#i'm weak for shared oranges

[saltuary]

⪼ @gatheringrust // cont.

Faramir regarded her in silence, though silence, in his soul, was never the absence of thought. That modest, sun-gilded fruit – riven so precisely in twain – seemed suddenly to him an object of profound gravity, a sacrament in miniature.

“Yes, thank you,” he murmured.

He took the orange half, the juice sticky against his fingertips, jewel-bright, and he marvelled at how even the most innocent pleasures were things he had once learned to go without. In the wilds, hunger had been his tutor. Restraint, his lifelong companion.

Beyond and below them, Minas Tirith lay swathed in late afternoon, her stone towers dreaming beneath long shadows. A slow wind stirred Rani’s hair, threading it like dark ribbons against the white stone, and Faramir found himself watching.

To busy his hands, he bit into a segment of orange. Citrus sweetness flooded his mouth – sharp, sun-kissed and sudden. The flavour lingered, fragrant and golden, like the memory of Gondor’s far orchards before they burned.

She still dangled one leg over the rampart, heedless of the drop or perhaps in quiet defiance of it. Faramir joined her, his own feet suspended in the open air, as though they, too, could forget the weight of the stone beneath them. For a moment, he felt like a boy again, fawn-eyed but fearless.

“You remind me of the gardens that grew wild on the terraces of Emyn Arnen. Defiant, some called them. Vines broke through old paving stones and flowers rooted in the very cracks of our defences.”

A pause, another segment of orange.

“In such places,” he went on. “Life does not wait for permission.”

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words 🎨

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[grudgecollector]

protective daryl is such a Must like

imagine someone’s just threatened you and he stands in front of you with one of his arms back so he can hold your hand. “you don’t talk to her” he’d growl.

after somehow sending them away he’d turn back to you and hold your face and just “you okay?” and a “i’m never gonna let anything happen to ya”

Ol' Coyote | Daryl Dixon x Reader

Tags: Swearing, smoking, protective Daryl, season 2 Daryl, light angst, mentions of past domestic violence

Words: 2.5k

A/N: I'm FERAL over protective Daryl YES GAHD

Something you'll never get from me is a non-southern reader in TWD fics.

I may have made things a little ooc with Shane, possibly just a tad more aggressive than he actually is with people confronting him. But it's for the plot of the fic.

Also I'm not sure if I really like how this turned out, but I think I've just been staring at the words too long. I hope you enjoy it either way <3

Tension was running high on the farm. A nervousness had settled over you in the last few days as you watched Shane. His erratic behavior was becoming unnerving to observe from the outside. His freshly shaved head glistened with sweat as he shook it, watching Lori practically stomp away from him after a heated conversation. 

This was what you were best at. Watching. Every move that was made within your eyesight didn’t go unnoticed, every twitch, every heavy sigh that came from the man. You always had a knack for catching things just before shit hit the fan. That was the only thing you were thankful for when it came to your ex boyfriend. 

The things Brian said and did to you during those four years were permanently ingrained in your mind. Always reminding you to keep your guard up around men who would view you as weak, feeble minded, helpless and in need of saving. Men with the kind of charm that draws you in, making you think they can protect you from the dangers of the world, when in reality they are the biggest threat to you. 

The almost sadistic glint in Shane’s eye. The way he’d suck on his teeth and laugh humorlessly. The way he watched her… It was starting to scare you a little. It wasn’t a fear you held for yourself, but for Lori, a woman tangled in a web that was impossible to escape from. 

It wasn’t hard to admit that you did not feel safe around the man anymore. That feeling started to dissipate after he proposed the idea to give up on the search for Carol’s missing daughter. He was losing his grip. Even more-so after his botched run with Otis. 

“You good?” Daryl asked, nudging his elbow into your side. 

He had something hanging from his fingers, the necklace he had gifted you a week ago. He followed your gaze as he clasped the necklace for you, fingertips guiding along your hairline softly before settling on your shoulder. 

“Yeah…” You replied quietly, turning your head to look at the man beside you, “Is it just me or is he losin’ his damn mind?” 

“Oh it ain’t just you, sweetheart.” He nodded towards Dale who was sitting atop the RV, occasionally glancing over towards Shane. 

The angered man was pacing back and forth, roughly rubbing at his chin. Whatever conversation he and Lori had seemed to have stirred him up pretty bad, you could practically see the smoke rolling off his shoulders. 

“He needs to get his shit together.” You shook your head, crossing your arms, “The way he acts just... Ugh.” 

“You can keep on hoping, but I think he’s lost his marbles a long time ago.” Daryl huffed, hand dropping down to your waist as he brought you a little closer. 

Daryl and you walked back over to his area away from the rest of the camp, your shared tent occasionally rustling under the wind. The fire Daryl built an hour ago was starting to go down, tiny flames licking pathetically towards the sky, failing to build itself back up. 

The sun was starting to set, pink and orange hues blending together with the darkening blue sky. Daryl settled next to you on the grass, his knee brushing against your thigh. 

These were the moments you cherished the most. Calm and peaceful in a world filled with unimaginable horrors. A chance to take a deep breath and forget about your worries for just a short period of time. And you couldn’t ask for anyone better to spend it with. 

Over the last few months you had spent most of your time next to Daryl. At first he didn’t seem too fond of it, occasionally glancing your way with narrowed eyes and a suspicious attitude. Like he was waiting for you to strike, trying to stay a step ahead of your nonexistent plan to rob him blind. 

In reality you just appreciated the quiet. Away from the hustle and bustle that came with such a large group of people. You wanted to keep your distance, especially when it came to the children at the camp, trying your hardest to avoid the gut wrenching feeling that came whenever you looked at Carl. Oh how innocent and naive they were in such a heartless world. 

Eventually Daryl started to warm up to your presence. Allowing you to accompany him on hunts, teaching you the basics of tracking, and how to skin animals properly. It was easy to see through him, see past his rough edges and appreciate the moments where his kindness would shine through momentarily. 

The closeness between the two of you was something you cherished deeply. Knowing that wherever you went, he wouldn’t be far behind. 

It was moments like this that you could momentarily forget the ticking time bomb that slept just a few feet away from you. The very man in question is sitting next to Rick at the group’s shared camping area, laughing almost emotionlessly at something his best friend said. 

“You’re gonna burn a hole into his head if y’keep starin’ like that.” Daryl muttered, smiling a little bit when you halfheartedly glared at him. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled, “I’m gonna head up to the house real quick, gotta use the bathroom.” 

You were quick to stand. Your fingers brushed gently through Daryl’s hair, prompting him to place a hand on the back of your calf. 

The field in front of the house was still muddy from the rain, your boots sinking in just a little with every step you made. The sound of the ground squishing beneath your feet was drowned out by laughter from the camp, Carl, Lori, and Rick huddled together in front of their own fire as they shared a can of corn. 

It made you happy to know that at least one family was able to stay together through all of this. While they may not be perfect, they were still trying to stay intact in such a hectic world, making things as normal as they could be for their child. 

“Sup lovebirds.” You greeted Glenn and Maggie as you walked up the steps to the house. Glenn rolled his eyes and gave you a tight lipped smile. He hadn’t exactly sealed the deal with Maggie just yet, the both of them tiptoeing around each other cautiously. 

“Evenin’.” Maggie smiled, nodding towards you, “Where you headed?” 

“Is it alright if I use y’alls bathroom? I promise I won’t be long.” 

Maggie tilted her head a little, “You always ask and the answers always gonna be the same.” 

You couldn't help but smile a little, “Yeah well, believe it or not my parents did teach me manners. I usually don’t like invadin’ other people’s spaces without askin’ first.” You shrugged, going to grab for the handle of the screen door. “Thanks Maggie.” 

The hinges groaned loudly as you opened it. The Greene’s home was so beautiful, a warm yellow light casting over the neatly kept rooms, picture frames of the occupying family decorated the walls. It was that sense of normalcy you had needed ever since everything started. Something reminding you that not everything had to be so terrible all the time. It made it easy to forget the reality of things. 

You walked into the bathroom and gently shut the door behind you, not bothering to glance at your reflection in the mirror. Scared of what would be staring back at you. 

By the time you opened the door again, you could hear Beth and Patricia talking in the living room. Maggie was sitting next to her sister on the couch now, Glenn must have gone back over to your group for dinner. You figured you should probably do the same thing, cook up those squirrels Daryl and you caught earlier in the morning. 

You walked back outside and unzipped the pocket to your cargo pants, a lucky find at an army supply store. The top of the crumpled red and white box flips open easily, and you pluck a half smoked cigarette out along with your lighter and begin making your trek back towards your camp. 

“Hey.” A voice stops you, Shane standing from one of the rocking chairs on the porch. 

Great…

You brought the orange filter to your lips and flicked open the zippo lighter you stole from Daryl. You didn’t bother to look at the man walking towards you for more than a second, exhaling the smoke from the corner of your mouth as he got closer. 

“Can I help you with somethin’ Shane?” You asked, annoyance present in your tone.

“I don’t know, can you? Cause you seem to be starin’ an awful lot recently.” His broad shoulders rolled back a little as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“You feelin’ a little paranoid there? Intimidated by someone doing a little people watching?” 

“Don’t patronize me.” He shook his head, stepping closer towards you. 

An anxious feeling started to eat away at your stomach. You never liked when men started to close in on your personal space, even less when it was someone like Shane. The unpredictable and dangerous types. 

“I’d barely call it patronizing.” You shot back with a small shrug.. 

“You got a problem with me or somethin’? With how I’ve been handlin’ things?” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “I mean I got my fair share of issues with a lot of things, man.” He was starting to prick against your nerves, “Like you wanting to call off the search for Sophia? That was pretty fucked up.” 

“Not this shit again.” He shook his head, hands going to rest on his hips, “It’s bad enough I got to hear it from everyone else in the camp. Now I gotta hear it from the girl who’s too good to even grace us with her presence.” 

“Oh boo fucking hoo. Why is that such a big deal to you? Can’t someone just enjoy some alone time?” You scoffed, flicking off the flimsy ashes from your cigarette.

“Ain’t no such thing as alone time anymore. You gotta start contributing more to the group.” 

“Or what? You gonna boot my ass to the curb and call it a day? Seems like the kinda route you’ve been lovin’ lately.” You almost spat, an accusatory tone to your voice, “I’ve contributed plenty of my time to the group, helping Daryl with hunts and runs, making sure your bellies are full. I help wash clothes in the morning, I do daily perimeter checks with Glenn. Ain’t that enough for you?” You stepped a little closer this time, lowering your voice to harshly say, “Cause if you’re implying anything more, I ain’t doing personal tent calls like some street whore.” 

“You better watch your mouth.” His eyes were starting to get that wild look again, twitching a little when you smiled bitterly at him. 

“Did you hit your head or somethin’ when you went on that run with Otis? Is that what’s got you so fucked up? Some traumatic brain injury or some shit?” 

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, little girl? Cause I know it ain’t me.” He sized you up, chest puffed out as he got closer, but you stayed firmly planted, not allowing him to intimidate you. 

Not this time.  

“You’re fuckin’ losing it Shane, sure there ain’t many in the group that pick up on it but I sure do.” You shook your head, “All I’m sayin’ is you need to take a step back before you get someone else killed.” 

Clearly your wording made something snap within Shane. That littlest bit of self control he had disappeared, and suddenly his hands were clutching onto your biceps, blunt fingernails digging through the fabric of your shirt. 

“I ain’t getting anyone killed,” He growled out, “I keep this place safe, me. Not you, not Rick, or Daryl, Dale, none of you. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, girl, you’re barely smarter than a bag of fucking rocks. All talk and no bite.” His words punched into your harshly, he was practically snarling in your face as he got closer and closer. Your eyes were wide, fear striking through your heart as you stared at him. “Got any other smartass remarks, huh?” 

“Get your fuckin’ hands off of me, man!” You thrashed in his hold, quick to bring your still lit cigarette up and pressing it against his forearm. 

He flinched away, letting you go, and for a split second you almost thought he was about to rear back and slap you. He had that same exact look in his eyes your ex would get. 

Dangerous and unpredictable.

“Hey!” You heard an angered voice growl from behind you. 

Suddenly you felt hands on you again, making you flinch. But the hold was gentle, guiding you as Daryl stepped in front of you, his shoulders heaved with each heavy breath, clearly having run over to you as quickly as he possibly could. 

“The hell you think you’re doin’, huh?! Puttin’ your hands on her like that!” He was seething, but his hand was gentle as it held onto yours, squeezing softly as a way to reassure you. “You don’t fuckin’ talk to her, y’hear me?” He growled out threateningly, his hand resting on the knife secured to his belt, ready to strike at any second. “Don’t let me catch you near her again, asshole, or it’ll be hell to pay. I promise you that.” He glared at Shane, quickly turning around and guiding you past the group’s camp. 

“What the hell is going on? What’s with all the shouting?” Rick asked, catching up to the two of you. 

“Y’better get your fuckin’ boy, Rick. Ask him to explain the situation t’you.” Daryl spat, not giving him time to reply. 

You sat back down in front of the fire, staring at the yellow flames blankly. Never did you think Shane would put his hands on you like that, but the way he had talked to you, looked at you. It was too familiar, as if you were standing in front of the direct reincarnation of a man you fought so hard to forget. 

Daryl’s hands gently held your trembling ones. His index finger and thumb came up to your chin and pushed your head up so he could look into your dewy eyes. His fingers caressed your cheek, he knew that look on your face all too well, having seen it in the mirror plenty of times. 

“He ever tries anything like that again, he’s a dead man.” He stated firmly.

“I thought he was gonna hit me.” You said weakly, you hated how pathetic your voice sounded.

“I ain’t ever gonna let anything happen t’you. Not while I’m still breathing.” 

The promise would be a difficult one to fulfill, you both knew that. But the words still held weight, settling deep within your heart. You would be safe with him, you knew that.

[bttrflybb]

cw: angst, blood, reader death, madara x reader, child mention

a/n: sry abt ia! been studying for a test :p here's a lil something i wrote during my downtime. inspired by a song, 'like blood from a stone' by old gray. real vague, idek what timeframe this is set in. i just want to study my madara characterization... i have like 3 drafts in the work so dw more soon, i just gotta get the next couple days over with.

there’s a man with eyes that flicker between a dark calamity and crimson rage soaked in sorrow. his gaze softens when it finds your pathetic figure, like a hunter's soft smile when it catches the fawn of the stag he just slaughtered. he loves you, he will always love you, but there are things bigger than you. things he can’t ignore. things that haunt him even when he’s in your embrace.

he won’t allow himself to be washed in your naïve love. not now. there are things bigger than this. things he has to protect you and his child from. in another world, where the tendrils of retribution don’t have such a hold on him, he is able to love you. love you with a pure, worthy love. to let your innocent love influence him. but not in this world. in the world he creates for the two- no, the three of you, only then will he be at peace with you all.

his name is the first word to leave your mouth as the red-hot pain of the gash in your torso is replaced by the quiet chill of the air. you’re getting cold. steel blue and fiery orange illuminates the edges of your vision as you gaze into the sky, unable to move. his blood-curdling screams and the tremors of susano’o almost make you giggle. now, as the light is fading from your eyes, only now do you hear something indicative of the love he held for you. something more than the tenderness you’d catch glimpses of- the gentleness you made so difficult to suppress. what a wrathful man. you curse yourself for spurring his rage on. you know what your death will do to him. you know the plan you've set in motion. all you wanted was to soften his harsh edges, to bring those walls down so he could truly enjoy his involvement in your shared life. your throat burns with tears- your body too weak to bring them to your eyes.

flashes of the life you dreamed of shutter in your brain. where you get to watch your child grow alongside his father and take his spot as the leader of the clan. pain shoots through you again as you weakly cry out. you cry for the peace you were so close to seeing that you know you have singlehandedly shattered- being killed by a group of ninjas bearing that double-ended pronged crest. you cry for the past and future deaths that will be for nothing. you feel hopeless. you know your husband. you know the pain he will dispense in response.

his silhouette is above you, tears streaking the blood stuck to his face as you're shaken in his arms. slots of time are missing in your brain, you don't know when you were scooped up by him, his strong frame swallowing your frail body up. his voice barely hums through the static. the only thing you can make out is his face- his despondent expression and those wartorn, crimson eyes like stubbornness and struggle, like the sculpted ruins in abandoned villages that refuse to fall completely.

"oh, madara." you hum. your eyes soften at the sight of him. "i'm so sorry, my madara." you weakly sing, a bittersweet tone beneath your words. you're smiling. his face is stricken in despair, lip quivering and his eyebrows contorted in disbelief. in his eyes, you see your own, eyes that gleam back when the light of hope is shined on them, eyes that believe in a future where mothers like you aren't forced to leave their children behind in the name of another's vengeance. you hold empathy for your killers. young senju who were orphaned years ago by your clan, you're sure. misguided sweet things.

"i'm so so-" "don't." he stills. "please don't." his voice wavers. his gloved hand brings your hand to him, pressing the knuckles of your cold fingers to his lips. he feels sick at how icy they are, how you're already so much paler than usual. the blood rising in your throat causes you to choke a bit, wheezing before you can get more words out. "not you, please- not you," a sob wracks his body, and you've never felt more loved. with the last of your strength, you splay out your fingers to take his chiseled cheek in your hand, the pad of your thumb swiping the mixture of blood and tears away. "you can't." he wept. he's crying.

"don't cry." you whisper, "be strong, madara. be strong f-for me," blood sputters up as you speak and you heave, lurching forward with the support of his arms. "you have t-to, madara," your tone shifts, that smile still poignant on your face, "be strong for itsuki." your body is heavy, head like the bulb of a tulip too dense for the stem to hold up. death doesn't scare you, but leaving your husband and son behind in such a tumultuous world does. "p-please, madara-," you warble, weakly squeezing his hand. "okay." he responds, his tone bleak and dull. you realize, your hope is dying with you.

a small laugh sighs from your nose and slump against him, shoulder and head thudding against his chest. "okay." your voice was lower than a whisper, and your fingers loosened around his and were suddenly heavier in his grasp. there's so much more to be said between the two of you. there are so many more promises and wishes to leave behind, but your body and voice have both been relinquished from you like a soldier from his duty.

then there's that cacophony of ghosts reminding him of his destiny for failure. he's seeing three of you in his arms, heartbeat so hard it's vibrating his vision and shaking him from the inside like a chorus of war drums. madara has been defeated once more. you're slack in his arms and once he gives you a shake, your head lulling back, and those eyes that once held the most worried kindness he had ever seen are dull- and he knows you're gone. he knows you're not here to hear the wail that comes from him. the cry that releases the spiritual bars holding back his hate, dust and pebbles dancing on the ground at how loud it is.

you knew your husband. even at the doorstep of death, before you're whisked away by whatever god is taking you to the afterlife, you knew his hate. his love.

this plan he kept reserved in the back of his head, you were supposed to be a part of it. you were supposed to be happy. that peace you craved- he was going to give it to you. everything you wanted, for you. it was all for you. the bitter taste of disdain on his tongue mixes with the blood bubbling up from his throat, raw from screaming. names, curses, pleas. the moon taunts him, like a statue depicting a worthless god as he holds the body of his lover before it.

those tendrils of retribution dig beneath his skin, rooting his soul to the conviction he needed to follow through with this plan. upon this night, upon this moon, it is set in motion.

