#i have too many wips and its all the same pairing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

winterarmyy · 8 months

Text

Must Be Fate

Prequel to And You're Mine. This is the story of how Y/N first met her cute, chubby alpha!bucky.

Summary: Y/N has been crossing paths with this particularly sweet alpha all day long; this must be fate right?

Note: There was a mention of this event in 《 And You're Mine 》 so, it's only canon for me to write it.

Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader

Words: 4.2k++

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. fluffy stuff. sort of fated mate themed because... love at first scent(?). instant love. the reader was just smitten without even knowing bucky's name, alpine making her appearance, 99.9% reader's pov because she's the one who fell in love and remembers him. Dialogue? almost little to none (I AM SO SORRY FOR THAT). And I little shout out to one of my favourite book.

P/S: Been busy these few days, i just graduated my bachelor's degree, then went through the whole job hunting process and somehow managed to land an offer (in another state btw), then went on a stressful house hunting journey and managed to get decent place. Yknow, all those "adulting" stuff (that i am not ready to face). But yeah, here's a little something from my wip that I managed to finish. Happy reading! 🤍

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N herself might not notice it, but she had been stealing glances through the pretense of the book she was supposed to be reading for quite some time now. Not that she wanted to be distracted anyway; she was rather enjoying her current read, especially the banter between main characters, Liesel and Rudy.

Yet for some reason, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the particular alpha sitting on the park bench, right across from her.

It seemed that the man was also distracted with his own personal dilemma as his thoughts were lost within the arrangement of peonies in his hand. There was this deep frown decorating his features yet his eyes translates a different type of emotion. More gloomy, more somber. And Y/N knew exactly why.

She never meant to follow Bucky around, in fact, she didn’t. It just happened that his paths were fated to intertwined with hers; and it all started that afternoon.

The bus was packed full, albeit it was Saturday, but thankfully she managed to find herself a seat.

Since Y/N was getting closer to her heat, in about a week or so, and her scent blockers were nearly out. She just got back from a nearby clinic to restock and now she had a full day for herself.

The thing about her pre-heat condition is that she was fortunate to not experience the normally unpleasant symptoms like any omega would; she doesn't get irritated easily and she didn't have to go through those random aches and fever.

However, she had a particular symptom that differs from the other omega; which involve the irregular increase of her scent.

During pre-heat and all throughout the actual heat, Y/N’s scent tripled the amount of a normal omega in heat. And since, she refused to take suppressants, the doctor prescribed her with a high dosage of scent blockers instead; to mask her scent completely during pre-heat.

Besides her own scent thickens and heighten, her sense of smell was also affected. It will become so senstive that she can smell everything and everyone, all at the same time.

Unfortunately for her, there weren’t any medication to combat that issue and the only solution she could do was wearing a mask to lessen affect of other people’s scents. But of course, the mask can only do so much especially when she was in a tight confinement of a bus with – what feels like – 2000 people crammed into it.

Too many potent scents coming from every direction, that her head spun into nausea.

Sure, she might be a little bit exaggerating about the amount of people in the bus, but it felt awfully like it when the bus stopped in every bus stop in its route; she can physically feel the inertia of the force pushing her to lean forward.

Thank god, she was sitting down; she managed to hold on the seat in front of her for support. Often times she would whisper her apologies to the man sitting in front for the sudden push of her hand, And most times he only nodded without looking back.

But at one of those stops, unfortunately, the teenager standing next to her bumped his head right onto the metal pole. Poor thing quickly scurried out of the bus in pain and embarrassment.

The density of people became lesser at that stop, but not enough to empty any seat in the bus. Though it worked well for her that most of the strong scents were fading into a much more bearable capacity for her to endure.

While streams of people exited the bus, only one came aboard; a sweet old lady. The moment Y/N saw her, she was already thinking of giving up her seat, but the man sitting in front of her beat her to it as he swiftly stood on his feet and help the old lady to his seat.

The old lady gushed and thanked the man, dearly patted his cheeks like any grandmother would do to their grandchildren.

And in that brief moment of time, when he moved, Y/N picked up a particularly sweet scent trailing behind him and when he came back, it hits her like a train. At first, she can sense some sort of floral; roses and jasmine but with time the smoky sandalwood and spicy cinnamon seeped through. The combination of sweet and woody notes made such a warm and captivating scent.

She never knew an alpha can smell this good.

Her eyes fluttered close as the alluring scent flooded her brain, letting his scent creates the dreamy images of his fingers lacing between hers as they walk in the rain, or him cuddling her in the heat of the fireplace during the winter, or his body trapping her by the back as she takes his huge delicious kno—whoa.

That was way too vivid and a tad too far.

She was so enthralled by his scent that she forgot to even look at the man’s face. And a mistake it was for her to take a peek because he is absolutely gorgeous. The brown locks on his head was neat and clean that she just wanted to make a mess out of it. His eyes were pretty in steel-blue and his plush lips was simply a sin to look at.

Though some would argue about the lack of shape in his jawline, the same one that was hidden between his chin; she didn’t care at all, rather she was particularly fond of the softness on his chubby cheeks. Shaved so clean and smooth that she couldn't find a single razor cut on his skin.

They look so cute and kissable. She want to kiss his cheeks, his lips, and every part of his ridiculously handsome face. She wanted kiss him so badly.

And those intrusive thoughts made her almost missed her stop.

Y/N panicked when she scurried out of the bus that she didn't even thought to ask him for his name or number; anything.

But then again, she wasn't the type to be so bold in the first place; she knew wouldn't have the courage to even speak a word to him. His scent alone almost pushed her into a frenzy, so imagine if he would look at her with those beautiful eyes of his, smile at her, talk to her?

She'd simply die. She was sure of it.

So, with regrets Y/N walked towards the familiar road right into the local bookstore that she often visits. Thinking that this encounter would probably be forgotten by the end of the day.

Then she spent hours in that shop trying to find the perfect book to put her out of the miserable reading slump she was currently in. While her eyes skim over the covers of the book in display, in the back of her head, Y/N was almost certain of how unlikely it was for her to see the alpha ever again.

Couple of turns later, her footsteps trailed back to the space in between the bookshelves next to the huge glass window of the store. Still glancing absentmindedly at the book covers particular on the historical fiction isle. She halted when she saw it, the book that people had been recommending to her, 'The Book Thief'.

After reading the summary behind the book, she felt drawn to it almost instantly. Thinking that maybe this would be the book that will replenish her interest of reading back to its utmost glory.

But when she lifted her head up, she froze yet again. This time, not because the sight of a book. But it was the silhouette of the alpha she saw in the bus. Instinctively, her feet step closer to the glass window, to have a better look at the man across the road.

The alpha had just exited the flower shop opposite from where she was standing, with a gorgeous bouquet of peonies in his hands. Now that she looked closely, his hands were covered with black leather gloves; it intrigued her and she wondered about the story behind it.

Y/N wasn't that dense; she could see it right away from the way he dressed, to the choice of gift he went for. She knew instantly that the alpha was probably going out on a date.

And that stung her a little bit. How nice it must be to be his date, his girl, his omega.

Funny of her to think so when she never really talked to the guy. Let alone know him well enough to decided whether he's a good alpha or not. But something about him felt right to her.

But, sometimes it'll be like that. Falling in love so strongly, so instantly. And there's nothing wrong with it, as long as you know how to protect yourself; your body, your heart.

When her gaze moved upwards to his face; and her heart almost escaped her body. It was so quick, so faint. But, she saw his smile. It wasn't for her but it was so pretty. Y/N felt like a bow just struck her chest and the cupid was trying to pull it back out.

She knew full well how she probably need to move on from this delusional crush of hers yet her eyes still longingly lingered at his moving figure, walking farther away from her sight.

When she thought that would be the last time she saw him, she was utterly wrong. Now, it felt like devilish cupid was toying with her heart as their path crossed yet again, this time at a nearby cafe.

She didn't notice him at first, at least until she placed her orders and saw him sitting alone at the far corner of the cafe. He seemed to be waiting for his date; the flowers laid perfectly on the seat next to him.

In contrast of the few looks of his that she had witness before, the alpha's demeanour indicates anxiousness.

His heel keeps tapping the floor, causing his knees to jump up and down, as he fiddled with his phone. Occasionally, he would look at the time and put it down. Just to do the same thing over again only seconds later.

And that made her wondered if this was his first date with whomever the person he was supposed to be seeing. She knew those feelings all too well. It was only canon that he felt the jitters on his first date, she'd been there too.

When her drink was served, Y/N decided to stay awhile longer. She didn't know what she was expecting from this but she wanted to make sure he was okay. Or maybe she just wanted to see who was the lucky girl. So she found herself a seat, a little bit discrete yet enough to see him from where she sat.

Pulling out her new purchase, she decided to pass the time with some light reading, maybe getting herself comfortable with the world building in the book and get to know the main characters in the process. In between those moments, Y/N would peek above the book, particularly at the sight of that beautiful stranger from across the room.

Pages upon pages she drowned herself to the words of the author that she didn't notice how time flies passing the half an hour mark; and the cafe started to get more crowded and rowdier. Certainly, the amount of potent scents had were floating around her were slowly getting to her.

Y/N knew if she stayed a longer, she'd surely throw up whatever drink she just had. So, she decided to leave. But not before glancing at the alpha – who was still waiting for his date – for one last time, then she pulled the door open and walked away.

Certainly, that was supposed to be the last time she see him right? Nope. The universe proved her wrong when the man found a seat on the bench opposite her. With the same bouquet of flowers in his hands.

And at this point, she thought that this must be fate. There's no other explanation than this.

When she lowered her book again, she saw a white feline rubbing its head on Bucky's legs. It was too far to hear its voice but considering the amount of time its mouth open, Y/N figured it was meowing at him.

Probably to get his attention, or just wanted to comfort the alpha because just from the look of it, she knew he was stood up by his date. And Y/N was unexpectedly mad about it; maybe it was from personal experience or maybe it was just because she couldn't accept the fact that this fine, gorgeous, sweet alpha was being stood up.

Y/N watched how Bucky put away the flowers and scooped the cat onto his lap. He squinted his eyes at the ball of fur and spoke something. She hadn't had a clue what he said but it was probably along the lines, "Are you lost, little one?" He scratched its chin and neck while trying to see if it has a collar.

After so long of seeing that deep grumpy-looking frown on his face, Bucky finally graced her with another smile when the cat tried to rub its nose on his cheeks. Its whiskers tickled his nose and had trigger a laugh out of him.

God, Y/N had never been so desperate to be a cat in her life. She wanted to be that cat; sitting on his lap like she owns that place, making him smile and laugh like that. She wanted nothing more that to do so; to please him in a way that would make her own heart full.

Her daydream was cut short though, when a heavy scent of cigarettes and rum invaded her space. In fact it was so thick and potent, but considering the lanky alpha was sitting right next to her it was inevitable.

Y/N didn't want to be rude; because if she just walk away to find a different spot to sit at, then it would seem rude to the man. Her heighten sense of smell was to be blamed, not the man who was simply sitting next to her, enjoying the park as much as everybody else does.

So, she stayed.

But in those few minutes that she stayed, she might have re-adjust her mask a few times, as if it would help to lessen the scent. But, she did it anyway. And that was all she did. Yet somehow, it managed to rub the alpha in a wrong way.

"Ya got a problem with my scent, beta?" He snarled, clearly he was drunk. And a drunk alpha in the middle of the day was never a good sign.

Though she was relieved to know that the scent blockers worked just fine. Otherwise, she might push the alpha into a rut if he got even a single whiff of her scent.

The alpha growled as she put some space between them instead of answering his question. "Are you even listening to me?! Answer me, you dumb bitch!" His aggressiveness went from zero to hundred real quick when he yanked her by the hand, pulling her closer towards him.

Y/N's book fell from the force of his strength and she yelped in pain and fear. Though she usually know how to put up a brave face and fight back, but the sudden change of his action and emotion didn't gave her time to prepare her; mentally, physically.

With her omega tendencies on default, her body coward to his force and her voice tremble, "L-let me go!" She tried to twist her hand to escape but his grasp only grew stronger.

He pulled her to stand up, "You think a beta like you can look down on me? You and that omega are the same! Bunch of good for thing bitches. Gonna teach you a good lesson for disrespecting an alpha like me!" He roared with words of his drunken concerns, truth of his wounded ego.

Her blood pumped faster through her veins and her breaths increases behind her mask. When she saw his hand rose, Y/N shut her eyes, whimpering in fear as she turned her head away, waiting for the pain strike her but it never happened.

It between those short heavy breaths, she caught a whiff of Bucky's scent. And surely, it gave her the comfort she needed to calm down, guiding her to open her eyes and witness her saviour stopping the unhinged alpha's strike.

Then what happend next was so fast; the way Bucky forced him to release her, and the way the left of his gloved hand wrapped around the alpha's neck, choking the air out of his wind pipe.

Bucky growled something in the alpha's ear, but Y/N couldn't hear it over her own beating heart. She didn't need to, not when the pale look of the man's face says it all. As soon as Bucky loosen his grip, the other alpha stumbled backwards and made a run for his life.

That does tend to happened when Bucky was literally threatened to tear his limbs apart if he touch the woman ever again.

When the panic didn't die like Y/N hoped for, Bucky quickly came to her side; respectfully close while avoiding any sort of skinship. He whispered words of comfort and sweet nothings, "It's okay, you're okay. You're safe now."

His voice was like magic, especially when it managed to calm her so easily. Y/N can feel herself melting, like a marshmallow hovering over the flames; like an ice cream under the summer sun. She took a deep breath of his sweet scent and exhaled a long sigh, "Thank you. Thank you for that." she said.

Bucky bent down to pick up her book and patted the dust off, "It's no big deal, here." He handed the book. She gladly took it from his hand, gripping it tight to her chest.

Her head was still fuzzy from the rush of adrenaline, she couldn't think of a single coherent thought other than gratitude towards her saviour, "Yeah, thank you." She probably didn't even notice that she was talking to the alpha she was crushing on the whole day.

Looking at her shaken state, Bucky was worried of her, "Are you going to be okay?" He asked.

Y/N's mind didn't process his question fast enough to for a confident reply to form, "Huh? Yeah, of course. I'll be fine. Couple of deep breaths should do the trick."

"Are you sure?" Bucky was sceptical but she quickly assured him, "Absolutely!"

He nodded slowly as if she failed to convince him, yet he didn't want to push her too much, "If you say so..."

She let out a another long sigh and said, "Thank you again, really. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Bucky simply chuckled at her words, "You know, you've said 'thank you' way too many times now, doll. Plus, it is an utmost honor of an alpha to save a damsel in distress." He jest.

Which was quickly agreed by a mewl coming from his chest, "Meow!" Y/N didn't even notice the white cat nestling comfortably in his leather jacket, albeit it was zipped up until only its' head peeking out of the dark fabric.

"See? She agrees." Bucky shrugged as if the cat's opinion was the only valid opinion in this situation.

"I did say it a lot, did I?" Y/N cooed as she pet the cat on its' head, smiling at the softness of its' fur against her skin before looking back at the blue eyes of his, "Sorry." She instinctively apologized.

Bucky shook his head and reminded her, "Don't be."

That was when Bucky's phone rang, a call from Steve, "Hey, you're here? Where are you? Oh there. Yeah, I can see you, punk. You don't need wave at me like that. Yeah, I'll be right there. Please don't let Sam join you. God stop that is fucking embarrassing." He muttered as he looked over how his friends were literally halfway out of the car window, waving at him like a bunch of kids.

Bucky snuck his phone back into his pocket and said, "I'd offer you a ride but the car's full with dumbasses and I wouldn't recommend a sweet thing like you to associate with them in any way."

He managed to pull a short laugh out of her, "Oh, no need to do so. I live close by. Don't need to worry about me just..." her trails stopped mid way.

Only for Bucky to continue with a question, "...Just??"

"Do you mind giving those to me?" Y/N pointed at the flowers in his hand. She knew he was contemplating to throw it away because he had been glancing at the trash way too many times at the first couple of minutes when he sat on that bench across from her.

Y/N noticed how his expression changed, he looked confused but didn't frown upon the idea. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she waited patiently for his respond. But he just continued to stare at her, almost blankly but not quite lost. It was as if he was mesmerized by something.

The silence was getting louder than the crowds surrounding them so she decided to explain, "You see, I've never received flowers from anybody before. So, I'm curious how it feels like to receive one." She tried to come up with excuses, though she was still telling the truth. No one she dated had ever gave her flower before, probably deeming it as old-fashioned.

But, she loves those old fashioned gesture the most.

Y/N saw how he hesitated when he stared at the bouquet, his face getting tense by the seconds. She recognize that expression, she knew right away he was holding back his feelings.

But it quickly shifted into a gentle smile, "Pretty flowers for the pretty lady." He whispered under his breath. Bucky didn't waste his time hesitating this time and handed the bouquet to her.

Though she was asking for it but she didn't expect him to really give it to her. This was the first time she ever got flowers from a man. An alpha that she was pretty much head over heels for nonetheless.

Letting her emotions unfiltered, "Thank you!" she squealed as she reach out her hand. As she brought the bouquet closer to her face, she pulled down her mask, inhaling the sweet fragrant of the soft pastel peonies.

Even if her lower face hidden behind the flowers, Bucky swore he saw a burst of sparkles beamed from her upon receiving those flowers. It fascinated him because he never knew that someone could be this happy just from getting such small gift, from a complete stranger he might add.

For a second there, he thought that he would've give her a whole garden of flowers just to see her shine like that again. It felt so good and somehow fulfilling to see her happy like this.

Y/N unknowingly smiled as she let herself lost in the intoxicating scent. And when her eyes fluttered open, a deep chuckle distracted her from the trance. Looking up, as he eyes peeking through the blooming flowers, she finally saw that endearing smile that she wanted to see.

But that wonderful fleeting moment didn't last long as she was hoping for when she heard a group of man shouting for the alpha, "Hey, loverboy! We have a birthday party to get to. Natasha would be pissed if we're late. Again!"

As Bucky shouted back his own sassy counter, Y/N's head was filled with thoughts of kissing him. She didn't particularly know why but she had the need to do it.

Why would she ever do this to a man – who probably currently thinking that she was a creep – that she barely knew?

Even with those unconscious questions, she found her body moved on its own.

When he turned around, Y/N was already on her tip toe, her face was so close to his, while her hand softly cupped his chubby cheeks. She pressed a tender kiss on one of the side soft sides and prayed to God that he couldn't hear how her heart was desprete to escape the confinement of her ribcage.

Y/N placed her mask back before pulling away, only to preen at how she managed to stun him into a red mess of shock, "Thank you for saving me, alpha." Her eyes curved as a sign of a smile before she turn around, almost running away.

She certainly didn't give him a chance to at least know her name, let alone get to know her.

Midway through her path, Y/N abruptly stopped and turned around, her eyes met his curious ones and her heart fluttered, "Thank you for the flowers! I love them!" she shouted with a wide smile on her lips and brightest expression of her face, even if it was blocked by the mask.

Though Bucky could probably translate her eagerness and sincerity from how animatedly joyful she was waving at him. He smiled as he watched the girl ran away with her small steps, almost resembling a hopping bunny.

As Y/N skipped her way home, her lips aches for more of the alpha's softness, her heart yearned for his comforting presense and her glands certainly burned for his mark. And even though she went home not knowing his name, or his contact number. She believed that if he was truly her fated mate, then they will surely meet again someday.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for loving this couple as much as I do, guys. I noticed a lot of you have been requesting chubby alpha!bucky ever since I first published the first one. So I hope you enjoyed this one. More to come from them. But meanwhile, drop your thoughts?

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #alpha!bucky #chubby!bucky

789 notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 7 months

Text

Wake

A/N: Finally another part of my darksugardaddy!joel. This has been sitting in my WIPs for a while, and I’m so pleased with how it turned out. Be kind to me as I haven’t written in a while and I feel terrible about starving you all of content.

Summary: Joel comes home to fuck your lights out.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, dub-con with non-con elements, painful and rough sex, p in v sex, choking, passing out, degradation, abusive behavior, creampie, dirty talk, no aftercare, sugar daddy, daddy kink

Word count: 2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50908876

Wake

It’s a late afternoon when you come to a realization; you don’t love Joel Miller, and you don’t think you could ever love Joel Miller. He is everything that you’ve been taught to hate if you want to believe in fairytales. Your parents would disapprove of him so immediately that you’d be terrified of them cutting you off from them if they knew of his existence.

You’ve never had a man be this rough with you, and only occasionally stroking your hair in apology afterward, but you suppose that the copious amounts of money spent on you - clothes that feel like armor around regular men and expensive bottles of wine that might as well have been potions designed to make you insane - is enough to make up for any unpleasantries within what you don’t dare call a relationship.

You don’t love him but you can’t hate him. Not in a way that any other person would. How else would you surround yourself with pretty things? You’re no good at anything else than being what he needs.

Whenever he has had a bad day, you know the roughness will increase. It always starts the same; with a slam of the mansion door and a hungry search for you through the obnoxiously large building. He calls for you and you don’t dare not to answer, and in the end, he finds you in the extravagant living room - one of many - with its gold-rimmed glass tables and Chesterfield couches. You’ve been reading a book, but you put it down the second he enters and don’t even bother asking to read to the next full stop.

