#now that i've changed my header for the first time ever

[leonawriter]

When I see the argument "Why does Dante have to be a pre-existing character? Why can't they just be themself/just Dante/a completely original character?" I can't help but feel that the people saying that... aren't really looking at the bigger picture, and especially not of the running themes of Limbus Company, and the way the Sinners' stories go in general.

For one thing, we have had a running tally of times Dante's past has been brought up even outside of the prologue, with them being referred to as having once been "a big shot" and during the Regular Check Up, Hohenheim points out - before being shushed by Faust, which emphasises how big of a deal this was - that Dante is integral to the flow of the world.

They are clearly someone of great importance.

Even not counting any theories on who they are, we ARE going to find out who they used to be. Even at this point, it's an inevitability, due to the nature of the story itself.

Why is that?

Because it's in the nature of Project Moon's works.

In Lobotomy Corporation we are first introduced to the Sephirot, who have all lost their memories and have been programmed to believe that they've only ever worked in the Facility. It takes the Manager (Ayin, often the very one who hurt them in the first place) working with them in order to get them to remember, and then we find out who they used to be. In fact, in the process of finding out who the Sephirot are, we find out that the Manager himself isn't just "Manager X" but he's been Ayin All Along.

In Library of Ruina, we the player are expected to have already gone through Lobotomy Corporation, so we already know who the Librarians and Angela are. Roland, though? Our point of view character is, again, a mystery... who gets slowly unravelled as the game goes on, to the point that the very last thread is only pulled in the endgame.

Now, in Limbus Company, we have Dante. Who has amnesia, which we SAW them do to themself. Judging by what's happened in the past two games, wouldn't it stand to reason that the same applies to them? That over the course of the Cantos, we aren't just finding out more about the Sinners, but also about Dante themself, and no matter who they end up being, we WILL see their original face, AND memories of their past self, sooner or later?

That's only in comparison to the previous two games. If you compare Dante's storyline to that of the other Sinners, the picture I get at least is that all of the Sinners have something that they are effectively running away from, a home they usually don't want to return to, and consequences that are catching up to them.

Let's face it. It's gonna be pretty difficult if the game just goes through all of Dante's storyline and never reveals who they were. Not just narratively, but also for everyone involved. Dante themself has been wondering, too, even if they don't want the information unceremoniously dumped on them.

I've seen some suggest that Dante should just stay as they are, or refuse to face their past, and... wouldn't that go against the character development we want the other Sinners to go through? We want the others to develop and grow and learn from their experiences, becoming stronger and more able to face themselves, right? So why not the same for Dante?

There's this concept I read about a long time ago in a book, which suggested that in order to know your present, you have to also understand your past. You have to know how you got to this point in order to know that you're able to move forward properly.

Personally, as is stated in my many meta posts and in my blog header right now, my own theory is that Dante's past self was Ayin. Personally, I don't think that Dante will change all that much at all once they have their memories back - or at least, the changes would be no different than Don Quixote's. Dante would have, first and foremost, context for everything.

However, I do think that no matter who Dante ends up being, the person they've been for all this journey is now a part of them. No matter what. If someone's afraid that they're going to change because they've got their memories back... well, yeah, they probably will. And I'm sure it won't be fun for them either.

But, y'know what? They definitely won't be fully who they were before, either. That's how people change as humans.

[ylvaslooks]

[httpsleclerc]

welcome home

pairing: Pierre Gasly x reader

summary: Pierre comes home to his girlfriend and newborn daughter after a long triple header.

warnings: none!

word count: 800 words

a/n: based on this request here! As always my requests are open and I love to get them! <3

my masterlist <33

The apartment was quiet, yet somehow felt homely as Pierre made his way into the home that he shared with you, and now with your latest edition; your daughter, Aurelie. You had given birth to her 3 weeks before the end of the season, and with Pierre almost halfway across the world in Las Vegas, you were terrified that he would miss the birth of your first born daughter. However, luckily, Jack had been on standby and ready to jump in should Pierre had to leave quickly to get on the first flight home to Milan.

He had gotten there just in time for you to start pushing, and see the birth of his daughter. It had been 3 weeks, and now the season had finally wrapped up and Pierre could spend time with you and your daughter. Locking the door behind him, he kicked his shoes off and placed them beside yours, leaving his backpack on top of his suitcase, all he wanted at this point was to be in bed with you and your daughter. However, as he made his way into your shared bedroom, he found you and Aurelie already asleep, with your daughter asleep on top of your chest.

"Shhh," You were half asleep, subconsciously running your hand up and down your daughter's small back to try and soothe her. You had just gotten her to sleep, and you hoped that your boyfriend's often unintentionally loud nature wouldn't wake her. "I just got her to fall asleep, please do not wake her up." You whispered, looking up at Pierre with pleading eyes. He smiled at  you sadly, knowing that tonight the two of you wouldn't be sharing a bed.

Yet he understood. You had basically been alone with your newborn daughter for the past 3 weeks, dealing with her on your own without him there had to have been tiring, so he could imagine that you were wanting as full a nights sleep as possible. He smiled as he nodded, bending over so he could press a kiss to your lips, hoping to not be too destructive as to wake up your sleeping baby. 

"Of course, Cherie, I will sleep on the couch for tonight," He placed his large hand on Aurelie's small back, placing it over the top of yours. "I can take the bedside cot and I can get up with her if she wakes up." He offered you, trying his best to relieve you in some way.

"Are you sure? You're just coming off of a long triple header, Pierre," You countered, sighing as he waved you off, offering to take your sleeping daughter from your arms and into his. "If you're sure." You carefully sat up so's not to disturb Aurelie, gently placing her into her father's arms. Thankfully, she settled into Pierre's hold and remained asleep. "'M sorry that the place is such a mess too, I've just been trying so hard to keep her settled and-"

"Please don't worry about it, amour, we can worry about that together tomorrow. You've done so much by carrying and bringing our daughter into the world, that is enough for me," He smiled at you softly, holding your sleeping daughter with on arm and quietly dragging the cot out to the living room, placing Aurelie into it before quickly heading back to your bedroom. "I love you so much, Y/N." He said quietly, noticing that you were very quickly falling asleep.

"I love you too, Pierre," You told him sleepily, dozing off as he sat beside you, holding your hand. "I'm so glad that you're home."  You mumbled, a sleepy smile gracing your features as you fell asleep. He smiled as he kissed your cheek, quickly grabbing his pyjama bottoms as he changed quickly before Aurelie woke up and needed tended to.

Making his way out to the living room, he smiled, the glow of the moon cast a shadow of your small daughter's face, her face that was so similar to yours. If anyone asked him, he would say that you and Aurelie were the most beautiful girls he had ever seen - His two beautiful girls. He settled on the sofa, smiling as he reached out his hand to hold onto his daughters, her small hand wrapping around one of his fingers.

Even though he was exhausted from 3 weeks of constant travel and racing, being at home with the two of you, and he was sleeping on the couch, it all felt worth it. Even if it meant that he was waking up hours after he'd fallen asleep to feed Aurelie during the night.

You were both worth it.

[howtofightwrite]

If someone is training to hunt monsters in a modern day setting (like an urban fantasy story), what might be a good starting point for learning how to use weapons? If they don't specialize in a specific type of entity, and it's one that can be brought down physically, what other things do you think it might be good for someone to be taught?

So, I've said this before as a bit, but monster hunting wouldn't really be about combat most of the time. There's probably some edge cases, like vampires, where you're fundamentally looking at a human with superpowers, but against the vast majority of critters, monster hunting would be more like, well, hunting, or pest control.

If the monster is exceedingly lethal, you don't want to be getting into fights with it. That means taking a more methodical approach to identify and exploit weaknesses, and then eliminating it like any other pest.

Ironically, while the book is a bit crude at times, one of the first examples that comes to mind is Vampire$ by John Steakley, (and the film adaptation by John Carpenter.) The priority there is to identify vampire nests during the day, then use specialized stake guns attached to winches to drag the vampires out into the sun, before collapsing the building entirely.

This means, you're probably better off looking at people with backgrounds in animal control, exterminators, park rangers, game wardens, and similar backgrounds, rather than military or law enforcement backgrounds. (Though, technically, rangers may fall under the header of LEOs.)

Effectively dealing with any animal (and most cryptids tend to fall into this category) involves learning about its behavior. Now, obviously, if you're dealing with some incredibly reclusive creature that's evaded detection by the modern world, it does strain credibility a bit when someone wanders in with a complete understanding of their behavior. (See: Every bigfoot expert ever.) But, the basic premise is foundational if your characters are going to go out hunting those creatures.

When you're dealing with more overtly supernatural foes, then the focus on information they'd need would change somewhat. But, in a lot of ways, the same template holds. It's critical for your hunters to understand the limits and favored behaviors of those creatures.

Now, obviously, you can have very different approaches. I was recently reminded of the old World of Darkness Demon Hunter X splat, where one of the groups detailed (in a modern urban fantasy setting) were using extensive cybernetic augmentations to directly fight monsters (with a very anime inspired aesthetic.) If you have the setup for it, you can go in really wild directions with your urban fantasy monster hunters, and the advice of a relatively low-power group that treat cryptids the same way you'd treat a rat infestation might not be applicable. Similarly, hunting vampires and werewolves may involved more conventional, military tactics, if that's what you're looking for.

It does depend on what your story calls for, and I'll readily admit, my main observation here has more to do with how modern horror writing tends to present these creatures, and then looking for a practical solution to the problem they pose. (Also the juxtaposition is funny. You start out expecting Blade, and instead get some random guys in jumpsuits with animal control poles, who are going to grab the horrific deathbeasts, stick them in crates, and ship them off to a preserve in Montana.

-Starke

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[friedthoughts]

Leclerc thinks he's 'driving at a very high level' this season (Inteview video + Transcript)

Charles Leclerc joins TSN's Tim Hauraney to explain how good he feels about his performances so far this season, discuss if he feels he has the second-quickest car in Formula 1, if he thinks his car is more competitive when curb riding, and more.

TH: From the eye test, watching you drive this year, I've never seen you drive this good. Do you feel that these are some of your best performances? Like I know the car is not where you want it to be but from a driving perspective in a Grand Prix, aside from qualifying, do you feel like this is the best you have driven?

🆑: First of all, thank you. Yeah, I feel like I'm driving at a very high level. I'm with my performances this year. I think it's all about trying to improve years by years. So, do I feel stronger compared to last year? Yes, because with experience you get to know and understand different things then it can help you with the driving. So yeah, I do feel really good. Unfortunately for now, we don't quite have the car yet to win races but we are working towards that.

TH: As you get more experienced, what are those little things that one would have to chip away at or work on it as you go through a season?

🆑: I think the speed is not something that comes with experience. It's either you are fast or a bit less fast but it's not something that comes with experience. What definitely changed a lot for me was all that is around that. That's race craft, and the tyre management is something that is not something you have naturally. You've got to learn the hard way. You need to do mistakes, you need to destroy your tyres and have no tyres by lap 10 to try to understand what you have done wrong. And these are the kind of things that you learn little by little, years after years. And conditions are always changing so you know what's going to happen, when the rain is going to wet the track and then it's going to dry the track. That resets the grid for the track. But if you don't experience these kind of things, then you don't know so these come from experience. So on all of those different subjects, I've grown a lot. But I don't think the speed ever change.

TH: So we're done with the portion of the European leg, and the team has the second most points from that triple header. Do you feel that you have the second quickest car?

🆑: No, I don't. I think we are doing a really good job at putting everything and during this triple header especially, we did a good job at maximizing the car potential. I feel like all the teams maybe struggled a bit more to extract the maximum potential out of their car. I think Red Bull is in front, I think McLaren is definitely in front. And probably Red Bull then us with Mercedes. And Mercedes is a little bit more difficult to understand. I think they are a little bit up and down and they seem to have a bit opposite issue compared to us where they are very strong in qualifying and struggling in the race. We are struggling in qualifying and very fast in the race. I prefer it our way but we need to now understand what we are doing wrong in qualifying in order to have both sessions good.

TH: Watching you in Monaco this year was incredible but it did look that the car was good with kerb riding. Here in Montreal, at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, you will have to kerb ride, like I think you know… do you feel the car is more competitive when kerb striking or kerb riding compared to it not having that at other tracks?

🆑: I think Monaco is very, very extreme in that direction. I don't think here it's as extreme. So I think in Monaco we get a big benefit out of this, here the benefit might be smaller. But I hope it helps us to at least be closing the fight a little bit to the McLarens, but only time will tell. I think kerb riding is a big thing here, I think we've got a strong car on that. Whether it will make a difference in order to be fighting with the McLaren, I'm not sure it will be enough for here.

TH: Do you think the temperatures might help at all if it's a little cooler on the Saturday or the Sunday?

🆑: Yeah, this adds a little bit of yeah, like unexpected things because whenever the temperatures changes, then you need to re-adapt the car and then room for mistakes is bigger. I hope we'll get it right.

TH: About your dog. In Imola, I gotta try to remember this right. So in Imola, I believe there was a fan in the stands and she was holding a sign and there was like the pope's figure but it had your dog's head as its head. A lot of people spoil their dogs, that absolutely natural. Do you spoil Leo?

🆑: Yes, yes, very, very much. I think we kind of always say, that me and my girlfriend, we are very extreme. We love our dog, we love Leo and he is very spoiled. But I mean, he's amazing. He's amazing, we love him and he definitely changed our life for better. And we try and bring him whenever it's reasonable to bring him so whenever he can travel in the right condition, because obviously it puts quite a lot of stress on them whenever there's a lot of travels so we always try and do it in reasonable races. But we also try and bring him as often as possible because he's happy like that. He's great.

TH: Are you surprised how popular your dog is?

🆑: I am, I am. I'm mostly surprised like sometimes I walk with Leo and I can understand maybe people recognize me and then recognize Leo. They always mention Leo in the conversation. But now, like last time, my friend was walking Leo and he's not a celebrity or anything like that and he was getting stopped because they would recognize Leo. And this is at a level I never would have expected. So yeah, I never heard about a dog that would get recognized in the streets. But Leo does and he loves people in general, so yeah, he loves it.

TH: Charles Leclerc, thank you so much for taking your time to this. We appreciate it.

🆑: Thank you.

[stars-for-circe]

Circe's Most Frequented 🤍🤍🤍

My favourite authors over many different fandoms, for your indulgence.

@astralnymphh - TLOU, sapphic, shakespeare reborn

𖣂 There is no one else who could begin this list except for you tbh. One of the first authors I ever followed on this app and your work has never failed to blow me away; from your beautifully paced works that never run out of new prompts and tropes that you always nail, to your crazy big words you scavenged from wordhippo and managed to intergrate perfectly into your fics. To the Ellie Williams enthusiasts, give her fics a read and I promise it will change the trajectory of your lives forever. And don't be afraid to send her an ask, because she will quite literally craft a masterpiece.

𖣂 My recommendation: 'The Salvo Project'

@vifilms - TLOU, sapphic, she makes tumblr formatting her bitch

𖣂 At first it was your witty drabbles, then you graduated to 10k fics that take everyone's breath away. The way you can turn a single tiny idea into such a detailed work while also integrating the essence of each character you write into every single paragraph never fails to amaze me every time you appear on my feed. With your constantly changing layouts, and your beautifully crafted fic headers that show just how much of your heart goes into everything you put onto this app, you keep raising the bar again and again.

𖣂 My recommendation: 'Long Night, Long Ride'

@sweetercalypso - TLOU, multi

𖣂 Also one of my first follows, I remember quite clearly scrolling through the Abby Anderson tag on ao3 and being so blown away that I basically did a cartwheel when I saw you on tumblr. Your fics are the perfect late-night fix that are to-the-point, and your drabbles are filled with every trope anyone could even think up. And I'll shamelessly admit that reading your fics definitely moved Joel up quite a few slots in who I liked most within tlou.

𖣂 My recommendations: 'Texas Hold 'Em' + 'Uncharted Territory'

@the-kr8tor - Spiderverse, f/m, sfw

𖣂 I gotta say, this third movie needs to speed up so more people can come here and see how well you write for the spiderverse. Finding you in the tags was like a breath of fresh air, and your series works have kept me up at night on more than one occasion because of their binge-worthy goodness! From the adorable drabbles of Billie and Ramona, to the ups and downs that come with being a pirate, your works keep me invested even in the first, second....twenty-something times I've reread them.

𖣂 My recommendation: 'Our Place In The Middle Of Nowhere'

@s-4pphics - TLOU, Arcane, sapphic

𖣂 I hope you know that when you released 'The Call', it kept me up at night. Seriously, you're a genius. Maybe this style has been written before but it's the first time I've seen it. And amidst all the Sevika and Vi works that were being pumped out after the release of season 2, that fucking gem was put on my feed and it genuinely blew my mind. It was the perfect combination of crack-style fic and dark humour, coming together to make this smutty, hilarious, jaw dropping fic that had me pacing around my room a couple times - one of my favourites of all time.