[saturnyo]

Birthday Gift

Thanks anon for this request

Relationship: dbfJoel x reader one-shot

Warnings: language, fluff, smut (duh, of course), profanity, degradation, praise, penetration, nicknames(daddy, etc.)

Summary: Your dad decides to have a party for your birthday. Everything goes great until you see your dad's best friend, Joel Miller. After a few years away, he's finally back in town and more handsome than ever, but also off limits. But after a few flirty glances and a moment alone with each other, a spark ignites, one that is not able to be tamed

WC: 3.9k

***I do hope the person who requested this and whomever else comes across this enjoys it. I'm just starting out so it's definitely not perfect but despite that I am pretty proud of it :)***

✩──────────✩

He's your dad's best friend. You have known him since you were a teenager, and he used to be your next-door neighbor. That never changed until now.

You didn't expect to see him. You were mingling around at your party, talking with family and neighbors alike. the warm summer breeze carried the sound of your laughter and the constant hum of cicadas,

until you heard it

The rough southern drawl of a familiar voice. Joel Miller. You aren't sure why your heartbeat started to pick up speed, but his voice affected you in a way you never felt before. Turning around, you see him standing there in a loose-fitting t-shirt and blue jeans with his hair slicked back as a few strands fell onto his forehead. “God, he was handsome”, you said to yourself.

The last few times you visited home, something was different between you two. The looks lasted longer, and the hugs lingered. The occasional nod and few spoken words turned into small laughs and smile lines. You started to see him in a different light.

But now you are turning 25, and just the sight of him makes you soaking wet. You see your dad gesture Joel over to you before someone calls his name, excusing himself before walking away.

The look he gave you made you weak in the knees. You muster up some courage before walking over, taking a sip from your cup as you do. you felt you also needed some liquid courage.

“Hey now, look who it is. Been too long.” Joel remarked. The roughness of his voice combined with his strong arms wrapping around you in a hug with the smell of his cologne doesn't help the ache that is growing between your legs

"Hey, it's definitely been a long time," you muttered. His eyes rake over you, taking in your outfit. A flicker of something passed in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Tell me, how’s life been goin’ lately? Keepin’ you busy?”

"Are you being genuine, or are you just doing it to be nice?" you said humorously. A small smile fluttered upon Joel's face, and god, you thought he couldn't look more handsome at that moment. Heat rose in your face, looking down at your feet and avoiding his gaze.

“Hey, I’m bein’ honest here. Your dad’s mentioned you went to college—I’d love to hear more ‘bout it.”

You hear someone call your name from across the yard, catching your attention.

“Well, looks like someone else is tryna steal your time now… guess I’ll have to share, huh?” Joel mused

"It appears so. I must be a hot commodity." You start to walk away before you hear him say something under his breath

“And Darlin’, you look like a ray of sunshine in that dress—just downright beautiful,” he whispered

✩──────────✩✩──────────✩

The sun is setting as the warm orange glow cascades across the sky. The atmosphere has died down a bit, but everyone is still enjoying themselves instead for you. The entire night, you have been tortured by the thought and presence of Joel.

Since you were a teen, he's been around your house helping or hanging out with your dad. The man who would once carpool you and your friends to and from school is now the man looking at you like he is starving, and you are the food that he needs to quench his hunger. You watch him go inside the house, and you aren't sure where your burst of confidence came from, but you followed him inside

As you walked inside, you couldn't find him anywhere. going down the hallway before suddenly you felt someone pulling you into your bedroom. A hand clamps down on your mouth as they press you up against the door. these rough, calloused hands felt familiar

“You really thought you could slip away that easy? All those little glances… that sundress… Tell me, darlin’, did you put it on, knowin’ I wouldn’t be able to look away?”

Joel whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. your hands in a bind as he puts them behind your back, holding you in place. you could feel his hard cock against your ass as he grinded against you.

Using one of his hands, you felt him slide it slowly up the back of your dress squeezing your ass. The teasing is pure torture.

“Darlin’, say somethin’. ‘Cause if your dad knew… and you keep lookin’ at me like that—I’m hangin’ on, but barely.”

"Please… don’t stop… I need you, Joel…" you whimpered. Whatever self-control Joel had shattered at your words. Whatever hesitations either of you had are now gone. flipping you around with your back against the door, he grips his hand around your throat.

"On your knees," Joel demanded

You didn't hesitate or make him wait. You did what you were told. getting on your knees, Joel starts to unbuckle his belt frantically as if he'd die if it takes a moment longer. finally his cock springs forth as pre cum is already dripping down.

“Fuck, baby… look at what you’ve done to me. Do you even know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this? How many nights I’ve had to fight every damn part of me just to keep from losin’ control?”

He gathers your hair in his hands, gripping it tightly as you put his cock into your mouth. You hear him let out a low groan

“Fuck… I don’t think I’m gonna last too long.”

You wanted more. You knew you could take more. You wanted to feel every bit of him. putting your hands and using them to grip his ass, you push your head further down taking his entire length. tears fell from your eyes at how much you were taking, but you wanted this...you needed this.

Joel's body was shuddering more and more as your head bobbed up and down faster and faster. using your tongue to flick the slit at the head of his cock, you can hear his mumurs of appreciation as he edges closer and closer. He places a hand on the door, bracing himself as you feel him twitch inside your mouth

“Shit… I’m right there, baby. So damn close it hurts. You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.” Joel mummurs

His thrusts become more urgent and aggressive until his cum shoots into the back of your throat, swallowing every last drop. freeing his cock from your mouth, Joel lifts your face by your chin helping you stand up.

“Happy birthday, darlin’" he said, smirking.

You smirked back until you heard a knock at the door

"Sweetheart? Are you in there? Have you seen Joel anywhere?"

shit it was your dad. You look at Joel frantically not knowing what to do

"Yeah, I'm ok. and no, I haven't seen him."

"ok, well, if you see him, let me know."

Your dad's footsteps are heard as the stairs' floorboards creak. Once he gets far enough away, you heave a sigh of relief, looking back to Joel. There's a different look on his face now, almost a sign of...guilt?...regret? You didn't have time to question it as he ushered you out, waiting for you to go before he sneaked out. As you walked back down the long hallway, glancing back at Joel, you saw his unreadable expression.

Now, you have an entirely new problem. What will you do with these growing feelings, and how will you keep it a secret

✩──────────✩✩──────────✩

it started slowly at first.

the secret meetings, the late night phone calls

Every single time you and Joel were together, a part of yourself stayed behind with him. the more time went on the more you realized the one thing that would make your already difficult relationship harder to hide...

You fell in love

Once you realized this, you kept Joel at arm's length. The secret meetings became less frequent. you didn't have late night phone calls as often. Joel certainly couldn't just walk over at any time and ask for you directly; it would be too suspicious.

After a few weeks of hardly any talking, eventually, it all came to a head.

Ms. Johnson, the town's know-it-all, was holding a Fourth of July party for the entire neighborhood. Whether it was to be kind or be in everybody's business, you figured it was the latter. despite what her reasons were, you knew he would be there. Joel has been trying to contact you for weeks but you ignored him. afraid of facing the truth and afraid of what your dad would say especially your town. It was a very close-knit community.

You dragged your feet all the way over to the party, zoning out as you tried to listen to your dad drone on about something going on at work. You get to the house, walk through the living room, and go to the backyard, where you see Joel. Your heart lurches out of your chest. You missed him terribly. As if he could feel your presence, he turned and saw you. his eyes softened at the sight of you standing there "like a vision of beauty," he would whisper to you as he slowly thrust into you, pinning you to his bed.

You didn't know whether or not to go to Joel first, but it looks like Ms. Johnson beat you to it. She saunters over to Joel, placing a hand on his shoulder trying to act like she's familiar with him...too damn familiar. A part of you wanted to walk over there and rip her arm away from him, but you couldn't. your relationship was still a secret. to get your mind off everything, you started to drink and dance away your feelings.

Every so often, you would look over and find him already looking at you. You became brazen and angry but not sure with what exactly. Was it yourself? Joel? Ms. Johnson? or all of the above.

All you knew was you needed another drink. Walking over to the table that was set up, you see Ms. Johnson beside you. You try to ignore her, but she stops you as you try to walk away from the table.

“You ain’t as slick as you’d like to think, sugar. I see right through you,” she remarked

"Excuse me?"

“You gonna deny it? You think I didn’t notice? You can try, but I ain’t buyin’ it—not for a second.”

"I literally have no clue what you are talking about, which means you are wasting my time."

“Listen here, sugar… I saw those looks you two been throwin’ around, and don’t even think for a second I didn’t notice you sneakin’ over to Joel’s place every damn night for weeks.” Ms. Johnson added. her voice is low, whispering as quietly as she can, “I know your daddy doesn’t have a clue… His best friend? He’d be really disappointed if he knew. And what do you think everyone else would say if they found out?”

Your heart thudded in your chest. The relevation washed over you. She knew.

That nosy bitch

"And what do you gain for this? Do you have a silly little crush on him? Even if you do reveal the secret, who's to say he would want you?" you replied

That clearly angered her, as you saw her face turn red. but before she could continue with her threats, Joel walked up

"Is there a problem?" Joel muttered

You glanced behind you. Joel was visibly tense; you could see him clench and unclench his jaw. Ms. Johnson's mood changes suddenly, as she sees him walk up trying to save face.

"Oh sweetheart, of course not. it’s just us gals chattin’, sugar. Nothin’ more to it."

She starts to walk away but glances at you one last time. you knew what the look meant, Joel coming to your defence confirmed it for her. She's going to tell your dad, and now she may also tell everyone else.

"Joel...she..." you whispered. You were afraid of what would happen. He placed a hand gently, subtly on your shoulder.

"I know. I saw it all. I think I need to get you out of here."

"No. If she says something, I can't sit here and let you face the repercussions from my dad alone."

"You have been drinking. You need to rest," Joel stated

"I don't want to go home. I can't face my dad right now."

“Darlin’, for tonight, stay at my place. I’ll feel better knowin’ you’re under my roof, just to make sure.”

"Ok..." you muttered weakly.

You gave you no protests. You let Joel guide you out of the party, not caring anymore who sees. After a few hours, Joel headed over to your home to speak with your dad to try to appease the situation.

Sitting on the couch, aimlessly watching whatever movie played automatically, you hear the soft click of the front door closing. You jumped from the couch and ran to Joel. Gasping once you saw the condition he was in. His face was swollen and bruised. One of his eyes was barely open, already swollen shut by a growing bruise. He also had a split lip with dried blood smeared.

"Did...did my dad do this?" Tears flowed from your eyes as you saw the rest of the damage. It was all your fault. you felt it was all your fault

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault, darlin’. He’s your dad, and he’s just protective. I let him do what he needed to, didn’t fight back…all for you.”

You stood there for a few minutes hugging Joel, tears flowing from your eyes as you constantly apologized. and of course, he kept reassuring you it wasn't your fault. eventually, you grabbed a first aid kit and started to clean up the cuts the best you could

After you had stitched him up, you two curled up on the couch with the glare of the TV in the background.

"Joel...there's something I have to tell you. i..."

“It’s alright, darlin’. I know… and I love you too. You mean more to me than you’ll ever realize, and I’m here. Always.”

You lifted up your head and kissed him softly. his hands cradled your face in such a gentle way

“Say it again, darlin’. I need to hear it.”

"I love you, Joel Miller."

He lets out a low growl as he picks you up and sits you on his lap.

"God, you drive me insane," he muttered

His hand is on the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly close. He's a starving man, and you are his bread.

It feels like your body is on fire as he trails kisses along your collarbone. You arch your back, letting out a moan.

"Fuck… Joel…"

Joel's strong arms lift you up and carry you into his room. You have never been in here before. It smells like sage and whiskey, just like Joel. He carries you further into his room before placing you in front of a mirror.

You see him look at you... no... admire you through the mirror. taking his time with you as if tonight would be the last time he ever saw you again. He slowly unbuttons your shirt, as he whispers into your ear

"You are beautiful, and I want to show you exactly how much."

His fingers slowly trail down between your breasts as you lean into his touch. Joel's hands palmed your breasts, squeezing your nipples, making you gasp

"Joel...please..."

“Please what, darlin’? Don’t hold back now. I need to hear you say it.”

The way he's teasing you makes you frustrated. you grind your ass in his crotch making him shudder. he grabs your throat making you look at him

“Now, darlin’, behave yourself. Say it—don’t make me ask again.”

His hands drift further down your body, frustratingly slow. He stops at the waistband of your pants

"Daddy...please...."

“Well, there you go. Was it really that tough, sweetheart?”

You groan in frustration again as he starts to strip your clothes slowly. kissing every inch of your body as he continues to whisper sweet nothings into your skin.

"god, you are beautiful."

"How did a man like me get so lucky?"

"You are just perfect."

As you stand naked in front of the mirror, you see him slowly strip his clothes as well. His rugged body is just perfect. Joel's strong arms cradle you ever so slightly as he bends you over in front of the mirror.

“Now, let me make you feel good… just like you deserve.”

You shiver as he places kisses along your spine. He places his hands on your waist, bracing himself as he pushes his cock inside you.

"Fuck...."

"Fuck..."

You arched your back, forcing Joel to speed up his pace. Your hips slamming into his demanded more as he lifted you up slightly pressing your soft skin into his. your hands drift into his hair, gripping and holding on through the pleasure.

You feel Joel's fingers slowly delve into your folds as you yell out a moan so loud that you think even the neighbors could hear you.

That only seemed to drive him forward as he kissed your neck, saying your name over and over again

“I don’t ever wanna forget this… the feel of you against me, hearin’ you call out my name. it drives me wild."

you feel something building up inside. his cock and fingers are working together in tandem bringing forth a shuddering orgasm.

"oh god, fuck...Joel!"

Your orgasm shudders through your body, making you weak in your knees. Thankfully, Joel was holding on tightly, or else you would have collapsed onto the floor. but he doesn't stop there. he continues to fuck you through your orgasm

"I don't know if I can take anymore Joel..."

“You can, baby… I know you can. Just hold on to me.”

You feel him twitch inside you as his cum fills you up. the feeling of him twitching and spilling himself is too much for you.

"fuck Joel...i'm cumming again.."

Joel holds you whispering in your neck as you ride through your second orgasm. you lean into him, tired, wet, and breathless as he kisses you on the forehead

"I love you..."

"I love you too sweetheart..."

✩──────────✩✩──────────✩

A few days go by, and by now, everyone in town knows. Ms. Johnson kept her promise and told everyone she could get her claws into. Everywhere you went, whispers and stares followed, but now you don't care anymore. You love him, and he loves you.

The thought of that sends a warm fuzzy feeling in your chest. Joel loves you...

After day five, even though you didn't want to, you and Joel agreed it was time for you to speak to your dad. As you walk through the living room of your home, you see your dad sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey in hand.

"Dad?"

His head whips up in your direction. His bloodshot eyes tell you he's been drinking quite a bit.

"Oh...you are back? Or are you leaving again?" he asked. it broke your heart a little when he said that. Clearly, he was struggling with the news he found out a few nights ago. his voice nearly a whisper, "so you and Joel...how long has that been going on?"

"Since my birthday..." you replied. You hear your dad suck in a breath at the relevation

"Two months...two months a friend of mine has been with my daughter," he said angrily

"Dad...don't start. you have no idea..." you started to speak, but he cut you off

"I do have an idea. Both of you lied to me, and you are my daughter," he yelled

Your anger was rising. You came to Joel's defense; it was all that mattered right now

"Yes, we lied, and you know why we did? because of the way you are acting now." You exhaled, your voice shaking, "Look Dad, I know it's difficult, but I love him, and he loves me. and those bruises you gave him are because he didn't fight back for me...because he still holds you in a high regard."

"He didn't...he chose not to fight back?" he whispered

"No, he didn't because I asked him not to, and he is a good man; you know that." Your hands are shaking waiting for your dad to say something.

"Fine...it ain't gonna be easy, but...I don't want to lose you or him." he stops, taking a deep breath. "So, I am willing to work on it...to work on this because if you are happy sweetheart, that's all that matters to me."

Tears formed in your eyes as you gave your dad a tight hug. Everything was finally ok...for now, but that's better than nothing

"How about we watch one of those terrible rom com movies you love so much and order in a pizza? sounds good?"

"Sounds good, Dad."

✩──────────✩✩──────────✩

Two years later

It took a while for your dad to accept it, but he eventually came around. Even Sarah accepted the idea. It was a little weird for her at first since you two went to school together, but ultimately, she was happy for you two

Your birthday rolled around once more, and you decided to hold it at Joel's this time.

You walked onto Joel's deck, looking out to his backyard and seeing everyone you love with you tonight. You feel Joel's arms wrap around your waist, standing behind you as you look at the party guests.

"Do you like it?" He questioned. Sarah told you he spent weeks agonizing over the most minor details for your party. You joked you've never seen him so domesticated, which, of course, earned you a scowl.

"Of course, I love it. It's perfect." You kissed him as you stared lovingly into his eyes.

You see Sarah run over to you both

"Hey dad, are you ready?"

Looking at the two of them confused. You wonder what they meant

"What do you mean? Is everything alright?

"Of course, darlin, it's just..." Joel trails off, looking a bit shy as Sarah buts in

"It's for your birthday present," she said smiling

"My birthday present?" you said, looking to Joel. "Well, it seems that Joel Miller has a heart after all."

You laugh as Joel starts to glare at you

"Come on, Dad, it's time," Sarah insisted

You three step out into the middle of the yard as everyone starts to gather around you. Sarah hands Joel a guitar. You knew Joel played from time to time

If I ever were to lose you I'd surely lose myself

Everything I have found dear I've not found by myself

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. He's singing this song for you, just for you. he has stolen your heart in a way you didn't expect

I believe And I believe 'cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

Joel finishes the song as everyone begins to clap. You walk up to him and kiss him, trying to pour every ounce of love you have for him into it. In a mere matter of months, your life changed dramatically, and you wouldn't ever change it

"i love you Joel Miller"

“I love you too, darlin’. I truly do.”

[mariahcarreyyy]

i hear u are looking for landoscar x reader smut ideas, and i raise you oscar domming tf out of lando and reader!!