“There you are,” he almost heaves for breath with exhaustion from his anger. He isn’t angry at you - you know this - but still, you find yourself treading lightly when his voice is so cold that the living room seems to drop a few degrees in temperature and causing your nipples to harden at the sudden change.

Then, as part of your ritual, he gets a thick wad of bills from the inside pocket of his suit and places it on the nearest surface. A bank transfer won’t do in these situations. He needs something physical, something he can hold in his hand and flash before you, and you know that he wants you to fall to your knees and beg for the warmth and dirtiness of the printed bills against your clean skin.

You’re just about to when he interrupts you.

“There will be more when you wake,” he promises, voice almost too quiet and restrained. Like he is saving his strength.

You notice his choice of words; when you wake.

Wake.

You gulp. You’ll have to take it in stride. You’ll have to play the part.

You rise from your seat and he watches you patiently. You say nothing as you lower yourself onto the glass table and then lie down on your back, knowing it can hold because Joel would never buy a surface that he couldn’t have you on.

You’ve learned not to wear anything too difficult to get out of, so it takes little time for you to pull off your skirt. Though you struggle a bit with your underwear since they’re already damp, sticking to the outline of your cunt and the sight makes Joel smirk like the Devil. Curse him, you think, for knowing that you can barely function when he looms over you like a giant, like a dangerous predator that hasn’t tasted blood for weeks.

When you manage to maneuver your panties down your thighs, he twitches with impatience and curls his whole fist around the cotton fabric. He yanks them down and watches them twist into themselves as he pulls them down over the length of your legs and off your feet.

They catch on your heels for the tiniest second. He gracefully undoes the ankle straps of them and drops each one onto the floor after taking it off. The anticipation is killing you, toying with your ability to breathe properly and even moreso at the humiliation of only wearing your top now.

“Pull it down,” he commands, gesturing to it. You start to yank at the bottom to pull it over your head but he growls, “Down. Not off, stupid bitch.”

Oh.

You pull the neckline down to settle it underneath your breasts, feeling like something on display with the way that Joel takes you in. His cock strains against the front of his pants, his breath uneven, when he cups both of your tits in his hands and pushes them roughly together. His thumbs skim over your hardened nipples, causing you to moan and he responds by pinching them instead until the moan transforms into a whimper.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your pretty little lights go out,” he mutters, pinches, and then tugs a bit on your nipples until you move involuntarily, “Lie still. Don’t give me any shit.”

He takes a step back, his gaze pinning you down whilst he undoes his belt. You refrain from shivering in case he tells you off once more, but you’re so close to doing it when you hear the noise of his zipper. A gush of wetness seeps from you, possibly smearing the glass surface that you are lying on.

“Please,” you say pathetically.

“Please what?” He asks as if he doesn’t care.

“Daddy,” you present your cunt for him by opening your legs and Joel instinctively looks at your quivering slit, “Please fuck me.”

Joel steps between your legs, using his knees to push them even further apart. He towers over you, cock standing impressively into the air after he has shoved his pants and underwear down his thighs. He tuts at the desperate look in your eyes, “I barely make it through the front door before you’re spreading your legs for me.”

You want to argue that he was the one who sought you out, but he might leave you with a throbbing cunt if you have the audacity to play smart with him, so instead you just nod with a breathless ‘yes’.

He places one knee on the coffee table, following up with scooping a hand underneath the small of your back to align your lower pelvises. His grip is so strong, his bare skin, the amount you are allowed to feel, burns against your own. Like King Midas, his touch enriches you, turns you into something as valuable as gold.

His cock breaches your tight cunt moments after. He watches you intently as your eyes screw shut with the inevitable sting that it brings due to his generous girth. He seats himself to the hilt inside of you and reaches something you didn’t even know a man could get to when he presses his hand into the spot where it rests on your back.

“Good girl,” he praises with a strained moan, “How do you feel?”

“Full,” you say shakily and teasingly clench around him.

He takes in a sharp breath, and before you know it, his free hand has come down on your right breast in a harsh slap. He adds to it by palming your throat afterward, tightly gripping it when you try to squeeze around his length again after not having been given time to react to the consequence of doing it the first time. You smirk up at him and he nearly loses his mind.

“God, you just want it bad, don’t you, little girl?” His hips draw back and he keeps you waiting for the briefest second before slamming them forward again. The force behind his thrusts is borderline painful, but the way his hand arches your back makes his cockhead pound your front wall.

The moans you let out are barely there, high-pitched or silent with the way he knocks all wind out of you whilst simultaneously cutting off oxygenated blood to your brain.

He fucks you like an animal, all groans and grunts, sweat dripping from his brow because he is too hungry for dominance to undress. He loves being able to quickly flee the scene afterward and loves leaving you with no clothes on so you cannot follow him.

But it’s not the amount of clothes that he wears compared to you that gets you close to the edge. It is the fact that nothing around you feels real except for him. Even you don’t feel real but rather closer to an inanimate object that only comes alive because of the dark eyes that penetrate your own.

You’ve known this fact for a while. Despite the love not being there, you know that after this arrangement has started - you don’t know what else to call it - his mere looking at you is what makes you materialize.

Your fingers come up to curl around his wrist. You cannot breathe and it fucking hurts, only dulled by the way that your cunt starts to flutter with how close he has gotten you to the edge. You hadn’t expected him to make you come.

With wide eyes, you look up at him in an attempt to tell him what is going on. He holds your gaze, pleased with himself as he drives into you, “I know, little girl, don’t have to tell me, I can feel you.”

You don’t have the guts to fight his harsh hand. You take it with tears forming in your eyes and the feeling of your pulse pounding in your neck where it’s fighting to get past his bruising grip.

“Say it, say that you love me, that you’re nothing without me,” he commands, but when you try to speak it is nothing but a squeak. He has his hand so tightly around your windpipe that you cannot get a word past your lips, drooling and shaking underneath his lack of mercy as your tongue feels too big for your mouth. He grins maniacally down at you as your vision blurs around the edges, “Made you speechless, did I? You filthy whore.”

You have always been familiar with the term putting someone’s lights out, but you’ve never understood the true meaning until Joel came into your life. You come hard, unfolding beneath his touch, with tears on your cheeks - and then there’s nothing.

Like a child falling asleep in a car seat, you have been carried up the stairs and into your bedroom. You sit up in your comfy bed and try to piece together how you have gotten here, and when you realize, it is because of your underwear and skirt messily and hurriedly sitting around your ankles.

You tug your bottom garments up again. There is something sticky between your legs, and you know, immediately. what it is when you start to shift your legs and are hit with soreness. Everything hurts, but nothing seems to be broken or damaged.

You glance to your right and spot the stack of bills that Joel had flashed earlier. It is neatly placed on the edge of the table along with a glass of water and some aspirin. You’ll take them soon, need to feel the ache a little while longer.

Instead of doing what is most comfortable (like taking the damn pills), you reach for the money instead. A delusional person would argue that they still feel warm, the temperature somewhere between newly printed and body heat. You take a few of them in your hand, and then you press them against your skin. The fact that you find it soothing is pathetic.

The wonder and innocence of being carried upstairs as a kid doesn’t translate into adulthood, you think, and then you lay down to fall into a deep sleep.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #my writing #sugardaddy!joel

676 notes · View notes

vetinarivimesy · 1 year

Text

Kenobi-centric fic recs

Everything here will heavily feature Obi-Wan Kenobi in some fashion, and will vary wildly by ship, tone, and fic-type though I'll do my best to give little blurbs/not-too-spoilery summaries.

The fics range from gen to explicit, in some cases pre-date tagging ettiquette, and, no, no I have not re-read them all (ye gods have you seen the word counts).

In a few cases I'm basing my summaries on very hazy memory and I have a noted bad habit of skimming straight past explicit porn when I don't want to read it, then forgetting its there entirely - so caveat lector!

These are mostly fics that I currently mentally catalogue as Wonderful Obvious Obi-Wan Kenobi Goodness fics rather than expecting to dig up any obscure hidden gems. The list would probably look very different on a different day. It's far from comprehensive, and the categories are loose at best. But here it is!

I've been contemplating putting something like this together for a while but been a bit nervous of sticking my head up above the metaphorical parapet. As, follows my fave character around without caring overmuch about the ship trash, I've got quite a list of Star Wars fics inhaled/rediscovered.

(Wee bit too used to coming into very dead fandoms long after everyone's left, put the chairs up on the tables, the metaphorical lights have been turned off... and the not so metaphorical bills have stopped being paid. More than once I've stumbled into a wonderful old fandom fic archive only for it to vanish into, Only What Was Saved on the Internet Archive Remains status. Even when the archive isn't actually an ex-archive, many don't actually allow for interaction. Apologies to the authors I've never worked up the courage to comment on, this is an explanation not an excuse!)

Obi-Wan's apprenticeship fics:

Commander Kenobi - norcumi (complete, 9646 words)

Obi-Wan gets de-aged in the midst of battle. Cody gets to find out what teenaged Obi-Wan was like. Given Obi-Wan thinks he's fresh out of Melida-Daan, nothing like whatever Cody might have been expecting.

A Town Called Stagnation - deniigiq (complete, 33,000 words)

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan take a trip to Stewjon, to let Obi-Wan get in touch with his roots post the horrorshow of his early apprenticeship. Smalltown thinking and the trauma of recent events clash horribly for everyone involved.

Another brilliant author who's whole fic-output is well worth checking out. Their wry utterly charming character voices never fail to amuse, even when the POV character is one I'm currently in an... actually I wouldn't mind some bashing of this guy kinda mood. I draw amusement and sympathy for Qui-Gon's character in every single one of their immediately post-Melida Daan fics for context here, with my knowledge of that event thoroughly warped and contaminated by the current popular fanon take on the matter too.

Though more Cody-centric, and thus Clone Wars era, than anything parallelogram (Complete, 33,000 words) and they're neutral (complete, 9900 words) by the same author are also wonderful.

poisoned chalice - qigiined (Complete, 9900 words)

Another author with the wit and deftness of characterisation to make immediately-post-Melida-Daan Qui-Gon's POV both amusing and sympathetic. They've also got quite a few other gems!

Qui-Gon's very wry POV as he tries to navigate raising a very traumatised child, and appeasing his various lineage members.

through hardships to the stars - kivaember (WIP, 148,000 words)

Canon divergence where Obi-Wan's apprenticeship snafu on Melida-Daan went just that much worse than those Legends-were-never-technically-canon novels would have it.

As a result Obi-Wan and a very young Jango Fett end up on the run from a terrifying darksider, whilst Jaster Mereel and Feemor despearately try to catch up with the pair.

Little Lights Stories - ms_nawilla (WIP, 628,000 words)

Qui-Gon neglected too much of Obi-Wan's training, so Obi-Wan isn't immediately knighted post-Naboo despite saving Qui-Gon's life and defeating the Sith.

Anakin goes to the creche, Qui-Gon's in utter denial, and Obi-Wan begins the rocky process of finding his own feet post-Naboo, getting through the thorny process of working out who you are as your own person after living under someone else's oppressive shadow for far too long.

Super detailed epic detailing all sorts of wonderful possible jedi-culture headcanons, illuminated manuscripts! beer! force-manipulation games! communal caring! crystallography! sex ed! old-people's homes! the engineers! clerical branch! outreach via art! dance instruction! reincarnation! politics! spies! terrible james bond esque spy films to hide that the spies were really real! lightsaber classes! non-jedi temple residents! U and L leaning prejudice! Alderaan!

Just what would happen if Qui-Gon Jinn were exactly the sort of irresponsible unpleasant adult who should never ever be given a child a lot of fandom suspects he is. His implied treatment of Obi-Wan here can be fairly harrowing, for all that its emotional neglect rather than anything graphic.

The jedi are never depicted as anything less than trying their best, unfortunately no matter how thorough the system tries to be, sometimes people do just fall through the cracks. As was v.nearly the case for Obi-Wan in this verse.

Mostly character driven, though the hints of the greater plot bubbling away underneath all of this glorious worldbuilding and character growth are both ominous and intriguing. The pairing is a hell of a spoiler, but also one that could potentially be a bit of a squick, I don't want to spoil the slowburn of this thing but I do want to give fair warning. Does tumblr offer spoiler tags?

Preventing Order 66 fics:

When Duty is Done - thosenearandfarwars (WIP, 257,000 words)

Wonderful long-form piece - technically a WIP but all installments so far are complete - a what happens next post-Palp's getting his comeuppance, messily. Features Codywan, grief, internalised ableism, jedi order reforming in a very nuanced 'we were this close to the brink' and lost so many people to the war sense *not* the sneaky 'jedi-positive but actually bashing' sense.

Hell I wholeheartedly reccie just about everything this author's ever done tbh!

(This Too Was a Gift (Complete, 69,000 words) is also utterly wonderfully done, and a complete fic in a similar vein, albeit much more focused on the ramifications for individual characters than the ensemble cast of thousands that is Star Wars.)

I Got My Head Checked - frostbitebakery (Complete, 79,000 words)

Codywan Sith!Obi-Wan AU. Cody falls for the hot Sith in the next cell...

Light of the Mists- Snowy Egret Chimes of Kyber, Songs of Kyber, and Anthem of Kyber (Complete, 166,000 words)

This one technically also fits the Obi-Wan's apprenticeship category too. Bit of an epic of, what would happen if Obi-Wan never made it to Bandomeer, and instead trained under a force sect with rather different ideas about how things worked than the modern jedi order?

Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi - stonefreeak (WIP, 113,000 words)

Wonderful crackfic premise done mostly seriously. (WIP)

By an extremely obscure bit of Senate Legalise, Obi-Wan finds himself thrust into the role of Supreme Chancellor. Palpatine is furious.

How A Romance Novel Saved The Galaxy - Ariana Deralte (WIP, 184,000 words)

The galaxy takes a left turn when a popular novel takes the world by storm, and the Jedi and Mandalorians mutually discover their two cultures aren't so different after all...

sanguine - glimmerglanger (complete, 158,000 words)

In which Obi-Wan being a vampire, with all the nasty prejudices that come with being a non-human in the GFFA, somehow saves the galaxy.

Just Go Kill Palpatine - nevertheless_turtle (WIP, 6662 words though this is likely an underestimate due to formatting of a wonderful epistolary/OutsiderPOV social-media-centric chapter)

Just as the title says. Obi-Wan goes and attempts to do just that. Wonderful and hilarious.

The More I Live the More I See this Life is Not About Me - K_R_Closson

Another de-aged Obi-Wan fic. In which post-Melida-Daan suspicious of everyone and everything Kenobi somehow fixes things. Everyone around Obi-Wan is suitably horrified by the news of just what his apprenticeship under Qui-Gon entailed.

Not Quite Sure How to Catergorise these...

This category is the equivalent of the draw marked 'misc.' sorry! Mostly a mix of action/adventure stuff and fics I suspect will turn into, and they prevented order 66 fix-its, but maybe not, with some other truly misc. things thrown in.

backdrop - esama (Complete, 2300 words)

Short and sweet self-contained little tale. Very succinct, but what the author does with those words...

Gunslinger's Paean - Idiot's Array + Homeworld Elegy - Ashcroft_Writes (WIP, 299,000 words)

Epic, what if Obi-Wan post-Rako Hardeen paired up with Cad Bane action adventure tale. Mistrust. Violence. Gunslinging. Espionage. Murder attempts galore!

We Brothers, We Sisters, We Vod'e Few - infinitecompositions(WIP, 322,000 words)

Hell of a fic. WIP. What if canon were to take just a step to the left... Post-Naboo Obi-Wan finds himself recruited for the Shadows branch of the jedi order...

Another epic, cough, can you tell what style I like yet? Uh, starts off as a bit of a dark action adventure romp, rapidly morphs into a detailed dissection of spy-craft, espionage, and galactic politics - but becomes no less tense for it.

Kneading - Threebea O (WIP, 79,000 words)

Manages the miraculous trick of being canon, whilst seeming to be a fluffy bakery AU for a significant chunk of the first few chapters.

Jango/Obi - Jango falls for a local baker whilst hanging out in small town with Boba. Increasingly important to the fate of the galaxy shenanigans inevitably ensue when aforementioned baker turns out to be Obi-Wan Kenobi undercover.

Be Your Love - glimmerglanger (complete, explicit, 9000 words)

I tend not to go for 'real world' AUs but this author's work is so very excellent that I'm reccieing this one - hell I think most of their work is well worth a look through, and every fic-genre they've attempted has proven very fun indeed.

Heed the tags. Explicit Codywan BDSM stuff contained within.

Wizard of the Jundland Wastes - phoenixyfriend (complete, 3200 words)

Obi-Wan on Tatooine, outsiderPOV.

One of many wonderful Star Wars fics this author has written. If this one doesn't catch your fancy, one of their many delightful utterly bizarre premise taken to logical conclusion fics probably will.

Father of the Year (Not) - phoenixyfriend (complete, 2430 words)

Obi-Wan and Jango find out they're each other's soulmates. Mostly they're furious.

Wonderful very pointed skewering of all the usual soulmate and Jango is actually a decent dude tendencies in fic-writing.

Time Travel fics:

I thought I fought this war alone - stonefreeak (Complete, 3783 words)

Wonderful short and sweet Obi-Wan time travelling to his padawan days fix-it.

this is unexpected - MarbleGlove (Complete, 4461 words)

Very succinct and perfect with it time travel what if. Old Ben Kenobi goes back in time and immediately ruins Palpatine's day.

This author tends to be delightful no matter the fandom.

The Sun Swings East - kj_feybarn (Complete, 33,000 words)

Brilliantly done timeloop story of woe and hope. As much about recovery as the initial plot-driven despair. Mind the tags, Obi-Wan is understandably severely depressed throughout much of this fic.

The Making of Mavericks - AppoApples (complete, 146,000 words)

It was extremely difficult to choose just the one time travel fic from this author. Their output is wonderfully varied, don't like their particular take on the Jedi Order and/or the Mandalorians in this fic? Pick another, and odds are they'll have explored the concept from precisely the opposite angle.

This author has a wonderful exploratory sense of, okay okay, so how do we fix this thing/how do we make it worse?

In this case, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Cody, and Rex time travel to the past. This creates broad sweeping changes to the timeline, not always for the better.

The Desert Storm (complete, 1,144,599 words) & Rise and Fall series (WIP, 396,000 words) - Blue_Sunshine (WIP)

Wonderful epic-length time-travel fic. Highly recommended. Technically a WIP, but what there is already is well worth the time.

Ben Kenobi, now Nasaade, in utter furious despair finds himself back in time, pre, well, everything. He decides to take matters into his own hands and change things.

Gorgeous character-work, where by the end of the piece the characters are all in very different places than where they started out. And you utterly believe the growth (positive and negative) that got them there.

Draws from both legends and canon in a bit of a hodgepodge approach - despite drawing from a few of the more leaning towards the jedi were the bad guys sources in legends, impressively manages to tread a nuanced stance on, okay so what if the jedi and mandalorians did decide to start reforming in the face of this grave existential threat that's been brought to their attention?

Wonderful utterly enviable pacing - I know this one's extremely long. But at no point do you ever feel/notice the length when reading this thing.

It Was Another Time and I Another Man - Pell_Binterhol (WIP, 196,000 words)

Multiple Kenobis time travelling. Absolute chaos for absolutely everyone else; fellow time travellers, fellow Kenobis, and plotting Sith alike.

the massive machinery of hope - Killbothtwins (Complete, 150,000 words)

Obi-Wan travels back to his padawan days and annoys everyone else into helping him save the day. Wonderful sense of wry humour throughout this fic.

Living Memory - elsa3beth (WIP, 363,000 words)

Epic very detailed wonderful fic detailing just what General Kenobi would do if he had to fight the war again.

Deals with just what could happen if Anakin had ever had to face his fellow jedi with even a few of his flaws laid bare, and the fallout.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan, just barely managing to hold himself together, fresh out of the middle of his exile to Tatooine, is desperately playing four-dimensional chess against Palpatine and trying to use the awful structure of the Republic's Army to save both the Jedi and the Clones.

The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident - antigrav_vector & quarra (WIP, 783,000 words)

Long, character driven fic that's an incredibly fun take on just what might happen if Obi-Wan and a bunch of Ghost Company stumbled into Jaster Mereel's True Mandalorians and get themselves adopted. Heed the tags wrt pairings!

All the complications that come from being an adult stuck as an apparent child ensue. From being squicked out about being a kid again, to having other people being concerned that a kid is behaving like an adult, to just... time travel complications, kidnapping, force esoterica, and fighting a small war.

Plenty of Jedi thoughtfully staring at this strange miniature jedi master, lots of Mandalorians being both stunned and horrified by these tiny soldiers, and Dooku/Sifo-Dyas being a surprisingly lovely central pairing.

Not Qui-Gon friendly in the least, and in this verse you can't help but feel he very much deserves it.

Suicidal Misunderstandings - nevertheless_turtle (WIP, 67,000 words)

Obi-Wan spends much of this fic convinced he's hallucinating and on a bad spice-trip. The trigger warning is very much in the name here.

That said, wonderful, often hilarious time travelling Obi-Wan fic, as the jedi desperately try to work out 1) what's wrong with Obi-Wan, and 2) how to stop Palpatine.

