#now complete

[hoodie-buck]

rated: e | words: 90.4k | chapters: 10 | read on ao3

summary:

“Does this story have a point?” Eddie questioned, Lena narrowing her eyes at him; it would’ve felt threatening had he not known she was more bark than bite.

“This guy, my sort of friend—what if he could watch Chris for you?”

Eddie furrowed his brows together. “You want me to leave my kid who’s halfway across the country with some—stranger?” Was she out of her damn mind?

“It beats having him sent home to your parents, right?”

Well, she had a point there.

Eddie shook his head, overwhelmed with his thoughts.

“Look, I appreciate it Bosko, but I just—I don’t know. This is my kid we’re talking about.”

“I know that, and I know how much you love him. Hell, you’ve sent me ten plus emails when I was watching him for you.”

Eddie looked to where there was a line coming out of the office, his other teammates no doubt having several emergency questions of their own. He turned to Lena, giving his full attention.

“Alright, tell me about this friend of yours.”

—or—

The one where Eddie’s in the army, Shannon gives up her rights to Chris, and Eddie needs a babysitter. Good thing Lena knows Buck, the guy having nothing better to do than help babysit until Eddie gets back. Eddie would come home, and he would leave; it wasn’t like they were going to build some lifetime friendship or anything.

————————————————————————

this fic is complete. all chapters up and posted! <333

chapter 1: everything on our own (we don't need anyone or anything)

chapter 2: would you lie with me?

chapter 3: somehow, we mixed up goodbye and goodnight

chapter 4: backdraft

chapter 5: fall in love with a single touch (fall apart when it hurts too much)

chapter 6: miles from where you are ( i pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms)

chapter 7: i wanna feel your pulse on mine

chapter 8: look into my eyes and say you want me (like i want you)

chapter 9: i'm feeling love (i'll never love another one)

chapter 10: wait for me to come home

tagging squad and everyone else who asked to be tagged for this fic (tagging again for anyone who was waiting for it to be complete <33): @heartbeatdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @confetti-cupcake @swiftiebuckleyhan @loveyourownsmiilee @justsmilestuffhappens @queerbuckleys @honestlydarkprincess @zainclaw @eddiesbicowboy @djdangerlove @bifirefighters @mr-and-mr-diaz @buddierights @crazyfangirlallert @monsterrae1 @wh0re-behavi0r @panicatthediaz @jacksadventuresinwriting @stanningsky @buckaroo118 @angelwiththeblue-box @spotsandsocks @alyxmastershipper @buck-tartt and @toboldlynerd @spaceprincessem @shinedivine @they-reap-what-we-sow @elishareads @usuallymyenthusiast @sassybitchdiaz @wildlife4life @silassstingy @weebleroxanne @bottomofthe9th @i-had-bucky @slowlyfoggydestiny @spiceyreads @shortsighted-owl @eddie---diaz @greenfairrryy @lina-albuqq @taiga-aiusabi @lemotmo @jely-bely @insanitymoshpit @obsessedmaggiemay @sunflowerdiaiz @bucksbf if you asked to be tagged but don’t appear here, it’s bc your username is hidden so i can’t tag 😔

#buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #christopher diaz #lena bosko #army!eddie/babysitter!buck au #now complete #carla price #maddie buckley #ravi panikkar #firefam #bthb #heavy angst #angst with a happy ending #idiots in love #getting together #smut #kel(s) writing

[wandering-scavenger]

thy love is winged and nameless

chapters: 3/3

word count: 30k +

tags: jon the huntsman, sansa the faerie, celtic folklore inspired, slow burn, fairytale au, explicit sexual content

summary

He recalled Bolton’s words just as he recalled what his mother taught him long ago: the day you tell your name to fair folk is the day you lose your freedom, perhaps forever.