CAUGHT ORANGE-HANDED, ln4 [+ op81 ]

pairing lando norris x fem!reader x oscar piastri

plot oscar catches you and lando touching each other without permission

wc 2.6k

warning(s) smut 18+, dry humping, brat!lando and brat!reader, brat-tamer!oscar 😉, caught in the act, male masturbation, cock denial (?), orgasm control, cumming in pants, lan and reader r obsessed with oscar's cock, mutual oral sex (m!recieving), lando gets a facial😵‍💫, degradation kink (slut & brat), and lots of swearing

“I'm home!” Oscar’s voice echoes along the long, carpeted hallway of his shared hotel room.

He frowns at the response, or lack thereof. Shrugging his midnight blue puffer jacket off his shoulder, the younger Mclaren driver toes out of his shoes and scopes out the miniature living room in search of his two lovers.

When he reaches the end of the hall, he’d half-expected you and Lando to be lazily splayed against the couch, legs entangled with one another while watching your latest Netflix obsession.

But you two aren't.

Oscar had come ‘home’ aggravated and sweaty and in some serious need of a long, warm cuddle with the two people he knows he could unconditionally count on, and you two aren't fucking here. 

He lifts his hand to thread his fingers through his hair, tugging on it out of frustration, before pulling out his phone to text, Where are you?, to either one of you.

And then he ascertains his answer without needing to ask.

A string of desperate moans and whines, a man’s and a woman’s, slide through the cracks of his bedroom door and slowly fill the air around him. Oscar scoffs; they really can’t spend a second together without needing their cocks wet and pussy stuffed to the brim, huh?

Somewhere amidst the non-existent space between your covered, wet pussy and the bulge in Lando’s tight boxers, the fear of Oscar catching you looms over the lust-filled haze enveloping the room.

“Osc’s s'posed to be on his way, baby,” Lando manages to gasp out like he wants you to stop, but his hands’ metal grip on your waist never falters and his green eyes never leave yours.

It was a weak warning; Lando was aware, but the sight of you on top of him, steadying yourself with your palms flat against his stomach to move your hips fervently against his crotch—fuck, it made him even weaker.

You hum nonchalantly in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his trapped cock nudges at your neglected clit again, “Don’t care, need you, Lan.”

The curly-haired boy groans at that, planting his feet on the bed to meet your languid movements. The friction was so much and still so little, so far from what you two truly wanted.

“Fuck, me neither.”

When you double over and pucker your lips slightly above Lando’s, he can’t help but grin into the kiss. It’s desperate, laced with unimaginable hornyness and clashing teeth, and Lando can’t fucking stop.

“Pathetic, honestly, y’sluts couldn’t even wait a couple hours for me?”

You gasp into your boyfriend's lips, halting every one of your movements (much to the displeasure of the stirring pit in your lower stomach). Lando pinches your waist, resulting in you scrambling to sit upright and crane your head back to look at a very beautiful, very angry-looking Australian standing in the doorway.

“Hiya,” Lan smirks mischievously at the muscular frame of his boyfriend behind you, lifting his head slightly to do so.

You mentally palm your forehead.

“Hiya?” Oscar furrows his brows, advancing towards the edge of the bed. “That all you got f’me? C’mon, Lan, you wanna come tonight or not?”

Your eyes roll back, this time in annoyance rather than pleasure. “Knock it off, Oscar, it’s not that big of a deal. We were horny, so what?”

Oscar’s big brown eyes meet yours for the first time since he’d arrived, and you fight the urge to crawl in a hole and die because, judging by his glare, he’d murder you instead. The paler boy raises a questioning brow, his eyes flitting between you and Lando, never leaving your curious glances when he begins ripping every piece of clothing adorning his body off.

And fuck, his body was something to gawk at. Oscar’s abs are still tense and sweaty from the workout his trainer put him through earlier, but the real sight for sore eyes was his thick, hardening dick between his even thicker thighs.

Evident with the hopeless roll of Lando’s hips, Oscar had the same effect on him as well.

“Oscahhh, c’mere,” the man underneath you demands, one of his big palms leaving your waist to make grabby hands at the paler man standing beside you.

Much to your surprise, Oscar complies. Big, stoic, text-book-dom Oscar Piastri fucking crawls up the mattress from behind you—his breath tickles your neck and a pathetic whimper slips from your lips—reaches over your shoulder to tug Lando up forcefully from his hair and starts noisily kissing him.

Right over your shoulder, beside your face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. They had no right to look that good, like they were carefully sculpted by the Greek gods themselves, made for each other. Made for you, too.

Lando presses himself impossibly closer to Oscar's lips, his chest flush against your perky tits and Oscar’s against your arched back—you are sandwiched between them, and it does nothing to help the growing dampness on your panties.

A minute passes. Somehow, neither of them has lost their breath, and you want to absolutely sob because the ache between your thighs is screaming for relief. Huffing at the lack of attention, you grind your hips: first, downward against Lando, and then, grinding your ass against Osc’s heavy cock.

“Oscar, come on!" You whine, tilting your head back to bury it in the crook of his neck.

Like a light switch flipped, Oscar rips his tongue out of Lando’s mouth and nudges his shoulder to push you off of him before whispering hotly, “It’s not that big of a deal, y/n.”

There it was. The big, stoic, text-book dom places his hands under Lando’s on your hips, squeezing painfully at the itchy lace of your panties. Also making you so fucking horny.

“Osc, c’mon, y’know she didn’t mean it li-,” Lando’s words die in his throat at the sharp glare Oscar shot at him.

“A slut defending a slut? Hm, nothing’s changed, I see." Oscar trails his palms up the sides of your frame, passing over Lando’s darker hand as he continues. “I really don’t get why you guys didn’t just wait for me, would've given one of you m’cock.”

You and Lando whine in unison, and it's music to Oscar’s fucking ears.

Jutting your bottom lip out, you counter, “You still can, Osc.”

Oscar's lips twitch upwards, grabbing Lando’s hand and placing his index and thumb on your tits, tweaking at the nub through Lando’s long fingers. A needy moan escapes your lips, grinding on Lando’s covered dick and shit, you need it now.

Your fingers glide downward through the hardness of Lando’s abs, tugging desperately at the hem of his boxers.

Oscar tuts disapprovingly, dropping Lando’s hand from your tits—you and the pleasure pooling in your stomach whine in protest—before ordering, “Y’two can grind on each other till you come, but the underwear stays on.”

Lando pouts, his hands moving up to palm your hardened nipples, flicking at the nub, and talks to Oscar behind you like you aren't writhing on his lap.

“Lan,” you gasp when his squeezes escalate faster and rougher, the hint of pain overshadowed by the pleasure coursing through your body.

They both ignore you.

“Osc, please,” Lando begs, helpless at this point, tears brimming at his waterline because, my god, his boxers were about to fucking rip open at the sheer size of his hard cock.

You want it stuffed inside you so bad.

You can’t see it, but you feel like you can when Oscar grins behind you, pulling his heated body away from the curve of your back and crawling up to the bedpost beside Lan.

Now, you could see both of their faces clearly: horny, hot, and flushed. The younger driver places one arm behind his head, his bicep bulging to the size of your head, while the other grips at the base of his throbbing cock.

Holy shit, your panties were absolutely soaked, seeping through their seams and wiping the slick of your pussy onto Lando’s boxers.

“C’mon,” Oscar urges, lazily stroking his precum around the length of his cock. “I wanna watch.”

Lando lets out a low groan before his hands leave your tortured tits to cup your cheeks and press his lips against yours. It was messy and a bit awkward, and you couldn’t care less. When Lando slides his crotch against the dampness of your underwear, you're powerless to resist a loud moan.

“Fuck,” you whine against his pillowy lips, meeting Lando’s desperate ruts and arching your back when the head of his cock nudged at your swollen clit. 

When you detach from him for air and glance at Oscar, you finally register the loud wetness of him fucking his dick into the circle of his fingers. And shit, the thought of him getting off on the sight of you and Lando desperately humping each other makes you way hornier than it should.

“Fuck, baby,” Lando moans, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth caught in a permanent ‘o’. “Y’so good, so good, y/n, fuck, I’m close.”

You whimper, head hazy at the sound of the three of you getting off to one another, and your thighs burn at the erratic movements of your hips. That doesn't deter your hips from moving frantically as you get drunk on Lando��s mewls and Oscar’s raspy groans.

So, when Lan’s rugged fingertips brush against your sensitive nipples once more, you can’t help yourself when it throws you off the edge; your back arches almost uncomfortably with your head thrown back and bottom lip between your teeth, filling the room with a symphony of high-pitched moans.

“Shit, shit, shit." Lando throws his head back against the pillow, and you bend to place your wet lips against his wide neck.

You nibble, kiss, and suck the canvas of his neck, muffling the sound of your overstimulated moans as Lando chases his high against you.

“Fuckk, you two’re so fucking hot,” Oscar groans, hastily sitting up on his calves to jerk his dick off beside Lando’s face. Lan instinctively opens his mouth, tongue poking out slightly and hips stuttering, when Oscar paints his face with beads of milky cum.

Naturally, you whimper—both at the sight of your boyfriends and the feel of Lando’s boxers dampening more when the mix of his own cum and yours stain the cotton.

Fuck, you'd be inexplicably horny right now if you hadn't just come. Oscar’s still kneeling beside Lando, frozen and wide-eyed and panting for air. And, even after reaching his high, Lando’s hips slow but do not stop from under you, like he can’t fucking help but grind against you.

The last thing your eyes registered before falling pliant against your boyfriend's chest was Oscar gathering his cum on Lando’s face with his thumb. Lando’s lips part, and he obediently sucks on Oscar’s thumb with a muffled moan.

You could die happily like this, you think, sinking further into the bed when the warmth of both your lovers arms encircles your frame.

“You two still aren’t getting my cock for a week, by the way, serves you brats right.”

And Lando, because he can't take a fucking hint, grins at Oscar and asks, "Can I suck you off?"

You start, "Lan, you dumbass-"

"M'kay," Oscar cuts you off, retracting his arm from around your waist and scooching up the bed to lay his head on the bedpost.

The grin etched onto Lando's face only widens, his big hands hauling you off of him before crawling into the V of his boyfriend's legs. Oscar, despite having come a few short minutes ago, is already half-hardened at the sight of Lando gazing dumbly at his cock.

"Desperate much?" you coo from beside him, although you too felt the pit in your stomach stirring again.

Not so pleased, Oscar extends his arm to the space between his legs and motions you towards Lando. You don't blink before obeying him. In fact, if it meant touching or feeling his cock in any way, shape, or form, you think you'd do anything he'd ask of you right now.

You mimic Lando's position: lying down beside him on your chest with your face millimetres away from Oscar's dick. A familiar fire courses through your abdomen as Oscar shoves his hands into your and Lando's locks.

"How 'bout whoever sucks me off best gets my cock, hm?" Oscar says it like a question, but you and Lando know better than to reply. "That sound good for you brats?"

The two faces behind his cock nod frantically with a newborn competitive glint in their eyes. At the confirmation, Oscar wastes not a second before tugging on Lando's roots to wrap the elders' lips around the head of his cock.

You bite your bottom lip, rubbing your thighs to try and ease your pussy screaming for attention—it does fuck all. Oscar has his head thrown back, silent moans escaping his parted lips as his boyfriend lapped at the underside of his length.

"Shit, Lan, just like that, fuck," his hips buck uncontrollably, lifting Lando's head off his cock—who only whined at the loss—and pulling you down onto him instead.

With a slight jerk of your head, your hot mouth closes around his cock, hollowing out your cheeks to suck more of him. You swallow the gag threatening to leave your mouth when his length hits the back of your throat, the hand on your hair clenching painfully but oh-so-beautifully.

Oscar's groans bounce off the walls, nearly overpowered by the lewd slurps and gags from his cock in your mouth, "Holy shit, oh fuck, Lan, fuck, yes, yes."

Your brows furrow, gazing up at Oscar's fucked-out face, before the realization that Lando had managed to sneak a hand around the base of Oscar's cock, mouthing desperately at his balls, dawns on you.

You pull off Oscar with a cough. "Lan, fuck off, j's lemme have this, Jesus."

With a fond mix of a chuckle and a moan, Oscar hesitantly bats Lando's hands and mouth off of him, motioning for you to continue. So, you do. You clasp your fingers around the parts of Oscar's cock that your throat couldn't reach and cup his balls with your other hand, bobbing your head mercilessly up and down his length.

Lando whines (he doesn't know if he wants to be Oscar or you, but he pouts anyway), and you continue absolutely wrecking Oscar.

"You're so good, y/n, fuck! So good, so," Oscar groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly; his sweaty abs contracted ethereally, one of the few indications that he was close.

Humming around his cock, you pull off reluctantly for breath, and Lando, that sly bastard, takes it as his cue to replace you. Your throats' fucked raw and the exhausted flush on your face trails over your entire body, so you tiredly rest your forehead on Oscar's inner thigh, occasionally kissing and mouthing at the flesh.

Oscar's hand leaves your hair and places both of his palms on Lando's bobbing head, fucking up once, twice into his boyfriend's throat before groaning loudly, "Fuck, shit, holy shit, I'm coming, I'm co-."

Ropes of hot cum dribble down Lando's chin when he hauls himself off of Oscar's length, and you have to resist the urge to lick it clean. A loud exhale leaves Oscar's lips, his dick slowly softening and his hand returning to the top of your head to stroke your hair fondly.

"So?" you question, your voice raspy and lust-filled.

"Lando won," the younger man grins hazily, chuckling when Lando lets out a proud 'hmmph' directed at you.

You gasp, "Liar!"

"Y'can't tell the guy who just came from my mouth a liar, baby," Lando quips, nudging your shoulder with his.

"I can when he's a liar," you mutter bitterly before your eyes light up. "I call for a rematch!"

authors notes thank you @ashiekins ur request was also inspo for this fic and to @cafekitsune + @saradika for the dividers xx

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🌷

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p.s reblogs and likes are always appreciated 💕💕

[eightstarr]

what's mine — ellie williams.

summary: the day you left for this assignment, ellie remembers thinking it would be okay— or maybe it was you who said it, your hands over her tense shoulders, her fingers tugging at your shirt, “you’ll be okay.” she goes home and knows it to be true, like words from a god. she’ll be okay and you’ll be back. what’s left to do but count the hours?

warnings: descriptions of violence (not very detailed), suggestive content near the end!

notes: uhhh i love being dramatic and i think it shows here. all i think about is the action of coming home to someone who loves you and how it is as meaningful now as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be in a hundred years but whatever haha sorry about that guys. if you read this i love you btw

don't support zionist neil druckmann.

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

Being without Ellie is disorienting. The first week feels like walking alone in a dark room, feeling the walls for a light switch, running into sharp corners that stab your sides. You miss her like it's a sickness, less a longing and more a threat to whatever you’re made of.

There's a small community way outside of Jackson offering a trade. Maria makes it sound simple, like everything else. “They know us, it’ll be quick. You pick up the supplies, drop off our part of the deal, and come back.”

It takes 26 days. The exchange is simple but the journey less so, you and three others have to carry home the much needed medical supplies through herds of infected and a heavy storm that slows you down and cuts off your communication for three terrifying nights.

Ellie wanders the house and feels like a stranger, sickly, a sleepless corpse searching for living blood. The light coming through the windows feels too bright and her skin abnormally cold. She knows, or thinks, that if she’s not careful she could get lost in it— merge every wall together until there’s nothing left to see but a stark flatness, an unfamiliar box. The space is not huge. It's not a tall castle or a manor in the countryside or anything fitting to the theatricality of loneliness, but it’s your home. So much of you is in it. Ellie finds herself focusing on a different thing each passing day, clinging to them with a nauseating desperation, a hundred random pieces of you scattered like breadcrumbs to keep her sane. A book with a folded corner somewhere along the first half of the story, your favorite mug next to the sink, an old pair of jeans ripped at the knee on your side of the drawer. Too many things for you not to come back.

“Do you think I'm losing my mind?” she asks, a soft wrinkle between her furrowed brows, her eyes focused on a random spot ahead. “I mean, it’s been two weeks,” she’s trying to sound like it's not as bad as it looks, like she finds any of it funny or interesting instead of plainly horrifying. The sole of her shoes hits the floor in an anxious rhythm, mocking her— tap, tap, tap, tap. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

Dina curses at the lighter until it flickers back to life with a weak orange flame, holding it near the end of the half finished blunt. She inhales and passes it over, breathing out, “You’re not crazy.”

A pause. Ellie lets the comment comfort her for a single second before it flies right through her head, sounding more quiet than usual when she admits, “...I have this feeling like someone took something from me.”

Dina raises her eyebrows, her chuckle cut off by a short cough, smoke itching her throat. “You mean, like… what’s her name?” she squints her eyes and tries to remember. 

The name worms around Ellie’s head like it has been for days, bold letters, clear as day. She makes no attempt to let it pass through her lips, self aware and unrelenting at the same time, maybe finding some indefensible satisfaction in the fact that it can be forgotten. Cruel, you'd tease, and Ellie would smirk a lot like she tries not to now.

Dina gives up a second later, “Whatever— the girl that volunteered to go with them before you could. You're blaming her?”

“I guess.”

“Hm. That’s a little…”

“Don’t say crazy—”

“Crazy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Ellie scoffs, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. Dina argues unlike anyone else. She’s confident, her goal clear and her strategy already lined up before you get a word in, loaded like a gun. But her strongest contender, perhaps the only one, might be Ellie’s simple stubbornness. “I’m concerned. She got picked over me even though I've studied that route a hundred fucking times. I could've done a better job,” she says, steady and tireless like bulletproof glass.

“At getting the supplies or at taking care of your girlfriend?”

“You’re starting to sound like Maria.”

Dina pauses for a short moment before she shrugs. “Maria makes good points.”

Ellie takes one last hit of the blunt and flicks it across the room to die out somewhere on the permanently damp floor. She tries to believe it. No one took you, she thinks, you left dutifully like anyone else in Jackson would've, like Ellie would've. It’s a dangerous trip but a job like any other, the same risk of deadly infection that comes with any of them. She should be used to it by now. Does it not also exist every other day of the year?

Still, she can't remember the last time she didn't see your face for this long. You’ve been dating for a little over three years, living together for half of that— it's a terrifyingly meaningful chunk of your young lives, months and months of seeing you everyday, of falling asleep with her face on the crook of your neck and waking up with your fingers pressing into her waist. You've built a world where things like this don’t happen, where all Ellie can think about as she leaves home is the way you hum in the mornings, soft and sleepy and so fucking cute, when you wake up to her back against your chest and her hair on your face. She thinks about her own laugh, how shy it sounds, how your lips press to her head before she turns around to claim a proper kiss.

But now you’re not here, and she’s too terrified to even utter the words out loud, and there's a hole in her chest where you should be that makes her feel insane everywhere she goes. It's an open wound leaving a hazardous trail of shame and memories, humming in her ears like a boiling kettle, who took what's mine?