Re-Entry (Complete, 568,000 words) and Re-Entry Journey of the Whills (WIP, 889,000 words) - flamethrower

Fair warning, might turn into a deadlink fairly soon. The author's stuff is in the process of being transferred to another archive. Not a big deal (though fandom being a collective arse is, ffs), as with many older fics this one has moved home fairly often! (Squidgeworld.)

Wonderful absolute epic time travelling Obi-Wan Kenobi fic. Even if you're not a fan of the central Qui/Obi pairing it's written from a very believable perspective, of you can see precisely how these two adults got there, and an extremely enjoyable read with it.

Starts off as a fairly character-driven piece, as the plot slowly builds into something extremely ominous indeed, though once the plot momentum gets going ye gods it gets going.

Another case of technically a series that's a WIP, but every individual story that's up is complete and a satisfying individual whole.

Filled with all the things I love in a Star Wars fic, Obi-Wan getting to be awesome, force esoterica, Obi-Wan getting to be a little shit, plotty plot, the jedi getting to be nuanced and awesome, canon and fanon star wars lore all over the place, and plenty of action adventure and gorgeous character work.

I don't want to go into too much spoilery detail here, but suffice it to say this one is a classic in the fandom for a reason, and deservedly so.

Warning that the dark stuff in this fic can get dark, the level of whump Obi-Wan endures goes all the way up to extremely creepy Palpatine-torture on par with the Ventress/Sith-mask/Alpha-17 situation. It's never gratuitous with it, but in places this fic is explicit, at turns in both the fun porny way and the whump sense.

Star Wars crossovers and fusions:

Alas this section will be shorter than I'd like it to be - unlike a lot of other sci-fi fandoms Star Wars fandom seems to shy away from crossover fic by and large. There's both less of it, and what there is seems to get a hell of a lot less interaction than it would in a different fandom. Not guilt-tripping, again, I am very very guilty of failing to interact myself, just a weird, 'huh, where are all the crossovers?' thing I've noticed.

Rouge Handed - nevertheless_turtle (complete, 2190 words)

As the name hopefully implies this one's kinda sorta a Moulin Rouge crossover. Ish. In that it's firmly set wholly in the GFFA.

Delightful little crackfic.

The weeping stone - Gabriel4Sam (complete, 6965 words)

A wonderful crossover with The Mummy that somehow manages to thread the needle, hitting the humorous tone of those films perfectly whilst simultaneously making you feel very sad indeed for Obi-Wan.

A Star to Steer By - dogmatix, norcumi (first fic in the series is complete, second a WIP, 109,000 words)

Absolutely wonderful Stargate crossover/fusion - it somehow manages to be both a crossover and a fusion at once.

Largely told from Jack's POV, the Jedi are symbionts, with all the misunderstandings that would imply, given the SGC are much more used to dealing with malevolent parasitic Goa'uld than benevolent symbiosis.

Lost Jedi - Augusta Pembroke (complete)

A Velvet Goldmine crossover fic. Curt Wild meets Qui-Gon Jinn, and things get complicated. Qui/Curt with implied unfulfilled Qui/Obi feelings.

All the unhealthy messy relationship stuff the Velvet Goldmine tag and the age of the fic implies is probably present and correct here.

Qui-Gon ends trapped on the wrong side of the galaxy, he finds Curt who's force sensitive, and trains him to help him get back home to Obi-Wan... Things get messy.

Snow and Cinder - MrsHamill (explicit, complete, 16,000 words)

The pre-requisite wonderfully done Highlander/Methos crossover fic. Obi-Wan hangs out with the ROG for a while post-Naboo in a bid to get over a falling out with Qui-Gon Jinn and work through his own messy feelings on the matter. The main pairing is Qui/Obi as many older Master&Apprentice archive era fics are.

All you really need to know about Methos is he's very old, and very cynical. He's literally seen and done it all.

This one doesn't fall into the all too easy to fall into trap of having Methos, understandably an extremely old and cunning immortal being so much better at anything and everything than everyone else around him that it stops being fun and starts bashing the other-verse in the crossover, for which I'm extremely grateful. It's a difficult balance to tread and this author manages it wonderfully. (I say this from first-hand, I have tried and failed to airdrop this character into other sci-fi fandoms you'd think he'd work well in, fic-author perspective rather than as a crit of anyone else's work!)

Look at the publishing dates please.

A few of these fics pre-date Attack of the Clones. They were written in the 90s.

If I find out someone's been bashing an author for outdated terminology or characterisation or for not using the current 2022 language, or a character the fic pre-dates in a fic they've not looked at for over twenty years, or how they wrote the central pairing in the era when the punchline to every single joke in Hollywood was 'haha they're gay!' I... Well... I won't be writing another one of these rec lists. Which isn't much of a threat I realise, but please, be civil.

I could probably easily fill a couple more of these lists tbh, and get more specific with it genre-wise... But as a general, here's a few fics I remember fondly often. I can feel myself getting neurotically 'this has to be perfect' at this thing, so, this'll do for now.

#star wars #fanfic #fic recs #obi-wan kenobi #fanfic rec #long post #(stupidly long post)#recs list #fanfiction recommendation

609 notes · View notes

leggerefiore · 19 days

Text

Of Wishes and the Sun

cw: Volo is being a homewrecker and manipulative, long, established relationship with Cyrus, a little angsty at points, endings are WIP,

pairings: Cyrus/Reader, Volo/Reader

summary: You meet a strange man who claims that you look like someone he knows. His words strike too close to home after a conversation. Madness follows this meeting.

You felt lost in thought as you entered the temporary Galactic hideout on Pasio. That was a strange fellow that you had encountered… A claim that you looked like someone he knew remained in your mind. His words were spoken with confidence and clear knowledge. It was almost a bit too loud, as well, but he was certainly a character. The way his hand rested a hand on your shoulder and the expression in his eyes when he thought that you were not looking simply baffled you. You almost swore that he seemed infatuated.

But, what had stricken you to your core was his words…

“And what tickled my curiosity more strongly than anything were the mysteries to be found in legends, in history, in ruins. You see, I fancied that by unravelling these mysteries, I could find out how the world itself came to be… and with that knowledge, maybe even forge a new, better world!”

He smiled when he said those words, but when paired with his mentions of facing things unfair or painful. You felt a strange sense of familiarity with the language in your heart. Not one paired with a smile. One paired with adoring people in uniforms watching a single man give an emboldened speech.

“Because we are all so lacking, we fight, we maim… It is ugly. I hate the incompleteness. That we are all incomplete, I hate it with my entire body and being. The world should be complete. The world must change.”

You entered the deepest part of the hideout to see a familiar face. The blue-haired man typed away on his computer with little thought, likely thinking of ways to either accomplish his original goals or alternatives that would give the same result. Completeness. What did that even mean? You had tried to understand his ramblings many times, but you failed to grasp the concept entirely. Your understanding was his hatred of pain and dislike of aggression. He wanted to create a world where such things could not exist, but his blame laid solely upon spirit. Emotions were the issue to him. That blond man's scapegoat had yet to be understood by you.

Cyrus gazed up when you came to stand by his side. His expression clearly spoke the words he would have said. “… Can we talk?” You managed to get out finally. Nervousness had suddenly consumed your mind at the thought of telling him about that merchant. You needed to, however. Something in your mind told you that it was far from the last time you would see him. Cyrus wordlessly closed out of whatever he had been doing and nodded. You let out a shaky breath. Where to start with this?

You unconsciously reached out to grab one of his hands and squeeze it in your own. It was warm. Soft. Alive. “… A guy said I looked like someone he knew and then started a long conversation with me today,” you began, trying to think of how to lead into his words. The Galactic Boss's hand tightened its grip on your own. His expression shifted slightly.

“Are you attempting to make me 'jealous'?” he questioned, clearly unsure as to why you were telling him this. You shook your head. No, and that felt almost impossible at the best of times. Clearing your head, you debated how best to explain the odd feeling that the man had given you to Cyrus. There was a genuine worry in your mind that he may simply dismiss them as nothing more than pointless conjecture.

“No, nothing like that,” you pulled your hand away from his and took in a breath, “He just said something that made me think of you…” His expression shifted from the usual sternness it held. Perhaps he would be more inclined to hear you out now. “Something he said… Learning through history to create a new world…” You mumbled as you struggled to recall his exact wording. The rambling conversation felt mildly out of place. A heavy familiarity came from him. It was as if he knew you, despite it seeming impossible. The only person you thought even partially came to mind when you considered his appearance was Cynthia.

“… Did he, now?” Cyrus's gaze met your own with an oddly harsh look, “And he approached you specifically, stating that you were familiar?” A nod was your reply to the question. Something sceptical came across his face as his eyes closed. “He could be attempting to gain Palkia for his goals then, should that be his intention…” his hand fell onto a Master Ball on his desk. “You are likely somehow a part of his plan, whatever that may be. Please be on more alert.” His eyes closed. You wanted to be upset by his accusation, but that did seem logical. A plan to make a new world… That was also Cyrus's own, was it not? Who better to understand that mentality than him?

Though… You still were not convinced that was it. Something about Volo was different from Cyrus. Besides, why would he tell you about his plans when you so easily could tell people? No… You doubted that his intentions included taking Palkia. Swallowing, you felt something twist in your stomach. All of this felt much larger than you. It was almost the exact same feeling as when you had learnt of Cyrus's plans. Your hand clenched. There was not a chance that you were going to let that happen again.

“… Are you still focusing on completing spirit?” you decided to check something before you fully dedicated yourself to it. He nodded before finally returning to whatever he had been doing before you came in. You gave a quiet parting and headed back out of the hideout.

For a moment, you swore Cyrus seemed to wear a concerned gaze.

It had been harder to encounter Volo than you had originally thought. Pasio was large. Forests, mountains, deserts, caves — You swore that you had wandered through nearly every sight the island had to offer before you finally ended up in the ruins after a few days of fruitless searching. Sitting down on some debris, you began to debate why you were doing all this. It was a one-off comment by a complete stranger. Why did it make you more stressed than when your boyfriend had done the same thing and kept it from you? Maybe it was because Cyrus said things that simply did not align with your memories. His inability to recall the Distortion World was the oddest of them all. It had been the last place you had seen him until recently, after all.

It almost seemed as if he came from right before his actions on Spear Pillar. Hoopa did pull people from all over, but none of them had stricken you as stranger than him. Still, he recognised you. His words to you were the same as they had always been, while he clearly knew you as a lover. It hurt sometimes. The pain you felt after he refused to leave that impossible dimension. How he tossed away everything for a horrible solution to his problems. You sniffled a bit as tears burned your eyes. There was not a chance that you would allow something similar to happen again.

“My, don't you look glum?” a familiar voice called out to you, disrupting your train of thoughts. Volo appeared to have come right out of nowhere as he stood before you. A small, friendly smile was on his face. “Did something happen? Relationship troubles?” His questions were much too accurate. Not exactly troubles in the fighting sense, but something more complicated. Something that you were not entirely sure that you were ready to confront. You shook your head. It seemed that he remembered your reply about being in a relationship from your first meeting, however.

“… I was thinking about some things,” you simply told him, “I was looking for you, actually.” The blond appeared to perk up at your words. His smile grew wider, and his eyes closed. Seeing him again, his odd similarities to Cynthia only appeared more obvious. Was he a relative? It did not seem out of the realm of possibility. You offered a seat on the pillar under you. His heavy backpack was slipped off his shoulders as he joined you.

“Me?” he asked, “Ah, did you need to buy something?” You shook your head. There were more than enough stores on Pasio if you truly desired anything. “Then, how may I be at your service?” His grey eye met yours carefully. Something seemed to be brewing behind them. You wished that you could have a peek into his mind.

“… What did you mean by a new world?” pleasantries could be skipped, as you needed answers to calm your distraught mind. Volo was taken aback by your bold question. He blinked once or twice as he clearly debated it in his own head. You wondered if he was going to answer your question, truly.

“I meant a new world that is better than this one,” he replied, voice lower than before — quieter in volume. Your stomach twisted at his words. “… You seem distressed. Why is that?” His hand came to rest on his chin. You bit your tongue. How did you respond to that? A new, better world… Cyrus thought he was doing the same, but even Saturn was disillusioned with Cyrus's plans after learning what this supposed world would entail. You feared what Volo's ideals would be. Could it truly be any worse than a world without spirit?

“How would it be better?” you replied slowly, afraid to make him run off. Volo hummed to himself. His smile felt different when it spread across his face.

“Before I answer,” his hand grasped your shoulder firmly, “May I ask for why you seem so intrigued?” You froze. Replying truthfully to that would certainly make him leave. There was no way he would stay if you stated your intentions to sway him from that path. You averted your gaze to the dirt. Volo took note. “… You truly did not change,” his hand suddenly cupped your face as he seemed to force your attention back onto him, “Do you want the truth about your lover?”

You froze. He gave a chuckle. How could he have possibly known that? You had not mentioned anything about Cyrus to him outside of claiming to be in a relationship. His name had not even been said in that conversation, yet… His confidence in his words was undeniable. “… You suspect the truth already, do you not? That he is not the same man you loved.” You moved away from him in a panic. Shaking your head, you attempted to deny his words. That was impossible. Cyrus's oddities had to hold some other reason. Maybe he hit his in the Distortion World before Hoopa pulled him here, and that was why he was missing a gap in his memories.

“Ah, see?” Volo's tone became sympathetic, “This world is cruel.”

“You… You can't be sure!” you tried to argue back, terrified at how much sense his explanation made. Cyrus truly did seem frozen right as he summoned the legendary pokemon of Sinnoh... But, you wanted so desperately to believe that it was something else. You loved him all the same. It had to be him. Volo's expression became something soft.

“I am certain,” he sighed, “I would not lie to you. That 'Hoopa' has pulled quite a few people here from other worlds. It is simply unfortunate that Cyrus was one of them.” You felt completely tormented. Volo had so easily pressed your buttons. “… If it is any comfort, I am not of the time period, myself,” he offered. You took another look at him. Well, that should have been more obvious to you. Especially when he tried to offer you a pokeball made of an apricorn. “Will you be alright?”

You nodded as you forced your racing thoughts down. Okay. Fine. The Cyrus here on Pasio was not the same one as the one that you knew. But, it seemed that everyone else, including his own commanders, had accepted him just the same. He had never rejected you, either. Even if he was aware that he was in an alternate world, it seemed that his feelings for you remained no matter what. You could accept that. If anything, seeing how this one could have his perspective shifted from his decision to make a new world to completing spirit reinvigorated you. Your Cyrus could still be saved. You believed that truly.

“What time period are you from then?” you decided to ask. Anything to steer the topic away from something so sensitive. Volo thought on it for a moment.

“The… industrial period, I suppose, is what you modernly call it,” he responded, “Well, industrialisation had barely come to Hisui, but it was happening elsewhere.” You blinked. Hisui? That was… before it had even been given its modern name of Sinnoh. It was a bit startling how well he was able to conceal something like that. Suddenly, it was more obvious that Volo was capable of keeping many things close to his chest. Cyrus's warning to be more on alert likely should have been heeded. You decided to keep going, however.

After all, Volo seemed more than happy to answer any questions related to his time period.

The trek back to the hideout after your second conversation with Volo felt much less urgent. You had learnt many common historical information. Well, at least in relation to the Galaxy Team. The emblem for the organisation had been a bit startling, but you did recall that Cyrus's family had connections leading back to the original founding of Jubilife. Everything else about the Diamond Clan and Pearl Clan was interesting, but not exactly the most relevant. When asking about where Volo himself originated from, he simply said that he had always been in Hisui. You debated asking Cynthia about her family's origin the next time you saw her.

The mood was oddly tense as you entered the Galactic hideout. Grunts seemed to try to avoid you while Mars shot you a glare when you had passed her. It was far too easy to just assume that something had happened with an experiment and move along to Cyrus's office area. The boss himself was waiting for you as you opened the door. His arms here crossed, and he glared harshly. You shut the door.

“Where have you been?” he questioned with a serious tone. You were taken aback for a moment, not used to this sort of behaviour from Cyrus. Especially in relation to where you had gone out to. Usually, he preferred if you left since he often said that you distracted him unintentionally.

“I was exploring Pasio,” you replied, “I wanted to see more of the island.” His remarks about it being astonishing that the region was man-made… You hoped that it would sway whatever bad mood he was into something more manageable. Truthfully, you were not too attuned to handling his anger, but rather, his sadness. He seemed unmoved, however.

“I am aware that you were,” he replied, “… But for what reason? I asked you to be more careful.” Annoyance pounded at your brain. Why was he suddenly pretending to be so worried about you when he had rarely cared previously? “… You met with that man again,” he suddenly said, “I had a grunt trail you as a precautionary measure. The idea of you being used against me was one I would rather not face.”

First, offence ate at your heart that he had someone following you around Pasio, but you supposed it was not that irrational if he thought you were actually in danger. Though, you much would have preferred that he simply speak with you normally, but Cyrus was himself even if it was not your Cyrus. You sighed. Should you really even bother with any of this? The man you loved was still away in that far-off dimension and clearly did not care enough about you to return. The one in front of you would probably do the same thing eventually. What was the point of all this? It all felt useless. Completely useless.

“… Would you really care that much?” the words left you with little thought about the effect they might have. Cyrus tensed up. His eyes narrowed on you. “You are not the Cyrus of this world. You know that, right?” He went quiet and still. Tension was almost palpable in the air as you two sat in a wordless staring contest, wondering who would break it first. He seemed genuinely frozen by your words.

Cyrus walked around the desk to sit down in his chair. His elbows rested on the metallic surface as he seemed to let out something inside him. “Correct,” eventually, he broke the silence, “I am not. I was forced here by that Hoopa pokemon for some unknown reason.” You felt mortified that he had been aware this whole time. Something inside you wanted to curl up and die. Why had he not said anything prior? You felt hurt that it took an outsider to you both finally to force this conversation. Silence permeated again as you debated what to say. Words felt pointless at this point.

You sat in one of the chairs in the room and found yourself lost in thought. Your relationship with Cyrus was deeply important to you. There was not anything that you would not have done to get him back. Yet, when you finally did, it was not exactly him. When you left Pasio, he would likely not follow. It was a matter of how long until he was returned back to the world that he was pulled from. Placing your face in your hands, you could only debate the situation more and more. It felt like a cruel and twisted form of torture.

“… Beloved,” the endearment felt strange to hear after having gone so long without it, “I may not be the Cyrus of this world, but I do genuinely care for you.” He had moved over to you while you were lost in your own head. A hand moved to brush a few stray strands of hair out of your face. “This Volo... I have struggled to find information on him. The only remarkable thing about his is his resemblance to the Sinnohan champion…” his thumb stroked your cheek, “His intentions are unknown. Please, be careful.”

You nodded. His words… You desperately wanted to find comfort in them, but it felt as if you only would have him for so long. The idea of losing him for a second time felt like you had been burned by a Houndoom.

The following days were a mess.

Time moved slowly and quickly. Nothing seemed to make sense. Cyrus went back to his work but was making a noticeable effort to spend more time with you. It was nice; something that you had wanted, but… You felt terrified to get too close to him again. So, you took to trying to find a certain champion and speak to about your feelings. She had, after all, been there for you after everything. It was her kindness that gave you some small comfort in this mad world. The task should have been easy, yet it somehow proved impossible. With so many trainers around, you expected to hear something about her location. There had been nothing.

You sat at a café's veranda while thinking more. No one else was bothered by Cyrus being of an alternate world. Cynthia had been trying to aid him as if he were the one of your world all the same. Dawn and Lucas followed behind just the same. The Galactic commanders were unbothered, too. Why could you not be the same? He loved you. The words would rarely leave his mouth, but his ability to tolerate you being around during his vulnerable states remained all the same. But… Losing him. It would happen eventually. Lear would order the legendary to return those displaced, certainly. You hated the idea of that time coming.

The sound of a chair being pulled back took you out of your thoughts. A familiar face had taken a seat across from you. It was not the blonde that you had been looking for, certainly. Volo smiled at you playfully. His Togepi was out, too, sitting in his lap happily. Her gentle expression almost soothed your stressed mind. You sighed. Where had he come from this time?

“Stressed again?” he asked, “Let me help you! Togepi is great at calming people.” For some reason, you felt that there was more than just that to his actions. Still, you did feel a bit better. Apparently, the pokedex entries about it having a calming effect were true.

“So… If you're from the past,” you decided to ask something, “And you claimed that I looked like someone you knew… Was that my ancestor?” It made the most logical sense, you supposed. Who really knew? It could have been a completely disconnected person who just so happened to look like you. Volo shook his head.

“Ah… Not at all,” he explained with no details. It was frustrating. Had he used that simply as an opener to speak with you? Volo did not appear to be the flirty type, so you felt unsure. The words almost felt purposeful. Those two clan leaders had mistaken the Galactic commanders for people of the past, too, but you felt more inclined to believe that they had been ancestors. Volo himself was likely Cynthia's own… Which was an odd thought. Though, in the case he was… Perhaps he could help you with your complicated feelings.

“Hey, Volo,” you called out to him. His attention shifted entirely onto you from the nearby walking street. Passers-by were all over. Pasio was truly full of people. “… Can I ask you about something?” His expression was nothing but genuine cheerfulness. You did feel a bit more at ease. Any concerns that you might have had otherwise about the blond seemed to vanish. “I… I don't know how to feel about Cyrus any more,” you plainly spoke, “He's not the one I knew… And I'm scared that I'll lose him again at any point.”

