#mind the ratings and the tags

[effervescentdragon]

Imzadi, an F1/Star Trek AU for @hourcat 💖

Written for Piarles Winter Exchange 22/23

“I’m Pierre,” he says, and waits. The boy looks at his outstretched hand and hesitates briefly. Before Pierre can take his hand back, because he is stupid, not everyone wants to shake hands, maman taught him that, the boy may not be Terran, he may be one of those aliens who don’t touch - the boy puts his hand into Pierre’s.

“I’m Charles,” he says, and in a flash there is an electric feeling going through Pierre – nervousnessshamesadnesssadnesssadness - and then the boy - Charles - drops Pierre’s hand and smiles. “Do you want to play?”

He has dimples, Pierre thinks. He has dimples, and he’s really pretty when he smiles, even though his eyes are sad.

“Yes,” he says instead, and Charles nods. “Come on. I’ll take you to the playground.”

He turns and starts walking, and Pierre follows.

[newttxt]

pls read the zosan fic “utilities included” and enjoy sanji making his own life as miserable as possible in plain view of his new roommate

from ch. 1 of utilities included (mind the tags and rating)

masterpost

[basiatlu]

A Fic…? Written by.. moi?

Is this what the people call a Fic Claim?

Ahem

A Breath Before Leaping

Written for the 2023 Wheel of Drarry, a Secret Santa fic exchange

Ron leaned forward in a clumsy swoop to slap him across the shoulder, shaking him once more. "There you go, mate! Easy. Didn't even have to put your foot in your mouth this time. It's all in the hips, yeah? You swept - no, danced him off his feet!" He slid back into Hermione's side, laughing at his own joke. Harry, feeling awfully sorry for himself, let out a chuckle to humor Ron more than anything.

"No, Ron! Communication!"

"Ah, right then. Of course. Harry!" Ron did his best to pull together a serious face. "You better come clean tonight! After you clean up: yourself that is. You know—" He leaned in closely, a hand cupped around his mouth. "—Get all prepped or whatever for getting down with the ferret."

"Ronald!" Hermione cried.

"What? What'd I say?"

———

It was a nerve wrecking pleasure to write my very first fic for @cavendishbutterfly but I couldn’t leave it alone and had to wedge in a drawing as well!

If you would like to read a vaguely Christmas-y 3k of pining, fumbling Harry with some spicy art slapped on at the end, please click the link above✨

[captainblou]

Don't mind if we tease you?

Coming soon, in your AO3 tabs

(we know you have at least 40 of those open right now, but make room for one more, would you?)

A collaborative fanfiction between @eybefioro and yours truly. A no-pressure, no-dealine, no-plot commitment that we already failed to respect (plot fits on a napkin, but it exists).

Undercover

After Aziraphale becomes the Supreme Archangel, Crowley is appointed as Prince of Hell. Some may think they aren't talking, but that's only true when they're busy with more pressing activities. (A collection of sexy times between our favorite angel and demon, trapped in a office hell/heaven scape, where the second coming that matters is not the Jesus one)

First chapter on Sunday 28th April.

[static-quo]

Okay listen,,, I’m just saying if Vox had a full demon form Val would ABSOLUTELY be all over that shit- 😏😏😏🩵

🔞🔞🔞 Below links are N S F W, absolutely no minors 🔞🔞🔞

Full artwork is available Here on Twitter and Here on Stash ôwô

[newlesbianprideflag]

the comforts that make us feel numb

“No, but really. If I was a girl,” Mike presses on, looking up at Will with red-rimmed eyes through dark lashes. Leaning in. Somehow, fully unaware that this line of questioning has Will's heart climbing up to his throat. “Would you want to kiss me?”

Read on AO3!!

[desceros]

ajkfljskj I saw you were taking requests now and I lowkey just- 👀 I'm having sexy Bayverse Turtles intrusive thoughts. Imma share a Leo one. Ever imagined Bay!Leo sharing his hobbies with reader after she earned his trust and teaching her Japanese calligraphy? Him watching her skin glow in the candlelight, dreaming to use her naked body as a canvas for a Japanese love poem written in kanji? Sexual tension, mixed with slow, agonizing brushstrokes? Cuz I have 😏 -💙

so i got this and immediately i was like 'omg. this would work So Well as a deleted scene of sorts for tea-verse' so that's what it ended up as. kind of sexual tension but it edges more on pining. also, i'm burning now, thank you everyone for playing, we had a great run here on desceros dot com leonardo x reader; T, GN!reader, 1.8k; leo pining like a TREE. officially takes place after the leaf scene in this fic if you want context for some of the subtler touches but tl;dr reader always makes leo his tea. (the fic itself has a female reader but this snippet is GN)

He wonders if you know. 