Ellie has never considered herself to be the jealous type, but she never was the type to sleep with her back turned to someone this comfortably, either. It’s different with you. It's theatricality, it’s the coldness of that bed at night, it’s your legs tangled with hers like growing roots now disjointed. It’s a thing, breathing and alive, screaming at nothing— I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Is that girl you went with hanging from your every word in that way she always does? Is that a shameful thought to have? Ellie wipes it clean in a second and finds it immediately there again, at the front of her mind like a message on a cloudy mirror. She can't think about anything else. Is the storm keeping the two of you awake? Does a part of you find the girl brave for volunteering? Is she turning to look at you and asking, just loud enough, are you asleep? That fall earlier was rough, how are you feeling? Is she looking at your wounds like they matter more than doing a good job? Is your blood, warm and red and yours, on her hands now?

The last of the smoke spills past her lips in a sigh. Ellie pulls her knees closer to her chest and tugs at the loose thread on your ripped jeans.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

There’s a comfortable weight that keeps you under, the loving press of her arm resting over your chest, her thumb brushing your chin. The sun feels warm where it’s draped across Ellie’s back, white tank top wrinkled slightly up her waist.

She watches you until you let out a little sigh, squint one eye open and then slowly the next, a smile stretching your lips as soon as your sight focuses on her. She looks beautiful. She looks just like she did before you left, your girl.

It’s weird— you’ve showered, scrubbed your hands clean and raw, changed clothes. And still you feel like you’ve brought in something dirty, like it’ll be stuck on you for a while, the grime, the guns, the storm. Your muddy shoes must still be sitting by the front door. Something in your head screams that you should get rid of them, burn them like an evidence of guilt. Do you look anything like you did before you left? You feel like a worn version of yourself, sticky and darkened. It’s a ridiculous worry to have, but the thought comes hand in hand with embarrassment and you can feel it crawling up your neck. You cover your face with your hands and groan tiredly, shy.

Ellie laughs, warm like musk, salve on a wound.

"Are you watching me sleep?" you mutter, voice ridden with exhaustion and joy all at once. The thing, love, obsession, both— breathes along with you. "Freak."

"Yeah, I was,” she shifts to sit on your lap, one knee on either side of you, spilling her confession easily. Ellie leans over to push your hands away from your face and press her lips to yours, passionate but short lived, still softly brushing against each other when she says, "I missed this face."

You chuckle, eyes tracing over her freckled cheeks, hands squeezing her thighs, feeling strangely like you’re being washed clean. “I missed you.”

Ellie closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, her fingers caressing your cheeks, looking at you again when her thumb brushes against the ridge of a scar. It’s a warped line that almost follows the shape of your cheekbone, from your hairline to somewhere near the corner of your lips. She'd seen it last night, nauseous with worry and relief to have you back, her vision clouded. The morning reveals it in a different, heartbreaking light. It’s okay, you’d said during the night, your hands on either side of her face much like hers are on you now, didn't even need stitches. Ellie tries to let that sink in, make the guilt feel any better. But it can't. Maybe you’d been saved the prick of a needle, but she knows it still hurt, she knows it bled and stung. It feels like a betrayal. If I can't save you the pain, she thinks, I owe you the witnessing, the chance to clean its wry edges, pat it dry. "How'd you get this one?" she asks, as softly as she can.

You’d been prepared for the question but not the devastation in her eyes. It falls over you like a ton of bricks, her love making your chest ache and sinking you back into the memory.

There was an empty house, or what looked like one. Pieces of broken glass scattered over the rotting wood of an old, wobbly table. A man's hand placed forcefully on your head. The side of your face rammed into the table with a thud when he pushed you down, the faint pain of something slicing into your cheek made worse by your struggle to get free. A kick and he stumbled back. A slice of your knife and he fell dead. You don't think the fact will do much to comfort Ellie. So, in hopes of sparing her, you hum and shake your head. "Come here," you say, or beg, a hand on the back of her neck like fond guidance. "Let me kiss your pretty face."

She feels soft like satin on your lips, tastes like honey and black tea. Ellie kisses like she argues, experienced and unruly all at once, with a point to make— I need you and I want you to know it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips and brings a muffled sound from your throat that almost makes her pull slightly away, if it weren't for the feeling of your fingers tightening on her neck to have her closer. A faint thought crosses Ellie’s mind, a feeling like pity for the person she was before you, whoever that was, an old self who couldn't know what it's like to be devoured so caringly.

She brushes her nose against yours and you let out a sigh that sounds painfully like a prayer, her short hair a dark veil over your eyes when she turns her head to press kisses on your cheek. "You can't leave me like that again," she breathes out.

You swallow her words, a confused wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Ellie—”

A kiss cuts you off. You slide your hands up her thighs to her waist, a surprised hum vibrating against her lips when she wraps her fingers around your wrists and squeezes, as if to keep them there. She leans back and stares into you, and for the first time since you’ve known Ellie, you can't tell if she's commanding you or begging. “I won’t let you.”

It’s a gesture. It goes beyond the reality of your lives, the fact that any day either one of you could be made to leave again, that any day either one of you could die. It means I missed you. It means I need it to be me who looks after you. It means I love you.

Your stomach flutters, hungry with an urgent craving. And like you have every day since you’ve known Ellie, you find yourself unable to deny her love or the indulging promise of a different world— but maybe those mean the same thing. "I'm not leaving you," you say, breathless, and it might as well be true.

Ellie makes a sound in response that feels painfully close to a moan, a soft mmhm that clouds your head of anything that may or may not exist outside of this room. The tip of her nose brushes against your neck and then continues its way down, her fingers sneaking inside your shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing kisses over the skin that’s revealed. "I love you," she says, almost near the band of your underwear, her blushed lips parted. You feel her breath against the burning fire in your lower stomach, reaching out to cradle her cheek against your hand. She feels hot, flushed pink under her freckles, and you’re not sure if she hears you say I love you, Ellie as much as she watches you mouth the words. She presses her face further into your hand, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, begging as if she’d ever have to, “Baby, I need— please.”

You don't hear yourself say yes, but the look in her eyes says you must have.

[the-kr8tor]

Arrowroot + ❣️ : Jason Todd with reader who’s been a spy for as long as they can remember and he can never hide anything from them, so he enlists the whole family’s help to set up a proposal pls :3

JASON PROPOSING QIZNKWNXKWNXJ Thank you for the req! I hope you like it bestie ❤️

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader/ Red Hood x fem! Reader

Word count: 2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Spy! Reader, established relationship, cw food mentions, lovestruck! Jason, fluff!

One year celebration 🎉

Navigation

You're attuned to little things, such as a simple change in temperature, the number of people inside a cafe or even eyes on you. You're used to it because of your profession. If you weren't then it could spell your death, or worse, capture. But the only person who can slip past through your honed radar is Jason Todd. Granted that he's your one weakness, him and a good matcha cake. So when you wake up to those glowing green eyes you love, his silhouette the only thing you can make out in your sleepy state and within the dark room, your senses don't blare for you to take up arms and shoot. No, instead of flinging a blade at the handsome boogeyman, you open your arms tiredly for him.

“Hey, Jaybird.” You croak out, eyes half lidded as you make grabby hands at him.

“A deadly spy making baby hands, and here I thought I've seen everything.” Chuckling, Jason walks into the slip of sunlight from the blackout curtains, revealing his handsome self to you in all his glory as he carries a tray of breakfast. His green eyes smile at you, head tilted whilst his dark hair is still tousled from sleep.

“Savour this moment, I'm only like this in the morning.” Grinning up at him, he mirrors your smile as he clicks the bedside lamp open. He's still in his boxers, bare chest almost blinding you from how the light reflects upon him. Like a moth to a flame, you poke his stomach. “Morning to you too, JJ.”

“Stop naming my body parts, babe.” He shakes his head, chortling at your shenanigans. Scooching close, he sits beside your hip as he places the tray of food on your lap.

“Can't help it when it looked at me first.” Joking, your eyes catch the spread. A plate of heaping waffles, crisp at the edges just like how you like it and with all the fixings that comes with it. A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a bowl of fruit.

If it was a special day you wouldn't have second guessed what it's for. You could chalk it up to Jason being a classic romantic, but you remember that he got home late last night from patrol and would be too tired to squeeze out a handful of oranges just for you. Well he has done that before, but the way he looks at you, emerald eyes peeking through his lashes, lips casted into a small yet soft smile, you have a feeling what it's for. Especially when you accidentally found the ring tucked inside his sock drawer. It could be a proposal, years of loving each other all culminating to this day. Your heart soars at the conclusion, and you couldn't help the giddy smile to appear on your expression.

“I knew that I should've made pancakes instead.” His head tucks above his shoulder, lips pressed into a nervous smile.

You'll bet good money that the ring is in-between the waffles.

“No, I love it, Jason.” You reach for his cheek, thumb brushing along his skin to placate him. “I was just wondering what this is all for.”

Jason's face turns flat within a half second, brows knitted together as he frowns. “It's our anniversary.”

You raise a brow, slowly a smile spreads across your cheeks as well as his. The chorus of guffaws echoes in the shared room until he cups your face, reaching over the tray to press a brief kiss atop your smile. “I didn't even get you even for a little bit, hm?”

Shaking your head, you chase his lips, kissing him with a resounding smack. “Nope, I know what day it is, Jay, and it's definitely not our anniversary.”

“I thought I'd get you this time.” He lets your face go, picking up the syrup bottle and squeezing it all over the waffles just like how you like it.

“You're the only person who falls for that.” Smiling, you take the fork he offers to you. This is it, once you cut into that waffle you're going to get the prettiest ring ever, albeit sticky from syrup.

“What are you waiting for?” Eyes twinkling with mirth, the lilt in his tone doesn't fly by over your head.

“Nothing, just admiring your cooking.” You say in a sing song tone before cutting into the waffle right in the middle. As you lift the fork up, it reveals— nothing. Absolutely empty except for another waffle. You blink at your plate, taking a generous bite before Jason notices.

“How’d I do?”

“Good.” Nodding, you cut into another waffle, then another and another until you could only see the end of the plate. “It's really good.” It's not a lie, the waffles taste amazing like always, but you can't help but try to find the sparkly ring in between them.

“Yeah?” Jason lies down on his side, beaming at you as he watches you eat. His cheek rests on his fist, arm perched on the bed as he casually lays down on the quilted blanket. “You sure? Because you were slashing into it like it owed you money.”

“Oh I just thought that there's some whipped cream in the middle.” The other perk of your job is that you're quick in making excuses just like how you're quick on your feet when push comes to shove. But you don't need to run away from your fiancé to be as he looks at you expectantly.

“D’you want some whipped cream? I can grab it from the fridge?”

“No, it's fine.” You take his hand before he could stand up, patting him lovingly as he settles back down. He's definitely up to something. “Stay with me and have some of this, I can't eat all of it, babe.” As you bring the fork to his mouth, the two of you have a staredown. It reminds you of all the times you spot a fellow spy out in the field, but this time, you're starting to think that he knows that you know of his plan.

Jason chews as you scrunch your nose at him with a loving smile. That goes on for what seems to be hours, you feed him from your fork, while you sneakily scoop through the fruit but find nothing but fresh slices of mango and melon. And with every sip of the orange juice, you ready yourself lest you choke on the ring, but alas, you're left with a full bladder as you finish the whole glass.

“Trying to find something?”

Your head whips towards him, not even hiding the expectation any longer as you stare at him like he caught your hand inside the cookie jar.

“No,” you calmly say, politely straightening up your utensils on the plate. “why, should I be looking for something?”

Jason tilts his head back slightly whilst shrugging. “Not really.”

He knows. This fucker (affectionate) knows. And he's clearly playing with you and your unquestionable senses and perception.

“You know, babe,” you bat your lashes at him. “You never answered my question.”

“What question?” Oh he's challenging you. Sometimes you forget that he's also good at reading people because his usual sweetness and kindness towards you makes you forget. That and his kisses.

“Why you made me breakfast in bed?” Poking his pec, he catches your finger and splays your palm over his heart as he smiles at you innocently.

“Oh that, I just wanted to.” His index runs along the inside of your wrist, dancing along your skin until he reaches your elbow, cupping it gently as he traces small circles around it. “You've been working too hard, y’know, I just wanted to make you something nice.”

Why were you asking him again?

Your heart swells, “thank you, Jaybird.” Moving the tray beside you to have more space, you fold yourself to kiss him. The sweet syrup on his lips jolts you awake, but his hand on your back as he moves away your sleep shirt to feel your skin makes you fall back into forgetfulness. As you lean away, you peck the tip of his nose while he sighs affectionately. “I want to stay in bed with you, can we?” You say, almost a whine as he holds you close.

“We both have shit to do today, babe.” Jason looks at you through his puppy dog eyes. “I have that thing with Bruce and you—”

“Have debriefing.” You finish the sentence for him, head falling right atop his shoulder with a groan. “You can't expect me to just get dressed and leave when you made me breakfast in bed.” Your words are muffled by the crook of his neck.

Chuckling, he kneads at your back, comforting you with his warmth. “Well, you don't have to do the first one for at least another hour.”

Leaning away, you see the familiar glint in his eyes. You don't even say anything as you smirk and abruptly push him further into the plush bed.

—

Jason opens the car door for you as you get inside. He perches his arms over the window, gazing at you fondly. “You've got your water bottle?”

“Yep.” You sigh like a lovelorn schoolgirl about to move school away from her crush when it's just you going to work for the day. “You've got your keys?”

He dangles the carabiner of keys in his fingers. “Got them. You got your wallet?”

You scoff with a smile. “‘course, you've got my kiss?”

“Ah, shit, I think it's still in the house.”

“Well go get it then!” Giggling, he takes your face gently through the window and kisses you softly. “I see that you've found it.”

“I did, or maybe I need to look for it some more.” Moving back to kiss you again until you're a giggling mess, he pecks you once, twice, thrice before finally leaning away. “Keep safe, okay?”

“Always, Jason. Don't get shot.” You rub his freshly shaven chin as he fully leaves the side of the car.

“I won't. Don't forget, dinner at Bruce’s.” He taps your car as you put on your seatbelt and put it in reverse.

“As long as Alfred's cooking!” You call out before driving away.

Jason grins at the spot that you just left, hands tucked inside his leather jacket as he feels for the small velvet box inside. He might've not gotten you with the anniversary prank but he properly planted the red herring. Now you won't be any wiser when he proposes later at dinner when you'd expect a simple family dinner but not what he's planing— or what his family helped him plan. It's genius really. How to dupe a spy, and he thought it wouldn't be possible. But thanks to everyone's heads put together, including the world's greatest detective’s mind, this could work.

His phone rings, and Dick’s caller ID pops up. “Yeah?”

“Did it work?” He asks excitedly, too excitedly in fact.

“I'm surprised it did. Barbara was right, she sniffed it out immediately.” Jason chuckles as he leans against his motorcycle. A round of cheers echoes through the receiver, and Jason blinks at the sounds. “Am I on speaker?”

��Yeah! Everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for your call, man. So she's not at all suspicious?”

“Not anymore.” He hopes, he really wants to surprise you just once. But that's hard enough when you're always anticipating everything.

“Listen, we cleaned up the gazebo and Alfred's going nuts in the kitchen. We just need to carry all the furniture in there and fix up the lights.”

Jason's fists clenches and unclenches, trying to ebb out the nerves. “Yeah, sounds good, thanks.”

“Just thanks?” Dick scoffs, and he hears a round of groans in the background. “You owe us, man, don't you dare elope without us being there.”

“That defeats the purpose of elopement.”

“Fine, guys, wreck the gazebo—!”

“I'm joking! She'd want to have everyone there.” Jason rolls his eyes and he swears his brother saw it from the click of his tongue.

“If she says yes!” Damien calls out, and he hears Barbara scold him.

“I'm going there now, don't start without me.”

As he puts on his helmet and races off to the manor, he feels the comforting warmth in his chest along with the sizzling nerves slithering in his arms. He just hopes that you don't immediately figure out the plan the second you enter the manor and it's just him and you inside.

[d3arapril]

00 PROLOGUE | TOO FAR GONE | P.B

pairing: paige bueckers x female!oc word count: 1k warnings/tags: allusions to cheating? i think that's it for this tbh. remember this is just a prologue - it'll get crazier, freakier and sadder!!!! ᡣ𐭩 better late than never, hey! excited to finally share the start of paige & sydney's story. as always - feedback and reblogs are always appreciated <3 SERIES MASTERLIST | PLAYLIST

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sydney Moore had an interesting childhood– she had a mother that loved her and a father that only ever seemed to have his best interests in mind. You could argue that it was a standard childhood for most.

She was loved. She had once been loving, too. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. The craving for chaos seeped in, spreading like ink in water, staining the good parts of her.

Sydney met Paige when they were both freshmen at the University of Connecticut. She didn't think much of her, at first. Just another blonde she'd thought when they locked eyes in class for the first time, the blonde's gaze hesitating on her before reluctantly pulling away.

Paige was quick to prove her wrong. The two found comfort in each other despite their differences; Sydney was more reserved, kept her cards held close to her chest whereas Paige was outgoing, open and ambitious. As they grew closer, the athlete would invite Sydney to her practices, to parties, to small get-togethers with friends. Sydney, more often than not, would decline, using excuses like “I need to study” or “I’m not feeling well.” Paige never pushed, only smiled, nodded, and spun away, leaving a soft ache in Sydney’s chest that would never really go away.

Sydney told herself it was better this way—better to keep that distance. Yet, there were moments when she would stand rooted in the hallway, books clutched to her chest and lips curled down in a frown, watching Paige walk away and feeling a gnawing sense of loss that shouldn’t have been there.

She wanted to be around her all the time, yet couldn't bring herself to let her in. Paige was already too close, and it terrified her but she couldn't help but want more.

It remained like this for a while and whilst the girls became closer Paige still couldn't worm her way into Sydney's brain, figure out why she acted so distant.

"Can I ask you something?" Paige had asked her one evening.

They were studying in Sydney's room, orange desk lamp casting a warm glow across the small space. Sydney hesitated, lead of her pencil hovering over the page of her notebook.

"You just did."

"Don't be a smart ass. Come here."

Sydney moved from her seat by her desk to the bed, sitting beside Paige with both of their backs leaning against the wall, feet hanging off of the edge of the bed.

"Is there something going on?" Paige sounded genuinely concerned, voice quiet.

“What do you mean?” Sydney’s voice came out strained. She could feel Paige studying her from the corner of her eye, waiting for her to open up. The thought made her hairs stand on end.

Sydney’s mind raced—memories of her father’s clipped words, of being told emotions were weaknesses, of learning to suppress every raw edge and every vulnerable part of herself. She couldn’t let Paige see the truth, not when it felt like she was barely holding it together.