𖣂 My recommendation, obviously: 'The Call'

@taintandviolent - Ahs, f/m, multi-fandom extraordinaire

𖣂 First of all, your username is fucking genius. Like actually, it had me saying it out loud and having such an OHHH moment and now I can't stop thinking about how cool it is. Secondly, if anyone has a taste for dark, gritty, horror infused tropes, or loves anything Evan Peters just like I do, her blog is the way to go. Her page is unapologetically for the monster-loving girlies who 'can fix him', and there's a little bit in there for every fandom that finds her. You're one of my favourite authors to send requests to, and you have definitely made me see Bill Skarsgard in a different light as of recent. 𖣂 My recommendation: 'Ouija Board’

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

9-1-1 Masterlist

Oh gee finally a place I can keep these! Thank you to my bestest most amazing friend in the whole world for making these headers for me i literally actually literally could not do it without you

Two of a kind

Buck can’t stop thinking about his coworker, so he does what every guy at 3am does on a 24 hour shift!! He sneaks out to his car to get off. But it turns out, certain coworkers (that might possibly be the love of his life) have the exact same idea!

Fairest of Them All:

The party downstairs rages on as Buck decides to do something about the pretty little thing he’s been staring at all night

Clothing Optional:

I can’t. I can’t keep writing summaries. I’ve done 2

After a stupid work shift, in the stupid heat, Buck just wants to enjoy a sweet little sundae, fortunately it comes with a side of dat ass (I’m not sorry)

That Should Be Me:

Buck has never ever been jealous ever a single damn day in his life

Gamer Girl

Buck thinks you’re so, so pretty. You’d looked even prettier with your thighs around his head

Now You See Me:

✨Mirror sex✨

Sleepy Hollow, 1999

Scream, 1996

The Exorcist, 1973

The Shining, 1990

Grease Lightning

The Polar Express, 2004

All The Rage

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Cootie Catcher

Growing Pains:

Everything is all wonderful and cool and dandy until you nearly die from your appendix!!

(I KNOW. THERE IS. AN AMBULANCE.)

Cry To Me:

Eddie loves when you’re crying during sex, nothing turns him on more… except when those tears are very very real and he’s very very worried

10 Things I Hate About You:

You guys freaking h a t e each other… or do you? Wink wink wink wink enemies to lovers wink

I Spy:

Eddie is the sweetest neighbor in the entire world… who knows where you work

Better Than Revenge:

You and Eddie get locked into a closet at your job after an accident, it also turns out your now EX boyfriend is a cheating asshole! Eddie has absolutely no problem filling in for the revenge role

Front Row:

Why do firehouses have to work f o r e v e r. Eddie needs a freaking shower and to pass out for the next six years on an overnight shift. It turns out someone has the same idea, and possibly another idea on how to left off some steam

Yeti Point:

Eddie finally takes you on that skiing vacation you’ve been begging him for and it’s going great! Until you get snowed in. But that’s okay, Eddie has a secret plan to keep you both warm

Slow and Steady:

Buck helps Eddie into the house, holding him up as you frantically get the bed ready for your injured boyfriend. Turns out, pain killers make Eddie horny!

(Hahahahahaha)

Encanto:

Dad!Eddie x Daughter!reader

Nightmares never get easier no matter how old you get. Especially ones where your father dies

Smoke Dector:

Eddie always has to be the hero, okay not really but it’s hard when you see your boyfriend running into a burning building for the first time

One Puff Or Two:

Take your freaking inhaler Eddie 🔪🔪🔪

Into The Fire:

(PTSD WARNING, PANIC ATTACK WARNING)

You’ve been on edge lately, and Eddie knows there’s something up. One night things come to a head when you have a nightmare about what happened and Eddie wakes up to a very bad situation

Night Changes:

Eddie comforts you after a bad nightmare about him dying over and over in different ways (based off of 5.14)

Busy Bees:

Two words ✨Sex Pollen✨

Soup or Salad?

✨I’ll freaking summarize this later✨

Sink or Swim

I Was Made For Lovin’ You

Halloween, 1978

It, 1990

Die Hard, 1988

The Easter Bunny

For All The Marbles

Adventures In Babysitting

P.S I Love You, 2007

Hitch, 2005

A Rose by any Other Name

This is one of the funniest titles I've ever made up. Buck finds your simple collection of toys and shows them to Eddie... and now they want you to put on a little show for them

Finish Line:

A little game of "whoever cums first loses"

Twice Bitten:

Double Penetration from my kinktober list!

Alexander Hamilton:

Buck can't stop having feelings for Eddie's girlfriend... but what if that's okay?

Captured, With Love

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

When Paths Diverge - Y.JH

💔Who; Yoon Jeonghan x female reader 💔What; Angst. Established relationship. Break up. Vampires. 💔Wordcount; 2.2k 💔Warnings; Honestly, Jeonghan is not exactly a good person. Though it's not really explored in this. Reader realises that their relationship is not healthy and stands up for herself! References to turning/loss of humanity but no actual descriptions of that. I don't think there's actually anything specific to warn about, but let me know if I'm wrong.

Summary; After decades together, after everything you've been through, you can't believe that this is all it takes for the rose-tinted glasses to slip from your eyes and allow you to see the truth of Yoon Jeonghan, the man you thought you would spend eternity with.

-2024 Masterlist-

AN- I have no idea where this whole idea came from, it just hit me and it was supposed to be more of a quick flashback scene in a fic about them meeting in the future but instead this happened. It's very different to anything I've written in a long time so I hope it's okay. Big thank you to @kwanisms for helping me with the header by supplying Jeonghan pics! 💖

Edited: 21/12/24

“You are not the person I fell in love with anymore,” it's said so simply, so effortlessly, like he's rehearsed those words a thousand times in front of the mirror. Perhaps he has. You wouldn't put it past Jeonghan and his never-ending need to be seen as nothing short of perfection. "You are nothing like the woman I fell in love with those years ago."

“You can't seriously be saying that,” you respond disbelievingly.

“I am. You have changed, my dear, and not for the better.”

“Of course, I've changed, Jeonghan! It's been decades since we met and you turned me in that time! Of course, I've changed!”

“I have not.”

“Maybe that's the problem, Jeonghan. Your inability to make even the slightest changes to yourself and expectation that the world will bend and mould around the shape of you.” You scoff and shake your head while getting up from the couch. He remains seated in the same formal, upright posture he always does.

Unchanged in all his centuries of life.

You had given up your humanity for him, left everything behind for him, yet he can't even relax his posture even once. It isn't the first time you've noticed it, but it is the first time you've ever spoken it aloud, spurred on by his own hurtful words.

“Humans are supposed to change as we grow, Jeonghan.”

“We are not human any longer. I cannot even remember how it feels to be human. Maybe that is the cause of our differences, that you can still recall those memories.” He too gets up and straightens his already neat shirt as his always-so-level gaze meets your upset one.

While it usually settles you to see him so calm regardless of circumstance, always so in control and the voice of reason, now it just hurts.

Even now, during what your entire being knows is the end of your decades-long romance, Jeonghan's expression shows no sign of feeling, well... anything.

Shortly, you try to recall a time when he let his truth show beside the gentle little smiles he's treated you to over the years, yet you can't recall a single memory. You don't know how you've never realised before how much that hurts.

Suddenly, you're struck with the thought that perhaps, you never truly knew Yoon Jeonghan. You had thought that you were his exception; the only person he allowed to see the man behind the mask, yet now you're realising that he has kept even you at arm's length even when you were wrapped up in them and tucked safely against his chest.

You knew, still know, that he cares for you in his own way. You're just now realising that it's not enough and never was.

“Did you think I would become emotionless like you these decades? Is that why you agreed to turn me in the first place? To remove my physical humanity and hope the rest would follow?” Your heart breaks a little more when he only stares silently at you.

There may be no sign of a response from him but Jeonghan is quick-witted and always has a retort; he has never once missed the chance to correct someone. His lack of answer is louder than his words could ever be.

“Right.” You take a deep, steadying breath, making his gaze dart down shortly to your expanding chest before he looks back at you.

You used to think he found your quirk of taking unneeded breaths amusing, or perhaps cute, but now you know the truth; he doesn't look at your chest fond of the sign of the human habit remaining. But in disdain. He's been waiting for you to drop all your links to humanity, yet you refuse.

Humanity may not be a very elegant species and full of flaws, but as a whole, they're good, have morals and work hard to stick to them.

But vampires? Well, after so long living, morals seem to become a rather grey area for them so you've seen.

You always thought Jeonghan was a rare exception to that, but you know you've overlooked more than you should've in the name of love. Not in his actions towards you but to other humans. He's always put himself above humans and so long as you continue to keep your little shreds of humanity in your chest, he'll always see himself as above you too.

“I guess I'll pack up and leave,” you declare, already walking to your shared bedroom.

You don't stop to look around it, take it in for one last time. You already know what you'll see. Signs of the both of you; old mixed with new, him and you. A clear distinction you had stubbornly refused to see for the truth of what is it, two separates that can't make a whole. Not when your edges have been formed in your humanity and the weaker points smoothed over by Jeonghan's hands to fit against his own edges, yet you still have too many sharp points he could never flatten out. You hadn't even realised he was trying to.

“Just like that?” He questions, following you smoothly and watching as you pull out the large case from under the bed, which usually only shows up when he takes the pair of you away on an expensive luxurious holiday somewhere cold in summer. To escape the sun blistering the sensitive vampiric skin covering your bodies.

You have never seen him blister and had never experienced it yourself either as Jeonghan has always swept you both away at the first sign of the sun's heat, but you trusted his words entirely. Trusted him.

It won't be until the coming summer that you realise that he hadn't been entirely truthful. Yes, a vampire's skin is much more sensitive to the sun's rays than a human’s, but it's much less instantaneous than he had made out. The newfound knowledge will make you wonder what else he hadn't been honest about and send you on a task to relearn everything you know about vampirism, and the world in general.

But now.

“Are you expecting me to grovel and beg for you to change your mind and allow me to remain by your side?” You huff, shoving items into the case, though not everything you own because frankly you don't care for all the silks and jewels. That was all Jeonghan wanting you both to always be donned in the best money can buy. “Since when have I begged for anything, Jeonghan?”

“Never.”

“Then I haven't changed as you claim.”

“And you will not?” It's the first time he's outright about his wants here. It makes you pause your harsh packing to look over at him incredulously. “You said that you love me; you tell me every day, my dear, yet you will not even try to tempt me to open my arms again with an offer of change?”

“You think I am the one who should change here? Jeonghan, I gave up my humanity for you, I gave up my family, my friends, my life, everything for you and you think I need to do more to prove my devotion to you?”

“Is that not what love is? Proving one's devotion?”

“Then where are your attempts to prove your own to me?” You point out. ��Over the course of this conversation I've come to the rather jarring and honestly heartbreaking realisation that you have not once ever changed for my sake. You've spent decades manipulating my very heart to your own whims yet you remain as stone hearted as ever. Unmouldable. I wish I knew that when we met; that you truly are just the empty shell of a being that man accused you of being. Thinking about it, maybe I should've picked him that night.”

“That man is a vile excuse for a vampire.”

“Is he?” You think of the beautiful, tall man from all those decades ago. He hadn't seemed very vampiric to you at the time and even less so now that you think back on it. He seemed more, human. More like you. “I should've taken his hand and let him save me from you.”

“Save you?” Jeonghan repeats softly. The first sign in this ordeal that he isn't entirely apathetic. “You have never needed saving from me; I have never done a thing to hurt you, nor will I.”

“Not physically at least.”

“There is no other way that matters.”

“The fact you can say that and truly mean it, is perhaps the scariest I've ever seen you, Jeonghan.”

“I do not understand.”

“And that makes it worse.” You turn and get back to your packing. “But at least I finally know you're capable of admitting to weakness.”

“You are my weakness.” That makes you pause again, though you don't turn to him. “I do not want you to leave.”

“I don't want to either, not really, but I can't stay if nothing will change, if you won't change, Jeonghan. I deserve more than that. You always say that I deserve the best; that you'd give me every star in the sky if I wanted them to hold in my hands, but you won't even change your own centuries-old, outdated habits and thoughts for me.”

You pack slower this time, not because you're trying to put it off; you know your departure from the home you can no longer call your own is inevitable. You're moving slower because it's finally starting to catch up with you and bloom saltwater in your eyes. You're trying to stop it from falling any faster and hoping that your own movements will slow the descent at least until you are out of the door. It will only hurt worse to be the only one crying again when he should be crying with you. But you know he won't. He never has.

“I do not know if I can do that, my love.”

“Then I can't stay. If you ever manage, I'm sure you will find a way to let me know.”

“You really are leaving? With no intention of seeing me again?”

“Not unless you change. I can't be the only one trying to be a better version of myself for the other.” You shove a final jumper into the case and zip it up.

You don't really have anything sentimental to keep, it all reminds you of Jeonghan and when he had turned you, he convinced you to let go of all reminders of your past as it would only hurt too much. You had believed him at the time, had full faith and hadn't taken a single memento of your family or human life. Though now you just think he was trying to make you lose all ties to your humanity to change you at your core, not to protect your delicate heart.

“Where will you go?” He asks, stopping you from leaving the bedroom by standing in the doorway and putting a hand on your arm. You brush him off though don't look at him, you can't.

If you had, you would've seen the pain starting to seep into his eyes.

“A hotel, I have enough money to do that until I decide where to make a home for myself.”

“You will not go far, will you? I cannot bear the thought of such a distance between us.”

“So I should suffer for you instead?”

“No.”

“Then let me go without a fuss, you owe me that much at least.”

Jeonghan is quiet for long enough that you almost lift your lowered damp gaze to look at him, yet he speaks just in time to prevent you from doing so.

He doesn't know that you are about to look up and see real emotion in his eyes for the first time, that you would seen his heartbreak and immediately reconsider leaving. If he had known, he would stay quiet longer and let you see him for the first time.

But he doesn't know, so he opens his mouth and speaks quietly. “I owe you a lot more, I am starting to understand that now,” he admits. “I will not stop you again, just know that I will be here waiting for you to come back. I shall do everything I can to change myself but this is our home, my love, and it will remain this way ready to welcome you back when I discover out how to prove myself to you. You can change it however you like when you return, but until then, it shall remain this way.”

“Don't do that.” You frown. “I won't want to return to this.”

“I thought you love our home?”

“I do now, but I won't then. To find it unchanged will just remind me of the past. Let it change with you, reflect you and if you find me one day and bring me back, I can add pieces of me back into it again.”

“If that is what you want.” You nod and adjust your grip on your case. “I love you; I wish it was enough.”

“Me too, Jeonghan.” Your lips press together tightly to prevent more words from spilling from them in amongst the sobs threatening to bubble out into the thick air between you, and you walk past him the second he steps aside.

The front door of the house is barely closed behind you before the tears start to flow. You stop to take a shuddering wet gasp before rushing to your car to throw the case into the back and drive.

You don't know where you're going, you don't know what will happen but you hope with everything in you that one day, you'll find yourself back on the same path as Jeonghan and meet a man changed for the better.

A/N- Don't be shy to let me know what you think! As I said in my author note at the top, I don't really write stuff like this, all serious angsty type things but if I know people like it, I will try to write more in the future!

[sugoi-writes]

This is Not a Love Story, This is an Autopsy - Part 1

A/N- PHEW! I wanted to kick out of my hiatus with something I've been itching to do... An original series! I wasn't quiet happy with some of my longer works (and trust, they will probably be rewritten, too). So, this is the start of something new! Something that'll be fresh!

I've been heavily inspired/influenced by @minkdelovely and @hazelfoureyes, who keep encouraging me to just... do it. So I'm doing it!

BEFORE you get too invested, this story WILL be dark. It will be GOREY, graphic at times, there will be filthy, raunchy smut... But this is gonna be a LOT of hurt, with VERY LITTLE comfort. Alastor will NOT be a kind man. The title should be taken seriously, if you wish to continue. BUT FOR NOW... PHEW... sorry, here's part one!!!

Warnings/Promises: Mystery murder woman, Alastor is intrigued, a poor demon suddenly doesn't have a face, cursing, banter, Mystery woman wants to kill Alastor, and Alastor doesn't have GREAT intentions either... Just-- Alastor being ALASTOR! (Mystery woman is referred to in 3rd person, but this may change! Not sure yet)

Please enjoy! ❤️ Header image created by bat-boness on Tumblr! ❤️

Alastor's evening stroll simulated any other: pleasantries exchanged with himself, and his dainty, dated tunes filling the air. This served as a chipper contrast to his surroundings of hurried footsteps, startled shrieks, and the general cacophony on this side of The Pentagram. Oh, tonight was certainly a good night! ...But it was about to get so much better.

The sound of wet squelching, akin to a crushed watermelon, caught his attention. His deer-like ears twisted in it's direction, his smile expanding. What a curious sound! One he was aptly familiar with! It could only be one thing...

Gurgling, disjointed cries and the sputtering of fluids sounded like a grotesque melody. Alastor could hear steady, heavy breathing keeping the tempo. An act of passion... well, in the killing sense, surely. Ever the curious sort, Alastor sent his shadow to investigate. Its wide eyes take in the sight of the alleyway expectantly, eager to witness the fuss first.

A large figure loomed over a hapless victim, the arms flinching and trembling subconsciously as the attacker worked diligently. The sounds from before had morphed into a gut wrenching cutting noise: the unmistakable sound of a sharp knife carving through flesh... but where?