You’ve caught him staring, before. It makes his shell feel tight, his skin too-hot. Even with mating season coming up, it’s too soon for him to be reacting like this; the burning ache that comes just from the bell of your voice, the alluring sway of your footsteps as you come to his side. And yet he does. Because it’s you. Just because it’s you.

“Okay, I’m excited for this,” you tell him, teeth biting into a smile as you tuck as close as you can without touching. He knows you do it for him, that you stay away because of his wishes, but it’s an agony all the same. The sweet smell of your soap haunts him, even under the burn of the incense that ghosts the room with smoke.

“Yeah?” he asks, pleased when he sees the happy, easy glow of your face. 

“Are you kidding? It’s so pretty,” you say. “Plus I like how the ink smells. It smells really nice with the tea when I bring it in.” 

Pretty, he echoes, trailing his eyes down to your throat, your shoulders, your hands. The way all your angles and curves catch the candlelight and dance in a softness that makes his palms ache with emptiness.

…He wonders if you know how soft you make him.

“Okay. Tell me the names for everything,” you tell him, studying the tools laid out before him, a gentle eagerness brightening your eyes. He smiles, turning his head and gesturing at everything to share its proper name in Japanese, then English. Grinding the ink, he explains the process, looking to you and your fascinated expression and trying to remember to breathe.

“What do you want me to write?” he asks once he’s ready, causing you to look at him and smile.

“What do you want to write?” you ask. 

Reaching out, he picks up the brush between his fingers. He studies the paper before him, blank and infinite, but his mind is somewhere else. 

…It had rained, a few days ago. You’d come into the lair drenched, laughing as Splinter had sent him off to bring you a towel. He’d returned in time to see you lift your shirt, squeezing it out over the storm drain, miles and miles and miles of skin stretching before his eyes. The curve of your spine as you turned to speak to his father, the arch of your hips as you leaned to twist the fabric, the pull of skin over your flesh. Breathless, motionless, frozen, he’d faltered in the doorway, ensorcelled by the image forever, marked, seared into his mind.

It’s that sight that comes to his mind, now, as he closes his eyes. 

He could do it, he thinks. He could ask you to turn, to pull your shirt over your head. It’s so easy to imagine the way your shoulder blades would curve, the dip of your spine, the way you’d shiver when he pressed the brush to your skin. It would tickle, at first, until you got used to it; then you’d sigh, still, and let him spread his soul onto your canvas.

Oh, all the things he wants to write there, where it would sink into your flesh like a brand. All the little ghosts of you that haunt him, memorialized with love in charcoal: the way your teeth catch your lip, the flash of skin at your hemline when you stretch your arms above your head, the wet press of your tongue to your lips when they're dry, the way your eyes flutter shut when you have your first sip of tea, the hum of pleasure you give when it tastes good. 

…He’d make you feel so good.

“…Leo?”

Leo opens his eyes, feeling the hunger in them, letting them get as far as your mouth before he turns them back to the paper before him. A pointless daydream, a torment of his own making. 

“…Sorry. I was just thinking,” he says, and it’s not a lie, not entirely, but also nothing but. There is nothing just about the way that you consume him.

It’s easy, then, to think of what to write. In long, elegant nine strokes that pull from his shoulder, he glides the brush over the paper. Each inch of ink carries a memory of you, your hands as you pass him a teacup, your care in checking the flavor, your endless drive to perfect the art just for him. 

“…Tea,” you recognize, proving your familiarity with the subject. He smiles; of course you’d recognize it, what with how often the two of you share.

“Tea,” he echoes, waiting until the ink is dry enough to handle before he takes the paper and hands it to you. “Here. For you.” 

“Wh—Really?” you ask, eyes wide. 

“Of course. It’s about time I gave some tea to you, after all,” he says with a smile that makes you laugh. He tucks the sound into his heart, next to all of the others. 