Jon Snow saves a fae girl from certain death and discovers on their journey to return her home that perhaps the price of his name is worth more than just a life that is safe from the whims of fair folk.

read here ❄️🐺🧚‍♀️

#now complete #couldn't resist remaking a gif set #the original had such disproportionate sizing #i couldn't stop thinking about it #jonsa fic #snowstonesource #thenorthsource #jonsaedit #jonsaedit: mine #jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa au

[writingwife-83]

IT IS COMPLETE!! 😝

I did it, guys! And I’m excited! This fic is officially complete after a year and half. 🫣 I just posted the final chapter so please go read at the link below. I hope you all enjoy the way I ended up finishing it. I ramble more in the authors notes so feel free to read that too if you have the patience lol. Thanks again for any who have been reading, commenting, etc all along! ❤️

A Noble Cause, ch 14- Epilogue

#sherlolly #fic: a noble cause #now complete #Victorian au #fake courting #omg I only have 1 wip now

[gleefulpoppet]

★Now Complete★

For the @klaineccfanficlibrary 2024 Valentine's Day Challenge Annotations of The Heart 14 Chapters [~65,000 Words] Explicit.

Amid a period of healing solitude, Blaine crosses paths with Kurt, an inquisitive journalist. What begins as a casual conversation over an annotated book in a café becomes a blazing fire between their hearts. As the layers of their connection deepen, they learn to navigate the complexities of love, loss, and identity, unraveling a poignant tale that transcends the unexpected boundaries of their pasts.

You can read it on AO3 [here].

#klainevalentines2024 #now complete #gleefulpoppet writes #klaine fanfic #klaine #klaine fanfiction #glee #story: annotations of the heart

[incognitotoro]

If These Walls Could Talk- NOW COMPLETE! - Chapter 43

Chapter 43 - The Next Big Thing

It was morning, and having been thoroughly and gloriously tortured by Malfoy for the past twelve hours, as well as a lot of torturing him right back, with several equally glorious hours of that spent sleeping or in the ephemeral space between, half conscious and tangled together like tree roots, Hermione was very much ready for a large quantity of tea, followed by breakfast, hopefully followed by yet more exquisite torture.

Read from the beginning here :D

#fanfic #fanfiction #dramione #draco x hermione #dramione fanfic #if these walls could talk #hp fanfiction #NOW COMPLETE

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

Tippy Canoe (now finished)

Art by @artwinx (Look how perfect it's come together!)

✅ Now Complete.

Tippy Canoe (rated E, Cabin AU, Friends to Lovers)

An image flitted into Steve's mind; the two of them seated much closer. Face to face, knee to knee, intimate. Bucky holding Steve's hand and laughing at some stupid dad joke he'd told and -

Well. That kind of thing made Steve feel different things.

#stucky #gfawkes #artbywinx #now complete #cabin fic #shrinkyclinks

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist

You can find these on Ao3!

Day 1: Helpless (Wild & Twilight)

Day 2: Solitary Confinement (Green)

Day 3: “Bite down on this” (Legend & Time)

Day 4: Obedience (Link/Midna)

Day 5: Human Weapon (Hyrule)

Day 6: "I Love You" (Time/Malon)

Day 7: Suffering in Silence (Warriors & Wind)

Day 8: “Why won’t it stop?” (Wild)

Day 9: Bees (Wind & Legend)

Day 10: Human Shield (Time & Warriors)

Day 11: Time Loop (Time/Malon)

Day 12: Semiconscious (Warriors & Time)

Day 13: CPR (Twilight & Wild)

Day 14: Blood-Stained Tiles (Legend/Fable)

Extra fic (ft Wild & Time)

#now complete #masterlist #trin writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse fic #whump #febuwhump2024

[noxsoulmate]

💞 Of Lizards, Love & Laundry 💞

🦎 now complete 🦎

Ship: Tarlos | Fandom: 911 Lone Star Author: noxsoulmate | Artist: paxdracona Read on ao3 | View art on ao3

Chapters: 7-9/9 | Word Count: 4049 | Complete Word Count: 13826 | Rating: Mature | Warnings/Tags: canon compliant, Lou II is the Houdini of Lizards, how Lou II makes his Papa love him, a story told in 7+2 parts, Carlos is so done, but TK knows how to condition his man, sex and spicy food, bribery, fluff, domestic fluff, fluff and smut, fluff and humor, Carlos loves TK, so he puts up with the reptile in their loft, until he starts to love the little monster as well

Inspired by the amazing art of @paxdracona

Created for the @911reversebang

Summary:

“TK, your lizard got out. Again.”