The shadow blinked, inching closer to the scene to get a better look. However, the attacker flinched, turning towards the apparation with a speed that would snap the neck of a human. It was spotted.

In the blink of an eye, a knife came off of a thigh garter belt, hurdling full force towards the Shadow. The knife struck between the entity’s eyes, a heated hiss thrown back to the stranger. Alastor's obedient pet slinked back to its master, unable to give a more helpful report. Alastor hummed in amusement, taking two wide strides to his right. Now, he was stationed at the mouth of the alley, his teeth gleaming under the dim streetlight.

"Do forgive me, dear, I am not known to eavesdrop," a lie, Alastor thought," But I couldn't help but overhear a scuffle~ What did that poor beau do to deserve such fury?"

Alastor wanted to be nearer, to see what you had done to the now-corpse of the demon... but alas, he couldn't just yet. Even with the back facing him, the Radio Demon got a better glimpse at the disheveled stranger.

A large, wide shoulder span dipped in and flowed back out in a delightful curve: a tasteful hourglass shape. Brunette and blonde hair cascaded just past the shoulders, spattered with blood… that was even more tasteful. Judging from the spray's pattern, this blood came from somewhere else… or someone else, in this case. The broad shoulders led to muscular, intense looking arms. The limbs were so red that it seemed they were dipped in a vat of coagulated blood. He could scarcely see the little nicks and scars that littered the taunt skin.

When Alastor continued to walk forward, a sharp turn of the head greeted him. Startling, grey eyes with bloodshot whites glared back at him. The figure didn't answer him, staring him down with a look that could frighten a dictator. Blonde and brunette fringe framed the face, a soft contrast to the rest of the body. Full, flushed cheeks from exertion, complimented by wide eyes and a set of thick, heavy lashes. And, dozens of shallow, silver-white scars littering the pale, plump face. Alastor's eyebrows rose with interest, the silence only motivating him to get closer.

The figure growled, snarling like a caged animal as it turned fully towards him... a woman, he assumed. This woman had blood sprayed across her entire upper body, indicating that this was indeed a passionate act of murder.

Alastor ceased his advances, both hands coming up in mock-surrender.

"Oh come now, dear, I mean no harm... 'just curious~ Won't you humor a demon for a spell? You might just hear your little story on my broadcast tonight~" he nearly sang, eyes squinting and watching carefully. He could tell that this beast of a woman was on high alert, and would likely try and jump him if he so much as thought the wrong word. Though he was confident in his abilities to defend himself, he was no bodybuilder: a fisty cuff that got too heated could mean his second death.

The woman’s gaze remained unphased as she came to her feet. Then, it morphed into a look of recognition.

While the mystery woman realized who was speaking to her, Alastor discovered what she had been carving off of the victim: his face. Alastor watched with an irrational sense of delight as the heavily scarred woman faced him properly. He couldn't help but shift his eyes to the scalped face of the victim, feeling his hands ball up into eager fists behind his back.

The cadaver’s face was grasped in the brunette’s calloused, large hands, blood sliding through her knuckles like a babbling creak in the woods. Had he been a sane man, he would have found the image unsightly. But between his fall from grace and his afterlife of trouble… he found the sight utterly delicious.

Alastor swallowed something in his throat... nerves? Excitement? A mutual interest between strangers? What an evening to find a like-minded individual…

"...You're the Radio Demon..." the murderer said simply. Her voice was a hard, uneven gravel, as if she hardly spoke at all. Alastor's smile widened, giddy at the budding interaction.

"Ahh, my reputation precedes me~ But you can call me Alastor, sweetheart. And what may I call you, hmm?" The tone of his sing-song charm did not match the cannibalistic mania of his too-wide smile. His voice was the cheese, nestled inside an obvious mousetrap.

Alastor stepped even closer, extending a hand out to the rabid-looking woman. Her steely eyes looked to his hand, before back to his face. Her expression remained unchanged.

"...I don't do handshakes," she replied bluntly, her gaze burrowing holes into Alastor's complexion. She seemed to watch him just as intently, acutely aware of his dark aura. Her words sought to disguise her own intrigue.

"Ahh, apologies, dear-- Deeeaaaar...?"

Alastor raised a brow while he drew out the last word, eye twitching with annoyance. He cocked his head slightly as he leaned in, trying to goad her into a response. He expected a name sometime tonight. A name... just a name. If he had her name, he could work with that. Just let him get under that barrier, even if it's just a crack--

"I don't have one," the woman spat back, either uninterested or able to see through Alastor’s antics (of which, the Radio Demon wasn't sure).

A record scratch leaked through his frequency at the abrupt response. The curtness throttled his already thinking patience... Alastor's wide smile stammered for a moment, a tense chuckle bleeding through his clenched jaw. His fuzzy and sound-dampened amusement was practically oozing irritation...

Likewise, the tension that hung between the pair was far too thick.

This needed to be carved through with a knife, Alastor thought. He could still do this.

"Nonsense dear! Why, EVERYONE has a name!!! Surely there is something that people use to call you? To refer to you???" Alastor was a bit surprised by his own persistence. Why did her lack of name manage to throttle him?

...right. He found her fascinating, that's all. And fascinating people in Hell were often easy to exploit... easy to force into a deal. And by extension, she would be useful and entertaining.

"...people usually don't get the chance to talk to me," the brunette replied. Her stoney, hardened face slowly shifted into a sly smile. She chortled wickedly, licking her cracked lips,"...but they usually beg for their lives right about now."

Her sudden lunge surprises Alastor momentarily, before his pitch tendrils snap into action. The mad woman is caught and suspended mid-launch, a heavy tentacle struggling to keep her knife-wielding arm in check. Alastor clicks his tongue mockingly at her aggression. Back to square one, it seemed. What a simple creature!

"Ohh dear, is that a way to talk to someone? If you plan to stab me, at least offer to take me on a stroll first. Perhaps to a coffee shop?" The deranged woman's mouth was tightly pulled into a horrifying snarl, teeth bared and glistening with spit. Had she contracted rabies? Or was she still riding the feral high of a fresh kill? Neither option seemed to startle or surprise Alastor all that much.

He paid her no mind as he walked around her in a slow, teasing circle: like a predator circling helpless prey. But the woman grunted and struggled just the same, hair falling into her face as she tried to break free. The noises she made had shivers of pride running up Alastor's spine. This interest almost seemed... more than that. More than morbid curiosity… He shook the thought away from his mind, his cheeks burning from how harshly he forced himself to smile.

Alastor stepped within striking distance, another tentacle wrapping around the knife-wielding hand as he looked at her troubled face.

"G-Go-- nnnhhhfucker-- Go fuck yourself, freak," the woman hissed, spitting towards the Radio Demon. He simply tilted his head, the spittle missing his pristine cheek. Annoying and gauche... he would have to break her of that garish habit.

"I'm afraid carnal desires haven't interested me for quite some time. Well... past the one you dabbled with moments ago. I must say I'm mighty interested in your handywork~"

Alastor's taloned hand squished the cheeks of the captured woman, turning her face this way and that. Alastor was smirking with an air of superiority as he took in every imperfection and scar that maimed her round face... To him, she was breathtaking, each scar revealing an incident or story he would be familiar with. He felt interested in dissecting her, and figuring out just what or who caused the nicks and cuts.

Thankfully, his brush with murder and other crimes made breaking down her injuries a breeze. Most of them could be summarized as self defense marks left by a weaker victim. This woman was STRONG... There was no question about that. And she wasn't afraid of getting dirty to get her desires fulfilled. He could find that quality to be quite charming... quite useful.

"If you truly do not have a name... might I suggest one?"

The question puzzles the brunette, eyes blinking in rapid succession. It took her a few moments to process the offer.

"You... want to name me?" She retorted, her squished face distorting her bewilderment," Like some goddamn PET?"

"I’m simply offering you one, dear. No need to make a fuss. Perhaps you could find it helpful, should you ever need to be referred to more... directly. With familiarity. You needn't take it, if it displeases you."

Alastor sighed dramatically as the woman thrashed in anger, shaking his head in tandem. It was quite easy to backtrack with this one, wasn’t it?

The woman stared back at the Radio Demon, intense grey embracing hellish red in a heated standoff. One could kill the other in a heartbeat, their acts only halted by straining tentacles. They were in a tense ceasefire, if only for their own sakes.

The woman sighed, relenting after what felt like an eternity," If it causes you to let go of me... you may give me a name, Radio Demon."

"Alastor," the male corrected, pinching her cheeks with harsher intent. The woman winced, but nodded curtly," A-Alastor..."

The venom that oozed from her harsh tone made molten heat fill Alastor’s chest. She could be obedient… how interesting.

The deer demon sneered, face reflecting his earlier delight as his eyes briefly flickered. The name rolled off her tongue so easily... Oh, he liked seeing her like this. Another charming quality he could get used to… and take use of.

"Carver."

The woman blinked, scoffing," Really?"

"Yes. Carver. You could always go by 'The Carver', if you wished, but I rather think the name suits you... a little on the nose, maybe, but simple. Just like you." Alastor's thumb rubs over the woman's cheek, a claw dangerously close to gouging her eye out. The demoness’ face softens, the touch causing conflicting feelings to flit across it.

Fright, anger, surprise, and… yearning. Had Alastor not been observant and experienced with reading people, he might have missed a few of these. Hell, the micro expressions lasted for seconds, if that… But thankfully, his eyes were as sharp as the blade hovering above his head.

Alastor’s hand pauses on her flushed cheek, stashing the useful information in the recesses of his dark mind.

"...fine... That name is fine, Alastor."

Carver fell to the dank and rancid ground with a heavy thud, Alastor clasping his hands together resolutely. Tentacles were dismissed as he eyed her eagerly.

“Splendid, dear! Carver it is! Now, about our earlier topic–”

Carver dusted off her knees as she stood, eyeing the deer-esque demon cautiously. She allowed him to continue, despite her better judgment to gut him then and there.

“What do you say to a bit of coffee, over lunch?”

Carver blinks for a moment, then another, arms folding in front of her chest,” You're joking, right?”

Alastor practically giggles, a dark tendril reforming to hold up the skinned face of her victim,” I'm more of an emcee than a comedian, dear… though I can never pass on a good punchline! Haha!”

When Alastor extends the face to the woman, he squints mischievously,” But no, I'm being quite genuine… Tomorrow, Cannibal Town. There's a quaint little shop by Rosie’s Emporium, the Brimstone Brew… I trust that you've heard of it?”

Curtly, Carver nods, taking her trophy from the Radio Demon indignantly,” Vaguely. I just started working a new job closeby, actually,” she admits. The moment she does, she mentally curses herself. Alastor’s eyes widen, a hand childishly coming to cover his lips. Or more accurately, like a elitist, royal woman with her hand fan, trying to stife her reaction to juicy gossip.

“Pray tell, what do you do~?”

Carver scoffs, casting her gaze anywhere other than the man’s demented smile,” …just some butcher shop. The manager apparently got… well, butchered. So there was a vacancy that the Assistant Manager filled. Soooo… I– I was pulled in to become the new assistant there.”

Alastor seemed on the verge of jumping out of his own skin, leaning forward intently.

“You? Working in one of my favorite stops? Oh, how convenient, dear! Then hows about I ‘meat’ you there! Haha!”

The joke did not go unnoticed, a gruff ‘really?’ following after. He would need to work on her enthusiasm, too.

“See, we could go for a little stroll, and you can tell me more about this new venture of yours! Why, if it's entertaining enough, I'm sure your story would captivate an audience! My audience!”

Carver didn't get the chance to protest as the dapper demon took a few steps back, tipping his imaginary hat her way.

“Let's shoot for 11 o’clock, ‘sharp as your knife! I look forward to getting to know you better… Carver.”

And within a second, the crimson and ebony demon vanished into the shadows. Carver was left confused and stupefied by the entire interaction. She didn't even get a chance to tell Alastor that she actually had work that morning… not that the Radio Demon would stand for it. But, maybe she could brush him off easier this way… She was sure her new manager would intervene or prevent the entire situation from escalating...

The woman dug around in her satchel, until she found a gallon freezer bag. She unceremoniously threw the bloody, skinned face of her victim into her pack, rolling her eyes. Maybe ‘Carver’ was an alright name after all…

What a fucking day… and what a fucking man, to have the nerve to be so… so…

Carver blinked a few times, words escaping her. He was an asshole, but also seemed to have manners… He was infamous, but didn't seem to match the dark reputation… He was bitchy, but also… surprisingly gentle with her?

Carver touched her cheek, where a taloned finger once lingered. A swift flush ghosted across her face as she kicked the corpse on the ground, huffing defiantly. The sooner she could shake this guy off her back, the better. She didn't do ‘friends’. She didn't even have acquaintances. And yet, all in one night, she was given a nickname and asked to go on a coffee date, seemingly just to… talk?

Never would she have imagined such an odd scenario before now. But, she did have an interesting opportunity. Take him out on a date before you stab him, she loosely recalled. And she was more than eager to take him up on that offer to get him off her back.

Carver chuckled, clicking her tongue as she started the trek to her apartment. Maybe she could call in sick tomorrow! Why not?

She could humor this man, if only to hear what his screams would sound like. She hoped that his terror sounded as desperate and sweet as the ones from his broadcast… An artist often immolated their work, and she had a feeling that his anguish would taste just as divine...

This is not a love story. This is an autopsy.

[nottieln4]

I'll take you on a ride, I'll be your Vixen

⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆

Lando Norris X Oscar Piastri

Word Count: ≈3,2k

Christmas Fluff, Humor, my way to cope with Qatar

Someone keeps hanging up mistletoes around the McLaren hospitality and Lando Norris? He's losing his fucking mind.

read on ao3 oder continue down below. 🫶

I’ll take you for a ride, I’ll be your Vixen 

Think I only want you under my mistletoe

I might change your contact to "Has a huge North Pole"

You said you like my stockings better on the floor

Boy, I've been a bad girl, I guess I'm gettin' coal (no)

Lemme come warm you up, you been out in the snow

Baby, my tongue goes numb, sounds like "ho-ho-ho"

-⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎‧*❆₊⋆

Someone at McLaren is fucking with Lando Norris and it’s driving him proper mad. They’re in Abu Dhabi currently, last race of the 2024 season. After Qatar, they’re still battling it out for the Constructor’s Championship, honestly, he’d prefer not to talk about the Qatar race altogether. They had flown out for the last stop of the triple-header straight away on Monday morning, arriving about an hour later in Abu Dhabi. 

It started straight away, when Oscar and he had walked into the team’s hospitality on that first day, just some time after lunch break. Lando had been the one to walk in first, opening up the glass door for them both and holding it out for Oscar. Waiting a little for his teammate to catch up, he failed to miss how everyone in the room had gone silent, watching the two of them arrive with curious eyes. Just as Oscar had come to a stop next to him, one of their engineers had cleared his throat. “Guess they caught another pair,” Marie from PR had said, and only then Lando realized something was wrong. Very wrong indeed.

Why? Because hanging above their heads was a mistletoe. Just Lando’s luck, really, to get caught beneath one with his teammate he’s been harbouring a silly crush on ever since the start 2024 season. Listen, maybe he’d spent a little too much time on TikTok. Getting lost in a rabbit hole of Oscar Piastri thirst trap edits had led to someone very interesting revelations. (Max had laughed at him, when he told him about it. Not about having a crush on Oscar, of course, but rather finding out about his apparent bisexuality. “You’re not quite straight, the sky’s blue. Moving on!”) 

Oscar just laughs though, “Yeah, don’t think that’s meant for us, mate,” before dipping through the space left to Lando and strolling into the directions of their driver rooms. Duh, Lando thinks, of course he doesn’t want to kiss you, stupid. Maybe he’s a little flippant for the rest of the day, afterwards. Being flat out rejected like that, hurts more than he’d like to admit even now. 

So, when he walks into the McLaren motorhome on Tuesday and there’s no more evil-green hanging from the ceiling, he thinks he’s safe. They’re only there to review some things for the upcoming days, a meeting about how they’ll be spending the weeks before Christmas at the factory. It’s his fault, really, for assuming it’d be a one-time thing. Like the 2024 season hadn’t been a series of the universe fucking him over. Why not go for it one last time? 

The most embarrassing thing is the fact that their bosses are around this time. Lando, running a little late of course, falls onto the chair next to Oscar, when both Andrea and Zak begin to laugh. “Boys,” Zak wheezes, “I think there’s a little elf working something out for the team,” as he points upwards to the ceiling. Of course, there’s another mistletoe swinging above them, and this time around Lando feels targeted. Whoever put that up knows where Oscar and he like to sit in these debriefs. Who is fucking with them like this?

Lando splutters, “No, mate. That can’t be for us, it’s probably some of the girls playing a prank on their co-workers or something. Aren’t Ava from Marketing and Joseph from strategy dating?” Honestly, he’s not sure they have an Ava from Marketing in the team.

“You’re thinking of Lydia from PR, actually,” Oscar thinks out loud. Yeah, sure. Keep them coming universe, maybe if he takes one more loss this year he’ll just die of embarrassment. Spare them all from having to through this the next year as well. He’s just about to speak up to defend himself when Andrea interrupts, “Well, wherever it might have come from, I’ll have a talk with management, I’m not sure our employee guidelines allow such a thing.” 