“Ah…” Volo appeared to think on it for a moment, grabbing his chin. It was quite an odd thing to say to someone who was still an acquaintance at best and concerning at worst. “Well, that is a very real concern, I think,” he nodded, “What do you want to do about it?” That question was the exact one you did not want to face. Your heart raced. What did you want to do? Leave Cyrus? What options were there? Your mood shift was noticeable to Volo, who reached a hand out to hold your own resting on the table. His hand was much larger than your own and covered with callouses. “… You must truly care for him.” There was something lurking just beneath those words that you just missed in your distress.

You nodded. Volo's hand tightened around your own. It brought you back to reality. “Why not spend awhile away from him? It might allow you to make your decision easier,” he offered. You felt a bit uncertain of doing that. Sure, you had your own hotel room on Pasio from when you had originally come here, but you had been staying in the Galactic hideout with Cyrus for a while. Your eyes went to his hand. But… You definitely needed to clear your head.

“Maybe, I'll give that a try,” you replied, “Thank you for listening, Volo.”

He only smiled again.

The smell of the ocean was both a nostalgic and haunting scent to the blue-haired man. Waves lapped against the artificial shores of Pasio. He stood watching them. Everything had been oddly chaotic in his personal life lately. Did it truly matter that his origin was not in this world? You had apparently thought so. It was beyond his understanding. Even if he could acknowledge that you were not the same version of yourself from his world, you were clearly still something similar enough. When or if he would even be able to return to his own was impossible to ascertain. Besides, his bond with you was more than enough.

Even during the events with Darkrai, his foolish feelings led to him keeping you by his side. An isolated world of darkness with you in his arms simply felt close enough to his idea of perfection that he was happy to remain like that. Your sudden avoidance of him had brought out more unwanted feelings. Had he upset you in some way? Nothing came to his mind when he forced himself to consider his actions. You had come suddenly a few days ago and packed your things. The only words you had said to him were something about needing a break. He attempted to speak, but you had gone before the chance had been given.

A sigh left him as he took a step closer to the ocean. The port city he had grown up in… How many times had he stood on a beach like this? It was difficult to recall alongside many things during that period of his life. His hand clenched. He would speak to you soon. It was desperately needed. Things simply could not carry on as they were. Working had become impossible as the days grew larger in number.

“Oh? You seem lost in thought,” a voice called out to him. He turned his head to see a blond man with a familiar style to someone else that he knew. Cyrus stiffened. This appeared to be the 'Volo' that he had heard so much about. Someone who shared his intentions of making a new world. Could he have finally come to try to claim Palkia as he had expected. His hand went for Darkrai's pokeball, fully aware that he should not take this strange man lightly. “… I was going to say that you looked lonely,” his tone turned to something mocking.

“And?” Cyrus replied, voice suppressing whatever feelings wish to reveal themselves, “Is that truly any of your business?” There was little interest in dealing with him for any longer than necessary. He had only stepped out to get some fresh air and clear his mind. It was now having the complete opposite effect on him.

“They are quite lovely, are they not?” Volo suddenly said, gazing out at the moon, “You certainly left them in a state, though. How cruel of you.” Cyrus's eyes grew wide. “They were effortless to win over to me,” his hands readjusted the heavy pack on his back, “Just as they are now, too. They will be perfect at my side in a perfect world.”

Stepping away from him, Cyrus felt his stomach twist. What had this man done? Did he cause you to end up in the state that you were? He swallowed. Something told him that engaging him here would end badly. Turning his head, he let out a shaky breath. The beach was abandoned as he began his walk back to the hideout. A message was quickly sent to Saturn to order grunts to keep an eye on the blond. Cyrus felt as if he had a true rival for once in his life.

Volo stood on the beach in silence. Cyrus… Well, he certainly had his ancestor's expression down. The Captain of the Survey Corps would surely be happy to see her bloodline was going well. The waves washed around his boots as he stared at the night sky in wonder. So much could change in the world, yet the sky remained exactly the same. He felt oddly smug. How easy it was to place a wedge in what was an otherwise normal relationship. The merchant usually would not bother interfering in such a way.

But… It was you. Well, a version of yourself that had yet to end up in Hisui, but you nonetheless. You were so easy to approach. Volo had been genuinely surprised when you had mentioned a boyfriend, however. In Hisui, you had said he simply had abandoned you, yet here he was on Pasio. A different version of himself. Just like you were a different version of the you that he knew. But, in the end, you were still the same. He had lost you in Hisui after you learnt of his goals and what happened with Rei. Here, however, you had no clue of anything. It was so easy to just speak with you. When you asked about his time period, it delighted him to explain it to you.

It felt far too easy to use the certainty and fear related to the apparent temporary nature of Pasio to cause conflict with you and Cyrus. You had listened to him, too. Volo wanted to sigh. Soon, he would force Arceus out and subjugate it. Then, you both could be together in his new world. Just as you should be.

Volo felt disgusted at the thought of Cyrus holding you as he did. The more intimate the mental images became; the more upset Volo grew. He truly loved you. That was why he had helped you in Hisui. You had been just like him. Rejected by all the groups around the region. All alone and left to the mercy of nature. How could he not want to show you kindness and help you? Your company made things more pleasant as he investigated ruins and artefacts.

Why had you been so upset when he explained his plans to you? That question had haunted him ever since you had run from in Hisui. Now, of course, he understood. Cyrus. He had attempted something similar, yet more foolishly. Only using Dialga and Palkia to remake the world… Arceus simply would not allow that. Volo knew better.

He turned away from the beach.

Well, it was time to go see you again.

#pokemon x reader #volo x reader #cyrus x reader #pokemon/reader #volo/reader #cyrus/reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon volo x reader

26 notes · View notes

dukeofdelirium · 12 days

Note

you're my fav kataang blogger so i need to give u a fanfic rec i've been OBSESSED with.

their user on tumblr is @quillthrillswriting i think and their ao3 is @/quillthrills but like,,,,, their kataang dynamics are PERFECT they have one abt teen aang and another one where aang is the good dad he should be and like..... its just so so good you need to read them and give ur review PLSSS <3 🫶

I actually read a few of their fics last night! I love the portrayal of kataang that they have, and I especially love any kataang being parents content. I also thought it was funny that they took the whole zvtara trope of Katara having to escape Aang (🤢) and then flipped it on its head bc yknow what? We as a ship fandom deserve it after all we deal with lmao.

I have yet to read the Teenage!Aang fic that’s multi chapter and I haven’t read their one shot titled I’m No Longer A Kid, but I will when I get the time! Maybe tonight 💛

There’s truly so many amazing kataang fics to be found on ao3 and fanfiction.net (that’s the site I wrote my first ever fanfics on and yes they WERE kataang fics). We have some truly amazing artists and writers for this pairing <3

If you’d like recs of my own for kataang, I read a couple last night in addition to the author’s you mentioned. Exchange of Wrath by ArmageddonGeneration was incredible (3 chapters) and a one shot From the Moon to the Ocean by the same author. I also recommend literally any kataang content from chocomd on ao3 and they have some zukaang fics too if you ship that. Highly rec Without Water, Midnight Meditations, and Drag You Down, all are kataang fics!

Hopefully I’ll have the time eventually to write a kataang fic myself! I haven’t gotten around to writing anything for them on my ao3 account, but one day I will 🫶🏻 only gotten to post my twilight fics on there and have tons of WIPs and working on original novel too so just gotta find the time to devote to kataang

#kataang #kataang fanfic #anon

21 notes · View notes

userholland · 2 years

Text

out of time | t. holland

moving from london to new york, tom misses a lot about home. late nights laughing and sharing with his friends and family, but mostly you. a year later, you visit him for a few days and see what he's been up to. as you go around the city, he takes photos of you to remember the time you're spending together. you both pick up from where you left off yet at the same time, you have to figure out what's going to happen after vacation is over. it's as if your relationship is running out of time.

PAIRING : photographer!tom & bestfriend!fem!reader

GENRE : friends (with benefits) to lovers, childhood friends, pwp

WARNINGS : smut 18+ only!, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral (m + f receiving), exhibitionism (dressing room, car & bathroom), fingering, switch!tom + dom!reader, squirting, overstimulation/multiple orgasms, size kink, spanking, spitting & rough sex

WORD COUNT : 8.8k

A/N : if im being honest, felt so weird basing a fic with mostly smut/intimate moments but i hope its not too much (?) lmao but i sort of have a hard time writing these kind of fics because i dont want it all to be smut. i still had fun writing it obviously but i have so many other wips that i cant wait to share!!! thank u for the love and support always for my work! hope i get to write way more during this summer

𑁍 masterlist 𑁍

The sun was barely over the horizon as Tom stretched his arms over his head. He twisted his back, cracking the aches, and rubbed the back of his neck with his smooth palm. It was a peaceful time in the first hours of the day with no traffic passing by and the birds chirping in the trees below his view.

Just as he extended his arms above his head again, your two arms wrapped around his waist. Tom smiled to himself, looking down at your hands as they ran across his skin and grazing your nails against his torso. Your knees sank into the bed when you leaned in behind him, kissing his bare shoulder before playfully biting his lobe.

“Good morning.” You smiled, your arms still around him and running your hands over his toned chest.

“Mornin’.” He lazily chuckled.

Your lips brushed his ear, “Have anything planned today?” You asked him.

“Hmm, nothing specific in mind.” He answered, leaning his head back as your hands continued to slowly move over his body, “Do you?”

You giggled, “What about seeing how many times I can cum for you?” You grinned as your right behind slid under the band of his boxers. His cock was semi-hard, but you wrapped your hand around his base and glided your thumb over his tip.

Tom didn’t expect your gesture, but smirked anyways before pulling away to turn around to you. You wore his white t-shirt from the day before, seeing how perky your nipples were through the fabric from the low sunlight coming in.

He placed his hands on the small of your back before wrapping his mouth on your clothed left nipple. The fabric became wet as he pressed his tongue on the barrier, teasing you as his hand caressed your right breast. You arched your neck back with a smirk painted on your lips, letting out a faint moan as his hand slip under your thin shirt. You loved how tender his touch was– realizing how much you missed it compared to other guys you hooked up in London.

It had been a few hours since you landed in New York and you were relieved when meeting the arms of your best-friend, Tom. After receiving a job as a photographer for a local skateboarding brand, you could only contact him through the phone. Constant, but long facetime calls where it was your late afternoon and his early morning, talking about your days and what your plans were, even flirting about the few desperate photos either of you sent the nights prior.

Tom missed you, but mostly your relationship. Before he left, you two started from a playful friendship and turned into platonic sex every other day. You grew up together and shared the same school friends, but there was something you found in one another throughout all those years. Just like yourselves, your relationship matured as you were finishing your year 13 at each of your schools.

The first time was confusing, wondering if you would be speaking to one another as you buttoned your white, school uniform top. Tom pondered the same as he fixed his tie, trying to find his jacket with his school’s emblem on the chest.

Accidentally, you both grabbed the wrong ones off the floor and chuckled as you switched them. You would turn back to look at the mess of sheets on your bed, hoping that your mom wouldn’t come home early.

“So, your graduation party is next week right?” He asked, gulping.

“Yeah… are you gonna be there?” You asked.

He smiled, “Of course. I was just making sure. I wouldn’t miss it.”

At the time, you thought he was lying, but unlike your doubts– Tom always showed up. There was never any awkwardness or fears of rejection when your friendship took an intimate turn.

That whole summer was being able to explore what you two liked, what you were comfortable with, and even surprising yourself a few times with what you tried. All of it was exciting and nice until university came up. You’d be leaving this little relationship and only wonder what would happen.

Even though you were parted from time to time for four or five years, you always made it back to one another. Sometimes he’d visit you at university, sometimes you would come back home for holiday, and other times were during breaks and meeting each other at whatever destination you two chose.

You two would wonder if your friends knew since it became more and more obvious there was something between you, but you didn’t want them involved. It was easier to stay oblivious and make them wonder, continuing to stay in this little bubble where you neither of you had to explain what “this” was. Only because it just made so much sense.

Tom threw your shirt to the side, admiring your body as you laid back down on the bed. He straddled you, kissing between your breasts and up your neck before reconnecting his lips against yours. As you ran your fingers through his curls, the soft texture carding between them, you lightly bit his bottom lip. You started moving your weight to the left, signaling him to roll over which he did. Now on his back, you giggled because you liked to be the one in control.

As your hips ground, very slow and steady, Tom lowly groaned and suddenly smacked your ass hard. The tingle made you gasp and then giggle into his neck, feeling your hot breath against his skin. You quickly grazed your lips down his toned chest, leaving a trail of light yet wet kisses down his abdomen. Your hand ran over his cock through his tight boxers and felt how hard he was, aching and waiting for you to dip your hand back into his band.

“I bet you’re just wanting your cock in my mouth. Huh?” You teased.

Tom, red in his cheeks, chuckled leaning his head back, “Don’t tease me like this.”

“It’s fun to see you squirm.” You grinned as you hooked your fingers around his band, pulling his boxers down.

His dick sprung up once you lowered his underwear, seeing how red his tip and the pre-cum running down his slit. As you shifted your body down the bed, you were perfectly between his legs where he could lean his head up and watch you play with his cock.

Your thumb, once again, ran over his tip and used his cum as lubricate. Tom uttered a low groan, cursing under his breath as he admired the way you took your time. Painful as it was, your mouth gaping open as you watched your hand run up and down his cock made him sweat.

“God, I can’t wait to take this all in my mouth… if you're lucky, maybe you can fill me up.” You whispered.

He loved dirty talk. Easily withering into an absolute mess over how seductive words left your pretty mouth. Some mornings when he was alone, his hand would slip into his shorts and palm himself, thinking about the way you spoke to him when you were fucking. Leaving him letting out light moans and panting between your memorized commands and begging.

As your mouth wrapped around his tip, your left hand pumped what wasn’t in your mouth while the other ran up his lower abdomen. Tom didn’t know what to grab, instead putting his hands behind his head and trying not to intervene with the pleasure you were giving to him. Your drool slide down his shaft, and he bit his tongue as he listened to you gag and gurgle with his cock in your mouth.

His hips barely bucked, already needy to cum down your throat. You slowly removed your lips from his dick and continued to pump his shaft to catch your breath. There was the taste of his sweet cum on your tongue, making you giggle when you sat back up. As much as you could keep teasing him, you knew there was enough times in the day to do as you pleased so this would be quick.

Tom quickly lifted up, his head tilted up at you as you took off your panties. You tossed them to the side, unknowingly falling on top of your t-shirt on the floor. You straddled Tom, one around wrapped around his neck and the other guiding his cock to your slit. You rubbed his wet tip a few times before slowly letting him enter your pussy and he let out a deep grunt.

“Fuck… so fucking warm and tight. Fucking Christ.” He whimpered.

It had been months without each other's touch so, this felt like bliss. Exploring each others bodies like it was a new journey even though you’d kissed and fucked wherever you could think.

You couldn’t help but hiss, stilling yourself as you bottomed out on his cock. You felt your walls tense around his hard, clenching as your nails grazed his muscular back. He kissed your cheek then your lips, making sure you were comfortable before moving your hips.

You nodded, “I’m okay, fuck. I’m okay.” You huffed, spreading your legs further to shift your position, “I love your fucking cock inside me.”

As he moved your hips, guiding them as you lifted yourself up, your two moans combined and bounced off the walls of his apartment. Tom’s teeth lightly sunk into your neck and your hands met each side of his head. Your bodies moved in a fluid motion, hearing the slam of your skins as Tom pulled you down harder and faster.

Your eyes rolled back, a defeated moan leaving your throat as you leaned your head up to stare at the ceiling. The pleasure prickled along your body, like a strike of electricity when he pounded each time. Your pussy was warm around his cock, feeling like he could burst at any second. He smacked your ass again, grunting over your small moan from the sudden slap.

Neither of you wanted to cum, but it was tempting. Tom left a soft kiss against your lips, still inside you and his cock painfully throbbing. You ran your hands over his shoulders, gently grinding your hips again and took a deep breath to hold back your orgasm. Sharing a tender kiss, Tom lowered his head and couldn’t take the waiting. With both your eyes closed, grazing each others lips, you brushed your noses against one another’s as time frozen around you.

“Fucking cum inside me. Please… Fuck, I can’t take it any longer.” You gasped.

Tom’s hands caressed your breasts, wrapping his lips around your left hard nipple. His tongue flicked against it causing a soft whimper to leave your lips and you lifted up on his cock. Your cum dripped down his shaft, already leaving a mess between your cores and making your clit unbearably throb.

“Get on your back.” Tom commanded.

Your head was spinning, but you laid down as he wanted and your sweaty back stuck to the sheets. Spreading your legs, still inside of you, he pressed his hands into your sides and you wanted to put your legs back down to curl around him.

“Fucking keep them spread.” He muttered, already sinking his cock back into your cunt, “You fucking cum when I say to cum.”

You gripped the sheets by your sides, arching your back and your toes curled at the pleasure coiling inside your stomach. Tom dug his fingers into your hips, deeper and deeper, both of you aching and straining from letting go until your legs began to tremble.

“God, I’m cumming! I’m cumming, I’m gonna cum!” Your voice vibrated.

He nodded, “Fucking cum for me. Fuck!” Tom groaned as he rode out his high.

You jerked your hips a bit then stilling yourself while Tom slowly pulled out of your pussy. His cock was coated in your cum, watching his drip down your slit and onto the bed sheets. He slapped his tip a few times against your clit, teasing you before you leaned up and got on all fours to taste your cum along his dick. You smiled up at him, a twinkle in your eyes as you tasted your combined juices.

“Sweet, like always.” You giggled before kissing him again.

As you slipped off the bed, Tom gathered the bed sheets as you went to the bathroom to turn on the shower. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, watching you wait for the water to heat up and you pushed your hair out of your face.

The unlikely domestic that came after your constant hookups were always normal– well, it’s better compared to how awkward it used to feel when you weren’t even comfortable taking your shirts off in front of one another and keeping the lights off. You both figured that over time, it just felt okay to be this vulnerable and there was nothing embarrassing about it as if you were still young kids.

After Tom started the load of laundry, you were out of the shower with steam coming off your skin and the towel wrapped tightly around your body.

“I left it running for you.” You told him as you passed, going to his fridge to grab a water. You couldn’t help yourself looking over your shoulder, seeing he was still naked and the marks you left along his toned back.

“Oh, you’re too kind.” He chuckled, walking to the bathroom.

As he showered off, you started a pot of coffee and changed into a short, black sundress for the day. After Tom turned off the shower’s water then brushed his teeth as he walked around with his towel tight around his hips. You were laying on your stomach on his now-made bed with a map of New York spread out on the duvet.

“You know you can just look up places on your phone.” He muffled between brushing his teeth.

You hummed, “I want to have a clear path of what I want to actually see. Like, look. There’s an art museum next to a place where they make custom chewing gum.” You said in a cherry tone.

He chuckled, “You want your own personal chewing gum?”

“No… but, see how much more fun it is using an actual tour guide map.” You joked, using a pen to circle locations.

Tom walked to his dresser, shuffling through his clothes then going into his closet to find a top to wear for the hot morning. You hummed a random tune to yourself as your eyes searched around the map, glancing over at Tom’s backside once and a while. After slipping on fresh boxers and baggy jeans, he pulled a dark-navy t-shirt over his head. The graphic tee slowly covered the scratches and fresh scars left on his back by your sharp nails.

“I wanna go to the Empire State Building… unless it’s overrated and crowded like movies make it seem.” You trailed, rolling on your back.

The coffee pot was ready by the time Tom finished tying his shoes, so he headed back to the kitchen to pour two mugs of fresh brew.

“Actually, It’s not. I mean, there is a lot of people most of the time but, they get a little sick from how high it is. It’s a great place to take pictures too.” He grinned as he poured coffee into his favorite Star Wars mug with R2D2 on both sides.

“Ah, I can be like your model for the day.” You giggled, rolling on your back and sitting up on his bed. Tom sat next to you, carefully giving you the other Star Wars themed mug. You glanced at the side, “I remember when we got these.”

“Yeah, we took that awful bus ride to Reading.” He hissed, “Nevertheless, we found the coolest Star Wars collectable store.” He smiled as he reminisced on the memory.

You giggled, “Oh my God, and then that little pub we went to. Those Irish car bombs were so good.”

Although you thought back on the long night of drinking, Tom remembered how wild you were. It wasn’t like any other of the times you’d been together, but there was a fearlessness to your personality he’d never seen before and it made him fall a bit harder for you. The way you leaned your head out the cab window on the way to the motel for the night, smelling the fresh breeze run through the cab as you opened the window wider.

If Tom could back to any night, that one was special. He would get to fall for you all over again.

After the two of you finished getting dressed, you went downstairs and exited through the lobby of Tom’s apartment. As always, he had his camera around his neck and a black fanny pack across his chest that was filled with his essentials.

You sported a nice canvas tote on your side, bringing a blanket in case you two stopped at the park. The weather was perfect, the sidewalks weren’t too busy, and it was like the day was meant for you.