"I dunno," Paige sighed, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. "You're just not there recently, y'know?"

Sydney swallowed, the taste bitter. The light in the room felt like it was dimming and she felt like the walls were closing in on her.

"I'm fine."

Their relationship evolved in fragments— moments where Sydney would let her guard down, just enough for Paige to think she was making progress, only for Sydney to retreat behind her walls again. And despite it all, Paige stayed. She stayed through the disappearances, the late night calls, the way Sydney’s affection often felt like a push and pull that left her dizzy.

Sydney grew to like it this way. She found a twisted comfort in knowing that no matter what, Paige would be there. She'd sacrifice everything for her if she had to, she was sure of it.

The thought alone awoke a part of her she didn't even know existed.

two years later

"Have you spoken to Sydney recently?" Paige had asked Aubrey, fingers mindlessly running through the small knots in her ponytail. They'd just finished a late night practice and the remainder of the team had already filtered off of the court, ready to end the day.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing as she looked at the blonde. "Why would I speak to her? Have you?" she stepped forward, trainers squeaking against the hardwood of the court. An accusatory finger dug into Paige's shoulder. "Bueckers?!"

Paige brushed her off, kissing her teeth. "Nah, 'course not. Forget I asked."

Since that evening in Sydney's room two years ago, something changed. She didn't become more open with her feelings but instead she became more affectionate, much to Paige's surprise. They would spend most nights together wrapped up in each other with no conversation about what they were; where they both stood.

It became too much for Paige, the uncertainty of their situation, the way it ate away everything she did. Her grades were slipping and her performance on the court was mediocre at best.

She pulled away from Sydney, despite her iron grip.

She'd known, deep down, that it wasn't going to be easy. What she hadn't expected was the sudden lack of air in her lungs, the way her head swam, the ache in her chest. She carried on, though. Carried on with her life, got her grades back up and soon shot up to become one of UCONN's best.

"What're you guys doing out here?" a familiar voice echoed through the gymnasium- Azzi.

Paige and Azzi had met one year after she had met Sydney. They were just team mates for a long time, but as Paige started to become more worn down from Sydney, Azzi was the shoulder she cried on. Their relationship blossomed and whilst they weren't official, they were definitely something.

Azzi brought a sense of peace to Paige's life that she hadn't felt in a long time but she couldn't help but crave more.

"We were just leaving." Paige sends a half smile in Azzi's direction. She beams back, pearly whites on show.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Jus' tired."

Azzi threw an arm over her shoulder as they both strolled off the court. Paige could feel Aubrey's gaze searing through the back of her head, burning into her. She felt guilty as Azzi rubbed a hand up and down her bicep, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

She felt guilty as she pulled her phone from her gym bag, lowering the brightness subconsciously. She felt guilty as she kissed Azzi on the forehead and promised she'd be over as soon as she was done running an errand.

She felt guilty as she told Sydney she was on her way to her.

[thezombieprostitute]

Christmas Grump

Summary: Walter has hated the holidays for many years, much to your chagrin. But this year you've got an idea to soften him towards Christmas.

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: you hate the holidays and i love them.

Warnings: None. Please let me know if I missed any!

Walter has been on the force for long enough that he knows to expect the worst around the holidays. Good will towards mankind? Bah, humbug. He knows better. Christmas time is when the worst of the worst comes to the surface and he hates every moment of it.

You've been determined to temper his grumpiness at the holidays pretty much since the day you met, back when his beard barely had any greys to it. Unfortunately, Walter was just about as stubborn as you.

At the very least Walter didn't try to stop you from celebrating. You'd decorate the entire house, except for his office. And goodness knows he never complained about the extra baking you did this time of year. He could be the biggest baby about making sure he got "his share" of all the cookies and treats you made for the department. Some of his friends joked about him practicing for the role of Santa with how many cookies he would eat but he never let it get to him.

In truth, he had been warming to the Christmas holiday since you came into his life, but it was hard for him to still appreciate the moments in comparison to the years of holiday trauma he'd seen. It was actually one of the reasons he insisted on going shopping with you during this time of year. He could see your joy at the lights, the gift ideas, the cutesy holiday paraphernalia and he could keep you safe. More times than you knew he'd silently warned off someone who looked like trouble just by glaring at them. As much as he wished you'd pay better attention to your surroundings, he was very grateful you didn't see the world like he did.

Meanwhile you appreciated that he would go shopping with you because he could carry the heavy stuff and it gave you access to his big truck!

"You're sticking with me, right, big guy?"

Walter rolls his eyes, "in spite of my better judgment, yes."

You chuckle and playfully slap his arm, "such a grumpy old man!"

"I'm not that old."

"How old is Faye again?"

"Too old," Walter shakes his head. His daughter was attending college already and Walter was suddenly feeling his age.

You kiss his bearded cheek to distract him. "Well I, for one, think you've aged like fine wine. You're even more handsome than when we first met."

He snorts in disbelief, but lets himself smile at the compliment.

You're almost done with your shopping list. They didn't have the canned mandarin oranges for the cranberry relish, but you can do quick checks for them until it's time to start the cooking. Maybe they'll have the snack cups of them in stock if you run low on time.

Looking at the remaining few items on your list you stop to hype up Walter. "Okay, Walter, we're about to go into the toys section." He groans. "Hey, hey, hey, we're going to get through this. It'll be okay! We're just gonna get in, get a bunch of stuff for the toy drives, and get out. Right?"

"Right," he sighs.

"That was weak sauce, Walter! You can do better!" You cheer him on with a playful punch to the arm.

"Right," he repeats, more firmly.

"That's better! Let's do this! You keep close to me and watch my signals for when to stop, when to turn and when to get the hell out."

"Right!" he high fives you before you lead him into the overcrowded toy section.

Walter is on high alert. He's seen what happens when two or more parents fight over the latest popular toy.

You signal a few turns, wasting no time in grabbing some items specifically requested by the people running the toy drives. The bulk of toys donated were for kids between the ages of 3 and 11 so you made sure to go for the toys outside of those age ranges. Some baby chew toys, infant mirrors, board books and the like for the youngest ones. Sports equipment, sketch books, makeup kits and the like for the older ones.

Walter was helping you get some hockey sticks into the over-packed cart when you were both interrupted by a cry of "SANTA!" Suddenly Walter feels a weight around his leg and, as he looks down, he sees a toddler holding onto him like a baby koala.

"Hello," he says to the toddler. "Can I help you with something?"

The toddler looks up, eyes wide with wonder. "I got wost. Mama says 'no talk to stwangers' but you Santa! You can he'p me!"

Walter's eyes immediately soften and he effortlessly picks up the kid. "Are you here at the store with your Mama?" They nod their head yes. "Can you tell me what she looks like?"

"She's pwetty," they answer.

"I'm sure she is," Walter says with a smile. He turns to you, "do you think you can get to the customer service? Ask them to send out an APB, or whatever they do, for a parent missing their child?" You nod and get moving, hearing Walter say, "how about I put you on my shoulders and you can look for her?"

It takes you a few minutes but you're finally able to find an associate to help out. They send out a notice over their walkie-talkies and you take them back to where you left Walter. You have to fight the urge to coo when you see the large, grey-haired, bearded man with a toddler on his shoulders. You and the associate show up just as the toddler starts pointing and yelling "Mama!"

It takes a bit to calm down both Mama and toddler. Your heart swells to see Walter in his element, taking care of others. It's one of the reasons you fell so hard for him. He is a very kind, caring person who genuinely wants to help others. But he needs someone who can take care of him so he can keep going. You're happy to be that person.

As they little family goes off, the toddler waves, "bye Santa! T'ank you!"

Walter's smile widens and you can't resist, "so when can I start calling you 'Santa'?"

He gives you a stern look. "Never."

"I dunno, I think that kid was on to something," you tease.

"No."

"I mean, the beard, the big build, getting toys for kids..."

Walter grabs you and growls into your ear, "be careful you don't end up on the naughty list."

"I wouldn't mind sitting on your lap," you giggle. He takes a breath and you can feel his body stiffen at the mental images. "But, first, we gotta finish shopping. Let's go, Santa!" you playfully yell as you break free and get back to the cart.

You keep laughing as Walter gives you a look that promises a delightful punishment for your behavior.

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @changenameno; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness;

@kingliam2019; @lokislady82; @peyton-warren; @ronearoundblindly

[walsuf]

hey I wanna make a character with narcolepsy and I've been doing my own research but I also felt like maybe asking someone who has it and stuff and since you made that comic headcannoning SM with it (really neat btw <3) I thought that you may be comfortable sharing some experience with it (as much as you feel comfortable ofc!) so I could better understand it so I may fit it into a character myself. OBVIOUSLY YOU DONT NEED TO ACCEPT IF YOU DONT WANT TO! this is coming out of nowhere and stuff so apologies if you feel uncomfortable!

[LONG POST] Yeah! Let's talk narcolepsy! Some things that might help (ft. Shadow Milk)

First and foremost, I want to say that my experience with narcolepsy is going to be very different from other people's, and I'm mostly just going to yap about my own details. Everyone experiences their symptoms in a unique way, kinda like how every bag of fruit snacks is different. You anticipate the same stuff inside (symptoms), but one bag will have all of the colors and another might have all orange ones.

I think my biggest advice here is to not dogpile all the symptoms, just focus on what heavily affects a character the most. Sometimes that's going to be nightmarish hallucinations, sometimes their sleep attacks; for Shadow Milk, I fixate a lot on cataplexy! (Weakness is a huge thing that I struggle with personally.) Regardless of additional symptoms, excessive daytime sleepiness will always be present :p

This one might be hard, but do something that you resonate with the most. Most people have experienced sleep paralysis at least once; a lot of people with narcolepsy get sleep paralysis very often, usually accompanied by visual/audio/tactile hallucinations. Then, it becomes a matter of changing the frequency and intensity rather than making something up.

When it comes to hallucinations, they can sometimes be horrifying (and are exacerbated by sickness, lack of sleep, and general unwellness). I find that a lot of people with nightmares and frightening hallucinations tend to have those in excess; I personally almost never get those. My hallucinations are usually very minor, like seeing the lights flicker when I close my eyes, or feeling like my body is surrounded by water or gently rocking back and forth. My most frequent one (and by far the most annoying) is that coming out of sleep I hear my alarm going off or my name being called. Neither of which are actually happening.

Excessive daytime sleepiness (EDS), like everything else, presents differently in everyone. Sleep attacks are only one aspect of it---which gives a person the nearly irresistible need to sleep for seconds to sometimes hours. Some people thug them out (often they can be resisted) because they find themselves losing way more time succumbing to it. Some people fall asleep very quickly, and can be in the middle of an important thing while doing so. I've personally fallen asleep mid-lecture while writing notes, and looking back at them is... interesting (there's a thing called "automatic behaviors" you might want to look into). Personally, I don't get sleep attacks often, but they are exhausting to deal with, and make me pretty much appear and act drunk without the fun part.

My normal experience with EDS is just a general level of sleepiness following me throughout the day, like that same feeling you get while working on an essay late in the night. It's manageable, but sucks. This isn't to say I never feel alert, there are good days and bad days, but most are in this sleepy middle ground that forces me to nap twice a day (noon and afternoon) lest I get all grouchy and my speech starts to slur.

From the outside perspective, sometimes people can guess that I'm having a sleep attack or just generally sleepy before I even know. I'll be told, "you sound tired," which is almost followed up with an, "...I do???" I crash within the next ten minutes almost every time.

Cataplexy is a symptom specific to N1 (which is actually an autoimmune disease, fun fact), and also happens to be what I struggle with frequently. It has strong emotional triggers (think anxiety, anger, surprise, laughter [doesn't have to be all of those, just pick a few]) and causes a degree of weakness. This can be anything from eye twitches and difficulty holding up the neck to full body collapses. For the most part, I feel it in my hands. When I laugh, I can't write or clench my hands any more. They become useless floppy limbs until a few minutes pass and they're back to normal. I am (unfortunately) a very giggly person. Personally, my slightest attacks make my head fall forward. My most severe one had me collapsing 6 times in the course of 15 minutes, hitting my head each time. Cataplexy attacks can cause subsequent attacks to come easier, and it's difficult to break the cycle. I avoid stairs for this reason.

If you've ever experienced morning weakness, or a few minutes in the morning where its slightly more difficult to hold things and get around, that's a lot like what minor cataplexy feels like, except condensed into a short, spontaneous episode. Oh! And it's often accompanied with blurred vision (look up ptosis) and speech difficulties as well!

I don't fear any of my symptoms because that's just how I experience the world. I've always felt weakness with laughter, so I thought that was always normal. I've been frequently sleepy and assumed that I was somehow lazier than everyone else. Now, I try to listen to my body. It takes a lot of effort to stop a conversation and go to sleep because my body needs it, and it sometimes sucks to forewarn my lab partners not to tell jokes around me. Sometimes I lay down in the middle of nowhere and have random people asking if I'm okay (hate this, I'm usually too weak to respond).

All in all, just try to make it a set of circumstances that someone else lives with rather than a set of symptoms that constantly put a character into crisis mode. People with narcolepsy don't need to be babied (I sincerely hope my comics don't come off that way because they're rooted in personal experience), they can manage their symptoms just fine on their own. Self-accommodations can come off as strange or funny (bringing a blanket everywhere, wearing sunglasses to manage minor cataplexy, wrist strap on the phone so as not to drop it), but they're there for a reason.

Sorry for the tangent, I've actually been on a heavy uptick educating myself. A good place to go for life experiences would be, of course, the narcolepsy subreddit. It's a good resource for people talk rather than medical jargon. If you need any examples for how to write or depict certain symptoms, though, I would be more than happy to do that on request! (I loove writing drabbles, and I know there's almost 0 narcolepsy fics, much less any written by people who care about accuracy. I'm begging to be asked here [will probably cookie run-ify everything though])

Thank you for reading if you got this far, and I hope this helped!

[maroonshirt81]

Hey, wanted to see if you would write carcar shifter au? One of them is like a cat shifter (or dog) and the other one figures it out? Cute fluff maybe? And possessiveness is always welcome!

this request hit me square in the chest with ideas... Even though I'd never have written a shifter AU of my own volition! This is why I love writing request fills! :D

not sure if the level of fluff is what you meant, anon – I'm an enemies carcar truther at the core, but I still think it's extremely fluffy.

carcar, 5k, squabbling neighbors with shared garden wall AU, cat shifter AU, ao3

****

Carlos Sainz Jr. loves his life – he has a job he likes, a close-knit group of friends, and a cute little house with the most beautiful garden anyone’s ever laid eyes on. All in all, it’s almost perfect, with one notable exception: the neighbor’s cat is trying to ruin it.

“He did it again,” he tells Oscar, leaning across the small stone wall that separates their gardens.

Oscar is currently elbows-deep in a pot full of soil, digging for potatoes and barely glancing up as Carlos complains to him. Even after a full minute of waiting for a response, a bored “Hm?” is all the reaction Carlos can draw from him.

“Your cat!” Carlos clarifies, gesturing toward a knocked-over flowerpot on his side of the wall, where scraps of red blossoms sway pitifully in the weak breeze. “Destroyed my beautiful geraniums!”

“I don’t have a cat,” Oscar says automatically, even though Carlos has seen the orange menace stroll right through Oscar’s terrace door multiple times. Carlos has no idea why Oscar keeps denying it. Specifically to piss him off, is his best guess.

“Besides,” Oscar adds, for once giving him more than the bare minimum of attention, though he still doesn’t bother to look up, “good on the cat. Those geraniums stink.”

Oscar’s own garden looks like a survivalist’s wet dream – neat rows of salad greens, vegetables, berry bushes, and fruit trees. Squash and pumpkins in containers to keep them from spreading too much. Little pots of herbs lining the terrace. Capital B boring. He wouldn’t know how to appreciate Carlos’s flower paradise to save his life.

‘Geraniums stink.’ What an asshole.

“You know what stinks worse?” Carlos fires back. “Cat poop! So just make sure the damn thing stays on your side of the wall!”

Oscar finally looks up, holding a couple of baby potatoes like he just delivered them from the pot’s womb. He has tiny hands. He’s struggling to hold like two potatoes in one.

“Not sure you know how cats work, mate,” he says, that awful Australian twang coating every word. “Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so sure the cat’s mine. I told you, it’s not. One day you’ll just have to accept that.”

“I know it’s yours because I’ve seen it walk into your house! And because it only started showing up after you moved in! And because it looks exactly like you!”

He probably shouldn’t have said that last part out loud, because now Oscar has an excuse to look at him like he’s lost his marbles. And sure, Carlos knows it sounds crazy, but it’s a well-known fact that many pets resemble their owners in disturbing ways.

“Sure, mate,” Oscar says after a long pause, leaving the statement unacknowledged for maximum psychological impact. “I’ll tell my imaginary cat to stay out of your garden next time I see it. Can’t promise it’ll listen, though. It’s a cat.”

Then he walks off, carrying his four potatoes in his dirt-smeared arms, back into his stupid house.

****

The next day, Carlos finds cat poop sitting squarely on the grave of his shredded geranium pot. The bastard hadn’t even tried to bury it. Carlos picks up the dried poop with his garden gloves and, in a blaze of rage, hurls it over the wall into Oscar’s garden.

A moment later, a pointed cough grabs his attention. He turns to see an unimpressed Oscar peeking over the too-low wall.

“Really?” Oscar says. “I know you’re not my biggest fan, but throwing poop at me is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Carlos feels a flicker of shame for half a second before anger swells again. He storms up to the wall, barely restraining himself from jabbing Oscar in the chest.

“I told you to watch the cat!” he scolds, Spanish blood taking control of his hands, which slice through the air in sharp, furious angles. “And what happens? He poops on my flowers! Poops!”

Oscar watches the animated hand gestures, entirely unimpressed. When Carlos finally stops, he has the audacity to just shrug.

“Still not my cat,” he says. “So I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

Carlos lets out a frustrated sound that he hopes comes off as firm and not whiny. “Why do you insist on lying?”

“I don’t lie,” Oscar lies effortlessly. “That’s like a big thing about me. Remember, the whole reason you don’t like me is because when I first moved in and you asked how I liked your garden, I told you the truth and you couldn’t take it.”

“You said my garden is an eyesore!” Carlos squawks. “Which is clearly not the truth!”

“It is to me,” Oscar shrugs again. “We just have different tastes.”

“It’s not about taste! Some things are inherently true! You can’t say my flower paradise is an eyesore – just like you can’t say I’m an eyesore!”

“You’re an eyesore,” Oscar shoots back without hesitation.

Carlos is momentarily stunned. Then, a horrific possibility dawns on him. “Oh my God!” he breathes. “You’re… are you blind? Are you blind and just never told me?”