“It’s beautiful, Leo,” you compliment, holding it before you. Your eyes take in every stroke, awe open and genuine, before they meet his own and your smile goes warm like the sun. “Thank you. I’m going to hang it somewhere nice in my apartment.” 

And oh, but you are the sun, he thinks, heart pounding as he watches your fingers trail down the edge of the paper. Reaching out with warmth, lighting everything you touch, smiling as everyone around you basks in your radiant glow. What is life without you, he wonders, chest aching and so full and so empty all at once it hurts. Madness. 

…He wonders if you know. 

[st4rstudent]

[loud] Nothing can make him angry

[dreamlingbingo]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Additional Tags: Strippers & Strip Clubs, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Flirting, Crossdressing, Lingerie, First Kiss, Body Worship Series: Part 1 of Leo's Dreamling Bingo 2024 Edition. Summary:

Hob Gadling has a new career, and Dream of the Endless takes in a show.

Inevitably, they kiss about it.

 A1 - Put on a Show

[gaiaseyes451]

Return to Eden - Chapter 1 (of 2)

TW/CW: Dubcon, Explicit

Published a new angst laden smut piece for the ineffable smut war over at @goodomensafterdark.

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have averted the Second Coming and are trying to pick-up the pieces of their relationship when Aziraphale becomes plagued by nightmares. While Crowley tries to comfort him, Aziraphale is not honest about what - or who - he sees in his dreams.

Okay, a couple things on this one. First, Return to Eden can be read alone but it will make more sense (and be more impactful) if you've read Fractured and Shatter first - they're all part of the Before Eden There Was a Garden Series.

Second, please, mind the tags on this one! This will have a happy ending and I'm working on the second (and last) chapter now but be aware it is dubcon, and there is no resolution at the moment.

Head over to AO3 to read the entire piece (in the end notes I give more info on the dubcon and I tell you how to read the story if you want/need to skip the smut).

A content safe excerpt (continue reading on AO3): ~*~*~

Sleep had never been particularly high on Aziraphale’s list of Earthly indulgences. He had no real intention of changing this until Crowley had pressed the issue after the Second Coming. 

‘Angel,’ he had whispered, cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands and rubbing his thumbs over the thin skin bruised from exhaustion. Aziraphale looked up and was met with the full intensity of Crowley’s beautiful, golden eyes, open and concerned and devoted. ‘Angel, please. I’ve never seen you like this. Rest, just rest.’ 

The next morning Aziraphale woke to find Crowley in his arms, soft breaths warmed and cooled a spot on his shoulder, the demon’s long red hair sprawled across both pillows. He was so beautiful, so vulnerable, so trusting; Aziraphale began to think he may understand the appeal of sleep, after all.

Then the nightmares began.

Over the weeks the dreams occurred nearly nightly. He was always in ‘Eden’. He was never alone. There was always another, an angel, just out of reach, out of sight. 

Aziraphale spent the nights chasing the angel, reaching to grasp his hand or robe or wing. He ran after him praying for a glimpse of him. But the angel eluded him, stubbornly hidden, always just out of reach. Aziraphale could not say the color of his eyes or hair, could not describe his height nor frame, yet the timbre of his voice, the rumble of his laughter, the tenderness of his embrace was etched on Aziraphale’s bones. He knew his companion—No. If he were honest with himself Aziraphale knew this angel was more than a companion. The angel was Aziraphale’s partner, ever present, never seen, always felt. He knew this angel in every way that mattered. 

The angel was the source of the joy in ‘Eden’. 

He was also the reason Aziraphale’s dreams ended in despair.

Aziraphale had never felt as whole as he did next to this spectre, yet each dream ended the same way: the angel was ripped from him, sometimes agonizingly slowly so Aziraphale was forced to feel him fade over time, the knowledge that there was nothing he could do poisoning their precious remaining moments. Other times he was taken so abruptly it felt as if he had simply been blinked out of existence. The loneliness when the dreams faded was suffocating, Aziraphale turned towards Crowley night after night for comfort, burrowing into the sharp angles of his shoulder and neck, seeking a small hollow in which to hide.

Crowley had always welcomed him, opening his arms to give his angel a safe, private place to cry silent tears. It was one of the few times Crowley did not ask questions and Aziraphale had never offered an explanation. Each night they had held one another as they both slipped back to sleep.

But tonight there was no rest to be had.