Lou II might just be the Houdini of lizards, an escape artist par excellence – but he’s also TK’s emotional support lizard, so how could Carlos not start to like the little monster? It certainly has nothing to do with TK’s ways of bribery or attempts at conditioning him, and more with the fact that Lou II is just… growing on him. Even if that means loads and loads of extra laundry.

OR: Carlos Reyes and the Journey of Becoming a Lizard Papa, told in 7+2 parts

🦎 Read chapters 7 to 9 on ao3 🦎

🦎 or start at the beginning 🦎

💞 and please leave lots of love on the wonderful art on ao3 💞

💞 🦎 This fic is now complete 🦎💞

Once more I have to say the biggest thanks to @paxdracona 🥰 working with you was such a joy and I hope there are more projects in our future.

And of course, all my love to my wonderful readers - thank you so much for all your love, for all the kudos and your lovely comments, as well as all the reblogs here on tumblr. I'm so thrilled you loved this fic and the amazing art 😘

Sneak peek and more art under the cut:

seven

Household chores are always a tiring thing to handle but Carlos actually likes some of them. He’s weird like that, yes, but he knows it has to do with it being mostly mindless tasks that don’t require much thinking, and still you can see the result in the end. Plus, doing them together with TK always makes it that much better. They love to share kisses whenever they’re close, they brush each other when one passes the other, just smiling, exchanging wordless communication. It’s nice, it’s domestic, and Carlos knows he won’t mind doing any chores for the rest of his life as long as he can share it with TK.

It also helps that they both have their preferred chores and switch up those neither of them likes or both of them do. Laundry, for example, is part of the last category. Before moving together, Carlos would’ve never thought TK would like doing laundry as much as he does. But they both see it as a rather meditative task, one that can be done while sitting on the couch.

And yes, Carlos still uses the couch to sort all the dry laundry, even after the little Lou II incident the other week.

Besides, he has to admit he has definitely warmed up to the little rascal. He isn’t even surprised anymore to sometimes find him outside of the terrarium. TK offered to set up a camera so they could see how the trickster does it – but Carlos brushed it off. By now, he might even be okay with letting him run around the loft sometime. He found these little cat hammocks online after watching a video where a bearded dragon used it to chill in it…

Not that he’s ready to tell TK just yet. His fiancé is excited enough as is, seeing how their wedding is only a few days away. No, he will keep that revelational new status in Lou II and his relationship for a day where TK needs another pick-me-up…

Carlos is pulled from his thoughts when TK drops down on the couch next to him, looking at him with that look. The look that tells Carlos right away that TK did something he thinks he’ll get in trouble for unless his puppy eyes will get him out of it.

“Oh no,” Carlos murmurs, staring at his fiancé. “What did you do?”

“So… remember a few weeks ago when Lou II got free while I cleaned his terrarium?”

Carlos looks past him and sees it right away, the open glass case and the cleaning supplies. All he does is sigh and look back at TK, who truly looks sheepish now.

“Remember how I promised I would tell you right away if it happened again? Well…”

💞🦎 Continue on ao3 🦎💞

Noxy’s Tagging List:

@detective-giggles, @sgirl18, @firstprince-history-huh, @beautifulhigh, @rangergurlgleek1211, @shadesofdeviant, @actuallysara, @carlos-in-glasses, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @welcometololaland, @wtfuckevenknows, @lightningboltreader, @meditating-honey-badger, @just-inside-her, @alidravana, @morganaspendragonss, @bonheur-cafe, @heartstringsduet, @ravens-words, @lire-casander, @otter-love-asl, @ramblingdisaster73, @first-kanaphan, @xtltokio, @buckybarnesalways, @mangacat201, @catanisspicy, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @a-kinkajou, @juuls

#tarlos #tarlos fanfic #911 lone star #noxy writes #7+2 fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #Lou II #lou the second #canon compliant #with amazing art #amazing art included in the fic #now complete

[toughpaperround]

Wherever You Find Love (It Feels Like Christmas)

A BBC Ghosts podfic for an Advent-ish release in December 2023...