Thankfully, they start with the meeting then. Afterwards he thinks he’s fine. Save. Yesterday there’d only been on attack, so surely their mysterious Grinch (Lando refuses to call them an elf, considering they’re putting him through torture) must be done for the day, right?

Wrong. So wrong on every merit. 

The team calls them downstairs for some sort of challenge, the last one they’ll have to film for the year. Just as they’re heading into the cafeteria, there’s giggles breaking out all around the room. Lando doesn’t dare to raise his head for a second, but he knows exactly what they just walked into. He sighs and thinks maybe it’s time to finally give in. “You guys have to kiss now,” Clara from Online Marketing explains, and Lando would like to roll his eyes hard enough for them roll into the back of his head and never return. Thanks, girlie, figured that one out already. 

Oscar’s cheeks are turning into a cherry-red next to him, and he’s starting to look uncomfortable. Curse his weak heart and his darn teammate for making him want to protect the younger from everything bad, burry him in blankets and make him a hot chocolate. Fuck, there’s got to be a way for this mess to stop, right?

“Maybe if we’ll do it, they will stop,” Lando squeezes out quickly, not giving himself a chance to back out. “What!?” The Australian looks even more perplexed at that. Before he can think better of it Lando steps on to his toes, which is just adding insult to injury, and presses a soft kiss to Oscar’s cheek. “There, that should satisfy the Christmas spirits, right?”

The blush starts to make its way up to Oscar’s ears and Lando starts to worry he’ll be fired for sexual harassment of a co-worker. Fuck, he went too far, didn’t he? “I’m so sorry, Osc,” he blurts out then, and he’d really like to sprint back to his driver’s room. Maybe he’ll do that, fuck the PR team and their silly challenges. They can figure something out, maybe act like he’s sick or something along those lines, so Lando starts to make a run for it. 

Doesn’t get far though, considering the tight hold that’s suddenly appeared on his wrist. There’s a smile on Oscar’s face now, and it looks even cuter with the rosy cheeks beneath warm, chocolate brown eyes. “Landers, you’re fine,” Oscar breathes, “Let’s just get through this video and then we can go and head back to the hotel, alright?” 

It’s what they end up doing, the PR team have prepared a collection of different kind of Christmas sweets and pastries from around the world and their task is to make a tier list. They all are pretty mint in Lando’s humble opinion, but he’s got a sweet tooth, really. His teammate is severely less enthusiastic about some of the candy, but he caves in when Lando wants to put them into a higher tier. The power he’s got over Oscar in moments like these, and the soft gaze that’s turned towards him have caused many delusional thoughts in Lando brain. Listen, you can only read ‘Heart-Eyes-Piastri’ so many times about your own teammate before you start believing those things. Lando’s just a silly little guy at the end of the day, with a big, fat, dumb, gay crush. 

Thankfully, on Wednesday they’re both at different sponsor events and off-track, so it’s easy to avoid Oscar. And any mistletoes, too. When they return for media day on Thursday, they make it through most of the day without any incidents. Well, there was that moment in the morning, where Oscar had greeted him and Lando almost spilled the tea in his mug on himself but that he can’t blame that one on anyone else. 

Lando’s on his way back from the press conference when he decides it’s the perfect time to invade Oscar’s space and privacy with his stellar personality and pleasing presence. Maybe he’s also still a little hurt from that penalty. Getting put through the ringer by the press once more had caused a little more hurt. He’s learned it’s best for himself not to be alone with his thoughts on those occasions, and being able to poke at Oscar’s patience a little or tease the younger, until he gets all huffy and cute is usually a great way to improve his mood.

Just being around Oscar is enough most days, really. 

More than half the time, Lando doesn’t even bother knocking anymore, so he just opens the door but before he can waltz into the room, he runs into Oscar’s back. Oscar, who’s busy trying to reach something hanging from the ceiling. No, it screams in Lando’s head. No fucking way. 

“Osco?” He mumbles into the soft material of the McLaren branded polo the other is wearing. Oscar sighs softly before turning around, getting his hands on Lando’s waist and pulling him in close. Resting his cheek on top of Lando’s dark curls, “I don’t think I have to tell you what I’ve been trying to rip from my ceiling for the past ten minutes, do I?” 

“Do you think the team’s filming some kind of prank?” Lando starts to think about his suggestion in greater detail and can’t say he’d put it past the PR department to plan something crazy like that. 

Seems like Oscar agrees with the sentiment, nodding his head in a move that makes his chin graze the top of Lando’s head, “Honestly, I can’t say it’s not something they’d come up with it.” They separate then and Lando helps his teammate to get rid of the offence grass, Oscar putting his arms around the older one more time and lifting him up, so Lando can reach the end of the strands and pull them down. “Well, at least no one was around for that one, right?” The Brit tries to make light of the situation. 

It doesn’t change the fact that the whole ordeal is humiliating and Lando’s starting to believe however might be orchestrating this might be aware of Lando’s feelings for the Australian. That would be a nightmare come true, seriously it’d be first time in his Lando might start to consider changing teams, once the offers flies onto his desk. If it saves his (and Oscar’s) dignity, he’d be able to patch up his papaya-bleeding heart. Eventually, at least. 

The idea comes to him on Friday morning, as he’s chewing on his overnight oats, Jon sitting next to him and munching on a Nutella toast. Modern form of torture, really. Anyways, the idea: Maybe the only way to get through this weekend, is staying away from Oscar. As much as it pains him to do so. He’ll do it to safe the tentative friendship he managed to build with Oscar over the past two years. 

Sadly, it seemed a lot easier in his head. Of course, Lando knows it’s not as easy as simply running out of a room once Oscar walks into it (which he still does of course) but in between practice session they usually like to sit down and debrief a little. Talk about how the car’s feeling beneath them and what set-up changes might work. When Lando dips out of the garage every time the younger dares to step a little closer, and he knows he’s being quite obvious about it. Judging from the disappointing look on both Will and Jon’s faces, which - rude? Mind your own fricking business. 

The hurt in Oscar’s eyes though? That’s a different story altogether and Lando can’t help but feel bad about it. If only the younger could understand he’s doing it for them, not trying to ruin their relationship. Maybe he’s being uncharacteristically optimistic, thinking their friendship could still stand, after the carnation his feelings will bring to it. At the end of the day, he’s only got himself and his wretched heart to blame. 

Turns out all his work has been for nothing, which is just the cherry on top. McLaren is hosting a small Christmas party at the common room Friday evening, it’s nothing compared to the actual celebrations they will hold the days before the Holiday once they’re back in Woking but it’s nice, nonetheless. Lando’s ecstatic about the Christmas pastries and Holiday hits playing in the background every year, mostly because Jon will forget about his diet for around three hours that night. It’s more than he gets on most days, so that enough is reason to celebrate.

He truly tries his best the whole time, erratically crossing the room to find himself in conversation with the person, that just happens to be standing furthest away from a certain Australian racing driver. At first, he’s locked in conversation with Zak about their holiday and break plans, coordinating a day to hit the golf court together. Then, he’s busy catching up with some of the press team, asking Lauren about her kids and their Christmas wishes. Of course, he's also with Andrea for some of the night, and Will joins them too. 

Lando feels like he’s being watched the entire time. And he is, the way Oscar’s gaze follows him around the room makes the older sweat in his ridiculous papaya-coloured Christmas sweater. Oscar seems to be able to read Lando’s thoughts and emotions on most days, so he figures it’s no different today. Much to his own disappointment. 

Eventually, the party fizzles out. Most of the employees biding their goodbye and heading back to their hotels, they still have a qualifying session tomorrow, after all. There’s nothing Lando more desperately hopes for than making up his errors to them all. 

Unfortunately, it also means there’s significantly less of a buffer between him and Oscar. Only so many times Lando can hide between Jon and the wall, without it becoming ridiculous. Once the other driver crosses the room to come up to Lando, Jon in a truly evil act of betrayal, pushes Lando out from behind himself and leaves him there. Left to the wolves, Lando can’t do nothing but wait for Oscar to come to a stop in front of him. 

The unimpressed stare that’s looking down on him (their height difference is less than this, Lando swears to God) makes his stomach flutter. “Hi,” Lando squeaks out. Yeah, that’s it. Play it cool, Lando thinks, he won’t notice anything’s wrong like that. 

“Okay, mate. What’s wrong with you?” Oscar deadpans in reply. Lando would like for this whole fucking-him-over spiel to be over sometime soon. Can he call in sick for work tomorrow? Would Jon kill him? No, probably not. 

Andrea would though and he’s way scarier.

Lando’s stuck thinking about his excuse when they get interrupted by the drawl of Oscar’s performance coach, Kim grinning at them. “Lads?” The older Australian is pointing up towards the ceiling above their heads and Lando might implode right here and there. Fuck over McLaren in the Constructor’s Championship one last time. Going out like the gods intended, maybe.

No fucking way. 

But of course, when Lando raises his head properly there’s another mistletoe hanging between them. Can the aura of a motionless object be menacing? It’s a menacing mistletoe, at least in Lando’s mind. The biggest groan passes his lips. Fine, okay. Someone in the team wants Lando to destroy their teammate dynamics for ever? Let him prove to that person how grave of a mistake they’ve just made.

Without saying another word Lando grabs Oscar’s wrist and drags him along behind himself, powerwalking down the hallways until they reach his driver’s room. There’s McLaren branded hoodies flying all around the floor and Lando only notices now he’s forgotten to turn off his Switch, the Breath of the Wild soundtrack filling in the silence in the room. Rito Village by day, what a damn banger. 

“It’s that what this whole thing has been about? The mistletoes?” Oscar looks properly astonished at the revelation. Like he can’t quite believe Lando’s foolishness. Honestly Lando can’t believe it himself on most days. “Lando, I don’t care about those,” Oscar explains and there’s a smile spreading on his lips. Trust Oscar Piastri to look this cute just before he’s about to shatter Lando Norris’ heart into a thousand pieces.

“I care,” he grumbles turning away from the other. It’s a senseless effort, trying to save the last of his dignity by refusing to look Oscar one more time. “I figured it out, you know? Why they keep appearing around us.”

There’s a confused noise leaving Oscar, “Uh-huh. And why do you think it’s happening?” This is it, the end of it. Lando Norris, November 13th, 1999 – December 6th, 2024, cause of death: embarrassing crush reveal. 

“Whoever’s doing it must know I’ve been harbouring a stupid crush on you for most of the season. I’m sorry, Osc, I didn’t mean to drag you into it. I swear I’ll get them to back off, and then if you uh, want to put some distance between the both of us, I’d understand that too, of course,” the Brit rambles. Still doesn’t dare to turn around to look Oscar, too afraid to face the other’s feelings.

In a twist of fate, Oscar decides to remedy it by himself, grabbing a hold of Lando and turning him around. The expression on Oscar’s face is nothing like Lando expected, a white smile with bunny teeth, a warm flush to his cheeks. “Lando, I’ve had a crush on you since I was fifteen, keep up please,” he laughs before letting his hands wander to his cheeks. 

Oscar pulls him up and into a soaring kiss. Lando feels like he’s just short-circuited but thankfully his brain reboots quickly and he’s kissing back. They start out quite wholesome, just a gently brushing of lips. Until Lando decides he’s had enough of Christmas cheer and let’s his tongue swipe across Oscar’s lower lip gently. He’s about to take it up a notch, when there’s suddenly cheering and clapping behind them.

They flinch apart in a flash. It’s Jon and Kim, standing in the open doorway with twin smiles on their faces. Those scheming little grinches. “Looks like our plan worked,” Jon hums, clearly pleased with himself. The rage on Lando’s face must be pretty telling, because in the next moment both of their trainers vanish back into the hallways. 

Lando’s just about to run after them, when Oscar grabs him by the waist instead and drags him back, until Lando’s back collides with the other’s chest. Their difference in sizes even more obvious, with the way Oscar’s shoulders embrace his own. “Baby,” Oscar’s whispers into his ear, “I think we have some more making up of lost time to do, before we take care of those two.”

And yeah, that’s – that’s pretty fucking fair. 

⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆

thanks for reading xoxo

[junhuiste]

experi-meant to be ⋆ park wonbin

pairing: wonbin x gn reader

tags/warnings: fluff, cursing, college au, laboratory environment, one mention of baking, 1600 words

a/n: i meant to publish this on valentine’s day since i had lab that day but i never finished it lol. there’s some microbio lab procedure jargon so like this is what streaking plates is if you want a visual lmfaoao. this is my first published work in like three years it feels weird haha + i might change my layout/header for fics but for now i’ll keep the same layout i've had for past fics

wonbin believes U are the uracil to his adenine—you should always be paired together.

| seunghan: dude 

| seunghan: lowkey i can’t come to lab bc my car won’t fucking start so i’ll have to make it up next week :\ but taehyun and his partner would probably be willing to help you out with calculations and clean up hopefully

Wonbin pants heading up the stairs into the classroom lab, cheeks immediately pink as he’s made a spectacle amongst everyone already sitting and tuned into the TA’s pre-lab lesson. Sighing as he processes Seunghan’s text, Wonbin turns to the drawing of bacterial growth curves on the whiteboard but is soon after preoccupied with the fact that there is no Taehyun on a stool. There’s just your backside entirely in front of him. 

Taehyun is one to set up all his materials before the TA even steps foot through the lab door so if he isn’t here now then that means—

“Guess you’re stuck with me for today.” 

Wonbin tries to swallow but it gets stuck halfway down his throat and is about to go into a choke type cough frenzy when he surprises himself and softly clears his throat instead. His thoughts are all just stuck there—in the middle of his esophagus, begging for them to travel back up to his brain so he has enough stamina to stick it through the four hour class. 

“No hate to him because Taehyunnie’s a tad faster at getting through the steps, so you know, we’re usually out thirty minutes early, but I can promise you I’m better at calculations. And I’m more precise with measurements,” you let out a small giggle before setting your backpack on the floor next to Wonbin’s.

The commotion of pipettes being thrown onto the surface, glass tubes clinking, and sneakers squeaking rushing to obtain their samples is right away drowned out in Wonbin’s ears by the sight of you perched atop the stool a mere few inches away from him. He tries to keep his chest from heaving at bay by taking his notebook out of his backpack and reviewing the method for today’s class. The solution is only short lived though, promptly taking notice of how you gather materials from the drawer while simultaneously reading through your own notebook. 

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Wonbin assumes his seat in the third to last row of his Virology lecture, close enough to the door that he can be among the first to leave as soon as “see you guys next time” leaves Professor Choi’s lips. He longs for the day (ideally it would be quite before the last week of classes but realistically that’s the best he has to offer for now) that he musters up just the slightest bit of courage to join you and Taehyun in the second row, where Seunghan also occasionally accompanies you two. It’s only the third week of this semester, but perhaps the sixth course of his over the past three years Wonbin’s seen you in. From Biochemistry to Rhetoric 2, he has never taken place at a desk next to yours. 

Wonbin’s always aching to know how you’d answer everything he could ever ask you, be it the attendance quiz question or your weekend plans—what time you usually roll out of bed, whether or not you stroll to the local farmer’s market near campus, if you’re spending Saturday with a special someone. He needs to hear you laugh at Taehyun’s cynicism about college. He needs to hear it up close, not having to strain his ear when he’s fifteen rows behind when you crack up at your friend during the five minute break Professor Choi gives the class. 

But Wonbin will take what he can get for now, and if that’s helping you fulfill your wish of completing the lab procedure as quickly as possible, he’ll do it. 

“I can do the calculations for us,” you begin, “would you mind getting our mutant strains at the front of the class and streak the Petri dishes?” 

Wonbin nods almost too enthusiastically and curses at himself for seeming embarrassingly desperate in front of you. Sure, he’d like to muster up the courage to ask you out, but today he’ll try to take it one step at a time.

When Wonbin returns with new plates to grow your bacteria on and two tubes filled with your bacterial strains, you scoot your chair closer to his to later show the finished calculations. He catches a whiff of your light perfume and almost falls out of his own chair. 

As he’s setting up the Bunsen burner for sterilization, you chuckle, “you know the real reason Taehyun’s not here today is because he left town last night to get a head start on the extravagant romantic weekend he has planned with Gaeul.”

“If there’s one way to use our one free unexcused absence, that’ll do it,” Wonbin replies. 

“Do you have any plans for Valentine’s Day, Wonbin? I mean if you did I just hope you wouldn’t leave me early like Taehyun did,” your eyes meet his for a brief second before flitting back to your notebook.

Wonbin’s grip on the matchstick to light the burner loosens. He just barely catches himself before the match could fall from his hand onto the lab bench. What he needed to get a grip on was his fucking sanity—he almost set the classroom on fire because his heart instead is aflame for yours. 

Taking a breath, Wonbin exhales when the flame turns to blue, finally lighting the Bunsen burner. 

“Nope, no plans,” he briefly turns to you. There’s a beat and he considers that asking you back would seem too forward, but he does it anyway. 

Upon seeing your grin before you open your mouth, he turns his attention right back to the tubes and plates in front of him. 