On the way to the Empire State Building, there was a small cafe that caught your eye. The neon sign blinked in bright blue and pink with treats displayed in the front window. You and Tom strolled inside, merging into the short line to the cash register and decided what you wanted to snack on. As you pointed to the menu, muttering the sweets that stuck out, you playfully nudged your head against Tom’s.

“I think I’m gonna get a chocolate croissant… and a strawberry iced donut.” You trailed, your words so close to his ear in the noisy cafe.

“Sounds good to me. As long as it tastes extra sweet.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, not adding to that comment. At least not in public.

After ordering, you waited a few minutes at the small bench by the door before Tom’s name was called out. He walked over, collected the five brown-bagged treats as well as his small cup of coffee. You were giddy, so antsy to eat because of the insanely sugary smell roaming in the room.

“Thank you.” You giggled, taking your chocolate croissant from him. Immediately, you took a bite into it and moaned a bit from the instant sweetness hitting your tongue. You took another bite even if it looked like you weren’t trying to pace yourself.

Before Tom could take a bite of his treat, he chuckled at you and the smidge of chocolate on your lip.

“You’re a real mess, you know that.” He jeered.

Expecting a witty comment, instead you casually wrapped your lips around his fingers, loving the taste the sweet chocolate. Tom watched in awe as his index finger stayed in your mouth, stroking your tongue between them before you pulled your lips away.

All he could think was, “Fucking tease.”

“So much sweeter than I thought.” You giggled before taking another bite of your croissant, “Definitely, that extra sweetness you were wanting.” You continued to poke fun at him.

♡ ♡ ♡

When arriving at the Empire State Building, you wanted to explore as much as you could. You were surprised at how there was a full history within the main first floor, with the dark granite lining the walls and floors and the high ceilings. Tourists, just like yourself, were browsing around, but you and Tom headed to the elevator to go a few floors up.

Once the elevator doors opened, there was a view of the city behind huge glass windows. With the sun up in the sky, the warm light shined on all the buildings that seemed so tall when you were on the sidewalks all those floors below you.

Unknowingly, Tom took photos of you from behind your view. You were completely mesmerized by the city, and weren’t sure how to take it in. It almost seemed like a place you could see yourself staying— maybe even with Tom. You could barely see people when you looked all the way down, but Tom continuously snapped photos before you turned around to his lens.

With a shy smile, you still beamed it at him and he chuckled. He looked through the lens at your beautiful face, the sun hitting perfectly behind you as if it was a paid background. You posed a few times, trying to be dramatic and you both shared giggles.

“How do you live here and not come to see this view all the time?” You asked him as the two of you stood in front of the glass windows.

He grinned, “I might more… it’s just more fun with you.”

What a dork.

You playfully pushed his shoulder, but he pulled at your wrist to bring you closer to him. Yes, there were moments you two appeared as a couple in the public, but it was never forced. It was easier in moments like this when it was just you two without your friends teasing you and asking questions. But, the question still came up as to how long would this be going on.

The two of you went back to the elevator, going to the top of the building where most people were taking pictures. Luckily, the wind was a low speed and the smell wasn’t completely awful.

Tom found the right lighting, adjusting the settings on his camera between capturing your moments. He kept smiling just as you were and seeing you cover your face when you couldn’t think of another post to do.

He never gave himself the credit for the art he could see, let alone you want to admit a picture of yourself is art, but he could already imagine these shots in black and white and hung up one of his own pieces. A piece he knew he was proud of.

“Am I looking okay?” You asked him, trying to see the photos.

“No, no, I don’t want you deleting them if you hate them.” He smiled as he pulled away the camera.

You pouted, “Fine, but I trust you.”

When you walked back over to the view of the city, Tom continued to smile at the photos he took and thought that he had never seen someone so naturally beautiful in a scene with so much other things going on. You were the focus out of a city of thousands of people.

After the Empire State visit, Tom took you to a few department stores to find some clothes. It was something on your list of things to-do, so you didn’t mind browsing around and able to ask Tom for his opinion on what you should buy for the summer weather.

Stumbling upon a thrift store, the selection was huge and gave you hope to find a few pieces. Once you grabbed a few items– a nice sweater, a cute dress, and a few skirts– the two of you made your way to the private dressing rooms toward the back of the store. There were only three rooms, and no where to sit outside of them so, you invited Tom inside (because it wasn’t like it was nothing he hadn’t seen).

You modeled for him, not minding the echoing of the camera clicking, his lens pointed at the mirror while you stared at your profile and how the clothes fit you.

Tom’s phone vibrated, making you take his camera and you pointed it at him for once during the day. He glanced at a text and you captured a photo of him looking perfectly down at his phone, loving the detail to his freckled nose bridge and small grin.

“Just got a text, my friend, Olson, invited me to a party tonight.” Tom trailed, “Want to go?” He asked, looking up at you with him sat down and you hovering over him with the camera still in your hands.

“Only if you make a funny face.”

Tom stuck his tongue out, his eyes a bit wide and you pressed the button.

“Perfect…” You giggled, admiring the photo and the light shade of brown in his eyes.

You sat next to him, running through the photos he had taken throughout the day and holding back your comments. It wasn’t that the pictures were bad, but you just cringed at your own image. Tom’s hand run up your leg, hiking the dress you were still trying on, but he slowly got on his knees in front of you.

He was now lowered, hiking the ends of the short dress toward you. You pointed the camera at the mirror where Tom’s back was blocking what was between your legs. Tom pushed his head further down and pressed and curled the tip of his tongue inside your slit.

Your fingers weaved through the top of his head as he continued, surprising him at how calm you were being so he tried to dig his tongue deeper. A giggle left your lips, your back arching against the wall and all your frustrations going into gripping his curls.

You hissed, biting your bottom lip to hold back your moans. There was some satisfaction into knowing how fearless he was to show you that you were each other's cravings.

♡ ♡ ♡

Standing in the full body mirror, you turned to the side to see the way this dress fit. It wasn’t the same dress from earlier, but you still bought that one to cherish the memory.

You didn’t want it to keep hiking up, but it was pretty cute when Tom kept staring at your legs while sat on his bed. You turned on your chunky heels, walking over to him and seeing his head tilt back the closer you got.

“How do I look?” You asked, placing your hands on his shoulders.

His hands ran up the back of your thighs, over your bum then rested on your lower back.

“Fucking amazing.” He chuckled. His hands moved down to squeeze your ass then run over your thighs again.

He leaned down, his head tilting to the side before leaving wet kisses along your inner thigh. You giggled at his neediness, “We don’t have time. We have to get a cab soon.” You pouted.

“I can be quick. You know that.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t get cocky now.”

Tom chuckled against your skin, leaving a small love bite but eventually pulled your dress back down. He didn’t want to give in just yet, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to bend you over right there like he had in the dressing room just to watch your face contort as his cock thrusted into your tight walls.

Your pussy ached from his teasing, wishing he could taste his own theory of being able to make you cum in seconds. Although you felt uncomfortable between your legs, barely able to stand, you knew he would cave in at some point of the night. It was always him and you loved it.

As you went downstairs, the two of you were arm in arm walking outside to catch a cab. Once one of many yellow cars stopped, Tom let you slide in first then shut the door once he was in too. Within the few seconds of the ride, his head kept running up and down your knee and sneaking up the end of your dress. You could have swatted his hand away, pleading that you didn’t want him to have his hands on you– that wasn’t the case in this moment.

Tom tested his limits. He moved his hand up more and you welcomed that by spreading your legs. With the barrier and sliding window between you two and the driver gave you more privacy, Tom seemed to be more adventurous. That damn smirk painted on his lips as his two fingers ran over your panties, feeling the wet spot where you cunt is. He circled them around your clit, watching your hand grip the door’s arm rest.

You blinked a few times, but his eventually pulled them to the side. You leaned back a bit, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror where the cab driver was keeping his eyes on the road. Trying to keep a straight face, Tom curled his two fingers inside you and moved against the spongy part deep inside your cunt. As he picked up the pace, you could hear your juices pumping in and out of your pussy as a tightness coiled in your lower belly.

“God…” You whispered, saying it under your breath.

Tom still looked forward, appearing like the two of you weren’t speaking, but he felt your climax coming from how your pussy clenched against his fingers. Your eyes squeezed together, jaw clenched tight as you held back every feeling to let go, but Tom quickly pulled his hand away.

You gave him side-eye, pouty from him taking his hand back, but you bit your lip at him placing the two same fingers inside his mouth. He sucked on them quickly, as if he was eating the last of a dessert, and smiled to himself when he tasted your sweetness.

Flustered and heated, you inhaled a shaky deep breath. You pulled the bottom of your dress back down, suddenly twitching at the overwhelming aching between your legs. You wish you could rub your clit right now, knowing you would only need to roll your fingers over it a few times. Nevertheless, you decided to put your frustration into getting back at Tom. Enough for him to regret.

♡ ♡ ♡

At the party, the two of you entered through the open door. The setting was a loft, low lighting and people wearing those cheap neon bracelets and necklaces. Tom immediately spotted some of his friends by the self-serving bar and he took your hand to guide you through the crowd.

“Hey mates, this is Y/N.” Tom introduced you, barely making out his own friends faces from how dark it was.

“Nice you meet you.” You said a bit loud so they could hear you.

“You’re one of Tom’s childhood friends, right? Tell us all the secrets.” One of his friends, Olson, teased. His dark brown curls were long, a bit grown out like Tom used to have.

“No secrets, he’s unapologetically himself. A bit serious.” You joked, feeling comfortable with his group.

Tom smiled at how you could just put yourself out there and get along with his friends here. He was weary about how you’d get along only because it was like his two worlds colliding, but he eventually wanted you to meet them— hoping they wouldn’t tell you anything about what he’s said about your “relationship”.

Just as any party went on, you and Tom were two drinks in and dancing to the loud music with everyone else. After straying from the fun and teasing conversations, you both found yourselves searching for a room to be more private in. Tom’s hands were on your waist as you tried to open the few doors until both of you saw someone walk out of the bathroom.

Quickly slipping in, you and Tom didn’t take it your time slowly. He pressed your back against the cool door, his hand fiddling to lock the door. You held his face as he propped you up on the granite counter.

His hands gently pushed apart your thighs, hiking up the end of your dress for him to see your lace panties. Your back comfortably rested against the mirror, your one hand running through his wild curls and harshly tug on them and the other pressed against the wall.

Tom left slow and wet kisses on your right inner thigh while one hand ran up and down your left thigh. Your clit was starting to tighten, clenching around nothing just from Tom’s teasing and you wanted to beg.

As he pressed his lips against your clothed slit, he felt how wet you still were. Tom slid his tongue up to get a taste of your cum which made him smirk between your legs. He couldn’t help but pull them to the side, so harshly that he ripped the seam. Tom spit on your throbbing pussy lips, leaning in and sucking your swollen clit then flicking his tongue between your slit.

You panted, pursing your lips as you watch him, “God, yes! Eat my fucking pussy like that, Tommy.”

Your words encouraged him, the pace of his tongue going faster and making your eyes roll back. He took his time with your clit and sucked with his lips fully around it. He loved watching your face contort as he flicked your bud with his tongue and your hips jolted, trying to buck against his tongue.

Just when you thought you could cum right there, he quickly pushed his two fingers inside your tight cunt. You moaned, caressing your own breasts as he curled them, but his pace was much faster than in the cab. He pumped them incredibly fast, feeling your pussy clenching around them and listening to your whiny moans to keep going.

His fingers went knuckle deep in your slit, trying to maintain his fast pace before Tom pulled them out and quickly rubbed your clit with the same fingers.

You groaned, “I’m coming! I’m coming!” You surrendered.

A burst of your wetness squirted from your pussy, running down the counter and your inner thighs. Your legs violently shook as Tom kept rubbing before pushing his face back in to taste your pussy and clit once more. He had to keep your legs apart with his hands because of how much they were shaking, still orgasming from how hard you came and his tongue back to work.

You caught your breath, sweat against your forehead and your throat sore from your heavy breathing. Tom came back up to your head, pressing your tongues together and tasting your cum. It was a slow kiss compared to the roughness you both got into, but you knew it was just a short break.

“You want to cum again? Huh, fucking slut gonna fucking cum for me.” He trailed against his lips.

You nodded, “Yes, make me cum again, Tommy.”

He was motivated just from your little nickname.

Tom took a step back, unbuckling his belt and quickly pulling down his jeans and boxers. His dick sprung right up, hitting his lower abdomen and you bit your lip at how full and thick his cock was. He pumped his hand a few times, coating his length in pre-cum before gliding his tip against your incredibly wet slit.

Your toes curled just at his teasing, painfully glaring as he continued to stroke his tip against your clit. You weren’t going to beg just yet, but you were at least on the verge of doing it if this lasted any longer.

Tom smiled at the neediness written across your face, your eyebrows furrowed and lip between your teeth. He stepped back toward you and spread your legs without warning, gliding his cock once more against your pussy.

You leaned your head back as his cock thrusted inside your tired, worn-out pussy. His length was so big, stretching your slit out as he stilled his hips. Tom licked his lips, watching him bottom out inside you and letting out a low groan once his lower body pressed against yours. That’s how close you were in that moment, oddly feeling so intimate in that moment.

He wasn’t slow this time. Tom slammed his cock back inside you, letting you feel every inch of him enter your tight walls. You could only grip on your chest, running your thumbs over your nipples which doubled the pleasure that was coursing throughout your body.

“Ah, your cock is so… so big. Can barely fit in my pussy.” You whimpered, as if you could take the upper hand at this point. You were a complete mess.

“I’ll make you cum this time. Only if you scream my name when you do. Huh?” He lowly chuckled against your ear, squeezing his hands on your hips to bring them closer to him.

Tom watched his cock pull out of your pussy, groaning at his whole length coated in your thick cum. With just the tip inside your slit, your left hand reached down to stroke him while your right hand still pulled at your nipple. You felt how slick his cock was, not surprised how bad you wanted him.

“Please, I need your cock, baby.” You trailed. Your eyes gazed into his, looking bigger and more desperate, making Tom move his hands down under your thighs and lifting your legs higher.

Your back slouched more, basically staring up at him as he put your legs over each of his shoulders. Your pussy lips were plump and hot, a string of your own cum running down to your asshole, but Tom collected it on the tip of his cock then teased your slit once more. Stroking his dick back and forth, your ankles by his ears, just before he slid back into you at a much slower pace.

You took every inch in, even twitching once he bottomed out. His thrusts were very rough, pushing his cock as much as he could and hitting your g-spot each time. Tom picked up a rhythm once he felt his dick twitching inside you, anticipating to cum deep inside you. Your skins slapped together each thrust, quicker and quicker, more deep than you think he could possibly go.

“Tommy, Tommy, Ah! I’m gonna cum.” You moaned over the muffled music, “Fuck, I wanna cum so bad, Tommy.”

Beads of sweat trailed down Tom’s temples, his eyes going back and forth from watching your face contort from your pleasure and your pussy. He grunted toward his high, but he suddenly stopped in his thrusts.

It confused you, but he quickly pushed your legs down before he pulled you closer to him by your lower back. Your ass shifted on the sink counter, basically on the edge, before Tom shifted his cock back into your tight slit. The closeness made a tingle go up your spine, with your chest against his and sharing a kiss between each time he bucked his hips.

You moaned against his lips, barely able to move them when he picked up his fast pace. You gasped a few times, your head dropping as your pussy clenched around his cock then quickly throwing your head back.

Neither of you could produce words to explain the euphoria coursing through your bodies, only pants between you two as you stood still and held each other. You left a soft kiss on his cheek before pulling away, Tom immediately pressing his forehead against yours to savor the moment. Your hand ran down his shoulder, running down his sweaty body and lightly scratching your nails down his abdomen.

Oddly in that moment, you could say you loved him. Not the “I love you” that would casually come out at when he did something to make you laugh, like an “I love you” that was more than words. You gulped from that feeling so you refrained from them leaving your lips, instead pulling away from him.

The two of you hadn’t had an intense moment like that in years, almost wondering if this was as good as it gets. Both of you didn’t want to doubt that either, but it was a lot that you didn’t speak for the few seconds it took you to get dressed again.

As Tom pulled his shirt back down, he glared at you examining your neck in the mirror. Darker shaded marks already formed compared to your skin tone, gulping and hoping no one would say anything or think differently of you when you walk back out.

“Are you okay?...I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?” He asked, as if it was your first time again.

You smiled, glancing at him in the reflection before turning around, “No, no. Just rougher than usual, but I would have said if I didn’t like it.”

A shy chuckle left his smile, but he glanced back up at you, “You know I love you, right?”

What did he mean by that, you thought.

“I-I love you too…” You trailed, not even sure if you meant it the way he meant it.

You quickly walked away from him, and Tom’s confidence fell short in that instance. After opening the bathroom door, the next couple wanting their own privacy walked past Tom to go in. Tom, trailing right behind you,saw the party had only gotten bigger and his friends were still by the corner.

As you went toward the bar, Tom went back over to his friends and he wanted to flush away the embarrassment he was feeling in his face. He had only wondered if he did something wrong.

“Nice hair.” Olson commented.

Tom smiled, trying to run his hands over and through it.

“Mate, we were just talking about Paris and we don’t know if you’re in or not.” The other friend, Mark, brought up, his drink almost empty so he sipped the little bit left.

“Uh, not sure.”

“You need to make up your mind. Offer from the director guy still stands until next week. It’s a good paying gig for a few months, then you come back here and buy a less crapper place to bring your friend to.” Olson teased.

“I don’t really know if I can afford France right now. I have a lot going on.”

“Well, we think you should try. At least think about it and don’t shut it down. Besides, the girls already follow you on Instagram. They’ll be all over you if that’s the issue.” Mark joked.

“I don’t need a girl either…” Tom commented, then twisting his lips, “I think I’ll go. Paris wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” Tom, obviously flustered, trailed.

Unknowing to him, you were already behind him once the conversation got serious. You heard about France, you heart about models, you just heard the whole thing and Tom hadn’t even mentioned it. All you could do, without embarrassing him or yourself in front of his friends, is fake a smile.

So, this was it, you guessed.

♡ ♡ ♡

The walk home was silent. A bit too silent if you asked Tom. Maybe you were tired, or you were just getting homesick. One thing neither of you did, and what you desired the most, is to read each other’s minds, because in moments like this, it would be nothing but help.

Just as Tom was going to ask, after contemplating for a few minutes, about what was wrong, you finally just said—

“I didn’t know about Paris.”

Tom quickly turned his head to you, worried when you didn’t look back at him.

“Y/N, it’s undecided–”

“No, I heard you say that you were thinking about going…” You sighed, “You know I’m not mad about you going, but you… didn’t tell me?” You rhetorically spurted.

“I was going to, but we were having a nice time. I wanted you to have a good time. How was I supposed to just tell you I might up and move again when I want to be in one place.” Tom quickly retorted.

Both of you stopped walking, and you nodded, “You just tell me, Tom? I mean, I didn’t think that there was ever anything that we didn’ tell each other these days.”

Tom nodded, “It just didn’t cross my mind right now because we’re having fun. I’ve been looking forward to you coming for weeks now. I promise, we’ll talk about it later.” He pleaded, not wanting you to get the wrong idea.

“Later or never? I’m confused on what you want… what even are we? We’re acting like teenagers again and… How long can we keep up something like this. I tell you that ‘I love you’ and lately it’s getting so fucking hard to know what kind of love I feel for you. Like.. is it worth it to love you if what’s going on between us is temporary.”

Tears were lining Tom’s waterlines, “I think that too… I felt like I messed up things tonight and almost everyday.” He vented, “I love you too, and I don’t know what we are either, but I know I don’t want to let it go. Not right now or ever.”

“Then what do you want?” You desperately asked, the stress gnawing away on your insides.

Tom fell silent. It was like all the words in the world to describe his feelings had been erased from his mind. He was frustrated too, almost in disbelief that you didn’t think he was into you, but his silence was too much for you.

You gulped, “Let’s just go to bed.” You said before opening the lobby door.

Tom stood there for a few seconds, contemplating about what he had done (or even what hadn’t he done), but truthfully, he was exhausted. Tom wanted to assume it would be nothing in the morning, yet this felt like one of those fights you couldn’t come back from– he could only pray that night it was just a bad thought.

♡ ♡ ♡

Your eyes fluttered open to the dawn of the day. A low light peaked through before the bright sun was coming over the horizon, eerily feeling like it was the end of a dull rainy day. But, it wasn’t the predicted weather that made you sad but rather the thought of you and Tom losing your friendship.

He always told you beforehand when he was going somewhere, and now he didn’t even acknowledge the thought. You were in denial of the jealousy in your veins, coursing like a constant river that no dam could restrain.

Maybe he’s moving on, You thought. Words you didn’t want to say out loud.

It’s apart of the no relationship and sex spoken agreemen to not have feelings. But, this feeling was doing nothing than eating you up from the inside out, like something was prickling inside every body part.

A few seconds later, Tom was rolled over on the other side of the bed and staring at his front door across the room. He hated when you two fought which was rare, especially when it came to defining what you were. The only time there were any major arguments was during high school, when you were both juvenile and immature (at least you thought you had become more mature with time).