... starting tomorrow night, the first thing we are gonna do is watch a Christmas film every night. I’ve picked out one for each of you especially, something I think you will really like. Kind of like a film advent calendar but I thought of it too late to start earlier.

Written by Sir_Bedevere @breadcrumbsandstars

Read by ToughPaperRound

Rated G, no warnings apply.

Total final length of podfic = 120 mins, 15k words. (See chapter one for link to the 2hr long file)

Wherever You Find Love [Podfic]

part 1 of a series | part 2, 'Magic in the Air' (T, 37 mins) | part 3 (T, 20 mins)

#bbc ghosts podfic #toughpaperround reads #bbc ghosts #button house #Releasing on the dates shown (but in 2023!) where possible #happy advent! #wherever you find love bbc ghosts series #now complete #series complete

[hippolotamus]

You are cordially invited to the final chapter of Whatever may come (your heart I will choose)

Chapter 30/30 Epilogue: Standing there is my whole life

“You sure we can’t just, I don’t know, elope or go to City Hall?” Eddie drags a hand through his hair while he paces the kitchen and skims the most recent article Sophia texted. He’s not convinced he won’t go cross-eyed from the endless well-intentioned checklists of To Dos for flowers, place cards, favors, centerpieces, and any number of other wedding “necessities”. 

Buck catches him mid-stride, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist from behind in an attempt to slow him down. It’s a welcome distraction he easily gives into, breathing out and letting his eyelids fall closed while he tips his head back to rest on Buck’s shoulder. Suddenly, nothing seems more worthy of Eddie’s attention than the softness of Buck’s hoodie bunched under his neck, contrasting with the scruffy stubble rubbing against his cheek. Or the faint scent of lavender fabric softener mixing with citrusy clean skin and vanilla chapstick. 

“Which one did she send this time?” Buck murmurs, his lips curling up in a playful smirk, pressing soft kisses against Eddie’s jaw. “10 Common Wedding Photography Mistakes or The 17 Best Wedding Welcome Signs?” 

Eddie lets out an amused huff, raising his eyebrows, but still keeping his eyes closed. “The not-at-all intimidating Complete Guide to Planning a Wedding.” He pauses to breathe Buck in again, to settle his mind. “I thought the point of doing it this way was to keep it simple.”

Read from the beginning on AO3

Credit to @this-is-bwr for the incredible invitation she created. Isn't it amazing??? 🥰🥰🥰

#whatever may come (your heart I will choose) #now complete #buddie fic #911 fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #hippo writes #brb gonna go cry now it's finally done

[significanceofmoths]

for @jadedbirch Happy Birthday!

everyone should read El's fabulous fic Rambutan by ElDiablito_SF For six years, Lan Xichen has lived in self-imposed exile in Singapore. But when he hears that his Didi is in a stable relationship with Jiang Wanyin, he decides it is finally time to come home.

Not to break them up or anything. Nope, definitely not to do anything like that.

#fic rec #jadecest #zhancheng #zhanxicheng #wangjisexuals #mothgifs #now complete

[christiwhitson]

“Whether I own the land or not, people look to me to lead them,” he answered, sounding as ambivalent as he always did about his role. I smiled softly and met his gaze.

“You can be their leader without being their laird. Things will work differently here. As their landlord, you’d have been bound by oath to the king. But as an elected leader, you would be bound only to God and the people you lead. The State Senate and House of Commons will be elected at the assembly, right?”

“Aye, next month.”

“Seems as good a place to start as any. We can collect nominations and ballots at the meeting house over the next few weeks, and you could go deliver them to the assembly.”

“Ye mean we could go,” he corrected with a smile. “Hillsborough’s no’ terribly far, but the meetings are likely to carry on for weeks. I’d no’ be without ye for so long if I can help it.”

“True. I shudder to imagine what sort of trouble you’d get yourself into,” I teased.