It’s so over. 

For a second Wonbin’s relieved, because he thinks he can actually get through the next two hours without overthinking his micro movements in front of you. Now that it’s over for him, maybe he can actually pay attention to the way the metal loop he’s holding makes contact with the jelly-like agar inside the plastic plate and not disappoint Seunghan with the results. However, it’s not realistic because even still, Wonbin takes note of all your beauty and remains completely bewitched.

“Honestly I wish...I mean Minjeong, Yunjin and I are gonna do a rom-com binge and bake desserts…but you know…not any plans with someone like that…” 

Your temporary lab partner tries to hide his smile and nods silently as he continues switching between spreading bacteria on the plate with the metal loop and then sterilizing the loop in the blue flame. 

The rest of lab goes smoothly as Wonbin tries to quell the embers within him for the time remaining. There’s forty minutes left but technically to you Wonbin knows time is dashing away and it should feel like there’s what but only ten minutes left to do everything. Your pair was a few steps ahead of the others, just like how it would be when Taehyun accompanied you every week. 

Wonbin has been psyching himself up the past two hours to finally ask you out but currently he’s stuck in his head and just can’t seem to get it out. Does he chase you after you’ve stepped foot out of the lab or should he leave you be? Or maybe he can try next week. He’ll keep telling himself that until there’s one day of instruction left and then he won’t see you for three months and then he’ll lament the entire summer to Seunghan that he didn’t say shit. 

He can do that…or just rip the bandage off at an agonizing speed. 

The last Petri dish that Wonbin holds is being wrapped in parafilm to prevent contamination. He’d been going through the motions of the procedure while simultaneously not paying attention to his surroundings, at his own self’s behest. You’ve already cleaned the entire lab bench and he doesn’t notice until he hears “see you in Virology,” and suddenly you’re slinging your backpack over your shoulder. 

It’s now or next week…or never—wait you know that Wonbin’s in your Virology class? What you said is ringing in his ears and it hits him all at once.

Petri dishes in hand and turning around, Wonbin freezes in his tracks.

“Um…”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“Do you want to hang out tomorrow?” his own mouth betrays him and suddenly it’s all coming out much too quickly for his liking. 

You’re about to answer but before you can even get a word in, “I-I don’t mean to interfere with your plans with your friends but uh, if you wanted to do something like that I’m down.”

Your lips press into a line and Wonbin is about to pass out from the threatening fluorescent classroom lights. 

“Park Wonbin…are you asking me out on a date?” He can practically feel his sweat melting the parafilm tape off and a vision of him dropping the Petri dishes in front of you, cracking open and shattering, exposing E.coli to everyone in the room flashes before him. He blinks once and calms his vice grip on the plates. 

“Yes. Yes I am asking you out on a date,” Wonbin looks down at your sneakers, not knowing where else to shift his gaze to. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you smirk, slinging the other strap of your backpack over your other shoulder and saluting.

Park Wonbin swears his heart is on fire and does a backflip off a fifty foot cliff. A curve forming on his lips, he smiles slightly waving with the plates still in his hand, “see ya…”

You halt your forward movement and turn back around, “Wonbin?” he perks up again, “you should sit next to me in lecture on Tuesday.”

[gregorovitch-adler]

AO3 Wrapped (Writers' Edition).

Thanks for tagging me, @lisbeth-kk and @gaylilsherlock!

1. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

That I developed a genuine hyperfixation over an OT3 (Sherlock x John x Mariana). Enough that I wrote several fics (including a smutty one) about it.

I'm not even that big of a shipper in most fandoms (I tend to be a non-shipper generally), but even when I do start shipping something, it usually just involves 2 characters at a time.

Especially with the case of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

A year ago, I never would have imagined shipping either of them with anyone else apart from each other (because I'm generally not a multi-shipper).

It changed this year because the friendship among these three in the canon of the podcast Sherlock & co is just that good.

It was a very pleasant surprise to me. :))

Expanding my usual writing style from writing about strictly monogamous relationships (and that too usually just about Johnlock) to including a third character - and thus a polyam relationship in my fic writing - was a little challenging though.

A very interesting challenge, of course. ;)

2. How many WIP's do you have in your docs for next year?

Just one case fic right now. It's definitely going to increase.

3. Your favorite character to write this year?

Gustavo Fring from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul!

I know I didn't write a lot of fics about him this year, I'm just featuring him during this December fluff (fluffcember) prompts challenge, but still.

He'll always be my favourite antagonist.

If you've watched these two shows, you'll realise he's not even a villain. All significant characters (especially Walter White) have various degrees of villainy under their belts.

Something about him being such a no-nonsense kinda guy on the surface, never saying a word beyond what's necessary in the source material (especially in Breaking Bad), but all of that just being a façade to cover up his human side (i.e., his feelings for Max, his determination to avenge Max's death, his genuine respect for his employees at Los Pollos Hermanos and everything else) is extremely interesting and delightful to me.

In Tumblr-speak, I want to place Gustavo Fring under my microscope. 🤭

And then there's John Watson, of course. He's my all time favourite. But this year, I just felt the need to write about Gustavo Fring too a bit more.

Also, Irene Adler is my wife. ☺ I loved writing Mollrene ficlets in December this year.

Here's to featuring her in my stories even more.

4. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

I can't think of anyone in particular at the moment, but I did find capturing John's voice in The Veiled Lodger (my first ever Sherlock & co fanfic) a bit challenging in the beginning. Because I was only getting started with my Sherlock & co fic writing journey, and I wanted everything to be perfect.

5. What's one pairing you want to explore next year?

Gus/Max.

I'll continue to write about Sherlock x John x Mariana (and even about just Holmes/Watson), too, obviously, but yeah.

I used to be a bit hesitant about this pairing before, even though I've always loved Gus ever since I first watched Breaking Bad (in 2020).

That's because we don't see Max in canon at all, save for that one (1) flashback scene which lasts for just 5 minutes (and Max dies brutally in that one...)

So, featuring Max in a fic at all would just mean writing an OC from scratch at this point. And making an OC feel like a fleshed out character makes me feel a little nervous sometimes.

But I broke all that hesitation this year, and I hope I continue to do that next year too!

6. Did you receive any gifts this year?

Yes! I received 3 beautiful art pieces (including the one in my header image) from my friend as gifts. It was lovely. 🥰 @jamielovesjam

7. Did you do any collaborative works this year?

I did! @nowiamcoveredinyou and I wrote this fic based on ACD canon this year. We had fun.

8. What do you listen to while writing?

Nothing much, to be honest. I prefer a quiet environment.

9. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Hard to choose, but if I have to, then here you go:

Sherlock stepped forward and took John’s hands in his own.

“Watson, I’ve said this before, and I’ll repeat it now: fear is a sickness. Fear is seemingly ordinary but insidious enough to eventually put one in the shackles of one’s own imagination. Never let it get to you. I can very well face Moriarty alone. He did ask to meet me, anyway. So, this is my battle. I’ll fight it.” Sherlock visibly swallowed. “Please, go now. The lady will never find a doctor as good as you.”

From my Sherlock & co fic Dilemma. It's a modern day re-write of that one scene from The Final Problem (where Watson cannot decide whether to help the old lady or to go with Holmes to meet Moriarty with him).

I wrote it just after the Part- 1 of The Shoscombe Old Place (Sherlock & co) had aired on Spotify and YouTube (and on other platforms).

Moriarty's name had been (not so) casually dropped for the first time in the podcast when John was going through all the shoutouts.

We still don't know where they'll go with that... 👀

Enough with my rambling.

Tags: @helloliriels , @nowiamcoveredinyou , and anyone else who sees this! (No pressure).

[naeverse]

Extra Credit PT: 3

🏫staring. Professor O’Hara x Sassy fem!reader

🎒 preview: “Do you agree, Y/N? Will you help me help you?"

🖋️Summary: Miguel O'Hara, a renowned, attractive genetics professor,  known for his strict stance against extra credit. As a senior, you struggle to keep up with coursework and Mr. O'Hara's opposition to extra credit makes it difficult for you to pass. However, a chance encounter with you changes everything, as Mr. O'Hara becomes more open to helping you - but you must help him in return.

📕tw/cw. unprotected sex, harsh language, hate sex, rough, hand job, blow job, dirty talk, oral sex, spanking, accidental simulation, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Miguel, mutual orgasm, etc… 

📘pet names: (hers) little puta or puta (Little bitch, bitch), Chica (Girl), Muñeca (Doll), 

✏️ rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

📖Word count: 5.6k words

🍎 Credit to Artist in header: Narutoss.ramen

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

He glared down at the young woman in her early 20s who knelt before him. He didn't see her as a student anymore.

Someone he taught,

Someone he had to be cautious with,

gentle with,

fragile with…

Hell no…

He was blinded by rage and lust. Two horrific combinations…

And he only had one thought in his head…

That he was going to dominate and destroy this mouthy bitch and put her in her place…

Mr. O’Hara hastily grabbed your hair in his large, tanned hand, pulling it back with such force that it caused your eyes to water from the intense pain. You yelped, the action surprising you immensely.

“I’m going to teach you to watch that smartass mouth of yours.” He growled before forcing your mouth onto his 10-inch cock.

You instantly gagged harshly, the tears that were building up in your eyes from the pain in your scalp now sliding down your cheeks. A deep groan came from Mr. O’Hara, his hands bunching up your hair so he could hold it tightly into one closed fist.

You choked loudly as breathing was nearly impossible. Mr. O’Hara chuckled darkly, thrusting his shaft upwards into your mouth over and over again. You gagged loudly, your eyes rolling whilst the room filled with the sounds of your throat squelching under the harsh treatment of Mr. O’Hara’s huge length. Your face was starting to redden, tears spilling down your cheeks causing Mr. O’Hara to snicker.

He burrowed his cock deep within your throat before pulling you up. You practically jumped away from him, coughing horribly. The corners of your mouth dripped with your own spit and drool.

"What the hell was that?" You spat angrily, collecting yourself and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Mr. O'Hara snarled, his fist gripping your hair harder, causing you to wince.

"I've warned you many times this semester that your mouth would get you into trouble, puta," Mr. O'Hara said coldly, his amber eyes appearing even redder than usual as he stared down at you.

"Have I not?"

You grumbled, a potent blend of anger, rage and disbelief coursing through your veins. You averted your gaze from him, opting to disregard his words.

Mr. O’Hara couldn’t believe this girl.

Did you really just turn away from him?

He growled, yanking your head back towards him, forcing your eyes to meet the enraged professor's.

“You will look at me when I’m talking to you!” He bellowed, his grip on your hair tightening.

You gazed up at Mr. O'Hara, and for the first time ever, you couldn't recognize the person looking back at you…

Since the start of this semester, you had eagerly anticipated encountering the perpetually stressed male professor; your knack for pushing his buttons somehow made your genetics class slightly more bearable.

Every time you saw him, his appearance remained the same. Dark circles obscured his eyes, stress wrinkles adorned his face, and the usual air of dread and stoicism hung about him. He never lost his composure, although he occasionally raised his voice at a few students, including you, but he never reached the point of wanting to harm anyone.

As you gazed up at Mr. O'Hara, his face was devoid of its usual fatigue, and for the first time, you saw a startling alertness in him.

In fact, this was the most awake you'd ever seen him…

His jaw was firmly clenched, and a malevolent smirk adorned his lips as he fixed his penetrating gaze upon you. He appeared as though he harbored a desire to inflict pain upon you, to relish in your suffering.

Every aspect of his demeanor was becoming increasingly unnerving, but, of course, you weren't about to let him discern your fear.

“I must have really struck a nerve there, Mr. O’Hara. What? Are you so ashamed to have to ask me, your most disliked student, for a blowjob?” You cackled heartily, your laughter causing your stomach to quiver. "Haah…" A breathy sigh escaped as you shook your head, mirth in your voice. "You must be even more desperate than I thought, Mr. O," you taunted, flashing a fake, teasing pout from where you kneeled between his legs.

Mr. O’Hara’s smirk soon faded away, his expression completely unreadable and cold. Without any warnings, he forced you back upon his huge cock.

Your mouth was stretched to the extreme, your hands instinctively flying up to land on his toned thighs. You squirmed, his size overwhelmingly huge in all aspects. It reached down into the lowest parts of your throat causing your entire face to redden, tears to pour down your cheeks, and drool to rapidly spill down your chin once again.

You choked and gagged loudly, patting his thighs frantically. He maintained a strong hold on your hair, his grip resolute and unyielding, making it impossible to break free.

“I’m sick and tired of you pissing me the fuck off!” He bellowed loudly near your head. A dark snicker escaped him as he observed your face turning a faint blend of red and purple.

“Aww…nothing else to say?”

It was now his turn to cackle, to laugh at your vulnerable state. Your eyes couldn’t stop rolling, his tip touching the most sensitive part of your throat with every small movement.

Mr. O’Hara continued to study your face, biting his lip. “You want to be free of this?”

You could barely hear him, the pounding of your own heart the only sound filling your ears. Nevertheless, you nodded your head vigorously. More tears streamed down your cheeks, eliciting a sinister snicker from Mr. O'Hara.

“I want to hear you beg.”

He said with a smirk, pulling you up, but not fully. Your lips were still just a hair’s breadth from his darkened red tip that was leaking even more with precum.

Your face was completely red and stained with tears. Mr. O’Hara's grip was tight on your hair, holding onto it like a leash, sitting back in his chair, watching your every move and reaction. You coughed, trying to recollect yourself whilst Mr. O’Hara looked down at you with a sly grin.

“I’m waiting~” He smirked, cocking his head at you.

You were breathing heavily, your mouth a little sore from the abuse it recieved by his lethal, bulging shaft. You looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Your stubbornness, even in your vulnerable state, resurfaced within you. You began to chuckle weakly.

“Beg?” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Oh Mr. O’Hara…I don’t beg.”

At your statement, Mr. O’Hara's smirk broadened.

Just as he had predicted…,

Your stubbornness was going to be the death of you.

His sharp, white canines peeked dangerously out from his lips. He was going to enjoy breaking you…

He roughly yanked you towards him by your hair causing you to yelp. He looked at your face up and down, taking in your flushed and reddish face, messy hair, glossy eyes, glistening cheeks, and pinkish and swollen lips. His cock twitched even more at the sight of you like this.

It was a massive turn on…

“You don’t beg huh?” He mocked, cupping your chin harshly with his free hand. Mr. O’Hara ran his calloused thumb along your jawline, the touch causing you to growl softly. “No, I don’t, especially not for some pervert like you!”

He kissed his teeth, his grip on your chin tightening, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Call me that again."

He threatened, his tanned features growing even sterner. Despite the discomfort in your chin, you smirked at his words.

"You. Are. A. Pervert."

You repeated with even more emphasis. Instead of the usual infuriated look he gave you…

He smiled…

A broad grin stretched across his tanned lips, revealing nearly all thirty-two teeth, with his sharp canines drawing most of the attention. He leaned in close to your face, so near that you could catch a whiff of his minty breath.

“Here’s the thing Y/N.” He said meancingly, his amber-crimson eyes trailing your face.

“You gave yourself to me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you scowled. “No, I fucking didn’t!” You growled, causing him to snicker. “Oh chica, but you did. I asked you if you wanted this extra credit, and guess who agreed…?”

He leaned in close to your ear, his lips brushing the skin causing you to shiver.

“You.”

Your heart briefly sank, and your teeth clenched tightly.

He was right…

You had indeed agreed to this extra credit, to do whatever he required in exchange for help with your grades.

You huffed in anger.

This was supposed to be easy, quick, a fucking walk in the park…

But because it was fucking Miguel O’Hara. He was making everything so damn difficult!

Mr. O’Hara looked at you, watching you ponder your situation. He raised an eyebrow. “Now…I will get what I want from you. If it will be pleasurable or painful is up to you.” He chuckled sinisterly, his amber-crimson eyes trailing your kneeled position. “But from here on out, you will shut your mouth, and you will obey me.

¿Lo has conseguido?”

He pulled your hair tighter at the lack of response to his words. “Do you understand, chica?” You whimpered, the strands of your hair feeling like it was about to snap under his harsh grip. You frantically nodded. He smirked, loosening his grip. “Good, but let’s see if you are a good listener, chica.

I want you to repeat what I just said.”

You snarled, glaring up at Mr. O’Hara who only smirked deviously back at you. Your lips trembled. “I’ll do my task.” You briskly said through gritted teeth.

He cackled, pulling your hair tightly once again causing your eyes to tear up. “Are you deaf!?” With a laugh, he vigorously shook your entire body, tugging your hair from side to side. "That's not a damn thing I just said, chica."

You clenched your jaw, staring up at his taunting crimson eyes that stared back at you through his black eyeglasses. He snickered, looking down at you. “Don’t play stupid Y/N. Be a good girl and properly repeat what I had said.”

You looked up at him, your body trembling slightly, and your nostrils flaring. "Why? We both know I won't listen to a damn you say. Just let me get on with it," you huffed, your hands clenched into fists on your lap. Your black and white flannel skirt, barely covering your thighs, bore witness to the aftermath of his earlier rough treatment of your hair and body as you knelt before him.