Complicated as it was, everything seemed to be fine until that news came up to you last night. What made him upset more was that he wanted to tell you at some time of you being here, but Tom also had his doubts that you would want to leave and move on. It was the feeling of not wanting to close a chapter when you know the end is coming to a book. There could have been a million ways of it ending, but this wasn’t one of the ideal ones.

“Y/N?” Tom asked in his groggy tone.

You refused to roll over, not wanting to give him any satisfaction. You wanted to be angry, but it was hard since you were never mad at him.

“Can we talk?” He asked again.

Caving to the possible consequences, you rolled over and saw his pretty face. A face you struggled to be mad at, but you almost lightened up at the sight of his bright brown eyes.

“Yes?” You replied.

“Last night… It was messy. I don’t want to be like this. I want things to be okay again.”

“You didn’t answer my question last night, so you made it pretty obvious how you feel about me, Tom. This whole thing is a fling and I feel in and over my head right now.” You truthfully told him.

Tom could have never pictured those words leaving your mouth, but obviously you had been feeling this way for a while which hurt him since you were up in his head about how he’s expressing his own doubts and feelings.

“So, then you didn’t think this was serious either? Like, this whole time I was stringing you around for sex?”

You sat up, “I’m not arguing with you right now, Tom. Frankly, I don’t even want to be with you right now.” You said out of spite.

“What? You give up like that? I’m trying to have a conversation–”

“No! You’re talking at me, and I’m confused and annoyed by all this. It’s like we don’t know each other anymore and it’s just sad.” You scoffed as you walked to your suitcase toward the couch, kneeling down and tossing your clothes in.

Tom sighed, “What are you doing?”

“I’m packing a few things. Sorry, I don’t want to be somewhere where I’m exactly feeling welcomed.”

“Why do you get the last say, huh? Where was all these emotions and talks any other time we talk?”

“Well it’s not like you were saying anything to me either.” You sneered back, “Maybe we… don’t know or understand each other like we used to.”

Tom stood in front of you, both of you with defensive positions and silence filling the room again.

“Yeah… Maybe we don’t anymore.” He replied.

And just like that, you left his apartment with no other notice as to where you’d head off to.

♡ ♡ ♡

It had been a week since you retreated from New York after the huge argument. After a grueling time at the airport, a mixture of crying and getting stuffed over snacks, you were eager to be on the plane.

At the same time, you hadn’t heard from Tom, and it took a toll on you more than you thought. Noticing the “Last seen” on your Instagram message to him, bothered by being the last person to text him in the messages– it was like he was suddenly a ghost.

You didn’t mope around that whole week either, trying to forget Tom once you piled your workload back on and stayed at your desk for hours to even think about him with a tired brain. Still, there was an emptiness you felt by not having to check your phone every other minute. TV shows and movies weren’t the same. Eating your favorite snacks didn’t taste the same. Even going on car rides and listening to music felt pointless. Everything was a bit gray and gloomy (like London weather).

Just as any other weekend went, you planned to watch a movie, regardless of how boring or corny it may be, and have a snack you picked up at the corner store. After getting your two favorite fluffy blankets from the closet, there was a few knocks on the front door. You thought it was the neighbor asking about their cat or a person trying to sell you something, but instead you were met with the face you least expected to see.

Tom turned with a small smile, “Hey…”

“H-Hi.” You nodded, thinking it was a dream.

“So, I know we haven’t spoken in a week, but I um- I didn’t like Paris.” He summarized.

You pressed your lips together, “Oh… sorry about that.”

“You know why I didn’t like it?” He asked, a bit jokingly.

You replied with another shy nod.

“Because I didn’t have someone who would make fun of the snooty French people there in a silly accent.” He chuckled, his hands in his pockets, “And… I didn’t have someone who wanted to go to those sites because they saw it in a book or a map and just thought about going there than just looking it up on their phone… I didn’t have you, Y/N.”

“Well, I think you’re being a bit dramatic.” You joked, “But, I did miss having some guy in my life that is always the life of the party and knows how to make me laugh without even saying anything.”

Tom hugged you tight, almost squeezing you too tight. He was more than happy to be with you again, just as you held him with your arms around his back and your head nuzzled by his head.

“I’m sorry I made you choose.” You sniffled.

“You didn’t… I had to make a choice and I want us to be… us. Together…” He trailed, pulling back to see your face. His thumb brushed over the tear hanging on your cheek bone, cupping your cheek before kissing you.

It was as if a new timer restarted on both your lives; one that wouldn’t need to stop.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x female reader #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland x y/n #tshwritersnet

662 notes · View notes

orfeoarte · 6 months

Text

WIP Whenever!

I've been SICK, and SCARED, and working on my thesis. My country is falling apart and so is my body. Let's party!

Tagged by @mareenavee @boethiahspillowbook @throughtrialbyfire and many more over the weeks. sorry, i love you!

tagging @drowsy-fantasy @changelingsandothernonsense @paraparadigm @polypolymorph @kookaburra1701 @elfinismsarts @thequeenofthewinter @tallmatcha @thana-topsy @saltymaplesyrup @archangelsunited @inquisition-dragonborn @gilgamish @snippetsrus @rainpebble3 @rhiannon1199 @skyrim-forever @caliblorn @sephirajo @thalwhore @dunmer @gortrash @dirty-bosmer @thescrolls-haveforetold @marimomoth @elavoria and the girl (gender neutral) reading this! feel free not to do your own, feel free to tag me when you do your own!

Have some Saathel being a little shit

Silence embraced the pair like a foggy blanket in the cold air, dew coalescing minimally into suspended crystals stinging their faces with an adder's mettle.

Faendal flinched, sinking into himself. Unlike Saathel, he wasn't all too dressed for the weather.

"C'mere, fur is large enough."

He was unlikely to accept the kindness she had decided to extend, unlikelier to even look past her ill-fitting furs and decide he could nest in their warmth; but he did.

"They don't like our sort 'round here," Saathel started, moving to a side so he could cover himself with her cloak.

"You don't say," Faendal snorted, blowing warm air into his hands and rubbing them together.

"Mmh-hmm, and I wanna make them hate me."

His amber eyes went dark, almost lifeless for a second. It scared Saathel how eerily similar he looked to that mare she had killed earlier. Like an open flame, it spread; she knew the name of the emotion that tangled with her thoughts when death and the waking world mingled in such a way. The bruise on his face was already an angry red.

He shook his head. "Not a good idea. If they hate you, they'll do anything to make you feel unwelcome. Trust me."

If she looked at it enough, there was a thread begging to be pulled there. One of history, ready to see the light. Just a question was required, and Saathel was drunk enough to pry: "Sounds like experience."

His expression continued on its darkened course. Anything to see it lighten, anything but the touch of a mage.

"Well, I made myself an enemy. Sven, the bard in there—" Saathel interrupted him with a too-tardy smirk, gesturing her hands along.

"Nord plucking the strings like he's fingerin' a lass?"

A loud snort, more giggles shared under that pelt. Sometimes beating up a stranger was a good conversation starter.

"Y— Hah! Don't say it like that. I'd rather not have to picture that." Once Faendal could calm his breathing down, he sighed, shook his head, and continued. "We fancy the same woman, Camilla. He's made my life here miserable ever since I started courting her."

An owl passed soundlessly over their heads, the night hunter casting a shadow on them when its wings hid the moon. Saathel grinned. Inspired by its flight, she too could be silent and deadly.

"Court her harder and better. Or set him up for failure."

She didn't even need to suggest that, apparently. Faendal's eyes glittered, alight with energy and scheming once more. To be in pursuit of one's desires… always, the sweetest part of the hunt is the chase itself. She knew that to be true even when dealing with heart-hunts. For his part, Faendal looked to agree.

He wet his lips, cast a glance towards the dying lights of the tavern, and smirked.

"Think you could help me with that?"

[...]

If there was something Saathel loved, it was sticking her nose in matters that were firmly none of her business.

#writeblr #fanficblr #tes fanfic #tesblr #oc: saathel #bosmer #faendal #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim oc #skyrim #WIGGLES im back? maybe?#my writing

52 notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 2 years

Text

Many Things

Pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. One fateful night everything changes between best friends.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, vaginal sex, oral sex (m to f), touch of frottage, tiny bit of breeding kink, angst, jealousy, arguing.

Word Count: 3.7k

Authors Note: This one is more romantic tbh, not too explicit (the next two Benny one-shots will be utter filth, fyi). I wanted to do a modern take on jealous Benedict request I fulfilled a few weeks ago, but this thing took off on its own adventure and frankly I was just along for the writing ride. Yes, I know I know I have other WIPs I should be working on. This fic is dedicated to the wonderful @makaylan who adores friends to lovers and even betaed this. Thanks bestie <3.

Benedict Bridgerton has been many things to you over the years - a close friend since childhood, a genius to copy homework from, a lift home at Christmas, a shoulder to cry on when the men you date let you down, and most recently, your housemate - but not what you would have considered marriage material.

It’s one fateful night that changes everything.

Some of your mutual university friends have rented a house in the same neighbourhood. It’s one of those London summer evenings where the light doesn’t fade until after 9 pm; as you walk a few streets to their place, Benedict strolls next to you, clutching a bottle of scotch as a housewarming gift, teasing gently about your latest failed date.

He moved into your house-share just three weeks before, part of a plan to save money to buy his own house. The transition from best friends to best friends who live together is effortless. Your roommates think he’s great, and everything is working well. Or so you thought…

——

“Babes”, a familiar voice from the past rings out from the kitchen a few hours into the party, “fuck, it's been AGES.”

“No way!! Matt!?!” The shock of seeing your ex at the party is tempered by the fact he was one of the most fun. Too much fun, in fact. It was the reason you had split up. You couldn't trust him as far as you could throw him, and you couldn't throw him for toffee. He still looks untrustworthy just at a glance. He was always so handsome, though, and that hasn't changed in the intervening five years.

He pulls you into a bear hug. He still smells so good too. The daring part of you, the part that always wants to throw caution to the wind in any given situation, starts to stir and ask if a revisit to the past is always such a bad idea.

“How the devil have you been?” he asks after releasing you, leaning back against the oversized kitchen island, his face creased with a huge grin.

“I'm good,” you smile back, “same old, same old in many ways.”

Out of the corner of your eye, through the doorway, you see Benedict being cornered in the living room by Zoe, a high-maintenance co-worker of your friend that you've heard more stories about than you care to remember. Good, that will keep him distracted, you think to yourself. Of all your ex-boyfriends, Benedict always hated Matt the most.

“Still at the same company?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I got a promotion. Have a whole team to boss around now,” you jest.

“Oh, those lucky bastards,” he winks, leaning in and handing you a shot glass. “Here, try this.”

“What is it?” you question, wrinkling your nose slightly at the somewhat pungent smell. You suspect it's Fireball or some other noxious choice you have mostly left behind in your uni days.

“Hey babes, if you are asking what's in the shots, you are not entering into the spirit of a house party,” he laughs.

“Fair enough,” you shrug with a giggle and down the shot in unison. It burns and catches in your throat in the way cheap liquor always does, and you have to cough slightly into the back of your hand. “God, Matt, your taste has not changed,” you laugh.

“No, it hasn't,” he winks and looks at you salaciously, his eyes running up and down your body as if you weren't just standing there in a plain cotton top and jeans.

“Haha,” you deadpan. “Give me another,” you pout, waving the empty shot glass, that devil-may-care side of you taking charge for just a moment.

After a couple more shots, you relax into the evening. Everything is slightly fuzzy around the edges, and the world seems like not such a bad place. You and Matt chat amiably; others occasionally drift temporarily into the free-flowing conversation while they refill their drinks.

You're not sure when, but his arm goes behind you at some point as he gestures mid-story. It then lands on your shoulders and doesn't move. You don't mind so much; it's a nice warm weight - it doesn’t signify anything. Or at least you think it doesn’t.

“What. The. Fuck.” Benedict's shocked voice behind you is unmistakable.

You twist around, and it looks like he has eaten a case of lemons, the sourness in his expression so obvious. On instinct, you step out from under Matt’s arm and watch as Benedict rounds the island, his face like thunder.

“Bridgerton,” Matt plasters a fake smile on his face.

“This one?” Benedict ignores him entirely and looks daggers at you. “Really?”

“What?” you challenge. Benedict is uncharacteristically very hostile, throwing you off your buzz.

“Honestly, are you just trying to embarrass yourself or both of us?” his expression is fierce.

“What is up with you, Ben?” you hiss.

You're surprised when he grabs your arm. “Don't you dare make me go through this bullshit again,” he growls. You are taken aback, not by his tone but by how hurt he looks; you can see it in his eyes.

Matt jumps closer. “Hey Bridgerton, unhand the girl,” he interjects, trying chivalry on for size for probably the first time ever.

The whole party appears to go quiet all around you as people start to look over.

Benedict’s hand drops from you, but his head whips around and snarls at Matt, “How about you first? Don't you dare touch her again,” his voice steely.

Matt raises his hands in mock surrender, “OK, man; we were just talking, no harm, no foul.”

“You stay the fuck away from her, do you hear me?” Benedict seethes, a vein in his neck you've never noticed before pulsing hard.

You have never seen him so enraged. You feel everyone’s eyes on you and realise the party - or at least your taking part in it - is well and truly over.

Not knowing what else to do, you don't give either of them a second glance. You grab your bag and stalk out the kitchen, down the hallway, out the front door and into the street without looking back.

——

You know Benedict has followed you out of the house. His long legs stride down the pavement to catch up with you fast.

“Wait, y/n,” he grabs your elbow about ten doors down from the house. “Will you just stop walking, please?”

“Why Ben? What the fuck was that? Why humiliate me like that?” You wrench your elbow from his grip and cross your arms, staring at him challengingly, making sure to put some distance between you.

“I didn’t intend to”, he says quietly, “I was trying to make a point.”

“Which was?” you prompt, irritated.

“He’s an arse, and I just wanted you away from him. I didn’t mean to make you leave the party; I’m sorry,” he looks genuinely contrite.

Somewhat uncharitably, you ignore his apology, not ready to forgive just yet. “You acted like a jealous idiot - he always suspected we had a thing together. They all do. You think what just happened will put paid to that bloody rumour?”

“No,” his response subdued, kicking a stone into the gutter.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” you pace around in a small circle, frustration manifesting in little steps. “God, do you not even want a girlfriend?! These rumours and that kind of shit doesn’t help you get someone either, you know,” you add pointedly.

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” he dismisses.

“Well, maybe you should. That girl Zoe was flirting with you before all that went down, in case you didn’t notice,” you respond, your tone a little tart.

“You think I should date her?” he looks incredulous.

“No, she’s a total nightmare, but you’re missing my point,” you respond, rolling your eyes.

“You want me to get with someone you know is a nightmare?” It seems like he's being deliberately obtuse now.

“No!! I want you to give someone a chance! You haven’t slept with anyone in months. Either that or you’re withholding information from me. Which is it?” you question, suddenly very invested in his answer.

“The former,” he admits, almost sheepish, as you release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Why? God, Ben, do you have any idea the way that so many women look at you? How women look at me cos they think I’m with you and hate me for it?” You know your voice has gone slightly shrill now, which annoys you.

You pivot on your heels, marching away from him towards your house. You hear his footsteps behind you again, knowing this argument or whatever it is, is not over - this is merely a hiatus.

“Again, I apologise for making you feel you needed to leave the party, but I won't apologise for getting you away from him,” he calls out as you round the corner into your street. “And I'm sick and tired of having to do that, to be honest,” he adds as he catches up to you, you fumbling in your bag for your door keys.

“Do what?” you counter, angrily stopping your movement.

“Having to be the brain you sometimes so desperately lack, or rather refuse to engage,” he answers with more than a dramatic flair.

“What the fuck is this actually about, Ben?” You have lost your temper now, “cos it’s sure as fuck not about Matt anymore, is it?” You glare at him.

“Yknow what y/n, you’re right, it’s not just about him. It’s about all the ‘hims’ before and since.” You can see the irritation etched into the lines of his face, thrown into relief by the street lamp above.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s about the parade of idiots you allow yourself to be charmed by,” he sneers.

“Hey, who I choose to date is my decision,” you volley, defensive.

“Oh totally,” he says tartly, “it’s just a shame you have such terrible decision-making.”

“Well, if all my decisions are so bad, how can you stand to be my friend?” Your tone is dripping with sarcasm, lashing out when you’re hurt.

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? Maybe I can’t stand to be just your friend anymore,” his hands on his hips, defiant, his volume raised too.

“SHUT UP!!” A voice bellows from a nearby darkened window.

It's 2 am, and you are having a full-blown argument in the street; the stranger has a fair request.

“SORRY!” you both shout back simultaneously.

“Wait, what do you mean, just my friend?” you hiss after a few seconds.

“Don’t act stupid; you know exactly what I mean,” he grouses.

“No, I fucking don’t. What is going on with you tonight? Things have been great since you moved in, and now you pull this shit. It makes no sense.” You throw your hands in the air and walk away from him again, not stopping until you reach your shared front door.

“Really?? Really?!?” He rounds behind you. “It’s been great for YOU, maybe. It’s been fucking torture for me.” The bitterness in his voice cuts you.

“What? We’ve all bent over backwards to make you welcome!” You decry, angrily jabbing your keys into the lock.

“Oh, it’s not the welcome that’s the problem,” he scoffs, crowding you through the door as it opens.

“Then what? What is it? What is wrong?” You’re close to giving up on this argument and running up to your room; he slams the front door behind you. Thank god your housemates are both out of town this weekend.

“YOU!” He explodes exasperated, seemingly occupying the whole narrow hallway as he draws himself to full height. “You are what’s wrong!! Moving in together was wrong!!”

You ignore the phrasing that suggests you moved in like a couple. “Why?!” You hate the idea he regrets being closer to you; you have secretly loved it.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about fucking you, that's why!” he yells, his voice echoing up the house's walls.

You are stunned into silence.

“You think about having sex with me?” It’s almost a whisper.

He’s wild-eyed and breathing hard. “All the time and, god, now we live together, it’s impossible” he smears his hands down his face “FUCK! I’ve drank too much; I’ve said too much. I need to leave.” He spins as if to head out the front door again.

“No, you bloody don’t,” you block his path and grab his arms. Maybe it’s the alcohol making you bold; perhaps it’s given you the clarity you need, either way, you don’t just want to know where this is going; you need to know on a cellular level. “Don’t be a coward now,” you goad him.

He won’t meet your eye, and he looks pained like he admitted something he’s been keeping secret for a long time and now wants to flee. You hold steady, not letting him by. You can feel his pulse racing through his veins where you grip his arms.

“What is it you always tell me? If you want something, go for it. So I say to you again, don’t be a fucking coward” you’re breathing heavily now, too and daring him to make a move.

He’s still looking beyond you at the door like he wants to bolt.

“Ben…. for once, just… take what you want.” You state with finality. He looks down to meet your eyes for the first time since his confession; it’s breathtaking. “Please…” you exhale, suddenly frantic for him.

You crash into each other.

Before you know it, he has you pinned against the wall of the narrow hall. He slots a leg between yours and pulls you up onto it with hands low on your back; as he deepens the kiss, his tongue questing into your mouth and stealing your breath. This!! This is what it's supposed to feel like, your brain yells at you. The seam of your jeans pushes hard against your centre, and fuck if that doesn’t feel good.

“Ben,” you gasp as he breaks the kiss.

“What?” his voice is rough as he kisses across your cheek.

“This feels so…” you can't finish the sentence. You want to say perfect, but that feels too dangerous of a word.

“I know,” he reassures, “I know.”

“Please don't stop,” you urge.

“Wasn't planning on it,” he says as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth and bites it, running your earring over his tongue. He grabs your hips and encourages your rhythmic movements.

”Go on, take what you need,” he murmurs hot against your ear. “I’ve fantasised about getting you off just like this, riding my thigh fully clothed. Just friction and a little bit of…” his lips suction onto your neck on a spot just below your ear that makes you shudder and moan.

“Fuck Ben,” your voice ragged. It’s like he’s read an encyclopedia of everything that turns you on.

You tug on his t-shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin. He leans away just far enough to remove it quickly and tosses it aside. He goes to move back against you, but you hold him away with firm hands locked on his shoulders.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Bridgerton?” You stutter in disbelief, taking in the sight before you. You haven’t seen him shirtless in a few years, and he’s changed a lot. The man has so much definition everywhere; it makes you salivate. A curator of an art museum has no need, no right, to be this fit, surely?

“What?” He says, feigning innocence, but his crooked smile gives him away.

“I knew you had something going on under those t-shirts lately, but this?” You trace a finger over the contours of his abs, then down the groove of his Adonis belt all the way into the top of his jeans, “this is ridiculous,” you whisper, loving the hitch in his breath as you start to tug open his fly roughly.

“Should we go to a bedroom?” He asks just before you delve a hand into his underwear.

You feel your best friend's cock, and you know your friendship is changed forever. He is so warm and silky but rigid, a real handful, and you liquefy at the thought of taking him in. He groans hard as you squeeze him.

“No, you are going to have me right here, fuck me against this wall,” you reply breathily, pumping him in your fist, pushing down the last of his clothing. “Then afterwards, you can take me to bed and make love to me, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” his response is just perfect. Fuck he is just perfect. He kisses you hard again and then takes charge, telling you to take your clothes off; his tone holds more than a hint of something domineering. It has you in floods, stripping off your clothes so fast.