We shared a long kiss, reveling in the intimacy of a connection that had only grown stronger in the years since we’d been reunited.

“I do feel bound to them, as ye said,” Jamie went on after a moment. “With or without a formal election. I’m gettin’ too old to fight on their behalf, but… I think I could speak on their behalf.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second.”

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jamie and claire #outlander #time travel #family feels #now complete #epilogue #I was actually nice to Frank for once

[browneyesandhair]

Emergence by Browneyesandhair

Summary:

Colin is a serial killer; Penelope is a murder mystery writer. Polinween Prompt: Dark AU

Excerpt from the final chapter:

“I know about you Mr. Bridgerton. What you’ve done. What you will continue to do. Even, what part I’ve likely played in your actions.” Penelope said nervously.

“Does it tweak your sensibilities? The great Whistledown, can’t handle the idea of a murderer? How odd.” Colin’s tone was teasing. 

“Is it bad that I’m more upset I’m not upset? I should be raging against your actions. I should be trying to convince you to stop. Truly, I should be running in the opposite direction from you. Instead I,” Penelope, stopped talking.

#bridgerton #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #polin #penelope/colin #penelope x colin #dark au #now complete

[theseshipsshallsail]

Summary:

There’s a blissful familiarity in this passion. The like-for-like movements that put him in mind of their eager verbal sparring. Oliver moans, lost in the lethargic rut of sensation, and it’s only when black orbs infringe on his vision that he grudgingly breaks for air; rocking their foreheads together as he absorbs Elio’s strength like he’ll drown without it. Without him.

Chapter 8/8

A fey light creeps around the pinned-shut windows when Oliver next stirs; a diffuse palette of watercolours that accentuate the play of shadows across Elio’s ebony lashes.

They’ve swapped places during the night: Oliver rolling supine with the other man tucked neatly into his shoulder; a halo of curls cushioning his chin in an artfully dishevelled mop. Their legs lie jumbled at the knees - the soles of Elio’s feet book-ending his own - and to Oliver’s relief the emotional vertigo of the previous evening has lessened its stranglehold; leaving him more at peace than he’d ever thought possible. 

The lax slouch of Elio’s body - the vibration of his whistley snores - the very idea, even, that he’s comfortable enough not to wake immediately, burns like a supernova. There’s no conscious decision to reach up - to skate his fingertips over the pin-prick rash of irritation at his jowl - but as exquisite as the sex could be, it’s the tactile moments like these Oliver’d valued most, and trembling like an addict he glides those questing digits to Elio’s brow. 

The smattering of freckles above his nose: the ones he’s sure weren’t there in his Dartmouth classroom. 

The crease lines from his pocket that criss-cross his stubbly cheek. 

He can’t quite believe he’s finally here, and like a moth to the flame he flattens the rose-bud purse of Elio’s lower lip; the impish smile that dawns thereafter rendering him powerless not to mirror it.  

“Good morning, sunshine.”

He feels Elio humming before he actually deigns to rouse. “I can hear you thinking, mon cher…”

“Maybe you’re projecting?” 

“Sémantique,” Elio says with a yawn. “Why are you up so early?”

Oliver smirks at the blatant innuendo. “I was having a pretty spectacular dream,” he replies, fuelled by a frisson of daring. “Turns out it was real…” 

“I see…” The hand beneath his t-shirt migrates; strumming his ribs like guitar strings. “So is this just residual?” Elio asks, the lithe yield of his midsection moulding against his erection. “Or is it for me?” 

Oliver huffs as he wrestles him to the rumpled, cotton sheets. “Oh… it’s for you,” he says roguishly. “Most definitely for you.” 

An answering hardness pokes at his thigh. Slow, overlapping bites drift to his timpani pulse. Groaning aloud, he shifts his hips - a futile attempt to offset the urgency - but the petulant complaint that escapes Elio’s throat has him giggling in delight. Rasping his tongue over his jumping Adam’s apple as he rejoices at the whines caught within.

“I want to kiss you.”  

Elio’s pupils blow wide with desire. “You can. You should.”

“But I haven’t brushed.”