Mr. O'Hara stared down at you, his face entirely inscrutable as he studied your every detail.

'Stubborn as always.'

He thought, his crimson eyes scrutinizing your form. He observed the lingering rosy tint on your cheeks from your previous forced tears, the snug fit of your black crop top accentuating your breasts, your tightly clenched fists, and, lastly, that damn skirt that had started this whole fucking mess.

He licked his lips, smirking at you. "Seems you've made your choice," he said with a sinister tone, surprising you as he released his grip on your hair. He sat back in his chair, widening his legs even more causing his huge, tanned dick to twitch in the air.

“And chica, it seems I’ve made mine…”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and anger.

‘What the fuck was he getting at!?’

Mr. O'Hara smirked and gestured with his hand for you to continue. "Let's see if your mouth is good for something other than talking shit," he said, causing your nose to scrunch up. You snarled, roughly taking his cock in your hand.

It felt incredibly firm, hard, yet also sticky and warm. Before, merely by sight, you knew he was big, but holding him in your hand…

He was massive…

Mr. O'Hara's tanned shaft was exceptionally thick and large, making it challenging for your fingers to touch as you gripped it in your hand. No matter how much force you exert while gripping him in pure hatred, it seemed as though his hardened length was pushing back. You gulped, peering down at his angry reddish, brown tip that was dripping precum from its slit.

Mr. O'Hara rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair, propping his cheek up with his knuckles. "Are you finished?" Your gaze shot up to meet his, and your lips twisted into a snarl. You didn’t hesitate and wrapped your lips around his tip, taking Mr. O’Hara by surprise and drawing a groan from him.

Mr. O’Hara felt waves of tingles and electricity rush through his body all at once. His eyes fluttered slightly. “Mierda…” He cursed under his breath, his tanned, long fingers running through your hair, clawing up bunches of it in his digits.

You held him in your fist, whilst continuing to suck his tip. Your tongue peeking out to run across his slit making him shutter everytime. “Fuck…” He muttered, grabbing onto more of your hair. You smirked, slowly taking more of him into your mouth, increasing your pace.

Mr. O’Hara was slowly losing it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been sucked off like this, the sensations coming in and hitting him like a freight train again and again.

He was already trembling, the muscles in his abs and thighs tensing up, his veins around his v-line protruding. His fingers dug into your scalp, pulling sharply at your hair making you wince, but you couldn’t help but love how much influence you had over him.

You gazed up at him whilst licking the sides of his shaft. His eyes were closed, his tanned lips slightly parted, emitting low groans and curses. His face flushed, and his cheeks reddened, while his black glasses teetered on the edge of his nose, perilously close to falling.

Mr. O'Hara struggled to suppress his groans, determined not to give you the satisfaction of knowing he was thoroughly enjoying the pleasure you were bestowing upon him, but he was failing miserably.

He couldn't deny it; you were undeniably skilled.

Your hand barely wrapped around his base as your cheeks were hollowed perfectly whilst you bobbed your head back and forth. Your tongue tracing the brim of his tip and bulging vein before diving back in to take him back into your mouth.

Large gasps of air passed Mr. O’Hara’s lips, one tanned hand gripping your hair tightly while the other clawed at the armrest of his chair, undoubtedly leaving marks behind. He looked down at you through half-hooded eyes to see you still slurping away at his large member, but what brought a toothy grin to his lips was the sight of you actually enjoying yourself…

Your eyes decorated with beautiful lashes were closed, your lips framing his cock perfectly and due to previously being overwhelmed in his own world of pleasure, he could now make out the small hums that you were making around his dick. Mr. O’Hara smirked, he wanted so badly to make a snarky comment, but at this point, his mouth could barely form a word, let alone a sentence.

He leaned his head back against his seat, savoring the long-awaited pleasure he had desired since the moment he first noticed your luscious thighs and alluring ass during class.

But secretly, you actually were liking this…

It was something about finally having control over Mr. O’Hara. The power with just one lick causing him to tremble, a tiny squeeze of his cock bringing a low groan to escape his mouth. It was so enjoyable that you couldn’t help but hum around his dick.

You were impressing yourself more and more by how much you were taking him. Your eyes closed shut, throat muscles working wonderfully around his massive length, sliding down until your nose brushed his pelvic bone and your chin to his sack. Your eyes fluttered, breathing heavily through your nose and holding his cock burrowed deep.

Mr. O’Hara cursed loudly, his fingers gripping your hair tightly in his palm. He was losing it and almost came instantly when you smirked, and swallowed around his shaft. Your throat clenching briefly around his hardened length. His mouth hung open, his eyes half-lidded, his black glasses dangling off his nose. He was burning hot, filled with tingles and unbearable sensations all because of the bitchy girl before him.

You pulled away, returning back to sucking his tip with sticky strings of drool and cum coating Mr. O’Hara’s cock and your lips.

Mr. O'Hara was dripping horribly of precum, his sticky substance along with your own drool and saliva spilling out the corners of your mouth, down your chin to stain your black croptop. Your hands that gripped his girth, even was coated with the substances, but you didn’t care.

You were enjoying the feeling of Mr. O’Hara’s small tremors, how his cock twitched slightly in your palm and mouth, and the helpless grunts and strangled groans that left his lips.

You felt so powerful, dominating such an arrogant, large male like Mr. Miguel O’Hara, but you needed him to realize and recognize that he didn’t have any control here whatsoever.

Mr. O’Hara was getting dangerously close, his deep cries of ecstasy becoming louder. He was starting to be more sensitive than before, even the smallest brush of your tongue, slightest clench of your fist, or suction of your lips and he was squirming. A deep, hot tingly sensation was starting to rise in his groin and stomach, his balls starting to tighten and strain. “Fuck. S-shit.”

You smirked deviously around his cock, quickening your pace.

“Mierda…! I-I’m cumming…fuck!” He cried out, his head falling back against his computer chair, endless moans and curses in a blend of English and Spanish tumbling from his agape mouth.

You waited until you felt his cock begin to horribly tremble in your mouth before you pulled away with a loud, satisfying, plop.

Mr. O’Hara's eyes flew open in an instant, the euphoric high rapidly fading from his body. His gaze locked onto you, sitting back on your heels, a sly grin adorning your lips. With casual defiance, you wiped the corners of your mouth with your thumb.

“Hmm…you didn’t really think I’ll make this easy, now did you, professor?”

Mr. O'Hara swallowed, attempting to regain his composure as he growled. His blood boiled, and his eyes reddened with intense, hazy rage.

"You little puta! You are such a stubborn bitch!” He spat out, his nails digging into the armrests of his chair, leaving fresh marks.

Mr. O'Hara was thoroughly fed up with you. Every time he believed you were finally finished with your offensive remarks and obstinacy, you managed to prove him wrong.

It seemed as if you were an animal unable to be tamed…

Or so he thought…

He's noticed before when he forced his cock deep within your throat that you were scared, terrified even. Noting as well how quickly you were to obey him, once he spoke of releasing you.

‘So that’s your kryptonite, little puta.’

He smirked, looking down at you, cocking his head.

Domination, the display of control and aggression through actions, was what both terrified and subdued you…

And Mr. O'Hara had just discovered that…

Oblivious to his epiphany, you continue to taunt him from between his legs. “You want to release, don’t you Mr. O’Hara?” You asked with a toothy grin, caressing and teasing his thick thighs with your hands. “Why not beg for it? Beg me how much you want to cum Mr. O.”

Mr. O'Hara smirked, his amber-crimson eyes locked onto you from behind his black eyeglasses. He adjusted his spectacles on his nose, his gaze traveling over every aspect of your figure. His hungry eyes fixated on the skin of your thighs, which peeked out from beneath your skirt, once again ensnaring his attention, before returning to meet your face once more.

Before you could react, Mr. O'Hara swiftly got to his feet, seizing you by the throat and effortlessly hoisting you up. You gasped, your eyes widening as your hands instinctively clasped around his wrist. He compelled you backward until your back was forcefully pressed against his desk.

As a student, you occasionally overlooked the imposing height of Mr. O'Hara, standing nearly 7 feet tall, as he loomed above you. His grip around your throat tightened ever so slightly, his face dangerously close to yours. A malevolent, sinister grin adorned his lips as his eyes locked with yours.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk,"

He murmured, shaking his head with a sinister chuckle, his dark brown curls swaying with the motion, his grip on your neck sending shivers of fear down your spine.

"So stubborn and disobedient, you are, little puta. It appears you're prone to forgetting who holds the reins of control here."

Your lips trembled a little. Right then and there, you felt so small and powerless.

Something you’ve never felt before…

You still had some fight in you, but you felt it slowly leaving you under the intense gaze of Mr. O’Hara.

You returned his smirk with a quivering one, trying to muster a show of bravery. "W-What kind of control do you p-possess? Y-You never had any to begin with," you stammered, mustering a nervous laugh. Mr. O'Hara's grip around your throat tightened once again in response.

"Such an obstinate little bitch you are, Y/N," he chortled, biting his lip, his gaze traversing your black and white outfit, tracing the contours of your alluring figure. "You'd be a cute little thing if you weren’t so damn mouthy,” he added, licking his lips while his eyes continued to roam over your form.

His intense gaze and lustful comments brought a sly grin to your lips. "Watch yourself, professor, your perverted side is showing." You taunted.

Mr. O'Hara tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours. "Hmm, perverted, you say?" He chuckled, abruptly slamming your backside against the desk, eliciting a gasp from your lips at the sudden action. He yanked you forcefully toward him, your faces mere inches apart, as you could feel the palpable anger radiating from him due to the intense proximity.

"I've given you plenty of chances, Y/N, to be obedient and to keep your damn mouth shut. It seems you're incapable of doing either," he growled, his fingers pressing into your throat while the other rested on the edge of his desk, trapping you completely under him.

Despite your vulnerable situation, you refused to give Mr. O'Hara the satisfaction of feeling like he had won. So, you nonchalantly shrugged your shoulders and chuckled, "You're absolutely right, professor. I seem to be incapable of both."

"Well, Y/N, that's quite a shame," he said sinisterly with a smirk, a small snicker escaping his lips, his intense gaze on you.

"A shame for you, I mean."

He chuckled, his voice taking a gravelly tone. Running his thumb along the center of your throat, your breath hitched at his touch. His eyes locked onto yours, a sly grin slowly spreading across his lips.

Without delay, he swiftly turned you around, pressing his hand firmly on the small of your back and forcefully slamming your stomach flat onto his desk. You let out a startled yelp at the abrupt change in position.

You stood bent over Mr. O'Hara's desk, with him right behind you. Your body was overwhelmed with anxiety, nerves coursing through you as you wondered what he might do next.

Mr. O'Hara's hand traced down the curve of your backside, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

The sound of his footsteps behind you was deafening, your breathing shaky. His fingers continued their path, gliding down the curve of your ass before he swiftly lifted your flannel skirt.

A loud gasp escaped your lips, your black thong, which barely concealed your bottom, was instantly exposed to a chilly breeze. Mr. O'Hara chuckled, firmly gripping your hair and pulling you backward until you found yourself face to face with his enigmatic, tanned, and firm visage. You winced, your breaths coming in heavy, nervous bursts as your gaze met his crimson eyes.

He ran his hand along your asscheeks, his finger slipping under the thin string of your black thong, running his thick digit along the bare crease of your ass. Your eyes fluttered, and you bit your lip as he unhooked it, causing the fabric to snap back against your bottom, making you jump and a yelp to escape your lips.

He wore a dark, sinister smirk, observing your reaction. Leaning in close, his tanned nose brushed against your ear while he continued to run his calloused palm along your rear.

“You want to act like a bitch, so I’ll treat you like one.”

Twack!

“Ahh!” You screamed out, feeling Mr. O’Hara suddenly spank your right asscheek. His large, calloused hand striking your bare flesh sent a jolting shockwave to course from your ass up your spine. You jerked against his desk, tears welling up in your eyes, which only brought a sinister grin to Mr. O'Hara's lips, revealing his sharp canines. "Shall we try this again?" he huskily asked, running his hand along your stinging bottom.

“You will learn your place Y/N.”

Twack!

You were met with another, even stronger blow to your left cheek, which elicited another scream from your lips. Tears streamed down your face as you tried your hardest to stifle your cries. The pain from your rear, excruciating.

“You will listen to me."

Twack!Twack!

Two brutal slaps landed on both of your stinging cheeks. "Fuck!" You cried out in a trembling voice, jerking against his wooden desk. Mr. O'Hara chuckled, running his large hands along each cheek. You breathed heavily, filled with anxiety about what his next move might be, scared to endure another blow.

“This last one, little puta, is very important, so listen well…” He huskily whispered against your ear before pulling away, leaving your heart pounding rapidly in your chest.

“And you will shut your damn mouth!”

TWACK!

A blood-curdling scream was pulled from within you as he slapped the hell out of your pussy. His target directed at the thin black cloth that covered your slick mound. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you pressed your forehead against his desk.

Your legs trembled from the stinging, burning pain in your rear, and you were sure your ass was beet red.

Mr. O'Hara growled, gripping your hair roughly and pulling your head toward him once more. "Do I make myself clear, little puta?" he said through gritted teeth. His face appeared stern and unyielding, but the bulging vein on his neck revealed his evident anger.

You breathed heavily, your eyes glassy and your cheeks red, puffy, and still wet with tears. Anxious, you stared back at him, your lips trembling. He pulled your hair even harder, his teeth gritting together.

"Do you understand me, damn it?!" he bellowed, causing you to jump at his loud, thunderous outburst.

Your teeth were chattering in fear, but you were stubborn.

So very stubborn.

You sniffled, a smile on your face. “Do your worst, Mr. O’Hara. I won’t give in to you.”

Mr. O’Hara's eyebrow arched at your words, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve never seen someone so incredibly stubborn, Y/N,” he remarked with a chuckle. “It’s quite admirable.” His teasing tone elicited a snarl from you.

He shook his head, snickering, and his grip on your hair tightened. “But why put up such a fight, hmm? What? Have something to prove?” His crimson eyes peered through his black spectacles, searching your face for the answer he desired.

You heaved angrily, snickering while gazing at Mr. O’Hara from an upside-down, uncomfortable position. “A pervert like yourself does not deserve my submission.” You chuckled, your hands resting on the top of the desk before you, while Mr. O’Hara observed your inverted expression.

Mr. O’Hara poked his inner cheek, contemplating your words as his eyes traveled down to your redden bottom. He couldn't help but bite his lower lip.

It was a beautiful sight to him…

Even though you attempted to maintain your composure, your body language betrayed you.

Your legs quivered and shook slightly, your grip on his dark oak desk was tight as you clung on for dear life. However, what captured Mr. O'Hara’s attention the most was the unmistakable, wet spot forming at the crotch of your black thong. The area that snugly cradled your most intimate self was now adorned with your arousal.

He chuckled darkly at the sight of it.

‘Little puta, is actually enjoying herself, eh?’

Thwart!

A startled cry burst from deep within your chest as your body jolted against Mr. O’Hara's desk once again. His firm spank to your left cheek, both painful and resounding, filled his empty classroom with a piercing sound, followed by his hearty laughter.

Your lips trembled, feeling your panties become even more drenched with your arousal after the action. Your breathing was heavy, deep exhales escaping your mouth whilst you stared up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. Mr. O’Hara cackled behind you, yanking your hair causing you to bite your lip, suppressing the cry of pain that shot through your scalp.

He suddenly leaned in close, his throbbing member poking against your thigh. You soon felt his warm breath against the shell of your ear, his lips grazing the skin sending a wave of tingles through your body.

“Little puta, it seems you have a dirty, little secret.”

He snickered, causing your jaw to clench. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” You growled, squeezing your thighs tightly together. You were becoming so aroused that your juices were starting to slide down your legs. You bit your lip causing Mr. O’Hara to smirk.

“You say I’m a pervert, yet you are dripping all over my classroom floor, puta.”

Mr. O’Hara tilted his head, studying your expression with a toothy grin. You gulped sharply, your heart sinking into your stomach in response to his words. "N-No, I'm not," you stammered, the second time you ever faltered in front of Mr. O’Hara, and it only widened his smile.

He leaned in closely to your cheek, his nose brushing against your skin.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I checked then."

Your body tensed at his words, and your lips began to tremble as Mr. O'Hara rested his chin on your shoulder, watching intently at your reaction while he loosened his grip on your hair. He wrapped his muscular arm around your lower abdomen to steady you, his large, calloused palm pressed flat against your flushed stomach through your fishnet shirt, heightening your excitement.

Your eyes fluttered, overwhelmed by the wonderful yet despicable sensations.

Using his other hand, he moved around your waist, snaking down your stomach, brushing against your luscious thighs, and then dipping down between your legs. He took your drenched, clothed mound into his palm, causing a soft moan to escape your mouth, your eyes rolling in response.

Mr. O’Hara groaned softly, his eyes briefly widening in shock.

You weren’t just dripping...

You were completely soaked…

"Damn, someone's more turned on by their perverted professor than they let on," he chuckled darkly, the sound filling your ear loudly as he rested on your shoulder.

"S-shut up," you breathlessly retorted, which only caused Mr. O'Hara to laugh.