“Carlos…” Oscar sounds more exasperated than Carlos has ever heard him. “You’re wearing the biggest straw hat known to man and freaking overalls. You look like you just escaped from a game of Stardew Valley. If I only saw you out of the corner of my eye, I’d think you were impaled in the middle of a cornfield asking if anyone’s seen your brain.”

“You are blind,” Carlos mutters, more to himself than to Oscar, who clearly isn’t listening. “And a liar. Blind and a liar.”

“Sure, if it makes you feel better…”

“No!” Carlos says firmly. “This isn’t about me feeling good. This is about you being a compulsive liar, which is a problem because you’re my neighbor, and I am suffering directly because of your untreated condition!”

“Oh my God,” Oscar sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m ugly!” Carlos demands, yanking off his straw hat so Oscar can properly admire his gleaming hair.

“Mate!” Oscar groans. “I never even said you’re ugly. Just that you’re an eyesore in that demented outfit!”

“So you do think I’m hot, then?”

Oscar glances at his wrist and widens his eyes slightly. “You know what?” he says. “I actually don’t have time for this. So – see you around, Carlos. And please try not to throw any more poop in my garden, that’d be ace. Bye.”

And just like that, he turns around and walks off, leaving Carlos fuming at the wall.

It takes until the very last second before he disappears behind the terrace door for Carlos to notice that he doesn’t even wear a watch on his wrist.

****

So, Carlos can’t get Oscar to admit he owns the cat. Fine.

He will, however, get him to admit that Carlos is hot, because that one’s about personal pride – plus, it would annoy Oscar so much more.

So the next time he sees Oscar out in the garden, Carlos sprints to throw on his overalls and straw hat – and just his overalls and straw hat! No shirt underneath. Just miles of sun-kissed skin and bare, defined arms. Carlos knows how to use what he’s got. He’s not like Oscar – three hunchbacks and two widow’s peaks in a trench coat. Well, beige shorts and a white T-shirt.

Okay, that was mean. Actually, Oscar isn’t ugly, even though most of his individual features should come together to make a weird and awkward whole. Somehow, it works. Maybe it’s his dry, quietly confident personality. Carlos doesn’t know and doesn’t care to think about it right now. He has something to prove.

“Mate,” Oscar calls from the other side of the wall as soon as Carlos steps out into the garden. That’s a new record for getting noticed. Carlos can’t help but feel a little smug. Then Oscar ruins it by adding, “You’re gonna get the most ridiculous tan lines!”

“At least I actually tan!” Carlos shouts back, heading straight for the garden hose. He briefly considers putting on a little show – dousing himself with water for that irresistible wet look – when Oscar announces, “Well, have fun with that. I actually have somewhere to be, so unfortunately I can’t stick around to laugh at the aftermath.”

And then he just packs up and leaves!

Carlos stares after him, limp hose in hand, denim overalls chafing against his freshly shaved chest.

What a let-down. Maybe Oscar really does think he’s ugly. That stings a little. Actually, it stings a lot.

To make matters worse, five minutes later, the damn cat is back. It sits perched on the wall between their gardens, staring unblinking as Carlos tries to soothe the rash on his chest by letting water run directly into his overalls.

For a moment, Carlos considers spraying the cat with the hose, but then decides against it.

For once, the cat isn’t doing anything. Just sitting and staring.

At least now Carlos can pretend he’s putting on the show for an audience.

****

When Carlos goes into the garden the next day – fully clothed this time to hide the angry rash across his chest – he turns on the hose only to discover it’s turned into a sprinkler overnight. The damn cat’s been chewing on it.

That’s when he decides enough is enough.

If the cat really doesn’t belong to Oscar, then Oscar shouldn’t mind Carlos catching it and dropping it off at the nearest animal shelter.

So Carlos devises a plan.

You catch more flies with honey, and you catch more cats with milk, he thinks, as he places a little dish of cream out on the terrace. Rich, full-fat cream – probably the finest thing the cat’s ever tasted.

Trap set, he retreats into a shady corner behind his morning glories, net at the ready, and waits.

The cat… is nowhere to be seen. Not in the first hour. Not in the second. Not in the third. After three hours of crouching, Carlos’s back is sore on top of his chest, and he gives up. He sets the net down and slips through the open terrace door into the kitchen.

That’s when he sees the orange monster sitting on the counter, teeth sunk into his $200 leg of jamón ibérico.

“Ayayayayay!” he shouts, clapping his hands in frustration, but the cat just gives him the same unimpressed look its alleged owner would. Only when Carlos circles the kitchen island, getting close, does the damn thing leap out of reach.

Carlos decides not to play his little games right now, and instead goes to inspect the damage done to his jamón.

“You really are a pest,” he mutters, grabbing the sharp knife on the counter to cut away the gnawed-on parts. “Did you not see the cream I put out for you?”

He turns, finding the cat sitting on his kitchen island – out of reach, but otherwise unafraid, even though Carlos is holding a big knife in his hand. There’s a vase full of fresh flowers from Carlos’s garden right next to the orange monster, so he hopes the cat isn’t clumsy.

He sighs and tosses the contaminated pieces of jamón onto the island. He’s not going to eat that, but just throwing it away feels wrong too.

“I see you’ve got expensive taste,” Carlos says, watching the cat dive into the scraps. “At least you have taste, unlike your owner…”

The cat glances up, licking his lips, and Carlos can’t help but snort.

“Seriously. You look exactly like him.”

“Meow,” says the cat, and Carlos swears it has an Australian twang. Another snort escapes him.

“Don’t know why he denies any and all connection to you,” Carlos rambles, like an idiot chatting with his nemesis in feline form as he cuts another piece from his $200 pig leg. “You’re kinda cute. For a cat, I mean. When you’re not actively ruining my life.”

The cat responds with another twangy “Meow,” and Carlos tosses it the fresh slice.

“Look at you!” he says. “You’re almost more talkative than your owner!”

“Meow.”

“Or maybe not. Can you say more than one meow in a row?”

“Meow.”

“Hm.” Carlos slices another bit of jamón, holding it up. “How about now?”

The cat falls completely silent, fixing Carlos with a dangerous look.

“Come on! Meow-meow. Not that hard, see? Then you get this.” He waves the jamón and mouths, “Me-ow, me-ow!”

Very, very slowly, the cat lifts a paw and touches the vase of flowers.

“Don’t you dare!”

The vase scoots an inch closer to the edge.

“I’m serious!” Carlos warns, but apparently, so is the cat, because the vase keeps inching.

Before it can end in disaster, Carlos throws the piece of jamón onto the counter, sighing in relief as the cat leaves the vase alone and devours its prize with a smug look on his face.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Carlos mutters. “Honestly, I didn’t think cats were this intelligent.”

“Meow,” says the cat smugly.

“Too bad you use your intelligence for evil.” Carlos grabs the plastic wrap on the counter and seals up the exposed side of the jamón. “That’s enough for now. Your owner will be very cross with me if I upset your little tummy.”

The cat scoffs, but doesn’t beg for more. He simply turns, jumps off the island, and deliberately hits the vase with a back paw mid-jump, sending it crashing to the floor. The cat is out of the open terrace door before Carlos can decide to throw his big knife at him.

Mission Animal Shelter: failed. But at least Carlos is sure of one thing – he still really, really hates that cat. For a moment there, he had almost started to warm up to it.

****

Carlos makes the mistake of leaving the window open while making pancakes the next morning.

Just as he’s sliding the last one onto the plate, he looks up, and there’s the cat, perched on the windowsill like Carlos hadn’t spent the night dreaming about skinning it alive.

“Ay!” he barks, quickly scanning the room for anything breakable. Unfortunately, there are a lot of flower-filled vases. “Did you come to break more of my things?”

“Meow,” the cat replies. Not a clear confirmation or denial. Carlos hopes it is the latter and sits at the kitchen island.

The cat hops down from the windowsill, onto the counter, then to the floor, and finally onto the empty stool beside Carlos, staring up at him expectantly.

“I’m not feeding you any more of my jamón after you broke my vase yesterday,” Carlos informs him, still bitter.

The cat simply blinks at him – or, more accurately, at the rolled-up pancake in Carlos’s hand.

“This?” Carlos asks, unrolling the pancake for the cat to get a better look. “You want some pancake?” He tears off a small piece and offers it to the cat, who eats it from his hand without hesitation. The whiskers tickle his palm, and the nose is cold and wet.

Carlos stands up and grabs a plate for his guest. Because. Well. He’s already talking to the damn thing, isn’t he? Doesn’t get much more idiotic than that. Besides, it’s kind of nice to have company.

The cat looks down at the pancake on the plate Carlos sets in front of him, then back up at Carlos, as if waiting for something.

“What?” Carlos asks. “Surely you don’t eat with a fork and knife!”

“Meow,” the cat says sarcastically.

“What then – toppings? Are you seriously demanding toppings?”

“Meow,” the cat confirms, and for a moment Carlos wonders if he should talk to someone about his delusions.

“I usually just eat them plain,” Carlos says, turning to rummage through his cabinets, looking for something a person without taste might like on their pancakes. “So I’m not sure I have any – oh! How about this?”

He pulls an unopened jar of Nutella from the depths of the cabinet and presents it to the cat like a waiter offering a fine bottle of wine.

“Meow meow!” the cat says enthusiastically, which shocks Carlos so much he nearly drops the jar.

“Okay, but – wait a minute! Let me google something first,” Carlos says, fishing his phone from his pocket and quickly searching whether cats can have Nutella.

“Oh,” he mutters, disappointed, when the answer is a very clear no. “Sorry, buddy, but I can’t give you this. It’s actually toxic for you.”

The cat, who just moments ago had been acting like his best friend, now hisses at him.

“Look, I’m not going to poison you!” Carlos insists. “Not just because I wouldn’t put it past your owner to take revenge, but also because I don’t want to find your diarrhea all over my precious flowers!”

Clearly, that mature reasoning and responsible decision-making displeases the cat, because it hisses again, grabs the pancake in his mouth like a dead mouse, and knocks the plate off the counter for good measure. Then he bolts, disappearing out the open window while Carlos just sighs and grabs the broom to sweep the shattered pieces off the floor.

****

“Oscar.”

“Carlos,” Oscar replies from half inside a blueberry bush.

“Can I give your cat a little bit of chocolate?”

Oscar goes still for a moment, then pokes his head out of the bush, eyebrows raised high.

“Still not my cat, mate,” he says. Carlos waits, just stares back, until Oscar returns to his berry-picking, half-disappearing into the bush again. Carlos waits some more until finally, from deep within the leaves, comes, “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Carlos says.

“I read somewhere cats are smart enough not to poison themselves with food they can’t tolerate,” Oscar elaborates, voice muffled by foliage. “So if it eats your chocolate, it’ll probably survive. Not that I care, because it’s not my cat.”

“Sure, Oscar. Thank you, Oscar,” Carlos says, feeling bold enough to decorate his words with a big smile, knowing Oscar’s too deep in the bush to see it. He turns to leave but stops. On a sudden whim, he picks one of the blue cornflowers growing in a small flowerbed bordering the wall and leaves it on top for Oscar to find.

****

The cat returns the next morning. Eats three pancakes with Nutella and doesn’t die.

When Carlos heads out to water his plants later, Oscar isn’t around – but a small basket full of blueberries waits for him on the little wall between their houses.

Carlos eats them wrapped in the rest of his pancakes and admits that some toppings actually taste good.

****

A week passes, and the cat becomes a regular guest in Carlos’s house.

It’s a problem. Kind of. Even though the more Carlos does what the cat wants, the less likely it is to break anything.

What’s a problem is the damn hair! Carlos finds it everywhere – he’s even spotted some stuck to his precious jamón iberico, and he doesn’t even want to know how much fur he’s accidentally eaten. Sometimes he starts imagining a hairball forming in his throat and gets all nauseous.

So when he spots Oscar’s ass sticking up over the little wall, bent over his lettuce patch, Carlos quickly jogs over to bombard him with more cat-related questions.

“What, Carlos?” Oscar asks before Carlos can even say a word. He seems busy putting up snail collars and doesn’t straighten up.

“There are cat hairs everywhere in my house!” Carlos complains to Oscar’s ass, which, now that he’s so directly faced with it, is a pretty nice ass, he must admit.

“And why is that?”

“Because your cat keeps visiting me and doesn’t understand the concept of cat-free zones!”

“Not my cat,” Oscar says, predictably.

“You should see my couch!” Carlos continues, hopping up onto the little wall and letting his legs dangle from Oscar’s side. “He napped on it the other day, and now my brown couch is orange!”

Oscar leaves the snail collars and finally straightens, crossing his arms as he faces Carlos. “Really?” he says. “You feed the cat, and now you let it sleep in your house? Are you sure it’s not your cat?”

Carlos hesitates.

“I don’t even know his name,” he mutters, brow furrowing.

“Uh-huh.” Oscar doesn’t look like he’s about to volunteer that information.

“Do I just give him one?”

“That’s usually how it works when you get a cat, mate.”

“Hm…” Carlos strains his brain trying to come up with a suitable name, but comes up empty. So he just sits and watches as Oscar goes back to work, legs still swinging off the wall.

“You’re still here,” Oscar points out once he’s done with the snail collars and sees Carlos still sitting there, staring at his… garden.

Carlos might have gotten a little distracted from brainstorming cat names.

“Yes,” he says, scratching his chin like he’s been in deep thought all along. “Hey, can I name the cat Oscar? He looks exactly like you. I don’t think any other name would suit him.”

“You can name it whatever you want, mate,” Oscar replies, completely unbothered. “It’s your cat.”

“Okay.” Carlos nods, satisfied. “And what do I do about the hair?”

Oscar gives a sigh so long, Carlos is surprised he hasn’t consulted his invisible watch and ran away yet.

“I don’t know, mate,” he says. “Brush it?”

“Brush it!” Carlos repeats, lighting up. Then he jumps off the low wall, jogging back toward his house with a quick, “Thank you, Oscar!” tossed over his shoulder. As he passes his bed of impressive gladiolus flowers, he pauses. Thinks. Swerves to detour into his garden shed and retrieve a pair of pruning shears, clips three of the most beautiful blooms, and puts them in a tall vase the cat hasn’t managed to knock over yet.

Oscar has moved on to his radishes by the time Carlos returns with the impromptu bouquet.

“Here,” Carlos says, placing the vase on the little stone wall between their gardens. “For sharing your cat with me.”

Oscar, for once, doesn’t manage to get out one of his signature sarcastic comments before Carlos turns and heads back inside.

****

He orders a special cat brush online. It looks strange – square, with little wiry hooks that don’t exactly look comfortable, but the website claims it has a massaging effect, so Carlos hopes the cat won’t hold it against him.

Carlos doesn’t end up naming the cat ‘Oscar’. Well, he does for one evening. But when he tells Lando on the phone that he can’t move because Oscar is asleep in his lap, the teasing is so relentless he decides the risk of confusion just isn’t worth it.

He lands on ‘Oscat’ instead. Still fitting, but clearer.

Oscat loves the brush.

Carlos hears him purr for the first time and is so startled, he nearly drops the damn thing. He knows cats purr, obviously, but he’s never had one do it in his lap – the vibrations are crazy, and it’s way louder than expected. Like the cat has his own little engine.

Carlos likes engines.

He sends a selfie of himself with Oscat in his lap to Lando, just to prove that the cat is real and that he is not cozying up with the terrible neighbor he used to complain about daily.

Though honestly, Oscar hasn’t been that terrible lately. He even smiles now when he sees Carlos step into the garden. Most days, there’s a little container of berries, herbs, or veggies left by Carlos’s door or on the wall between their gardens.

Sometimes, the cat sits next to the container, as if he brought it himself, and walks right into Carlos’s house as soon as the door opens, like he owns the place.

Carlos’s phone pings. Lando has responded to his selfie with a flood of “My dad with the cat he didn’t want” memes. Carlos rolls his eyes, puts the phone down, and refocuses on brushing the purring cat in his lap.

****

“So, Oscar…” Carlos begins, the moment Oscar steps through his terrace doors, carrying a large bag of fertilizer. Carlos is already waiting, seated on the stone wall.

“Carlos,” Oscar replies evenly, though he’s smiling again. Carlos still isn’t used to that. He momentarily forgets what he meant to say.

It’s not until Oscar is right in front of him that Carlos remembers his question.

“Are you really serious when you say Oscat doesn’t belong to you?”

Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. “Wow. And here I thought it had finally sunk into that thick skull of yours.”

“It’s just…” Carlos cuts in before Oscar can continue mocking him. “I don’t really think he belongs to me either, you know? I have no idea where he sleeps at night. He doesn’t eat the cat food I buy or use the litter box. He just comes over whenever he pleases, makes me fawn over him for an hour or two, then disappears again. Is that normal for cats?”

“Pretty much.” Oscar shrugs. “They’re independent. Maybe it has like four other people wrapped around its paws and just wanders from one house to the next. Maybe the other houses have better litter.”

Carlos is deeply displeased by that thought. He can live with sharing the cat with Oscar – but random strangers with superior litter boxes? No way!

“Well, how do I know he’s treated alright? Is he healthy? Is he getting all his shots? Can I just take him to the vet for a check-up, or will they discover some microchip inside him saying he belongs to some family with kids and take him away from me?”

Oscar must notice how serious Carlos is, because instead of making another joke, he just watches him quietly for a moment.

Then he puts the bag down and hops onto the stone wall beside Carlos, so close their shoulders are almost touching.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that cat, mate,” he says, staring straight ahead into his blueberry bush. “That thing eats, like, a jar of Nutella a day. You’d probably need a lab-made virus to take it down.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, still not looking at him. For someone so nonchalant, he’s terrible at pretending to be nonchalant. “It’s probably just some stray who adopted you. Would likely scratch your eyes out if you tried to take it to the vet.”

Carlos thinks it over. Long enough that Oscar eventually turns and meets his eyes.

“Look – you said the cat’s smart, right? I’m sure it’d let you know if it needed help.”

Carlos just nods. He doesn’t really have any words right now. He’s never seen Oscar’s eyes from up close like this. Though he’s very familiar with another set of eyes, which have different shaped pupils, but are otherwise an exact replica.

When he returns to his side of the garden, he stops by the rose bushes, clips a single white bloom with pink edges, and places it on the stone wall between them.

****

Carlos Sainz Jr. loves his life – he has a job he likes, a close-knit group of friends, a cute little house with the most beautiful garden anyone’s ever laid eyes on, and a very opinionated pet who likes to spend the evenings sprawled across his lap, purring like a helicopter about to lift off.

All in all, it’s almost perfect.

With one notable exception.

He’s pretty sure he’s developed feelings for his terrible, tasteless, snarky nightmare of a neighbor, and he has no idea what to do about it.

“Oscat…” Carlos murmurs, his voice barely audible over the purring. He’s lounging in a garden chair, one hand around a glass of wine, the other sunk into the cat’s fur. The cat still hears him, lifting his head and blinking his narrow, golden-brown eyes.