~*~*~

A huge thanks to my poor beta's who signed up for smut and got angst along with it: @the-literal-kj, @hakunahistata, @imgoingslightlymad81

[crow-quills]

Nightmare's Grace

Misuta (Ghost in the Machine)/Reader

Summary: Nightmares have become a familiarity to you, though that doesn't mean they're any easier to deal with. Misuta finds his own way to distract you from your frayed nerves late one night.

Trigger Warning(s): None

Rating: T, SFW

Word Count: 1,476

Notes: Ghost in the Machine and Misuta both belong to @venomous-qwille. Some may already be familiar with this piece if you're in the discord server.

You'd lost track of the time long ago from when you first checked it after being wrenched from the tangled grasp of a nightmare. The clock's numbers that had once seared itself into your mind when you first checked your phone was nothing more than a bleary remnant chased away by the steady throbbing behind your temples.

You couldn't say for sure just what drove you from your slumber, only having a vague recollection of a nightmare that once dug its icy claws into your mind. A fading memory turning to nothing more than a ghost, faint and wisping out of your grasp like smoke whenever you try to grab it.

Chasing it is a lost cause at this point though it doesn't negate the dread that has lodged itself in your gut like lead - heavy and unsettling.

Hunched over the kitchen table you try to dislodge the lingering, unnerving feeling within your body from something it can't even remember. At the very least the dim lighting of the kitchen doesn't aggravate the pain blooming within your head, though it doesn't soothe it much either. Eyes screwed shut, you raise a hand to card through your hair with a steadying breath, contemplating whether you should call it a night or bid any further rest goodbye and get to work.

"What are you doing up, Hoshiko?" Misuta's soft voice draws you out of your deliberation. The moon themed animatronic lingering within the kitchen doorway with the fur of his hood shadowing his face. Startling magenta eyes staring at you from beneath it, softened with a mix of confusion and concern.

His eyes flick over your form for a minute, hunched at the table and abandoned drink beside you. Biting your cheek for a moment, you break the gaze you shared with the bot as you shift uncomfortably. "Couldn't sleep," a weak excuse even to your ears as you try to ignore the way Misuta's examination sends a prickle down your spine.

The quiet thud of heavy booted feet sound out and grow closer as he steps further into the kitchen to come up behind you. A hand finds the center of your upper back, resting against it in a barely there touch, as if worried you'd startle from anything heavier. Gingerly, after a brief moment you can feel his thumb move, rubbing circles into clothed flesh. He's silent now, but you're well aware he's watching you carefully.

A broad palm presses further into your back a coolness seeps through the fabric of your shirt and serves as a balm on your frayed nerves more than you'd care to admit. "Restlessness or bad dreams?" Concern bleeds into his tone and stands out amongst the softness of his voice as he finally shatters the temporary lull.

Resisting the urge to cringe at how close to the mark he was you simply shrug though the motion isn't enough to dislodge his hand.

"It's nothing to worry about, I'll be fine." You don't want to look back at him, to see whatever expression may have etched itself upon his face. Staring into your forgotten tea, you opt to study the liquid instead as your tongue presses against the back of your teeth. His thumb stutters in its measured movements, telling you enough about what he thinks of your attempt to dance around the subject of whatever ails you.

For a heartbeat of a moment, worry bites at your mind that he'll probe further on the subject. Instead the questioning never comes as he simply slides his hand up to the right to clasp your shoulder. A tender squeeze follows the gesture as he mumbles something that you don't quite catch, but can only assume it's meant to be comforting.

At least, you hope it is.

Not knowing what to do with your hands you grab your abandoned cup, fingers wrapping around it tighter than you intended. Drawing it to your lips you try not to grimace as the liquid graces your tongue, the warmth having fled from it long ago.

"I'm alright, I promise," your own reassurance sounds almost fake, even to you, as the cup is lowered back onto the table with a solid sounding clink.

A noise resonates within the voice box of your companion, one you can't quite place the emotions behind, as his hand suddenly draws away. A phantom trail is left behind as his fingers linger longer than needed when he pulls away. Rolling back your shoulders, you sit up straighter now trying to compose yourself from the half curled position you once were in.

You intend to dismiss yourself, to evade and hide from any further questioning on just what drew you down here in the middle of the night. However, the sight of a familiar hand held out in offering, filling your peripheral vision, catches you off guard and gives you pause.