"Want to prove me wrong?" He taunted, his middle and ring fingers beginning to stroke your throbbing bud through the thin fabric of your thong in small, teasing circles. You couldn't suppress your moans; the sounds being pulled from your very being.

Mr. O'Hara smirked darkly, licking his lips, his crimson eyes fixed on your every facial feature whilst he continued to please you. "Hmm… you like that, little puta. Don't lie to me," he chuckled. Instead of a response, endless moans escaped your lips.

Mr. O'Hara chuckled at your lack of response. His cock throbbed painfully against the back of your thigh, begging for attention, but he craved to hear you scream his name. For you to beg him to fill that sweet pussy of yours to the brim with his cock and fuck you until you couldn’t walk tomorrow…

Well, that was Mr. O’Hara’s little plan…

Mr. O'Hara's two digits began to caress your clit gently and very slowly through your thong, causing you to become even wetter.

You knew he was doing this intentionally. His deliberate, slowed movements were meant to tease you, to make you beg for more—to plead for him to go faster and harder, to satisfy you with more than just his fingers.

No matter how much you desired more, you couldn't give in to him…

You moaned softly, savoring the small pleasure Mr. O'Hara was providing to your clit. He snickered against your ear.

"You know you want more, chica. Just say the word, and I'll grant your wish."

You turned your head away from him, attempting to ignore his wicked words. Moans still escaped your lips as he continued to slowly caress your bud. He smirked, planting small kisses along your neck.

"Hmm… stop being so difficult. Give in, little puta. Let me satisfy that needy cunt of yours."

He pressed his member teasingly against the curve of your ass, grinding slowly against your rear. He let out a soft groan by your ear. You could feel how aroused and hard he was, and how much he wanted you as well.

You moaned softly, biting your lip and tightly gripping the desk in your palms.

"Mmm… I-In your dreams, Mr. O."

You whimpered, causing him to smirk against your neck. He bit down on the soft skin of your throat harshly, making you yelp before leaning in close to your ear.

“Don’t worry little puta. You’ll be begging for me once I’m through with you.”

Your pussy throbbed in desire at his crude words. Your stomach beginning to burn and tingle.

Your climax was steadily approaching, but Mr. O’hara had other plans for you…

A/N: Hope you enjoyed part 3!

The next part will, in fact, be the last, so thank you everyone for the love and support that you've showed my first one-shot. I didn't expect it get as much attention as it has, so thank you! 💙❤️💙❤️

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[mylittleredgirl]

m*a*s*h reaction post released from my drafts!! i don't know why i have been worried about making a Good Post when legitimately everything that could ever be said about this show has been said.

so i will SHARE MY THOUGHTS ABOUT SEASON THREE currently in progress:

ooooh war got a sweet budget increase in the off-season. pyrotechnics! helicopters! ACTIONNN BAYBEEEE

i'm falling more in love with everyone, details to follow

top of the list: trapper my bestie has been promoted to trapper my legit fictional crush 💕

don't get me wrong, in real life i would slap his face, but i'm with hot lips on this one. the hair, the smile, every time he takes off his shirt... take me to the supply tent or lose me forever

HOWEVER, i happened to notice that he is not on the header pic on hulu* and none of you talk about him so i must regretfully conclude that he will eventually leave the show

DON'T TELL ME WHEN

anyway i am cherishing him as one cherishes an old dog not long for this world

*speaking of hulu: i have now joined the henry blake appreciation society thanks to this One Weird Trick (reupping my hulu account for a month because i lost my shit after the dvds cut out at the climax of an episode AGAIN)

i went back to rewatch the episodes that didn't play on the dvds, and turns out a lot of them were henry eps (including the trial of henry blake and the one where he is waiting for news about his new baby...) (and also the one where he fell in love with a cheerleader but you can’t win ‘em all)

just in time to appreciate that scene in "o.r." where he tells hawkeye he doesn't want to be discharged so that he can keep doing real doctoring 🥺

"o.r." had so many good character bits!! even frank got some depth?? or at least an explanation for why he's Like That...

other eps i liked:

"iron guts kelly" -- felt like a follow-up to the one last season where hot lips got wasted and broke up with frank and then hawkeye and trapper had to sober her up, which i also loved! "we hate her but she's OURS to hate" is such a good character dynamic.

also lmao every time she cheats on frank, GET YOURS GIRL 😘

the frank/margaret thing is strangely compelling actually? it's like an inverse ship for real. will-they-or-won't-they but for breaking up. same energy though, like i'm glued to the screen rooting for them to fight instead of kiss.

"check-up" i was sooooo brave you guys making peace with the situation BUT THEN TRAPPER STAYED!!! i feel like my crush has been given a stay of execution

i don't know if i ship it per se but i really hope he and margaret hook up exactly once and literally everyone regrets it

i've seen some more episodes and have more thoughts but i need to lie down a lot first

oh one more thing:

i realize "m*a*s*h actors amazing" is not breaking news, but i'm specifically obsessed right now with how they are always interacting with props. i don't even mean the o.r. tools or scripted things, but how in every scene they're doing comedy while also moving crap around, pouring things, drinking, shaving, changing clothes, handing (or THROWING) things to each other, just making a mess all the time while still hitting their lines and comic beats. it's a master class in whatever that is.

anyway it's so good!!! more to come 💕

[seventeenpins]

violet pairing: older qz!joel x f!reader

word count: 5.8k

summary: follow-up to forget-me-not. it's been seven years since you last saw joel in the boston qz, and a lot has changed. you find yourselves reunited in jackson.

warnings: smut, actually contains a lot of plot (sorry), tommy, maria & ellie all exist, allusions to/discussion of abortion, reader has a kid, joel is insecure about being an old man (you're only 63, it's ok buddy), reader is mid-thirties to early 40s, lil bit of daddy kink, face sitting, multiple orgasms.

a/n: okay first -- header or no header? like, it's a bit ridiculous but i also kinda love it? instead of packing up for a move, i've been writing this 🤷 thanks for all the continued love on my fics, it's so sweet and means a whole lot. working on a few other stories, and i hope to have more out soon!

this chapter is dedicated to the dumbass at the club who didn't quite manage to ruin a first date i was on by asking us what we thought about gay rights (as two fem-perceived folks caught smoochin) and then telling us "you're clearly so in love, i respect that" before yeeting off in the moonlight.

you could have sworn the terrain had been totally empty only moments before, but now in the blink of an eye, you’re surrounded by a small group of riders, armed, their horses huffing down at you. 

“shit,” you gasp, trying to shield your girl, but realising there was little use. can’t put your body in front of hers when there’s people on every side of you. instead, your hands grip tighter on the shoulders of your daughter and you take a breath, trying to steady your breathing.

“you been near infected?” a man calls down at you, and his accent reminds you of joel, so much so that your heart flutters for a moment at the memory. you’ve met lots of people on your travels, a few of them from austin, too, and every time you think of him.

“no,” you call back, “last we saw them was back in the dakotas and there weren’t many there. that was weeks ago, haven’t encountered any since.”

the man nods, and you’re not sure what he’s thinking under his stetson, but the fact you’re not shot yet seems like a good sign. hopefully.

"frankly, we've had much more trouble from people than from infected on our way. but we've been able to take care of ourselves," you say, and you're hoping your words have an underlying edge of danger, but you're pretty sure you just come off as scared and defensive.

the man nods, and looks you up and down. “well, we've gotta make sure,” he says, almost apologetic, and you tense. it takes a moment before you see the dog, but then a dark blur comes bounding towards you, snarling. You tense and pull your girl close, but after a few moments of incredibly stressful sniffing, the dog leaves you alone and trods back to his owner, panting happily.

“good,” the man says, “now we've got that cleared up, what’s your business here?”

it's a good fuckin question, but not one you have a direct answer to.

"we came from boston," you tell him, "it was okay for a while, but the qz changed--got worse. more bombings. more hangings. if it was just me i might have stayed put, but i have my daughter."

there's so much you could say, but you're pretty sure you're advocating for your own life right now, so you keep it short and simple.

"we're just trying to find... somewhere better. travelling through all the places i've ever known people, to see if there's somewhere safe out there at all."

he nods, and the group surrounding you seems to back down a little.

"come with us. i think we might have what you're looking for," he tells you, and then one rider jumps down from their horse, mounts another, and the first man helps you and your daughter onto the vacated horse.

you follow the group, cantering along, and the man keeps an eye on you, and a woman in the group rides up next to you.

"so, you're from the boston qz? that's quite a journey," the man says, and nods his head towards the young woman, "she and i both travelled here from boston, years ago. i left back in, oof, '13? remind me, when did you leave?"

the woman nods, "left when i was fourteen, in '23."

"oh wow," you say, "i honestly didn't expect to meet anyone from boston round here"

there's a pause.

"what did you say your name was?" he asks, and you tell him.

"and this is violet," you say, giving your daughter's shoulder a squeeze, and she nestles back into your chest, ever shy around strangers.

"nice to meet you both," the woman grins, "i'm ellie"

"and i'm tommy," the man says. you're sure it's just a weird coincidence, a common name, just cos he happens to share the same name as joel's brother it doesn't mean anything, but you can't help but ask-

"this is probably silly, but you're not tommy miller are you?"

both tommy and ellie halt, so you do to, as they communicate something through quick glances and furrowed brows.

"wait," you say, "are you? tommy miller?"

he stares you down, and all of a sudden, you see it in his eyes. joel's eyes. violet's eyes.

"i-" your heart is pounding now with the realisation, "i knew your brother. i knew joel. he was a-" you hesitate for only a split second, "friend."

"well shit," tommy says. he caught the hesitation when you landed on friend, and he's looking at you, brows furrowed. "when was the last time you saw him?"

you shrug. "guess it was seven years ago." you look at your daughter, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then back up at tommy. "it was when he'd stopped hearing from you, actually. he came out to find you. did... did he find you?"

tommy doesn't answer, his eyes widening, and you can see him put the pieces together as he looks at you and then at your daughter, to you, and to her again.

"how old did you say she was?" he nods at violet but keeps his gaze fixed on you.

"i didn't."

"humor me."

"she's six."

"huh," he says, and ellie's looking between you two now and you can see realisation dawning on her, too.

"wait a second--holy shit," ellie cackles, "joel's gonna lose his fuckin' mind."

a sudden flare of panic and excitement floods through you. "wait, you know him too? he's nearby? i'm sorry- he lives around here? he made it?"

ellie snorts and tommy lets out a noise that's almost like a cross between a deep exhale and a strangled moan.

"yep, he lives in town. made it here with ellie a few years back. been living here a while now."

you don't know if you're thrilled or terrified. to be honest, your brain suddenly feels like it's filled to the brim with bees that were muffling out any thought more complex than AAAAHHHHHHHH.. you'd always hoped you might see joel again, but it wasn't till now you realised you never really believed you would.

he's alive. he actually made it.

as if sensing your racing thoughts, tommy pulls up beside you and claps a strong hand on your shoulder.

"one step at a time, sweetheart. seems like y'all have a whole lotta catchin' up to do."

after you're brought through the gate and finish up at the dining hall for a bite to eat, tommy and ellie take you both on a tour of jackson. you'd seen lots of things in the time you'd travelled, but this is the first real community you'd seen. it made you think of the old days, or rather, your ideas of the old days. you were too young when the world ended, but the idea of people living together and supporting one another without bombs going off on street corners and scheduled hangings was something else.

"we've been workin' on makin' a functioning society here. we get energy from the dam, so actual, non-fedra electricity." tommy points along the main street at the street lighting (actual street lighting!!)

"most of the shops are along here," he continues, pointing out each place as he lists them off, "necessities, like a cobbler and a tailor over in that space. greenhouses and farms over in that direction as well as a clinic. we've got a bar, a couple o' bakeries, house of worship, stables back that way- couple fellas opening a barbershop in that space over there pretty soon. and, of course, the residential area just down here. we've got a lotta houses, and we're working on refurbishing a whole lot, too. most families have their own homes. you're welcome to take some time to decide if you would like to stay here, but y'all seem like decent people and at the very least, we can put you up in some of our temporary housing 'til we have a better grasp on what you need. we got families of all configurations here. we did that a whole lot better after the world ended. and this is a home for a lotta people."

"oh-!" ellie says, suddenly excited, "and the school's over there, if you guys wanna stay. fedra school fucking sucked but this one was actually pretty cool. we actually got to learn stuff!"

violet giggles a little, and ellie shoots her a bright smile that makes her giggle little more. it feels safe here. you don't remember the last time things have felt safe. you're trying to take it all in, memorise every storefront, every person, every moment, when the aroma of fresh-baked pastries suddenly assaults your nostrils and you let out an involuntary moan.

"been a while, huh?" ellie asks and snorts, and you nod. "i grew up in the qz so i never had one of these till the shop opened up a couple years ago. but i hear it's just like the old days!"

"mama, it smells really good," violet says, and it's the first thing she's said since you've come through the gates.

"it does, doesn't it?" you ask her, "and look at all these shops. see those clothes in the window there?"

her eyes are as wide as saucers, and you're so overwhelmed with joy that she gets to experience this that you don't notice ellie bounding up the steps to the bakery and running back a minute later with a paper wrapped something in hand.

she holds it out to you and you take it from her gingerly. you kneel down to let violet unwrap the paper and inside is a perfect strawberry danish. you're stunned.

"that's cream cheese and butter from our cows," tommy tells you, "strawberries and wheat grown here, too. all fresh. all cordyceps free. we don't risk using any of the old stuff that might be contaminated"

that's amazing. that's fucking amazing.

"here, baby," you tear off a piece for violet, and she clutches it carefully and sniffs at it warily before popping it into her mouth, chewing with furrowed brows, and breaking out into a grin.

"welcome to jackson," ellie says, and now you're laughing too.

by the evening, tommy's given you a tour of the whole settlement and left you, ellie, and violet at the tipsy bison with an invitation to join him and his family for dinner. there was a strong likelihood that joel would be there and you were shitting bricks.

what if he's totally different from how you remember him? what if he isn't?

what if he wants nothing to do with you? what if he wants nothing to do with violet?

what if he's forgotten you?

you pinch yourself to pull out of your spiral. ellie winks at violet, who's sipping at her juice, and clinks her glass against yours. together, you take large swigs of your beer.

she tells you a bit about herself. she's vague about how she and joel met, and you're not sure if it's because she doesn't want to talk about it or if she's trying to spare the gory details around violet, but she speaks of him fondly and blushed a little when she mentioned i've kinda become, like, a surrogate daughter to him. and he's my old man.

before you could gather your thoughts and ask any follow-ups, she's already blowing through different topics, grinning as she tells you about her girlfriend, about her tattoo and how she wants another one, about her favorite horse, and the way patrols worked around here, and you relax into the conversation. into the peace. into taking a break.

before you know it, the three of you are walking towards tommy's house and right as you're about to knock at the door, ellie barrels past and swings the door open with a bellowed "we're here!" reverberating off the walls.

as you step through the door, delicious food smells waft through the hallway and you hear laughter and music coming from the kitchen. ellie makes a beeline through the door on your right and you take it all in for a moment.

"you coming?" ellie calls, and you follow her.

and stop dead in your tracks.

illuminated in the light of an antique shaded lamp, sat on a rocking chair, was joel.

he's greyer and more tired, but he also looks- happy? and he's got reading glasses on as he peers at what looks to be a picture book as he points out the illustrations to the kid on his lap. your jaw drops.

the kid's probably around the same age as violet.

ellie is stood in the corner of the room, half-heartedly pretending to examine a bookshelf while she blatantly eavesdrops.

joel looks up and smiles in a way that you've only seen a few times before. it's... unguarded. he extends a hand, "hi there, you must be our guests, i'm jo-"

and then recognition flickers over his face and he stops. stares at you, wide eyed, and then his eyes flick over to violet, and back to you.

"hi joel," you say.

if you're honest, you're expecting him to be the asshole you remember. grouchy. closed off. sweet only in private, intimate, brief moments.

what you don't expect is for him to gently call over to ellie with a "we need a minute here, could you take your cousin and see if tommy and maria need a hand?"

cousin, he'd said, and you can feel your heart slow down a notch, calming down a little. oof. one step at a time, you remind yourself, one step at a time.

"sure thing," ellie nods and helps the kid down from joel's lap, holding his hand as they walk through to the kitchen.

you're stood, frozen, as joel takes off his readers, rubs his eyes, and stands up. you've forgotten how imposing he can be, but even now, he just feels like a big shield between you and the rest of the world. you stare at each other for just a moment, and then strong arms are wrapping around you and joel is laughing?

"fuck," he snorts, "i can't believe it's you. after all this time!"

he pulls back but keeps his hands on your shoulders, looking you up and down, studying you.

and then he looks back down at violet and you see his face contort from joy to something almost like fear. maybe dread, even? or anticipation.