“Do you… do you think Oscar still hates me?”

The cat slow-blinks, then leans forward to gently bite Carlos’s finger.

“So… you think there’s a chance he might like me?”

“Meow meow meow!”

Carlos’s eyebrows shoot up. That is by far the most elaborate opinion Oscat has ever voiced about anything. He watches the cat try to act nonchalant by aggressively licking his paw.

“I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m ugly and annoying,” Carlos adds, almost to himself.

The cat scoffs. Scoffs!

And sure, Carlos is no expert on cats, but he’s been reading up a lot lately, and from all the knowledge he’s gathered, he’s pretty sure cats aren’t supposed to be this intelligent. Or able to hold up an entire conversation with a human being. Or eat jarsful of Nutella.

“So… if I walked over there right now, rang his doorbell, and asked him to join me for a glass of wine on my terrace… do you think he’d say yes?”

“Meow meow!” Oscat agrees enthusiastically.

Yeah. At the very least, cats shouldn’t be this sure about the answer some random human with their exact eyes, and exact looks, and exact accent would give about being asked out.

And maybe Carlos would not feel confident sharing his theory with another human soul, not even his closest friends, but… It just makes sense. It would explain why Oscar was always so adamant about how the cat doesn’t belong to him, and why he knew about the Nutella thing, and why he told Carlos not to take the cat to the vet. And why Carlos has never seen Oscar and Oscat at the same time. It would just… explain everything.

“Shit, I hope I’m not wrong about this,” Carlos mutters, setting down his wine.

Then, without warning, he grabs Oscat by the scruff and starts tickling the cat’s soft, white belly with his other hand.

Oscat wails. He curls into a croissant around Carlos’s hands – a sharp croissant with claws and fangs, but Carlos is determined, and Oscat’s hissing and wailing suddenly turns into squeaking and from there into high-pitched, breathless giggling.

It doesn’t happen gradually. There’s a big poof, and suddenly, Oscar the human is sitting in Carlos’s lap, face flushed right to the tips of his widow’s peaks, grabbing both of Carlos’s hands with his own, to stop the tickling.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other.

Then Oscar schools his expression into that trademark blank mask.

“Alright,” he says in the most flat, casual voice imaginable. “Congratulations. You got me.”

Carlos can feel a grin spreading so wide it makes his cheeks ache. “Hello, Oscar,” he says, as if Oscar has just walked out his terrace doors with a watering can instead of shape-shifted from a cat in his lap. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No,” Oscar says. “And for the record, I think you’re ugly and annoying.”

“And you,” Carlos laughs, “are a compulsive liar.”

Oscar shrugs. “Cats aren’t exactly known for their moral integrity.”

“So… is that a yes to the wine?”

Oscar glances down at where he’s straddling Carlos in the garden chair, still holding his wrists. “Are you going to offer me a chair first?”

“Hm…” Carlos says, still smiling. “No. I don’t think I will.”

“Want me to turn back into a cat?”

“Absolutely not!” Carlos laughs, freeing his wrists so he can wrap his arms around Oscar’s waist, making it abundantly clear how he’d prefer Oscar to stay.

Oscar’s face, which had begun to lose its flush, turns red all over again.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay?” Carlos asks, leaning in just enough to make his intentions clear.

Oscar doesn’t need more than that. He meets him halfway, all that fake nonchalance flying right out the window. He kisses like a guy who’d take any excuse to not have to explain why he was just being a cat purring in Carlos’s lap a minute ago, and he has obviously never heard of the concept of chapstick in his life. Despite all that, Carlos can’t get enough of him. The sharp edges have always been the most intriguing thing about Oscar anyway.

They don’t take a break until ten minutes later, when Carlos pulls back, breathless, to inform him, “If you ever shit on my flowers again, I’m taking you straight to the vet!”

Oscar just giggles, high and embarrassed, and kisses him again without even trying to come up with a snarky answer.

Except two seconds later Carlos hears the wine glass shattering on his terrace tiles.

Ah, well.

They’ll just have to drink from plastic cups from now on.

[reverieblondie]

So you want spicy ideas? How about this one:

Raphael reacts to the mortal he is enamored with/infatuated with/lusting for being offered to him as a sort of 'maiden sacrificed to the devil'. I'm sure you can use your imagination for what happens next. 😏

A/N: thank you for this request!!! I loved it so much! Hope you enjoy!

Sacrifice

Summery: You have been accused of the worst sin... lusting for a devil... now you will be offered to him as sacrifice...

Your village has been subjected to a plague brought on by a handsome man you met only once… Turns out that he was a devil in disguise, he used his lustrous promises and sensual words to take the souls of many from your village, to seduce others to his whim. Finally with the village dwelling the elders have had enough of this blight… so they did only what they could think of.                                    

 Offering a sacrifice…

You were the selected one, accused of being the one his sinful eyes linger on the most… and accused of sharing the same affections for the devil…that must haunting of sins…lust. 

Now, here you stand bound and draped in thin liens on the stone altar to this village's god, your soul ripe for the taking… 

Oils of the finest fragrance where lathered onto your body to make you that much more appealing, the candles of the abandoned sanctuary low and flickering, and deep red wine waits next to where you are bound to clench any lingering thirst the devil might have after he's devoured your mortal soul. The night gets colder as you wait, but right as you think this sacrifice will be unfulfilled…and your soul will remain yours, the candles fires rise to a brief blaze, drawing your eyes to the man now lingering in the temple doorway, his eyes practically glowing as they rake over the image formed just for him. 

Raphael…

It should have been clear to you that he was a devil in disguise from the moment you laid your eyes on him. Raphael is beautiful and more charming than any man you have come to know… it only makes sense he is no mortal man.

Your crime, your sin, was for falling for a devil after a single meeting, and him taking your soul, stripping your life from you, seemed to be a fitting punishment for your discretion. 

Raphael looks at you with sympathetic eyes as he strolls closer, but his smirk is pure glee. 

"A village that still offers sacrifices…" 

Your head lolls in exhaustion, though it doesn't even fall for a moment before the smell of ash and burning fills your nostrils. Sharp claws caress your jaw and lift at the chin as you now look upon Rapheal's true form. His eyes, orange fires and his skin the color of blood. Though you know you should be scared, you're not. In fact, as you look into his fiery eyes, you feel comfort.

Raphael smiles as he tills your head, revealing his sharp teeth that makes you think how he could so easily mark you forever with his bite. "Too bad I'm not in the business of sacrifices ... I am into making deals."

His hot hand slides down to your neck as he leans into you, his breath sending shivers through your body as his sharp teeth threaten to nip the shell of your ear.

 "Shall we?" Raphael draws

Through your shivers and excitement, you feel your breathing grow shallower. The villagers told you he would devour you, but now he wants to make a deal … in exchange for your soul…

You finally rasp your words, "What ... Do you want ..."

Raphael chuckles as his fingers go down the thin fabric draped over you. His heat makes your body ache, and your nipples perk. Then, just as quickly as he touched you, he's moving away, stooping down to snatch up the wine, uncork it, and take a swig of the rich liquid. When he whips back around, he snaps, and suddenly you're falling forward, though before your weak body can hit the stone floor, you're caught by his large body and muscular arms.

"You know what I want darling... the question is what do you want... " His voice makes his chest purr as you lean in closer, his hands roaming down your sides tempting you more.

 Your back arches from his touch, wincing as he’s nail catch your bruises, and even through the brief pain your still so desperate for more...

"I want you to take me as yours ... and burn these bastards down to the ground ."

Raphael smirks as he downed more wine, licking the crimson liquid on his lips as he takes in your tired form. A rumbling chuckle eases out from his chest; it's clear that the villagers have done a number on you, but your resentment, anger, and desire are incredibly delicious. In a snap, you're down on your knees with a golden contract before you; Raphael remains standing as he leans down, handing you a sharp matching quill. "Sign, my darling, and your soul ... your body will be mine for eternity... and we will relish in the screams of those who wronged you for eons..."

 It was everything you wanted—so how could you not sign? Taking the quill, you briefly scan the infernal script before signing your name. and as soon as you're done, the contract disappears in a glowing flash, the candles blaze in a roaring fire again reaching towards the roof, and then the echoing sound of a snap rings in your ears. Suddenly, your Clothes are gone, and so are Raphaels…

Your eyes trace over his red skin, looking over every dark hair on his chest, the protruding veins from his muscles, the rough ridges and valleys of his body that lead down to his massive length that hangs heavy between his legs... His fiery eyes roam over your nude body, tracing over every soft curve. Raphael approaches your kneeling form, his cock swaying between his thighs, and with it right in your view, you see the drooling precum that you are pinning to lick off and finally get a taste of him. Your mouth opens in its own desperation, but before you can lean in and take his cock, he has pressed the wine bottle to your eager lips with a laugh.

"Drink up my pet ... you will thank me for it later..."

Raphael tips the bottle for the wine to fill your mouth; the sweetness coats your tastebuds first before the after bite of burning alcohol courses down your throat. You chug down the liquid as quickly as you can, but Raphael only chuckles as he watches your bobbing throat, his cock swelling further when you slightly struggle. Finally, you can't hold your breath or drink anymore, so you move your lips away from the bottle. Instead of letting up however, Rapheal lets the wine pour onto your nude body, running down to coat every inch of you.

Satisfied, he throws the bottle, the sound of its shattering filling your ears before the sound of your moans fill the echoing room after. Rapheals tongue is on you in an instant as he licks the crimson streaks off your delicate skin. His tongue laps at your body, feeling like fire as his massive body pins you down on your back. A massive hand taking your wrist above your head as he traces down to your breast wrapping his lips around your perked nipple while his other clawed hand digs into your ass's flesh, and his hips bully their way in between your legs, stretching them wide.

The candles fires catch onto the chapel walls, and you watch in a hypnotized gaze as the walls begin to fall away, from behind Raphael's massive wings. Your moans compete with the roaring flames as they eat away at the flimsy wood, and Raphael licks and sucks away at your wine-laced skin.

The villagers who cast you away as sacrifice run towards the burning building, cheering at what they believe is a success... but how wrong they are…

Raphael sucks hard before leaving a sharp bite that makes your body twist; he then let's go to rasp in your fevered ears, "The show is  beginning... make sure to scream loudly... we wouldn't want to disappoint..."

His cock pushes against your wet cunt, teasing the burning head through your soft folds, coating you with his sticky precum… and right as his textured tip is teasing your tight entrance, you hear distant screams…

The candle's blaze has become a hellish fire that has grown uncontrollably. The villagers watched the crumpling of the chapel, but before they could witness the 'devouring’, the flames were spreading at a rapid speed... and catching the villagers a flame. The fire is merciless as it burns the onlookers, melting and blistering their bodies. Their screams seemed to feed the fire further, and as their flesh melted off their bodies, turning into gooey clumps of ash, their bones charred ... but the pain never subsided… this is their eternity…

Raphael flings his head back as he continues to rub his cock against your sensitive clit; he listens to the sounds of screams married with your clawing moans. Getting drunk on the maham, Raphael decides he can't rut any longer... As he angles his hips, he looks into your eyes with a sinful smile.

His weighted cock taps and your quivering entrance, "So small…” he muses briefly before he begins to push the thick head into your tight slit, making a shuddering cry rip from your throat, He lets out a low moan as he sinks slowly, "and so tight pet."

Your insides spasm at the stretch and grip his cock like a vice as you take him in... It makes your head dizzy as he stretches you open so painfully slow. Finally, he bucks his hips forward , slapping against you making you yelp, and he groans or perhaps growls; you're too dizzy to discern. Raphael Squeezes your cheeks, making your lips pucker, and your blissed-out eyes look up at him.

He leans down and kisses your pucker lips, letting his tongue slip through; you taste the wine on his tongue along with an iron taste you can't quite place... He breaks away, chuckling at your whining, "You're mine ...." he coos.

 "Y- Yours." You babble back, and that's when he begins to roll his hips…

The prominent ridges slot against your insides as he starts his relentless pace within you. Your body bounces against his cock as he fucks. You scream his name when your clit is tickled by his course hairs, and as his nails dig in you deeper, your cunt clenches on him further, your insides coiling like a spring as he slaps against you faster, his balls spanking against your ass, making your brows furrow and you grip him harder, digging your nails into his shoulders.

Everything is intense as he fucks you, clams you… And as he angles his hips to push his cock in deeper, your walls stretch so taut and his head ramming into your cervix. The mix of pain and pleasure is delicious, and as he praises you for taking him so well, you feel yourself getting closer to that blissful edge. Raphael can feel you getting close as you quiver and clamp tighter. Usually, it's about his pleasure, but he finds he wants you to make a beautiful mess of yourself. So feeling merciful, he reaches his hand down and pinches your little clit making you cry beautiful tears and squirt pathetically all over his cock.

Raphael laughs as you come undone underneath him. His breathing changes to more of a shallow pant as he pistons his hips in no real rhyme, then he grabs your legs, hooking them into a lock as his hips stutter, and his cock throbs as he spills into your stretched-out womb.

You felt filled, and your eyes rolled at the warm sensation. The flames die around you two and as you look around in your lightheaded daze, you only see burned cinders of the village and its people. After a moment, Raphael recomposes himself before he pulls out of you with a groan and scoops you up within his arms. You nuzzle sleepily into his chest as you hear a snap, and you two-step through a portal.

Raphael leans into your tired ears as you feel yourself being caresses by satin sheets, “Rest… you will need it when I return for more…” 

His warmth leaves you and in your dreams you swear you hear distant screams…

[kenny-the-ken]

Get to Work

Bonjour from the grave. As human kite from another universe once said, I'm baaaaack!! And with a fucking bang!! I am soooo happy with how this turned out. Thank you all for your requests, keep em coming please!! Mysterion is the guy on everyone's mind from what I've seen so far so, enjoy this little fantasy of mine

WARNINGS!!! ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS, TWENTY ONE YEAR OLD KENNY AND TWENTY ONE YEAR OLD READER!! AFAB reader/AMAB Kenny. This post includes strong language, detailed depictions of sexual intercourse, mention of weapons, drug use. MINORS, DO NOT READ

Mysterion was never one for team mates, but you, you were different. Behind closed doors, when the costumes and the masks were stripped from your forms, you were y/n, and he was just Kenny McCormick. But under the orange glow of the flickering city lights, you were the call for justice this city needed. Two heroes, from the ghetto of South Park itself, sick of the crime, pain and anguish thrust upon families in this city by drug dealers and common criminals. You two were the hope of the city, and you both knew it.

Vigilantism wasn't something that came with no risks, that's why you always made sure you were both armed. Kenny had a gun, and told you not to ask questions as to how he came into its possession, and you carried a flick knife that tucked into the pocket of your costume. Just in case.

Tonight was slow, not much happening in the city, till a blood curdling scream echoed through the streets, which made you both jump into action. Kenny was always the one to go into a situation first, he loved you, and unlike him, if you got stabbed and died, you wouldn't be coming back the very next day, you'd be gone, for good. It was a woman being mugged, and the moment Kenny's feet landed on the ground from the high building above, the muggers stopped in their tracks, holding their hands up before making a run for it.

Mysterion had seen them before, but the main thing was that they had been stopped, and if he saw them again, they'd be stopped for good. One way or another.

It was home time, the sun was starting to rise and the city was coming alive again as people awoken from their slumbers. “Come on, babe. Let's split.” Kenny spoke, taking your hand into his and leading you back to your shared apartment. Being in your twenties and coming from an impoverished area was what pushed you both to move out, and somehow, you'd managed it.

Slamming the door behind him, Kenny sighed, pulling off his mask as he slumped down onto the couch. “God, I would murder someone for a joint.” He muttered, and you didn't need any more words to tell you what to do, you quickly rolled up a joint and passed it to Kenny. “Get your mouth round that, babe and chill the fuck out.” You spoke, sitting down on the couch beside him.

It wasn't long till you'd both smoked the joint between you both, still clad in your super hero attires, not very super hero like, but even superman had his own weaknesses, and weed was the only kryptonite you and Kenny needed.

That was when Kenny's hands started to wander, his hand landed on your thigh, squeezing and kneading your supple skin, making you shiver beneath his expert ministrations, putty in his hands already. “You're such a fuckin’ tease, Kenny.”

“Who said I was Kenny? I'm still in my costume, aren't I, babe?” Kenny whispered huskily, nipping at your ear lobe as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you into his lap, to straddle him. He was hard already, so typically Kenny. A slight whiff of your arousal and he was raring to go. “Someone's excited.” You teased, grinding yourself against his hardness, earning you a deep groan from the man whose lap you were residing on. “Who's being a tease now?” He replied, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises in their wake.

“Oh, shut up and just take me to the bedroom already.” You replied, your hands running through his hair, tugging on the blond strands. You knew you were driving him crazy already, and that's exactly what you wanted. “Who said we were going to the bedroom, huh? Maybe I wanna bend you over the kitchen table.”

“That's not very super hero like of you, is it, Mysterion?” You purred back, before Kenny silenced your words, tugging your face down to his before capturing your lips in a heated dance of passion. It was raw, unfiltered and sensual. Kenny’s tongue traced your bottom lip, begging for entrance, and you happily obliged, your lips parting. You could taste him on his tongue, the pizza you'd eaten earlier and the faint twinge of cannabis, it made your head spin, and Kenny was feeling it too. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your ass, your breasts, tweaking your nipples through your tight costume and earning a breathless moan from you as your lips finally parted for air.

You were both breathless, panting and gasping, fully immersed in each other, just how you always were. The world could be exploding around you both and it wouldn't matter, not one bit, just as long as you were in each other’s arms, that's all that mattered. “I meant what I said, babe. Strip for me, and then bend your pretty ass over the table, and by the way, I'm fucking you raw tonight, I'm sick of fuckin’ condoms.”

You smirked, slowly tearing off each individual part of your costume, your every movement twinged with seductive intent. You knew Kenny went wild for your body, and that's exactly what made you so powerful. It wasn't long till you are completely bare in front of him, and you could tell from the look in his eyes that he was fighting back the urge to pounce on you right now. You bent over the table, wiggling your plush ass in his face, your slick, glistening pussy on full display as you presented yourself to him like a whore for the taking. “Like this, babe?” You teased, but not for long.

Kenny's hand came down onto your ass with a loud crack, making you yelp and whimper in pain and pleasure alike. “You know exactly what you're doing to me, y/n. Don't act dumb.” Kenny said, not even bothering to remove the top half of his costume, he just undid his belt and tugged his pants and boxers down in one swift motion, his aching cock springing free and resting against his lower stomach. The head was red and angry, leaking pre-cum already. “Do you know how hard it is to work with you every night? I'm insatiable enough at home, but something about you in that costume… fuck.” He mumbled to himself, praising your body as he always did.