You are both naked and already panting hard in your shared hallway when he lifts you off the ground, your back rubbing against the textured wallpaper, and he pushes into your body for the first time. It’s everything you wanted every time you’ve had sex, that feeling you’ve been chasing. His solid weight stretches you, your toes just grazing the ground as he pulls you down onto him to the root, groaning hard against your ear, telling you just how good you feel.

“Benedict,” you gasp. You haven’t used his full name in years, and its effect on him is primal.

He growls your name, pushes you up against the wall high off his cock, and pulls you back down so forcefully you can’t help but scream. As you find a rhythm together, you finally understand what people mean when they say you fuck like you are possessed. It’s urgent, hot, and intoxicating; you can’t believe it’s with your best friend.

Suddenly he stops moving, pins your arms above your head and just holds you there, speared deep onto his cock, up on your tiptoes.

“Tell me you love me,” he commands, staring intently into your eyes, your whole world shifting.

“I love you,” you stutter, knowing it’s true; it’s always been true.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you,” he confesses, his voice profound with emotion.

He kisses you deeply and then proceeds to fuck you like you have never been fucked before. More than twenty years of connection and ten years of lust swirled into a mind-blowing elixir. It’s the first time you have ever had back-to-back orgasms, and your body shakes so violently you can’t stand up when he finally releases his hold on you.

So he carries you upstairs to bed and fulfils the promise of love-making. Mapping every inch of your body with his lips and tongue until you are a quivering soaked mess, begging him to fuck you again. Instead, he smirks and pushes your legs even further apart, sucking your clit between his teeth, making you see stars and scream his name, pulling on his hair as he growls encouragements into your body. Dawn is breaking through the curtains when he finally takes pity on your aching cunt and fucks you again. You lose count of how many positions, but he finally stops edging you and lets you cum again with him, sobbing with relief.

——

It’s around midday when you wake up, with sore muscles but a bone-deep satisfaction.

Benedict's lips are dragging over your breast.

“If I had been braver, by my reckoning, we should be on our honeymoon by now,” he says idly, his voice languid and rough with sleep.

“Hmm, probably,” you agree, moaning lightly as he sucks your nipple into his mouth.

“And we would definitely be going for our first baby right this very moment,” he smirks, biting down lightly.

“Oh yesssss,” you hiss, running your hand into his hair.

“Is that a yes to babies or a yes to this?” he asks with a chuckle and bites again.

“Both, either, just please don’t stop,” you urge, already squirming against him.

“Oh, I'm holding you to that promise,” he says silkily, switching to your other nipple. “I can't wait to fuck a baby into you,” his voice impossibly deep. “More than one, in fact; I’ve always thought we could have 4, maybe 5, kids.”

“Wait, you’re serious,” you reply, your breathing suddenly tight at all the meaning behind his words.

He looks up from your breast, his eyes so soulful.

“Mmm hmm,” he hums. “But let’s just call all this a rehearsal,” he smiles, surging up to kiss your lips, “practice makes perfect after all.”

——

It’s funny how fast things can move when they are right, and you’ve known someone your whole life.

After four months, he picks up the keys to his new house, adding your name to the property deed without you knowing. He proposes getting down on one knee in the garden the very next day.

You get married in that very garden three months later.

Nine months hence your honeymoon baby is born, all that practice serving you very well. Just before your seventh wedding anniversary, you’ve given birth to your fourth. Your fifth and final child is conceived against the wisteria-clad walls of Aubrey Hall after you win a particularly spirited annual family game of Pall Mall. It somehow seems fitting that your last child is conceived the same way you first had sex.

Not that you ever stop; you just insist on a vasectomy after five mini Bridgertons. And when your eight-year-old walks in on you going at it on the kitchen table, you both vow to only do it in your bedroom from then on. That vow lasts about three weeks. Well, he shouldn’t attend a wedding in a dark blue suit, should he? It’s not your fault if he looks so irresistible you have to drag him into the gardens, is it?!

Benedict Bridgerton has indeed been many things to you over the years - your very best friend, a fantastic scrambled egg maker, the best person to play chess with, a damn good shag - but mostly the best husband and father you could ever possibly imagine.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @kkpolakow @colettebronte @severewobblerlightdragon

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton

601 notes · View notes

gwen-writes · 3 months

Text

The Fool

i was tagged by @purdledooturt to do WIP wednesday and here i am! i had the idea for a postgame ascended astarion fanfic, but with my own little twist, lol. here is the first chapter!

Summary: With no other options left to expend, Tav implemented a temporary solution. If the Vampire Lord could not be killed or saved, they would have to dull his strength - severely. And unfortunately, there is a ranger in Faerûn who is naive enough, kind enough, to feel bad for him.

Word count: 2.2k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Ranger!Female OC, but he's cursed to be a bat, because it's funny

The woods communicate, the soil must feel. Eyes etched into the bark of oaks, ears tucked into leaves. A hidden pact between the forest and wolves, roaches, beasts. It all sang to her, the tune that had been ingrained in her blood since birth. Pyryeva ran over her memories of lycanthropes in her head: the followers of Urdlen she had come across and slain, the petulant werecats clawing at her ankles in the defense of Shar, the wereboar who rammed into her tent and could not be convinced to just talk it out.

In fact, she often preferred to just convince creatures to leave - to stop harassing villages, or trampling beloved buildings. Other people found her a bit odd, something foreign and drifting behind her eyes that must have uneased acquaintances. But animals… understood. Scaled, hairy, or vicious, they paused to listen all the same.

And so this troop of lycanthropes, she prayed to Ilmater, would stop their ravaging and just listen. Her passing through the Wood of Sharp Teeth was meant to be swift, just a stop on her journey toward the Reaching Woods. The shreds of the High Moor Heroes’ Guild summoned her back home to Elturel, tearing her away from the outskirts of Candlekeep.

Candlekeep, she had once dreamed, would be the city where she finally became an academic, a scholar. Instead, she was promptly declined from every formal institution for her… well, there was a running list. Lack of foresight, short-term memory failure, lack of perception, lack of artistic strength. It took her around thirty minutes to realize that these tests were not actually a qualifier for entry through the Emerald Door, and instead the guards’ cruel way of mocking her.

Her exit from Candlekeep was bittersweet, but she knew that it would lead nowhere. As had many of her ventures - a poor attempt to be anything but a ranger with impressive aim. Politics slipped from her fingers before she even grasped it, an incomprehensible block of information that she could not register, let alone wield. Then there was fiction, song, welding. Fiction felt as though it was holding her mind and wringing it of all its joy, so she quit. Song tumbled from her mouth like a dreary scratching. She actually quite liked that hobby, but that time it was the protesting of her peers that willed her to leave it behind. Weapons were too heavy and domineering in her thin hands, fingers too fitted for a sleek bow to keep something formidable in her hold.

Embroidery stuck, her quick fingers weaving through fabric easily. That was enjoyable, for a while - the outstretched hands of Ilmater twined through her leather armor. And then, once her God had been preserved on all of her belongings, she was out of ideas. Nature was the next obvious option, but the badger she wanted for her gloves muddled into splotches in practice. The lovely frog for her blanket resembled more of wretched Grung.

Thus, Eltruel called to her, and she harkened back. Only the Wood of Sharp Teeth bisected her path home, and when the renowned storyteller Pallidor pleaded for her help against the plague of lycanthropes - was she meant to decline?

Werewolves, Pallidor had described them, cunning and volatile. They were still reeling from their loss alongside Grand Duke Valarken, though that man was long dead. She would have loved to live to see that battle. Pyryeva found humanity one of her greatest pleasures: their intense emotions, vulnerability, and courage lended themselves well to sex and gluttony, two of her favorite pastimes. However, she felt torn over the human lifespan. It was 1500 DR, the dawn of a new generation, and nothing exciting was happening. The monsters had been slain, most notably The Absolute. She loathed having not been a part of the “Heroes” troop. But she assured herself that she was meant to be alone, and meant to like it, and meant to give and give as Ilmater commanded.

As ridiculous as it may seem, she wished that new monsters would rise up in the coming years to give her a title of her own. Good things come to those who wait, as her scripture alleged. She smiled, padding along the damp forest floor, imagining beasts scurrying away under her command in exchange for heaps of gold.

Lycanthropes came in many forms: beautiful elven women or menacing orcs, their transformations ranging from a delicate swan to a dreadful wereserpent. Her awareness stirred, the woods calling out to her.

Deep musk, wiry fur tickling her fingers as if she was touching it freely.

The sight of her targets were just as she had pictured - goring, rabid werewolves. Like gnolls, but hopefully receptive to a little charisma. Curiously, though, their focus was completely rapt on the trees overhead, paws swiping at the air with no success. Had they taken it upon themselves to hunt a squirrel? Or a bird?

“Going after a squirrel? They’re defenseless,” Pyryeva watched them, like puppies chasing a toy. The pack of three whirled on her, snarling. The tallest one of the group ducked to all fours, lunging at her. The ranger’s nails dug into tree bark, crumbling under her force, as she leveraged herself atop the oak.

“I don’t want to shoot you, but I could,” The bow was already in position, an arrow tipped with silver aimed for his yellow, feral eyes. “I’m good at this. It’s kind of my job.”

He only responded with a grunt, before clawing his way up the base. Fine.

Blood squirted from his right eye socket, a dog yelp escaping his snout as he loosened his grip on the tree.

“Had enough?” She muttered, another arrow taut, suspended by her bow, immediately. The two lackeys in his wake deliberated amongst themselves, weighing the benefit of their previous prey with the supple-fleshed human hanging in a nearby tree. Apparently, Pyryeva was a better target.

“No way!” A huff escapes her as she hones her focus on one of her most consumptive spells, Speak with Plants. A waste in a battle so easily winnable such as this - as mother would scold - but Pyryeva was hired for her ability to win, not her ability to devise. The roots of the wide birch beneath the two lycanthropes rose from the dirt, entangling their massive paws.

“Your friends are trapped, and you’re about to be blind!” She called down to the leader. “Come out of your wolf forms, and talk to me!”

Instead, the werebeast opted to shake the oak with all his might, interrupting her balance. As a teenager, she despised when her instructors would force her to stand on one leg, books piled atop her head, for hours on end. Balance this, balance that. As if she had been training to join the circus, to tiptoe across rope. But it was as if novels depicting fairytales and wizard battles were resting on her skull, pressuring her to still.

“I don’t have to spare you, you know! I’ve just been hired to get your group to go away, and I’m trying to be kind!”

This wolf was relentless, yanking the arrow from his eye with a deep grunt.

“Damn you,” She hissed, her silver arrow heading for his throat, rather than another eye. The yellow of his iris was consumed by black, staring her down as he collapsed onto the leaves and soil. With a flick of her wrist, a swarm of pixies gathered around her frame, swirling down to the ground with her as she plummeted off of the tree.

The two final opponents stood, ankles beginning to look raw from the friction of their incessant wriggling.

“Will someone please just listen to me,” She panted. “I am Pyryeva. You are free to leave these woods - I will not harm you. All I ask for is peace.”

“And if you don’t give me peace, I will stick my pixies on you, and leave you for dead.”

The green fairies around her cheered with fanatic anticipation. No peace! No peace! No peace! Shrill giggles fell flat around the three of them, lost to the dank vines and stumps.

A burst of energy from the left side, dissipating to reveal a thin elven man with black curls. Pyryeva sighed with relief, ready to start speaking instead of threatening, but he offered her no such grace.

“We, the true lycanthropes of this realm, will not be outcast to other planes for any longer!” He bellowed. “Vehlarr will be restored in Faerûn! It must be done!”

Foam spilled from the corners of the right’s muzzle, teeth bared. Pyryeva gave them a long stare, waiting for the dam to break, waiting for them to see sense and reason with her. But when she studied the elf’s dark eyes, she found no such thing.

“Kill them,” She murmured softly, and the pixies whirled ahead. The ranger shut her eyes tightly, rushing away from the sight, leaving the desperate yelping of dogs behind.

That was, until, her neck was alight again; senses tingling and buzzing with… with nothing at all. Not nothing - it was all consuming, gnawing and starved. Blood sapped over hundreds of years, icy flesh, and then pure depravity. Women and men scattered across the floor, necks torn through. Whips, scars. And a heartbeat pounding, so loud it takes all of Pyryeva’s constitution not to keel over and sob.

Something rotten, something unholy and corrupt, something undead. Her instincts forced her to sprint, she was sure, to make quick work of the earth beneath her and vanish between the wood. And yet, when her eyes opened, that was not her view at all. A white bat was crumpled on the forest floor beneath her, and it reeked of undeath. But it was so… small. Fluffy. She knew that her senses had never been wrong, honed so particularly by her instructors that an error would never occur.

But she wasn’t in the habit of persecuting small creatures, no matter how undead they may be. A vampire bat, to be sure, but not one she couldn’t befriend. Pyryeva crouched, searching for visible wounds.

“You okay, little guy?” She cooed, and the white lids snapped open to reveal ruby eyes. In moments, it was latched onto her neck, stabbing through her flesh.

“Wha- Ow!” Pyryeva wrapped a fist around the little beast, ripping it from the wound. “You fucker! You fucking… fucker! Ow!”

It strained against her grasp, clawing at her thumb fiendishly.

“Let me go, you wench!” A deep voice emanated from the creature, so ironically demanding from such a cute face. Involuntarily, Pyryeva giggled.

“At least someone is talking to me today,” She flipped him upside down wordlessly, studying his form. “You’re so cute!”

“I will fucking destroy you, tear your muscle from bone!” His best attempt at a threat. She brought him a bit closer to her face, sniffing the air between them.

“You aren’t a normal bat,” She asserted.

“Well, aren’t you a scholar?” He spat, still wiggling in her hand.

“Vampire bat,” She ignored his slight toward her. “Are you here with the lycanthropes? The werewolves?”

“Those miscreants?” He hissed, offended. “Absolutely not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Just flying by, of course,” The bat hummed.

“Well, I hope your travels are safe, little guy,” She smiled earnestly, lowering him to the ground and loosening her grasp.

“You are so trusting, little human,” He purred. “Who taught you to be so… docile? It’s fascinating.”

Somehow, he was animated when he spoke, one wing covering his chest as if scandalized.

“It’s just… how I am,” Pyryeva replied softly. She felt an inkling in the back of her skull - a warning that despite this bat being adorable and small, something devoid of soul hid inside. “I really should be going now. More werewolves to catch, and all.”

“Ah ah,” He corrected her. “You will be going nowhere at all.”

“What?” She stared down at him, now standing five and half feet taller than his tiny stature. His wings flapped, and he buzzed up to her face, meeting her gaze.

“My name is Astarion, and I have endured a terrible affliction, you see,” Astarion began, clearly preparing to delve into a story.

“Astarion? Like, "Hero of Baldur’s Gate Astarion?” Her voice was shrill. “Like, Vampire Lord Astarion?”

A killer. A shameless, overgrown child in the form of a handsome, elven man who had gone sick with power. Infamous for his parties and their gore, the feasting on innocents that he indulged in, day or night. The fearsome Vampire Lord who could not be stopped, no matter how many high ranking officials came knocking at his door. Their remains scattered through the streets - a demonstration - and a subsequent silence from the public.

He was corruption born from flesh, a demonic bastard who emerged from the fantastic defeat of the Absolute a vile, psychopathic monster.

“You are a scholar!” His red eyes beamed.

“I want nothing to do with you,” Malice twisted in her words, unlike her usual cadence.

“Oh, my dear, you want everything to do with me, because your sappy, frivolous God says so,” Astarion crooned, glaring at the symbol of Ilmater on her chest. “And if you don’t help me, I will transform and devour you.”

That was a bold-faced lie, of course. The reason he so desperately required her assistance is because he could not transform at all, not since last Uktar. And poor Pyryeva, not studied in her Baldurian literature or news, completely unaware of that fact.

She stumbled back from him, “You wouldn’t.”

Astarion laughed in her face, “Oh, I would.”

“What do you want from me?” Pyryeva forced out the words.

“Walk with me, dearest, and I will tell you the whole sordid tale.”

i tag @tequilya and @syoish for next week! <3 :)

#fanfiction #ao3 author #astarion #ascended astarion #ascension #astarion fic #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 companions #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate #fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #wip wednesday

17 notes · View notes

amemenojaku · 8 months

Note

Shinmyoumaru for the character ask prompt

I got several asks about her... thank you everyone for allowing me to go completely batshit insane

General opinion/How much I care about them: GAHHH I love her SO MUCH it's unbearable!!!! I think nowadays I wouldn't be able to say who's my number 1 favorite touhou character between her and Seija... There is a very special place in my heart for Shinmyoumaru Sukuna T_T I love the play on a classic otogizoshi (making the descendant of Issun Boushi a princess AND the ally of a horned demon at the same time is sooo good) and I love that she has this brave and regal aspect to her personality while still being a little bastard and I love her design and the atmosphere of her fight scene in DDC and her heart and everything else!!! She is cool and cute and funny god I wish Shinmyoumaru were real I have so much affection for this silly little character

A ship I love: (puts on my clown makeup) I made myself known here as a seishin artist many years ago and I'm happy to say they're still my absolute favorite pairing in the series! toxic yuri wins!! The way I see them has changed a lot over the years and thanks to the surprisingly big amount of material we got in the spinoffs and the books but at its core it's still the same... Lonely people who created unforgettable memories together and changed each other forever... And you can go so many different ways with them... But I guess my all-time favorite seishin flavor is best summed up in this unrelated quote (more people should read Fafoo):

seishin fans also manifested grimoire of usami into existence which I think is incredible enough on its own to mention

A non-romantic relationship that I love: With Reimu!!! I think we all agree that their interactions in Forbidden Scrollery were perfect and that Shinmyoumaru is an excellent addition to the Reimu solar system. There's something so touhou-ish about them living together after DDC and Shinmyoumaru sewing that small kimono as a gift for Reimu and then later hijacking the danmaku festival so bad that Reimu has to step in. Literally textbook case of Reimu dealing with another little rascal yet befriending them in the process. Speaking of I think they genuinely are good friends, not just danmaku or drinking buddies... I love to imagine their daily life together when Shinmyoumaru stayed at the shrine......

The NOTP: For better or for worse she's almost exclusively shipped with Seija which is fine by me!! I've never liked seeing her with anyone else (save for a onesided Shinmyoumaru -> Reimu crush).

My biggest headcanon about them: THERE'S TOO MANY TO LIST..... I have pages upon pages of Shinmyoumaru & kobito-related headcanons because she is constantly rotating somewhere inside my brain but I can share a few ones: her family is not only a descendant of Issun Boushi but also a descendant of Sukunahikona; none of the kobito have last names except the ruling family who takes on the most sacred one - Sukuna; there's actually a little bit of Issun Boushi's spirit remaining in the miracle mallet, he doesn't exist there anymore or anything but it's like a warmth that Shinmyoumaru can feel when she wields it.

An idea for a fanwork I would like to make/see about them: I have a lot of wips that I probably won't ever finish sadly... But I -would- love to draw some kind of comic or writing/art mix where I could include all those headcanons someday, with her past and especially a study of her relationship with the mallet

Something that makes me think of them: Hedgehogs :) and forget-me-nots!

#thank you for the ask.. 10 years of shinmyoumaru brainrot have changed me as a person

26 notes · View notes

boomboxfic · 2 years

Text

Assurance (Mike Logan/Ben Stone); drabble

I have two WIPs in mind regarding OG L&O Season 3x21 "Manhood" about the cops who left hung one of their own out to dry because he was gay.

One's an AU where Ben is a detective that hops on with Mike after Phil gets shot; the other is this comfort drabble. It will be expanded into a longer one-shot.

It was unforgivably early when Ben felt himself coming awake. He’d gone to sleep alone; he had called Mike’s apartment to check on him before he went to sleep, and it went straight to voicemail. Mike sometimes stayed at Lennie’s if they were working overtime on a case, and Ben went to sleep off that assumption. Cracking one eye open, Ben saw that it was 3 in the morning, and grunted. At least it wasn’t time to get ready for work yet.

“Hey, sorry for waking you,” Mike apologized, exhaustion hanging on every word, “I know it’s late.”

“It’s okay,” Ben replied, voice rough with sleep. He rolled over to face Mike, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off his undershirt. Ben sat up and shifted closer, and Mike felt his presence as Ben pressed a kiss to his shoulder and held him from behind. Words didn’t need to be said; Ben understood the burden on Mike’s shoulders, how the cop shooting affected him.

Ben thought about Max Greevey, gunned down outside his own home. It was roughly a year into Mike and Ben’s then off-and-on relationship, and Mike’s reckless actions nearly tore them apart again; two men trying their best to bring a cop-killer to justice. They’d weathered that storm.

Then Phil Ceretta, being shot during an UC bust. Ben remembered Mike’s rage; he couldn’t believe that Ben was willing to deal with a guy who nearly killed Phil. Phil gave his blessing, but that case ended with horrible implications. Ben and Mike weathered that storm as well.

Max and Phil were cops shot by criminals, but this Newhouse case consisted of implications beyond that of typical criminal activity.

The Officer Newhouse shooting was beginning to show shades of the unthinkable. Yes, Newhouse was killed by a drug dealer, and had taken that dealer’s life in trade before succumbing to his injuries. What was now coming out of Mike and Lennie’s investigation revealed the ultimate betrayal; cops hanging another cop out to dry.