"mama, who is this man?" violet asks, tugging at your sleeve, and you kneel down to her.

you meet eyes with joel one more time before answering her, and you see building panic behind them.

this was, admittedly, a lot. one step at a time. "his name is joel, he was a friend of mine. i knew him before you were born!"

violet extends her little hand out towards joel. "my name is violet, it's a kind of flower. i like your hair. it's sooo silvery."

you snort involuntarily, and joel gulps audibly, wide-eyed, before taking her small hand in his large palm, cradling it as if holding something precious, and shakes it. "i'm joel. it's nice to meet you."

you all have dinner and it's actually a pretty good time, as long as you don't make too much eye contact with joel, who looks as though he has an electric current running through him, keeping him wide eyed and twitchy. he's clearly trying to appear unfazed, but he's jumpy and not at all subtle, to the point that the kid who'd been on joel's lap earlier, rowan you'd learned, prods at joel at one point in the meal. joel jumps a mile and rowan furrows his brow asking why are you being so weird, uncle joel?

despite the tension, it's so domestic. this was a joel who folded his napkin on his lap before starting to eat, who minded his manners, and obviously pressed ellie to mind hers, too. the joel you patched up when he came to you bloodied and bruised felt like a shadow long since past.

after dinner, when you've made it through unscathed, tommy's watching the little ones as they conk out on the couch. maria's going over paperwork, and ellie's tuning a guitar.

joel pops his head into the room and makes a vague gesture indicating outside. "wanna chat on the porch?" he asks, and you nod and follow him.

there are a pair of handsome adirondack chairs and you each take a seat. you don't say anything, don't even look at one another. you just sit there in comfortable silence.

but then joel takes a deep breath and you know the question that's coming.

"violet?" he asks, "is she mine?"

you smile sadly.

"yeah," you say, "you're her daddy."

he chokes out a strangled noise and tries to cover it with a cough, badly.

he doesn't seem like he's gonna say anything, and you reckon he's not gonna, so you try and breeze past it.

"i know- i know it wasn't part of the plan." you exhale, "but it's okay, joel. she's only known one parent her whole life and it's common enough these days that she doesn't think it's strange. and i don't know if you ever want her to know that you're her dad, but i'm not ready for her to know. i'll tell her, but i want her to settle in here before any big life revelations come up for her. jackson's enough of a change as it is."

he nods slowly, coughs out a low "i understand. and i respect it. i just never thought-"

"neither did i," you cut him off, "and when i realized i was pregnant i didn't intend to keep it, but fedra had raided the last underground clinics that i knew about. most of the staff got hanged, and i was out of options."

he lets out a sharp exhale.

you're silent for another minute before joel speaks again.

"i'm sorry-" he says, "i'm sorry that your choice was taken from you. and i'm so sorry i wasn't there for you."

he still doesn't look at you, but he rests a hand on your knee.

"i can't believe- all this time and i have another daughter and i had no idea."

"she's such a cool kid," you tell him, "and don't get me wrong, i felt like the worst person in the world, bringing a kid into that fuckin'- fedra plague world," you admit, "but she's so funny, shy when you first meet her, but she has so much personality. every day, she's more and more of a tiny person! and she's just started doing this thing where i'll tell her something and she'll just scowl at me and she looks just like you-"

"hey, i don't scowl that much-" joel argues, scowling, and there's the joel you remember. all of a sudden you're hysterical with laughter, and then joel cracks too and he's laughing with you.

after a while, you fall into another comfortable silence. it gets later and later, and then joel's standing up and offering you a hand.

"'fraid i've got patrol in the morning, so i'd best be going to bed soon, and i'm guessing y'all are exhausted?"

you nod, feeling as if acknowledgement of it suddenly made it true. good god you were tired.

"you know what house you're staying in tonight?" he asked, and you tell him the number.

"sounds good," he nods, "can i walk ya home?"

"sure," you smile.

you head back inside, scoop up violet, and then the three of you are heading towards your temporary lodgings.

when you arrive, joel bids you goodnight at your doorstep and bobs his head a little as though he was about to lean in to kiss your cheek but then thought better of it, and instead takes your hand for a moment and mutters without looking directly at you, "it's really great to see you, baby. glad you made it here safe."

you go to bed. an actual bed, mind you.

you dreamed of joel miller.

you'd pretty much decided you and violet would stay here in jackson from the first minute you walked down the main street, but you gave it a few days before letting the council know. this is what you've been looking for, though. a home. a community. safety.

violet starts going to school. she's in the same year as rowan and apparently thrilled about it, so you're at tommy and maria's home more often than you'd imagined. you start patrolling, too. just short routes to begin with, but you didn't make it through this much without knowing how to survive, and you're good at it.

and then there's joel.

he's different.

he's aged, but he still looks great. the salt and pepper of his hair has turned more salt than pepper, and the crinkles by his eyes are deeper. you're still attracted to him, so attracted to him, but you don't wanna make any rash decisions. he seems lighter, clearly taken by ellie, and cautiously friendly towards you and violet.

he's made it clear he'd like to get to know her, but is happy to take his time, waiting until you're more comfortable with it. which is so beautifully, frustratingly thoughtful.

you never expected that cold, angry joel could be so warm and open, but he seems like such a doting family man, keeping an eye out for ellie, always there for tommy, being a good uncle for rowan. there was clearly some tension between him and his sister-in-law, too, but one evening you walked in on them doing dishes together, singing along to some old dolly parton cd. you slipped out the door before either of them saw you'd seen.

one night, violet and rowan are having a sleepover, supervised by tommy, and you have a rare night to yourself. you make your way over to the tipsy bison and relax at the bar, letting the whiskey warm you.

you chat with the bartender, and decide to put a song on the jukebox, but as you get up from your stool you knock the whiskey bottle over and watch tumble seemingly in slow motion before being caught by- "joel?"

"easy now," joel smiles, "don't want a repeat of last time."

it takes you aback for a moment, and then your face is burning with the memory.

"can't believe you remember that," you say, and he snorts.

"course i do. that was the last night i saw you."

he pulls out a stool and sits down next to you. gestures at the bartender for a glass, and pours himself a healthy finger of whiskey.

"how do you remember that night going?" you ask.

joel scratches at his cheek for a moment, pondering, and smiles, sipping his whiskey. "i was gonna be leavin' town, and i wanted to say goodbye so i checked out all your usual spots. walked in to see you smash a bottle and then try and flirt your way out of it with that weedy little bartender."

"i remember that bit, too," you say, "though on my end, i'll remind you, i was drinking because i was preemptively missing you and didn't realise you were leaving so soon."

"i do remember you saying that," joel nods, "and i was so mad because i'd spent so much time that night trying to find you, and that was time we wouldn't get back."

your eyes widen at his words. you didn't know this part. suddenly, you feel a warmth rising in you that you hadn't expected.

"do you remember what happened next?" he asks.

you nod. "yeah, you yelled at me a little, implied i was a whore, yelled at me more, and then told me you were leaving in the morning."

"jesus, i'm an asshole," joel says, and you smile.

"yeah, you are. neither of us were at our best though. but then we had one last night."

"one last night," he echoes.

neither of you say anything for a minute, and then joel breaks the silence.

"i'd be lying if i said i hadn't replayed that night over and over again in my head."

you smile. "me too," you admit, "it's honestly been a while since i've been with anyone, and when it's just me and my hand, that night's the first thing that i think of."

joel inadvertently chokes and splutters, dabbing at his mouth as he tries to collect himself. he's flushed a beautiful shade of pink and it makes you giggle.

"shit, girl, i forgot how blunt you can be."

"i think this might be the first wholly honest conversation we've had since i got to town," you ponder, still smiling, "we're always dancing around each other. in orbit but never colliding."

he looks at you with a curious expression on his face, like he's enjoying the task of trying to parse you almost as much as he's seeking an understanding.

you pour yourself another glass of whiskey and knock it back in one. you're gathering your courage. you're plotting plots now, and sure it's been a long time, but you figure it's worth a shot.

"i've been thinking, joel," you tell him, and his eyes are so focused on you, "i wanna say up front i don't have any expectations, and i won't be offended if you'd rather not-"

he raises an eyebrow at you and you could swear you see flirtation behind it.

"but, if you wanted-"

"spit it out"

"that last night doesn't have to be the last night."

your eyes are locked and don't speak, don't move, don't breathe.

and then joel miller's lips are crashing into yours, and you moan into him, one hand clutching at your shoulders, the other cupping your chin, and you melt into it.

"my place," you tell him, "violet's with her cousin tonight."

you realise that's the first time you said those words like that, so casual and normal, and you know you'll need to unpack that later but joel, shockingly, takes it in stride.

before you know it, you're walking up the porch steps with joel right on your heels and unlocking the front door.

you've barely gotten the door open before you're on the other side of it and it's slamming shut, joel pressing you against the threshold and kissing you deeply. one of his thighs presses between your legs and without thinking you rub up against it.

"shit, i've missed you baby," he says, and you're moaning against him as he helps you pull off your shirt, and you start to unbutton his. he continues, bashful, "didn't think you'd want an old man like me, anymore."

you scoff, "you've aged well, joel, and more than that, you've aged. you're still here and i can't even begin to tell you how much that means."

you tug the flannel from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor behind him before you pull off his undershirt.

"besides," you tell him, "you're the best lay i've ever had and i don't believe for a minute you've lost your touch."

he snorts, but then he's kissing on your neck again and you know you'll need to talk about things properly at some point. for now, though, you'll get lost in the feeling of him.

you're lost in the dizzy haze of touch. joel's hands are all over you, grabbing, stroking, caressing. you stumble to your bedroom, stepping out of your jeans and helping him shuck off his pants along the way. then he's laid out on your bed, bare except for his boxer shorts, chest heaving and cock straining.

you yank off your panties and climb on top of him, straddling him so your bare pussy rubs up against his hardness. he groans and grabs you by the hips, rocking you up and down his length.

"feel so good, baby," he breathes, and his eyes are fluttering closed in pleasure. "come here," he tells you, and he pulls you down for a kiss.

you take him in. look at his body. his chest hair has greyed, and he's got more scars than you remember including a nasty-looking one that must've been a close call. you run a thumb over the one on the side of his chest, still pearly but less pink these days, from the time you patched him up.

joel watches you watch him. "i never thanked you properly for that, sweetheart," he says, "but thank you. you saved my ass that night."

"of course," you tell him, as you dip down and lick a stripe up from his happy trail, all the way to his throat.

"fuck," he whines, and you shut him up with a kiss.

when you finally break, he strokes your cheek. "sit on my face," he tells you, and you don't need him to ask you twice.

you hobble up on your knees and then rest your cunt on his open mouth. he lets out a strangled moan and hmmms into you, the vibrations hitting your clit deliciously, before grabbing onto your hips and eating you like a man starved.

his clever tongue finds your aching clit and flicks against it, hard. once you're nearly overstimulated, he senses it and starts to lick long strokes, back and forth, dipping into your drooling pussy with each pass.

it's heavenly. addictive. you've hooked with old flames before, years after you'd slept with them last, and not only does joel not disappoint? he blows your fucking mind.

you come on his tongue and instead of pulling away, he pulls you closer. licks you deep. takes a breath and tells you "one more, baby, gimme another one."

you do, using his face to get yourself off, taking your time to build back up, rocking your hips over him, his nose covered with your slick, his cheeks, lips, and chin glistening so pretty when you finally shudder and spasm all over him.

"taste so good, baby," he tells you, "i wanna make you come on my tongue all night long."

"as much as i'd love that," you say, "i need that cock in me right fucking now. it's been seven years, joel."

he smirks, but doesn't need persuading.

he flips you over and presses his cock head at your entrance. before he slides in, though, he takes a moment to look you over.

you know you look older, and your hair has a few grey strands throughout. you've got more wrinkles, and stretch marks, and more than a few new scars.

before you can second-guess yourself, though, joel is stroking a hand along all of your perceived imperfections, adoring.

"so fuckin' beautiful", he whispers, "after all this time- i can't believe-"

you let your hand lace through the hair at his nape and give it a gentle tug. he closes his eyes, focusing only on the sensation, before opening them again. looking directly at you.

you're already so wet and worked up, he slides into you easily in one stroke, making you both gasp, and he just rests there for a moment, fully sheathed in you.

you clutch one another as he starts to thrust into you, pressing you open in a delicious stretch.

he fucks into you and then pauses and readjusts. moves your legs so they're on his shoulders, rather than wrapped round his waist. then he presses into you again, tentative, and your eyes practically roll back. it's the deepest thing you've felt.

"takin' me so good," he praises, "i feel how wet and ready you are, you've been needing this a while, huh?"

you can barely speak, only enough to breath out a whiny uh-huh that makes him chuckle.

"touch me", you beg, and he does, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, gripping your waist, your hips. he grabs at your ass and jiggles it before giving it a swat that makes you giggle, but he looks positively feral.

"this fuckin' body," he groans, and you squeak as you take a particularly deep thrust and he eases up just a little.

you reach up to grab his jaw and kiss him, and he kisses you back, deep and lovely. you drag your tongue along his jawline and pepper kisses down his neck, trace your fingertips along his pearlescent scars.

"god, joel," you moan, "so fuckin big, you feel so good."

"you even feel better than i remember, too."

"don't you dare stop, don't you dare stop fucking me-"

"never, baby. wanna have you like this always."

you can feel your eyes fill with tears, overwhelmed with the sensation, with the tenderness and the care and the big cock fucking deep into you, it's all so good.

"yes baby," he grunts, "keep it open for me, good girl, letting me fuck you so nice."

you can see how his eyes are glittering and know he's emotional, too. he's staring at you with reverential awe that might embarrass you if it didn't feel so right. this isn't the rough, hair pulling, choking, biting sex you remember from him. he presses a hand over your belly and rubs gentle circles against it. his touch is electric.

"can't believe you made it," joel whispers, "made it all the way here, and you still want me. we've got a kid, and i left you all alone, and you still want me."

"always, joel," you tell him, and you realise it's the truth. whatever life you make for yourself, you want joel miller in it.

he lets out a growl and starts fucking you harder, deeper.

your orgasm builds quickly and soon you're clutching at his shoulder, leaving half moon crescents in his skin where your nails dig in, holding on for dear life.

"i'm gonna come," you tell him, and he holds you through it, his pace steady as your walls clench around his cock.

his hips begin to stutter as he loses his rhythm, nearing his own climax. he chokes out, "where do you want it?"

"my chest," you say, "come all over my tits."

he pulls out and strokes himself twice before spilling out on your chest, his cum landing on you in hot ropes.

after you catch your breath, he gently cleans you up and then pulls you into the crook of his arm, holding you close. you lay there together, just breathing.

"so gorgeous, momma," he says.

"not too bad yourself, daddy," you tell him, and he snorts.

you know you have a lot of things to talk about. the past seven years. the future. loss and love. violet getting to know her father.

for now, though, joel miller is in your bed and you're going to cherish every minute of it. it's more than enough.

[infinitestarsdev]

Devlog 2025-01-25

Devlog

Happy sort-of, possibly still Friday!

Writing has been going well, both Infinite Stars and the sealed-with-a-kiss jam entry. Most of my time this week has been focused on Infinite Stars, but with the jam deadline coming up next week, I'll shift some of my focus towards that. Our newest two writers have also started working on their respective projects (Project Syndicate and Draegan Herald, both of which have not been receiving the TLC they demand until now), so we'll have some more updates soon.

I also realised that an Infinite Stars release might be sooner than later due to how the story is structured. It was taking longer than usual, and looking into it, we've kind of 'over' written. We had planned a release point, and somehow, we overshot it. That means the original planned content is about 4/5ths done, AND the next release after that is also 2/3rds done. Usually, I would say meh, we're so close we might as well wrap up the entire episode, but it's been a while since the last release, so I'd rather return to the original planned release and then have a shorter dev cycle for the release after the next one to finish Episode IV.

I also have some fun artwork to share for sealed-with-a-kiss! We swapped some sprites around, and I can now show you the final version of the Captain! (The image in the header!)

The other crew members for the game are all done, and we even have our first-ever CG scene. I'm not a huge fan of CG scenes (I prefer theatre of the mind), but it's mandatory to qualify for the jam.

On the personal side, my partner is travelling overseas for work, and we're saying goodbye to each other this Sunday. It's only for a week, but it will feel like forever. It's the longest we've been apart in 10 years. I'll also be solo parenting for our little one during that time. I dread their inevitable tears from not understanding where my partner is, but we'll get through it.

On a more positive note, 2025 has started off great. I've been getting more work done (day job and Infinite Stars), and I feel pretty good and hopeful inside my bubble despite all the changes and uncertainty in the world right now.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, Patreon has been nagging me that I need to update our tier rewards and pricing, as we haven't done so in nearly 4 years. I'm working on that. I'm planning to introduce the new pricing structure (and tier rewards) from 1 March 2025. I hate inflation; I hate paying more for my basic necessities than I did last week or the week before that. I hate having to increase prices and being part of the problem, but the reality is I have to. We'll add a new tip tier at the same price as our current 'ensign' membership. Most tiers will see a $2-$3 increase, which is quite high (percentage-wise) on the lowest tiers and quite low (percentage-wise) on the higher tiers, especially if you divide it by 4 years to get the average annual increase, which we haven't done for the past 4 years, and I hope not to do again for at least another few years. It also means that you'll be seeing a short reminder about this every week until the increase does happen, as I don't want to blindside anyone.

That's it from me. Have a beautiful weekend, be safe, and try to remember that everyone you interact with is dealing with something, so be the catalyst for kindness.