“Then how about you show me just how badly I affect you, Ken?” You asked in a sultry purr, earning a deep groan from Kenny. He'd had enough, his resolve completely crumbled as he gripped your hip with one hand, hard enough to make you flinch, and his cock with the other, rubbing his sensitive cock head against your needy cunt. “You're gonna regret saying that to me, babe.” And with that, he pushed inside you. His cock stretched you open and filled you up perfectly, just as he always does. “Oh, fuck… Ken.” You breathed out.

“So fuckin’ tight.” Kenny groaned, his other hand now grabbing your hip, as he started to set a steady pace, widening your tight cunt to fix his large size. And then he upped the pace. His grip on your hips got tighter, bruising almost, as he started to fuck into you harder, more desperately. “Kenny… fuuuuck!” You cried out, making him huff out a laugh behind you, and slap your ass again, hard. “You're such a desperate little whore, it's pathetic, really.” He moaned as he leaned over you, his back pressing you harder into the table as his hips kept up their unforgiving rhythm.

Your cries and Kenny's grunts and moans we're echoing off the walls of your apartment, his thrusts never faltering even for a second. “K-Ken… I'm g-gonna…” You just about managed to utter, your words broken by needy whimpers and screams of ecstasy. “Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock, slut? Well, go ahead, but just know as soon as you do, I'm coming too, as deep inside you as I can get.” Kenny whispered, his teeth clamping down hard on your shoulder. He was being rough, dominant and oh so fucking dirty, but that's why you loved him, and your sex life.

His hips angled upwards, hitting your g-spot with perfect accuracy, when finally it hit you, your orgasm crashing down on you like a tonne of bricks. Your toes curled, hands gripped the edge of the table so hard that your knuckles turned white, and your eyes rolled back in your head. “K-Kennyyyy!” You all but screamed, your tight cunt fluttered and contracted around his still pistoning cock. That was all it took, Kenny's thrusts faltered, becoming sloppy and frenzied as he thrust into you as deep as he possibly could, and unloaded a torrent of his hot, virile cum into your eager pussy. “F-fuck… babe…” He muttered. Kenny had died a thousand times, but he swore his soul left his body with that orgasm. He'd never felt nothing like it.

You stayed like that for a while, desperately panting and trying to catch your breaths, when Kenny finally had enough energy to pull out of you. You were a mess, his cum and your own slickness leaking down your thighs and out of your still fluttering pussy.

Kenny, ever the good boyfriend had already went to the bathroom, fetching a clean, damp washcloth and started to clean you up, as you remained over the table, bent at the waist, unable to move thanks to your shaky legs. “Come on, babe. I'll carry you to bed.” Kenny whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, a stark contrast to the dominant headspace he resided in minutes ago.

“I love you, Ken.” You whispered, finally in bed and cuddled up next to him. “I love you too, y/n. Now let's get some rest, I'm gonna wake you up by eating your pussy in the morning so… you're gonna need all the rest you can get.” That earned him a slap to the chest from you. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, super hero.”

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mention of harm words -> 1.1k

abstract -> healing takes time...

y/n's perspective

“I want to dye my hair too!” Wooyoung now begged seeing Yeosang with a new haircut and Seonghwa with blonde hair. “We should dye our hair the same color!” he offered to San, who only gave him a weak smile until Wooyoung turned back to me when San shook his head no. 

“y/n! Tell Wooyoung to stay away from my stuff!” Yeosang yelled as he now came over with products used up and left open from what I assumed to be Wooyoung. 

“Just learn to share” he grinned and the doberman scoffed. 

“Where’s the tigers?” San asked and I wondered that too. “Seonghwa is currently throwing things outside the door while yelling at Hongjoong,” Yeosang said and I was left confused. We all walked over to see Hong Jong standing in front of his room where the door was open… socks, clothes, and trash were being thrown out of the room and at the orange tiger. 

“It’s not that bad Seonghwa, you’re being dramatic,” Hongjoong said and was met with a can of what used to be soda at his head. “Then why is this place a mess!” Seonghwa yelled as we leaned in to see him lint rolling the floor… and occasionally throwing things.  

“y/n… this is why I asked if I could get my own room” he begged and Seonghwa scoffed. “Please, by all means, move me somewhere else! I don’t wanna clean after your pile of dirty clothes!” he yelled. 

“Copy Tiger!” Wooyoung said while teasing Hongjoong. “I want a lock in my room” Yeosnag suggested and I laughed. “You do have a lock…” I said and he shook his head. “A new one… Wooyoung broke it and there's no key to go in if I leave it locked” he explained. 

“How about you and Seonghwa share rooms?” San offered and Yeosnag scoffed. “Honestly, I’d prefer the snobby dog over Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said still cleaning. 

“Hmm… maybe then Wooyoung wouldn’t come barging in,” Yeosang muttered. “Hey!” Wooyoung yelled. “angel, i'm fine with the tiger moving into my room” Yeosang said and I was shocked at the sudden request… “Are you sure? There's still an extra room?” I asked and he shook his head. 

He pulled me aside from the other three staring inside the room Soenghwa was cleaning. 

“Seonghwa and I share a lot of products anyway… and I already have him use up my clothes and the same with me. Wooyoung wouldn’t steal from Seonghwa without getting scolded. He’s the oldest and would just retaliate by making him clean the fridge or dishes by himself” he explained and I chuckled. 

Protection of the oldest hybrid here… you were unsure but trusted his suggestion.

“Well… if that’s what you want?”

I was shocked that Seonghwa moved in the same day.

I was busy all day with San and writing my book when I went out for dinner to see Seonghwa scolding Wooyoung. “Sorry hyung…  won’t do it again” he apologized while I saw Yeosnag grin from the kitchen island.

“Your plan worked?” I asked and he nodded. “Seonghwa is making him clean out the freezer as punishment for touching his magazines” he explained and I chuckled.

“So he’s completely moved in?” I asked and he nodded. “He even cleaned, wanna see?” he asked and he led me to their room where I saw… an organized and clean room. I knew Seonghwa was clean but they both had made beds and a clean decoration in their room that fit their expensive taste. Even the stuff they share, they’ve organized.

“And if any of them do come to rob us, they’ll get to Seonghwa’s stuff first since he’s closest to the door,” Yeosang explained and I chuckled. “As long as you get along… I didn’t think you’d ever room with him because of your arguments?” I asked and he shrugged. 

“Doesn’t mean we don’t see eye-to-eye”

I knocked on Hongjoong’s door with a plate of food when he opened it. “Ah dinner already?” he asked and I nodded. “Done moving your stuff around?” I asked and he nodded. He lets me in where I see he’s completely replaced Soenghwa with instruments and his computer. 

“At peace finally!” he exclaimed. 

“Is this what you expected when you asked me for your own room?” I asked and he nodded. “Seonghwa as much as he doesn’t get along with Yeosang are menaces together. So they’ll be perfect roommates and even Wooyoung and San are clingy to each other” he explained and I agreed. 

“I’m making an appointment for San and Wooyoung to dye their hair… Do you want to?” I asked and he thought about it. “Hmm… what would I dye it to?” he asked and I shrugged. 

“Seonghwa recommended blonde for his white tiger fur, and Yeosnag stuck with his normal hair since it blends with his fur” I explained and he nodded. 

“Hmm… do you think two hair colors would look good?”

“Why would you copy me?”Hongjoong complained while looking at Wooyoung. He decided to color part of his hair blonde while dyeing his other hair a darker brown than before. San only held my hand as we waited for the elevator to reach my apartment. 

He only trimmed and styled it… it was no longer as messy as before and made him look more mature. While Hongjoong did half his hair blonde and the other black… with Wooyoung copying him a bit. 

“If anyone was gonna match I thought it was gonna be San and Wooyoung '' Seonghwa teased and Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t that look cute” Yeosang added and I laughed. 

“I think they both look good,” I said and Hongjoong offered me a smile whilst Wooyoung showed off his new hair cut. 

“It’s almost like a new look for you and Wooyoung for your first anniversary with me” I teased and he chuckled. “I kinda like the sound of that San said and I smiled.

“What do you guys wanna do?” I asked and he hummed in though. “Oh! I wanna go out to eat in a fancy restaurant!” Wooyoung said and San nods agreeing.

“Theres nothing special about it” Yeosnag said and Woyoung stuck his tongue out. “Says the one who went there more than a grocery store!” he argued. 

“Ooh! And we need a lot of desserts to celebrate!” Wooyoung now told me hugging me. “What flavor do you want San?” he asked the panther. “Chocolate!” he said with a grin. 

“Anything you guys want”

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[baseballmomlesbiandad]

Random QL Superlatives/Favs 2k24

I've been shuffling around these QL streets for a few years now but I typically stay in the shadows and lurk on everyone else's wonderful meta, gifsets, and discussions. This year, I thought I should take a step into the light and reveal a little bit of my heart for y'all. Thanks for keeping me laughing and crying throughout 2024!

Top-tier cuddling award

OonMay, Pluto the Series

May’s neck is the perfect spot for Oon nuzzles. I get her, I wouldn’t ever want to move from that spot, either. For a series that has the first meeting between the leads start with a passionate kiss, it isn’t totally surprising to me that they can rock a cuddle but the sheer amount of time these women spend in May’s bedroom gives us many an opportunity to see them comfy in bed together. Namtan and Film seem so comfortable with each other and I’m really looking forward to seeing them in more GL’s in the future (give me Girl Rules NOW).

Runner up: At 25:00 in Akasaka

Hayama and Shirasaki didn’t have the opportunity to share a bed much in the show (well, as much as OonMay) but when they finally got together and cuddled in the afterglow, I was gobsmacked by this shot. I think ‘Tattoo it on my eyelids’ was my specific response.

The year of tattoos, the best and the worst

Best: Reverse 4 You/4 Minutes

I’ve gotta make this a tie because while Bible’s thigh tattoo in 4 Minutes is particularly popular throughout the community (and I agree!), I went weak in the knees when they showed Christine Gulastree’s tattoos during FourWa’s first hookup. That line all the way down her spine? Idk about y’all but I immediately started drooling. Wa you are so lucky. Christine, are you free this thursday

Worst: The Heart Killers

Oh Kant. Buddy. The tattoo near his wrist was literally smudged. Please, y'all. 

Honorable tattoo mention: Jack & Joker

Listen, most of Joke’s prison tatts are ridiculous but luckily for me, I’m into that shit. I will be getting at least two of Joke’s tattoos permanently placed on my body. No regerts. You’re welcome to guess which ones.

Best kiss

Hotae and Donghee, The Time of Fever bedroom kiss

A year filled with great kisses! But I know from other lists that I'm not alone with this pick. This show was my most anticipated of the year since Donghee and Hotae caught me hook, line, and sinker in Unintentional Love Story. The moment that show ended, I wanted more of them. And then they did give us more (and premiered it on my birthday, no less) and they didn’t disappoint!! Especially by giving us the bedroom make-out with that immediate change of tension in the air when Hotae fed Donghee the orange and touched his lips; Hotae fully shaking with desire and begging to be kissed again; a heater in between them!! the breathing sounds!!! Won Tae Min is such a delight to watch, a great actor in all of his projects and Do Woo is so pretty and holds his own against Tae Min. I love them. I still want more. Give us the sequel to ULS, cowards!!! 

Best almost kiss

X and Namping, Every You, Every Me

Though later in this list I continuously sing praises about Top Piyawat's beauty, the reason why I'm so hung up on this almost kiss really goes to Mick Monthon here. X wants it sooo bad. He is struck stupid by being this close and held this tender by Namping and if I were him, I would simply perish on the spot. I truly loved this show while it was on, had complete brainrot about it, and this storyline in particular fucking ended me (affectionate).

BL Characters that shove me back down the Kinsey scale a la Jin Guangyao at Carp Tower

Tharn from The Sign

via @guzhufuren

IRL I typically self-identify as a lesbian (but like *shrug*) however, every now and then I become infatuated with one of these BL boys and Tharn really did a number on me. I mean c’mon. Babe babygirl Thanatat playing this tiny, feisty, sad, gorgeous man. The mole(s). A snake princess of indiscriminate gender. She is everything to me. He was the moment. Remember when he was so horny that he tried to smother Phaya to death? Obsessed with everything about him. BillyBabe continue to torture me. I don’t think I need to explain further, many of y’all were right there on the crazy train with me.

Namping from Every You, Every Me

I thought no one could tempt me like this after Tharn but then Top Piyawat came in with the steel chair that was Namping in episodes 3 and 4 of Every You, Every Me. What I loved particularly about this show was the dominance swapping between storylines and there’s something so sexy about someone being able to lean into both his feminine and masculine qualities so masterfully (Mick does a good job with this, too). Namping was BEAUTIFUL, his shoulders and slutty tops made me absolutely weak to my knees. I have rewatched these eps multiple times even though they make me snotty cry bc I just can’t get enough of X and Namping. And in the next eps the way Top had me thirsting over him as a fuckboy musician who never wears sleeves? He should be in jail for that. Anyway, Top, will you be my wife.

Most Sensual Pasta Making

At 25:00 in Akasaka

This show had me by the throat while it was airing and I can’t fully explain why other than I tend to feel this way about certain Japanese BL’s with a blonde and brunette pairing (Candy Color Paradox was not a great show but I was obsessed and still don’t know why)—having two nickels, etc., etc. Anyway, the gnocchi making? It was hot, what the hell. As someone who moonlights as a fresh pasta vendor at a weekend farmer’s market, this scene was specifically made for me. As an aside, I didn’t watch My Love Doesn’t Have Long Beans so if they sensually make pasta in that and aren’t just violating OSHA regulations all over the kitchen then I’m sorry!

screenshot via @my-rose-tinted-glasses

Silliest character that had me in stitches of laughter

Shiba Ryoma in Love is Like a Poison

The amount of times this man had me laughing out loud is in the 100s. It’s the stark contrast of his straight-laced, deadpan, almost robotic personality with his silly quirks and impossible-to-hide reactions, especially as Haruto comes onto him more and more as the series progresses. Highlights include every time he has a ‘gay seizure’ as @guzhufuren coined, his knees buckling when Haruto starts sweet-talking his plants, throwing the napkin in ep 4, literally every single thought that crosses his mind eps 1-4, when he tries to make AI Clippy be his 101st partner, the PICTURES, and so much more. The actor who played him, Shogo Hama, gave me everything and Haruto and Ryoma as a couple had me crawling up the walls, particularly in the first few episodes.

Runners up: Ishida in Mr. Mitsuya’s Planned Feeding and Qian in Unknown (Chris Chiu!!)

GL woman I would follow around on my knees for the rest of my life if she asked

Pat, Unlock Your Love

Cake Nawanine. A beautiful brat who knows exactly what she wants, which is that hot soft butch tattoo artist, and will fight all of her evil ex-girlfriends to prove her love. Deane is truly wild for continuing to fumble this absolute goddess of a woman, but what can I say, Deane is basically the Thai equivalent of a ‘hey mamas’ lesbian. Even so, their make-out scenes together were scorching and Pat’s flirting game was top-tier. I had a lot of fun with this little show and will continue watching series with B Mine and Near if they keep making them. And Cake! Please come back to my screen, I love you, I WILL treat you right. 

Thank you @khaopybara for sustaining my lust and love by being one of the few people making beautiful gifsets of my girl.

Most surprising chemistry between an already beloved pair

JoongDunk in The Heart Killers

Hear me out!!! I enjoyed Joongdunk in Star in my Mind and Hidden Agenda and I even thought their intimate scenes and sex scenes in both were pretty good. I was not prepared for The Heart Killers though, like I am really blown away by them as Fadel and Style and they are quickly rising to be one of my favorite branded pairs. I’m sorry it took me so long to recognize real!! As someone (probably a few) mentioned on here, I came to The Heart Killers mainly for FirstKhao, my loves, but am sticking around to see JoongDunk and what else these absolute psychos have in store for us.

Most used show tag that automatically populates first whenever I make a new post on tumblr dot com

The Sign the series

This makes sense because I was unhinged about this show and Babe, in particular. Thank you Saint Suppapong for giving us feral idiots exactly what we want, which is total nonsense, hot hot hot chemistry, and beautiful men wearing dresses. I’m glad I spent the end of 2023 and the beginning of 2024 with this show and I feel very much the same way about The Heart Killers for this year.

Blorbo(s) from my show(s) i.e., characters I have imprinted on like a duckling

I already gushed about Namping, love of my life, will not elaborate more or we’ll be here all week.

Hayama from At 25:00 in Akasaka. I love a quiet yearner, that’s no surprise, but something about Hayama in particular really resonated with me. It’s the LWJ effect, I think, someone who seems to not emote at all on the surface but is really a storm of feelings underneath and Kiita plays it so quietly and intensely. His backstory episode was so good I watched it again immediately after finishing it the first time. Hayama’s friend telling him that Hayama has so many walls up that even he himself doesn’t know what he’s thinking or what he wants? Ooof that hit right where it hurts. 

Mole Goddess possessing the teacher in Caged Again. All of the actors that get to play the Mole Goddess look like they’re having so much fun but her in particular had me rolling with laughter when she was first introduced, looking at herself in the mirror and practicing scolding students to get into character. What a diva. Who is this actress?!

Way from Pit Babe. I know this show started in 2023 but I binge-watched the show a week leading up to the finale in February and was assaulted by the purest pathetic energy of anything I’ve ever seen radiating off of Way. My morning commutes were hell until i took on this endeavor and it was one of the best decisions I made this year. I could not control my laughter on those crowded train cars, I did not care how crazed I looked. Way, you are everything, RIP to the realest (bc allegedly only Way’s lookalike is coming back in season 2?!). Thank you, Nut <3 

Style from The Heart Killers. Again, this is another one that i don't need to explain. I am similar to Fadel in that I like his cockiness...and his lips. Also Style is named appropriately bc i want, nay NEED, his entire wardrobe (and dorito looking ass body).

Other shows this year that have left a mark on me:

Takara no vidro, Ayaka is in love with Hiroko, Fangs of Fortune (not a BL but queer as hell), Love for Love’s Sake, Love in the Big City, 23.5, Cherry Magic TH, Deep Night, Wandee Goodday, Monster Next Door, Let Free the Curse of TaeKwonDo, The On1y One, See Your Love, Dead Friend Forever, Twins the Series, Petrichor

Shows I didn’t watch/finish but have on my list

The Trainee, The Affair, The Loyal Pin, My Stand-In, and probably a lot more, there was so much this year and I'm still catching my breath. If you have any recs for me, i welcome them!

Special shout-out to those who probably see me pop up in their notifs always, particularly @absolutebl, @heretherebedork, @guzhufuren, @respectthepetty, @waitmyturtles, @negrowhat, @yinwaryuri, @lurkingshan, @bengiyo, @spicyvampire, @pharawee and many more. thank you for all you create for little ole fans like me!

Looking forward to what 2025 brings us!