Because he was different.

Because that cop was gay.

Like Mike.

Ben shook the thought out of his head, forcing himself to focus on the real, breathing human being in front of him. “I’m glad you’re here, Mike. I was worried about you.”

That got a half-hearted chuckle out of Mike, but he understood. He held Ben’s hands in his and squeezed, a silent gesture of assurance. He shifted again, and Ben released him sliding back to his side of the bed as Mike moved to lay beside him. Neither man said a word as they lay on their sides facing one another, eyes locked on one another, convincing themselves that this nightmare of a case had not defeated them, not yet.

Mike watched Ben's expressions, knowing that his partner was thinking. He watched as Ben’s hand cautiously caressed his shoulder and slid over to rest over Mike’s heart, feeling his heartbeat. Mike knew that he could have been Newhouse. That, by some inconceivable chance, Briscoe could have been dispatched elsewhere, and Mike would be in his worst nightmare, pinned down from both sides.

Then Ben’s worst nightmare - having to prosecute Mike’s killer.

Mike reacted as Ben’s eyes squeezed shut, those blue eyes trying to shut out his darkest nightmare. Mike held Ben in his arms, protecting him, his low voice telling Ben that he was not Newhouse, comforting him with his words, his presence.

“Ben. I’m right here,” Mike squeezed Ben’s hand, still pressed over his heart. In truth, he had the same fear. He kissed Ben’s temple, and held him closer, assuring himself with the same words he was using to comfort Ben, “I’m still here.”

#mike logan #ben stone law and order #mike logan/ben stone #stogan #stogan drabble #stogan wip #i have too many wips and its all the same pairing #boombox fic #fic: assurance #law and order fic

3 notes · View notes

callmetippytumbles · 3 months

Text

tagged by @gardenoblues

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagging: @therulerofallpotatos @realmermaid333 @the-strangest-person @suchaladyy @wincestation

WARNING: THERE MIGHT BE SMUT YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO CAST YOUR EYES ON.

Random WIPs

Wyler YOU-Cursed Yarn Store

This is fic that is kind of combining a prompt about a cursed yarn store I saw on the discord. I started to combine it with another fic I have been thinking about that has elements of YOU. I think having Tyler be an obsessive stalker and a hyde being at the root of the murders would add interesting characterization for Tyler within this prompt. This is an everyone is all grown up adult AU. This is just an outline right now. No actual fic for this exists yet.

YOU - Wyler AU Outline

Yep its the outline for a YOU fic I was thinking of but no cursed yarn store. I did an outline to get it out of my system but I don't think this one will ever come to pass since the outline is very much a shoehorn Wednesday's characters into YOU character archetypes and storylines which didn't feel right. Some aspects of this may make it into the Cursed Yarn Store story but this project on its own will probably not be developed further. I like taking some of the themes of YOU like stalking, obession etc and exploring those but I don't want to force the stories together more than that.

Wyler Nocturne ExFiles AU Outline

Kind of what it says on the tin. This is the outline for a fic idea that is a mix of a video game called Nocturne and The Ex Files. It's basically an AU where an adult Wednesday gets recruited to work for a clandestine department of the CIA that specifically investigates crimes and bizarre occurances that involve outcasts and the supernatural. Tyler is also recruited to this unit. Of course they are made to be partners and they have to investigate cases together. Hilarity ensues. It obviously takes aspects of the Mulder/Scully relationship as well as the supernatural elements from The Ex Files and Nocturne. The fic will have a kind of episodic format where every 4-5 chapters make up 1 episode. There are 4-5 episodes total and 1 fic (with all of the chapters) is equal to one season. This is also still a outline. I have a lot more research to do before I can even think of starting to write anything more. If you are going to put Ex Files as an influence of your fic, a show that is a big influence on shipping culture in general let alone the actual Mulder/Scully ship itself; I feel like there are certain notes that you have hit to get that influence right. Since my understanding of the relationship aspect is so distant for me, I have to study up. If I can get my shit together, this really could be a fun one.

Dick2Bomb Wyler hate sex fic

Kind of started as a drabble inspired by some quotes on the discord server. Kind of is a one off set in same world as the Nocturne/Exfiles fic. Was supposed to just get the smut out of my system for this fic while everything else came together, but didn't get too far in the scene. This is kinda in limbo.

Some - Tyclay One Shot

If I could work out the smut for this one, this is almost done. This is actually a what if scenario where I kind of play with the idea what would happen if Bianca and Tyler were to interact more in that scene where Bianca gets Wednesday's snood in the Weathervane. Like what would happen if they were more flirty. I really wanted an excuse to write more for Bianca and kind of let her exist as a central romantic protagonist paired with someone who can truly see her.

Yours, Mine and Ours

A Wyclay fic that is named after that song that took over the tikytoks for like an entire season. It starts out more as a Tyclay fic but changes when Wednesday shows up and both Tyler and Bianca express an interest in her. Some is actually an alternate first chapter for this fic. This is essentially a series of strung together one-shots that kind of explore how these people interact with each other. There isn't an actual ending or a big scenario where everyone comes together. Just more a meandering exploration of how their relationships intertwine and overlap. If I were to finish writing out everything outlined, I would just publish that and leave it.

Left for Dead fic

This is another fic that started out as a Wyler discord prompt fill, I wrote an outline for it, then...*nothing*

The story takes place basically assuming that Tyler does help Wednesday escape, Laurel gets what she wants from Tyler and leaves him for dead. Wednesday finds him. Hilarity ensue. This story jumps all over the place time wise. Like all over. Some chapters are pre-canon, some chapters are in canon, some are well outside of the story.

Wyler TBN Bodyguard AU

Discord Prompt Fill...(I am sensing a theme here)...That I outlined but didn't develop further. The general premise of the prompt is that Wednesday needs a bodyguard because her family is in danger but Wednesday doesn't want one because she feels she is capable of handling any threats by herself. So she arranges to get rid of all of the ones her parents get for her until Tyler comes along and of course she cannot get rid of him. Hilarity ensued. I think the initial framework for this fic was there, it was just the details that I couldn't workout without extensive research and planning. The main blocker was definining the villain and crafting the mystery that is on the peripheries of the story was just not coming together in a way that I liked. It didn't help that I decided that my little Bodyguard AU story had to have a theme where everyone's fatal flaw was tied into how they deal with the past (Wednesday refuses to let go, Tyler is so determined to redeem himself he cannot engage with the present, and Morticia romanticizes her past so much she is constantly trying to relive it). This is a story that I think I have to level up my writing overall to write it but if I did it would be good. If I didn't enjoy bumming around with my free time so much I could work on this. Though my free time is kind of shrinking everyday because of all of the stuff I have to do this year. There is a speech I wrote for Tyler in this fic that lowkey needs to be repeated almost verbatim in Wednesday Season 2. Y'all have to ask me about that one.

Untitled Essay/Thesis/Dissertation on Bad Boys

This started as a conversation on discord after reading tornadodream's fic All the Punches I'd Throw in the Name of Someone I Don't Even Know. Me and a couple of other people were marveling at how well Hyde!Tyler was executed and how much precision it takes to craft that is both romantically viable but still a credible threat to the lead. My feelings about this particular thing was becoming so strong that I started an essay that is essentially what makes a "good" Bad Boy figure. I think I just had too many other things to do that day so after I got the initial thoughts down when I had to change focus, this got left in the dust. I should get back to it though. Reading it over, I feel like I wasn't too far from wrapping it up. I should get on that.

A.B.O. Fic WIPs

All of these WIPs are related to an A.B.O. fic I have been working on here and there for about 6 months now. Each document is a separate chapter and while some of the chapters are at least completed first-drafts, others have yet to be written. While I feel like if I start working on the early chapters and preparing them to publish I feel like I could finish the series, I also don’t want to start posting anything until everything at least has a first draft. (I would feel bad for leaving people without a resolution if I just posted the parts I have.) The general premise for these fics are that during the events of Season 1, Wednesday (an omega who hasn't presented) and Tyler (an alpha who keeps both his alpha and outcast status a secret) are inextricably attracted to one another and affect each other deeply on a biological level but circumstances and what happens between them pretty much keep them from getting together. They have a chance meeting again 10 years later and the attraction/chemical biological urges are still there, but because their past is unresolved they feel unable to give in to what they want: each other. Each chapter has a past section (read: reframing canon events in this story) and a present section how the past is influencing their behavior in the now, primarily the resistance to give into their desires.

ABO Wyler Fic - Preamble

Was the first chapter of the fic, now definitely just where a combo version of a past pov section for Tyler that combines both their first meeting and that kiss in the Weathervane. Definitely other than the notes on the POV, this will not be in the final fic.

ABO Wyler Fic - Alternate Preamble

Currently this is the actual first chapter of the fic. Past part, Tyler being in Nevermore for the Rav'N. Present part, Tyler being in Nevermore again as a caterer for a alumni fundraiser, Wednesday is forced to attend by her mother. They end up seeking refuse in the same closet. Chapter end.

ABO Fic - Preamble - Morticia

Morticia POV section where she waxes poetic on the nature of fate. May be a seperate opening chapter, may be the intro to chapter 1.

ABO Wyler Fic - Chapter 1

Fun fact: This is definitely not the first chapter anymore. It's more like Chapter 3. This has smut gallore. The past part is Wednesday's perpective on how that kiss in the Weathervane is what makes her present as an omega and she goes into heat. This is immediately followed by her learning about Tyler's lies and betrayal. In the present Wednesday experiences her first heat since that time after being so close to Tyler again. Tyler is also dealing with going to rut poorly and they decide to hookup to get through their heat/rut but nothing more. Need to finish the actual smut part of this chapter.

ABO Wyler Fic - Chapter 2

Was also at one point Chapter 1, pretty sure it's 2 now. Past part: Wednesday's and Tyler's first meeting at the Weathervane from Tyler's perspective. Present: Tension quickly builds in that closet when that attraction and biology bring them together again.

ABO fic - Kiss Heat

This file is kind of a dumping ground for two past sections. One that I have yet to add (Tyler's POV on what happened at the Weathervane that night/what happened the next time they met up). The other I think I reworked or took out entirely.

#tag game #wip tag game #wyler #i can do this for my choices fics if someone asks me #all of my wyler shenanigans can be traced back to discord #also i love an outline #i apparently hate writing the actual fic #i have no idea how i have actually managed release any finished fics at all #so i didn’t follow the rules…that is on me #wish i had wyler asks tho

12 notes · View notes

satashiiwrites · 2 months

Text

WIP Whenever

wasn’t tagged, just actually getting some writing done on a Friday evening after a long week.

Tagging with no obligation: @monsterrae1 @outtoshatter @missanniewhimsy @whimsyswastry @tkwritesdumbassassins @quietborderline @westernlarch @kikiroo @rosieposiepuddingnpie and anyone else who wants to play along.

Title: Breaking Up in Furniture Mart

Fandom: 911

Pairing: Buddie endgame. Mentioned canon Buck/Natalia and Eddie/Marisol

Tags/warnings: first draft, Buck’s terrible dating choices, Eddie’s not oblivious just trying to move on, couch theory still wins, set prior to season 7

It started innocently enough. Buck needs a new couch. He has a new girlfriend, and he wants her to like his couch… and possibly spend some time on it with him doing various activities (get your mind out of the gutter—he’s talking movie nights and eating take-out, Edmundo, not sex).

Simple enough, right?

It has been anything but simple to find a couch.

They’re at their fifth furniture store this weekend, and they have yet to agree on anything when it comes to couches. If Buck likes them, then Natalia doesn’t. If Natalia likes it, Buck doesn’t. It seems they have nothing in common when it comes to couches, which is unfortunate.

They can at least agree that they want one that is dark colored and easy to clean (which, after Kameron’s giving birth on his last one, is a concern). Buck doesn’t want any flammable chemicals to have been used on it. Buck is a firefighter. He worries about these things. Natalia is all for the natural fabrics but hates the idea of leather despite Buck being a fan of its durability,

So, at least, they agree on a few things.

“How about this one?” Buck asks her, slumping down onto a gray vegan leather couch long enough for him to sprawl on and deep enough that he doesn’t feel about to tip off it. He notices it is a bit high in the leg rise, which probably means Natalia won’t like it. So far, she’s only liked low-slung couches.

Natalia sits primly. Buck is proved right almost immediately that it’s too tall. Her feet are no longer on the ground, her ballet flats dangling so that they fall off her heels. With a frown, she wiggles and attempts to sit back. The seat is too deep for her to comfortably sit without reaching for a pillow, which she puts behind her, adjusts, and tries again. “It’s not that great. I really like the taupe one at the last store.”

Buck hates the taupe couch she really liked at the last store. That thing was built for people a lot shorter than him (Natalia), and it is twice as expensive as it needs to be. It is a couch that wouldn’t look out of place on an influencer’s Instagram, #thegoodlife, #blessed, or some other terrible trite slogan that gives him hives. The taupe monstrosity is very mid-century modern in the worst way and hadn’t been comfortable—Buck’s legs had hung off the end, and the wooden armrest had dug into his leg weirdly.

He wants something comfortable to lounge on. Is that such a hard ask? He’s had many good naps on Eddie’s couch and wants the same comfort in his own living space.

#Wip whenever #breaking up in furniture mart #Buddie #911 #first draft

8 notes · View notes

tirsynni · 9 months

Text

Years ago (crazy to think about how many years, honestly), I started Sands of Time as writing practice to see if I could get into the practice of writing on a regular schedule (it failed). I had a bunny inspired by thinking too much about Ganondorf and his role in OoT and WW, decided it was as good as an excuse as any to work on writing regularly (failed so hard), and it ended up becoming a love letter to a game series which I've loved almost my entire life.

That fic kept going and going and taught me so much about writing, both in general and fanfic-specific. It ended up being far longer than planned, more detailed than planned, and even when I was distracted and tired and side-eyeing this massive WIP, it reminded me of how much I loved the Zelda games and the many details, overt and subtle, in them. Writing was more than just putting words on paper: it was translating the things I was passionate about. Even if there are some definite issues in the fic due to the many distractions occurring during its creation and how sometimes I wrote less because I was passionate to write and more because I was just stubborn about seeing the fic through, it's still a fic I'm very proud of. It is also, without a shadow of a doubt, my most popular fic. It is a fic that someone refused to rec because they wanted to hit lesser known Zelda fics, and holy shit, I preened when I read that.

I have been struggling with fic and fandom in the last year for many reasons, including some serious RL stressors. The other big reasons have to do with the evolution of fandom itself. I'm not talking about the rise and fall of the popularity of certain things. For example, while I'm not a fan of "reader" fic, I feel like it's a fantastic example of the things that can be done with the fanfiction medium and also a way to explore how tropes/genres/random things in fanfiction reflect different cultural changes in the same way horror movies do. What I hate, though, is the rise of negative feelings and negative takes in fandom, transforming it from a fun, collaborative atmosphere into an arena full of witch hunts, deliberately bad takes, and people terrified to write because they are afraid of being attacked for their content, pairing, writing styles, grammar, etc. I love fandom as a love letter to canon, an exploration of canon, an exploration of self and writing styles, among other things. Now it feels like it's no longer that.

Back in the Old Days, people put disclaimers on fics because they didn't want to be sued. Now people put disclaimers on things assuring readers that of course they don't advocate these things, these things are bad, they know it, they aren't a criminal, they aren't a pedophile, they aren't a Bad Person. Now I see people skip summaries just to tell people to stop attacking them for their pairing and to just let them write what they like.

I see people indulging in deliberate bad takes of the original content, of the original creators, of other writers in fandom, of different tropes, of game mechanics... fucking everything. Sometimes it's just a nasty circle. Sometimes it's done to elevate something else, because we all know the only way to elevate something is to put something else down. I understand vent sessions. I understand going to a friend and going "Holy shit, did you see that summary??? Wow!" It should stop life as a quick vent. It shouldn't make up the person's entire personality. It shouldn't require a full online presence. Hate should never be detailed in the comments. Call-out posts should be left to actual nazis, terfs, etc., not to someone who wrote a "gross" or "unhealthy" or whatever pairing. Seriously. If you waste so much time on that, you need to look into some self-exploration and therapy. In all sincerity.

Fanfiction is not a published work. It should be fun. It is put online to be shared with fellow fans. It is something where someone gets excited about something or has an idea about something or wants to explore something or just wants to write some kinky porn and then share it with fellow fans. That's why writers post work and then sit eagerly .02 seconds later waiting for people to comment on it because they want to share their thoughts and love and happiness and excitement and sadness and grief and their general emotions with others and they want those others to respond and share their thoughts and reactions, too!

I just saw a post tearing into Moffat's Sherlock series because it lacked sincerity for the audience and source material and instead indulged in its arrogance, contempt, and self-righteousness. My immediate thoughts turned to the Lord of the Rings movies. If Sherlock is remembered, it will be purely in the critical sense, an example as to how a popular series was forgotten and dismissed. LotR remains loved. It is a classic. It is something people repeatedly marathon despite the lengthy watch time. LotR was a love letter to its source material. It wasn't just the writers and directors: everyone involved was sincerely, fiercely passionate about it, and it shows. It drags the watchers in, prompted people who had never read the original to pick up the books, inspired so much fanfiction. It was sincere and passionate and loving and, in turn, its fans are sincere and passionate and loving.

The LotR movies explored and loved the genre, the characters, the message. Even when characters faltered, it didn't make them terrible people. It made watchers hold their breath, it made watchers cheer them on, it made watchers hope. Check out people who do bad takes of Frodo and his struggle with the Ring and watch how many people come out of the woodwork to defend Frodo. There was no tongue-in-cheek humor mocking the source material. There was no critical analysis of "Well, you see, this is how the hero was actually stupid." No. It was sincere. It was loving. It still makes people cry and cheer and happy even when they're wiping away a sad tear or two.

I've read fanfics where the writers insist on the worst takes for the characters. It isn't done out of humor or a teasing love or an exploration into the characters/writing styles/etc. The writers want to drag the characters down, put themselves on a pedestal, and do it not through sincere analysis but by doing the worst possible takes on the situation. This usually relies on going into the source material with a negative mindset and desiring negativity in return, feeding primarily on the negative takes of others rather than looking into the source material or looking for positive takes, or just having a "bad faith" mindset. They go into it with an axe to grind and want to drag everyone else down with them. It isn't one or two fics: it's a growing, poisonous movement which is one of the things driving people out of fandom. It isn't a love letter to the source material. It is hate and disgust and contempt and Moffat writing Sherlock, patting himself on the back all the while and surrounding himself with people doing the same exact thing.

I'm a strong believer in people writing whatever they want to write. You want to write this character being evil? Sure! You hate this character and want to make them OOC to bash them even more? Go for it! I've written so many things testing how far I could go or feeling angsty and wanting others to feel angsty or even feeling happy and grinning like a feral gremlin as people wrote comments talking about how the angst in the story made them bawl. Want to write vore? Want to write character death? Whatever! It is fucking fiction, and it should be something you can enjoy doing. Hell, an asexual person can write two people fucking without wanting to get fucked. A lesbian can write two men fucking. A pacifist can write a murder mystery. It is fiction. Write whatever you want, and I hope that you feel better after doing so, even if it is only in the catharsis way of having a bad day and getting it out by making characters bleed.

Already, I can fucking hear people insisting that all of this makes you a bad person. No. No. If you truly believe that, it means you don't understand writing. You don't understand art. OR it's not a misunderstanding but a deliberate Bad Take, an extension of the poison I described above, because you want to attack someone and you want any opening. See: Republicans going after Drag Queens now, probably not actually believing that Drag Queens are harmful but recognizing vulnerability and knowing they can manipulate others through hatred. If you truly believed that, you would be wondering about Stephen King and other writers, but instead, you use conservative attacks and uncritically promote purity culture and are oblivious to the day when the leopard turns around to eat your face.

It's exhausting. It's a growing trend that is poisoning the water that is fandom and is not only playing a part in driving people out, but is keeping people from ever trying their hand in the first place. It is keeping people from enjoying what should be a fun thing. It is fucking poisoning minds, because this is a damned slippery slope. Hammer/nail and all that. It is seeing one thing as "problematic" and knocking over one tile and then seeing a full domino effect because they never bothered to analyze what "problematic" meant or why they found that "problematic." It is people grabbing a torch with the hope they won't find themselves on the stake.

Let people enjoy fandom. Try having positive takes. Let fanfiction and fanart and fanworks in general be something enjoyable again. Maybe some people use it as a way to vent current political issues. Maybe some people want to explore certain sexual kinks and writing these two (or three or five or seven) characters going at it is a great way to do it. Maybe they had a funny thought and want to share it via fanfiction. Whatever. We can't go online and bash people like Moffat and then casually do the same exact thing. We can't bitch about conservative politicians attacking people and then use the same exact thought processes and methods to attack others.

Let people be sincere in their enjoyment. If you don't like it, find something you do like. Maybe take some time with some tools and explore things which make you happy instead of indulging in deliberate bad takes to tear others down and use those takes to bind yourself to others and their bad takes like barbwire. Remember why things like LotR lives on and makes people so happy and why Moffat's works are going to be used in classes in the future as to what not to do.

20 notes · View notes