’, Eckhart begins but then his composure breaks and heguffaws the rest of the sentence, ‘Do-do you like it when Penguin ri-riddlesyou? Or-or does he like it up the tail f-feathers?!’

Ed flinchesas the tobacco on Eckhart’s breath wafts over him, tainting him. The whole station is poisonous: a nest of vipers. The laughteris deafening in the small room, ringing off the walls and reverberating deepinto Ed’s core. His heartbeat is hammering in his ears and Ed can feel warmwetness on his palm from where his fingernails have cut into his flesh. Ed isso incensed, he can’t speak. He can’t even think. He just reaches for the scalpel…

And realisesthat Eckhart is now laughing alone.

Eckhartrealises too and his chuckles gradually die away. He looks around dumbly and Edsees him freeze. Like someone who has just spotted a large spider on theirbedroom wall.Ed’s heart leaps with relief. He knows only one person could cause such avisceral reaction.

Edsteps forward, the better to see around Eckhart’s bulky frame.

AndOswald is standing in the doorway. His gold, shimmering dress coat reminds Edof a lighthouse on a night time sea and he feels himself being physically drawntowards it. Towards the only person who has ever made him feel safe.

‘What’reyou doin’ here?’ Eckhart asks but his voice has lost his boisterousness. It’s blusterous but Ed sees the sweat break out on Eckhart’s bald head and the shallowway he breathes.

‘Mr Nygma’,Oswald says in a clear voice, ignoring Eckhart, ‘We have business to discuss’.

Heoffers his hand to Ed who takes it without hesitation. When he feels Oswaldsqueeze his fingers, Ed no longer cares about what other people might think.Oswald is here. And Oswald is all that matters.

‘Youcan’t just barge in here and-‘ Eckhart begins but Penguin holds up his otherhand.

Hemakes sure Eckhart is paying attention then clicks his fingers.

Eckhart’sfriends file in like obedient dogs and take up position, encircling theirfellow officer. Their eyes are hard, resolute, but a couple of them have thedecency to avoid eye contact with Eckhart. Eckhart looks at Oswald, confusedand Oswald disdainfully throws him a piece of paper. Ed catches a glimpse ofthe paper before Eckhart snatches it up.It’s a list of female names and addresses.

‘You’rethe only unmarried officer in here Eckhart’, Oswald says, ‘Lucky you’.

Eckhartis breathing heavily now. Ed thinks he should be.Everyone in the room knows what’s about to happen. Ed just hopes they won’t disturbhis filing system before they finish.

‘Please’,Eckhart says hoarsely, ‘Please, I’m sorry-I-I didn’t mean it’.

‘I do’,Oswald says coldly and leads Ed out of the lab.

Asthe door closes behind Ed, he hears the first punch and a choked, weedy noise. Thesound of a jaw being broken. Eckhart’s former cohorts are literally not pullingany punches.

‘Areyou alright?’ Oswald asks as they head for the parking lot.

‘Youarranged all that for me?’ Ed asks as they go down the stairs.

Edhelps Oswald descend, savouring the scent of Oswald’s cologne, picturing itcleansing him of the stink of the GCPD. Oswald smelt of blood and life to him.

‘You’reworth it’, Oswald says simply, sighing gratefully as they take the last stair.

Oswaldstraightens and fixes his coat before they resume walking. Ed spies Oswald’slimo immediately. He notes that Oswald has not let go of his hand once.

‘Haven’tyou realised that I would reduce this whole damn building to rubble if Ithought it would make you smile?’ Oswald asks.

Thefierceness in his eyes makes Ed’s knees feel weak and when Oswald lets go ofhis hand to get into the other side of the car, Ed feels the absence of hisfingers as a physical ache.He climbs in and closes the door. It feels final and he knows he’s not comingback to the GCPD. As he faces Oswald, he feels no sadness. He’s feeling more alive with everymoment.

‘Why?’Ed breathes as the car begins to drive.

Theworld outside the limo windows fades into a blur as Oswald places both hands onEd’s face and draws him close. Ed feels as if his skin is on fire beneathOswald’s fingertips. Sea green eyes fill his vision, hypnotic, alluring and dangerous.

‘Because I don’t care what anyone else thinks’, Oswald says, ‘Ilove you and I’m never letting you go’.

Edknows he means it and it shatters his tenuous grip on his self control. Hegrabs Oswald’s feather like hair and pulls him into a fierce kiss, mewling asOswald begins to ravish his mouth, knocking his glasses askew. Ed pushes backphysically and thrills when Oswald lets him. Before he knows it, he’s kneelingon the limo floor and fiddling with Oswald’s fly, practically purring as Oswald’sencouraging fingers trace through his hair.

‘Promise?’Ed pants thickly as he reaches inside Oswald’s briefs.