Misuta's palm held out and upturned in an offer you're unsure the intention of. Glancing up at his face to read his expression, you see only a soft look of encouragement which is enough to spur you into action.

Placing your hand in his - almost dwarfed in his hold - his fingers curl to fully clutch yours with a surprising amount of delicacy behind the action. Gently, he guides you up to stand without a hint of hesitation in his movement as his free hand moves to your hip, grasping it lightly. The closeness of his body combined with the strangely intimate feel of his touch baits a heat to rise to your face and causes your gaze to drop away from him.

"Look at me, Hoshiko," imploring and soft, the hand he once clutched your own with slips free in favor of rising up. A knuckle comes to lightly tap the bottom of your chin in an attempt to draw your attention once more. The draw of him and the action is hard to ignore. Without thinking you find yourself lifting your head to meet magenta eyes softening at the bone deep tiredness you know must show on your face.

Content, his hand moves to cup your cheek as the pad of his thumb swipes beneath your eye. Gentle as it tugs at the skin, mindful of his claws, tracing the darkness underlining it as worry pinches the corners of his mouth. "You're not getting enough rest."

The worry laced within his tone sparks a defensiveness within you that's spitting like an irate cat. Protest bubbles up in your throat, though its quickly smothered as the hand at your face shifts to swipe a stray hair out of the way. Claws gently grazing against your heated skin as he follows the shape of your face to the curve of your ear.

Mapping out a path as cool digits trail down along your neck, faint and light as he grazes over your pulse, skimming over your shoulder and down your arm. Tentatively, his fingers press into your palm as they slide down to interlock your fingers. Palm against palm, he draws your arm up to bend at the elbow - held out to the side.

The hand at your hip moves, sliding along to curl at your back, resting against the small of it in a brace. His hold, sturdy and pulling you tighter against his form, but with enough give to allow you the freedom to slip out of it. "It's just us, you're safe with me," his voice low and warm, the consolation accompanied by a gentle squeeze of your entwined hands.

He takes a moment to scan over you in search of something - what exactly you're not sure of - but he seems to find it quickly. Tucked against him Misuta steps back with you in tow, not seeming to mind the brief stumble you experience with the sudden movement. Jacket sleeves swaying with the motion, he moves slowly as he guides the two of you back a few steps before moving forward again.

A dance, you come to realize as a hum rumbles from his voice box, a slow tune you can't quite place. Slow steps bringing you around into a circle following his voice as he keeps you steady.

It's a distraction, you know it is.

His own attempt at pulling your mind away from whatever troubles you no matter how unknown it is to him, however it's one you'll indulge in for now. Falling into the rhythmic pattern he sets is easy to do with little worry as you tuck your head against his chest. The melodic hum of his voice box echoing against your ear in a mingled noise of the quiet ticks and clicks of the mechanics hidden within his chassis.

An idle thought of comparing it to a lullaby flicks through your head as he takes you into another turn.

[randaccidents]

(Me and the mutuals discussing the rp and stuff we wanna try out)

Moot: [mentions wanting to be evil and make Heart cry]

Me: Maybe if they argue, but I don't expect Heart and Mind to argue

Moot: ...

Me: ....

Me: that sentence is NOT something you hear in this fandom what the fuck

@hhoneycloves

[sparklepoint]

--

fanart for the victorian tailor au thread softly by GreyPigeon on ao3

[yamisnuffles]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Muriel (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Smut, Porn with Feelings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Angst and Porn, Angst, Post-Season/Series 02, Blow Jobs Summary:

Post Season 2

Crowley can't keep away from the bookshop. It hurts seeing another angel in place of his own but not enough to keep him away. As it turns out, he's not the only one who can't keep away and, unlike him, Aziraphale isn't in search of wine.

[serpentarius]

Chapters: 4/4

Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022)

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Armand/Daniel Molloy

Alright y'all - this fic and series is now complete.

I felt a lot of feelings writing this, and I know it took a minute (see: 8 months) to post this final chapter. But I wanted to get my story done before S2's premiere next week and so, yeah. I hope you enjoy.

Expect lots of hurt in this one. I'm sorry. But also, it ends on a hopeful note, so there's that?

Anyways, I love you all. Thanks for tagging along as I wrote this thing. ❤️️