“And?”

Oliver sniggers. “On your head be it,” he says, ducking to do so properly, and Elio meets him halfway, domineering his mouth with the same hooded focus he used to apply to Haydn or Brahms.

There’s a blissful familiarity in this passion. The like-for-like movements that put him in mind of their eager verbal sparring. Oliver moans, lost in the lethargic rut of sensation, and it’s only when black orbs infringe on his vision that he grudgingly breaks for air; rocking their foreheads together as he absorbs Elio’s strength like he’ll drown without it. 

Without him. 

“Don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” Oliver swears, vying for restraint. “But I’ve been picturing this for months… years, all told. So I’m not about to come in my skivvies like a trigger-happy teenager.”

Elio leers as he shoves him backwards. “Don’t tease me with a good time,” he says, shucking the twisted blankets to straddle him at the waist. “Besides… that’s easily rectified.” 

He promptly rids him of his tee. 

Off and off and off, Oliver hears, returning the favour post-haste.

Yet again, Elio’s piercings snare his attention, but before he can so much as capture one between thumb and forefinger he’s already scooting southwards. Kissing sonnets over Oliver’s collar bone. Chasing the field of goosebumps that erupt on his arms.

“Ascenseur,” he instructs, teeth grazing his naval. “Lift,” he translates, when Oliver peers at him, stumped.

He’s pinned like a butterfly - spread-eagle where Elio’s knelt above him - but with a bit of creative wiggling they’re hurling his boxers towards the armoire; the beading precome at Oliver’s slit daubing his abdomen as he levers up to watch. 

“Look at you,” Elio murmurs with undisguised lust, moist breath ghosting his groin. “My preening peacock…” 

It comes automatically, the ingrained humility. “Buyer’s remorse is a terrible thing, maestro. I’d hate to think my reality falls foul of your expectations…” 

“Idiota.” Elio milks him from root to tip. “Is that supposed to be a deterrent?” he asks then, locating the faded scar that marks them as two Jewish men: binding them since time immemorial. “Because I think you’ll find I know exactly what I’m getting.”

“Oh yes?” Oliver tenses then slumps in a rough, unordered spasm. “And what’s that?” 

Elio’s eyes flare viridescent. “L'amour de ma vie,” he says point-blank.

The love of his life, indeed, and when Oliver repeats the phrase verbatim, the avid suction that surrounds his spongy glans has him panting in easy seconds; garbling a chorus of the other man’s name as he’s floored by the warmth, the tightness, the mumbled utterances Elio makes around him. 

“Christ…” he barks: leave it to Elio to master his gag reflex like an unusually tricky concerto. “Everything we’ve talked about the past nine weeks, and this you forget to mention?”

“You’re surprised?”

“You’re a menace!” 

“And a consummate overachiever,” Elio maintains, evidently enjoying his battle for self-control as one hand fondles Oliver’s scrotum. Another, the swell of his ass. “Let go, mia anima. Quit holding back. We’ll save the finesse and stamina for round two.” 

“Round two?!” 

“Problème?” Elio relaxes his jaw. Ditches all pretence of eking it out. “Start as you mean to go on,” he says, pulling off with a pornagraphic pop. “Life has no limitations save the ones we create, and we were proficient enough in our youth, were we not?”

Saliva titillates Oliver’s cleft, eliciting something primal. Forty-four, he might be, but if anyone can coax his refractory period into heroic feats, it’s the man currently driving him to premature rapture with a series of dainty flicks. 

Sweat coats his brow at the euphoric give-and-take. 

Constellations burst behind his eyelids.

The pleasure escalates. Carrying him under. Casting him out unmoored. He’s god and tribute all at once, and Oliver’s struck by a courageousness he has no business having as Elio bears him to the highest of highs. Head bowed. Cheeks hollowed. Praxitelean in his beauty.

“So…” he says, rallying his cognitive functions. “Even a cough won’t go unnoticed, huh?”

Elio’s scoff tickles his perineum. “Do you think we’ve horrified my housekeepers?” he asks, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and Oliver laughs as he totes him upwards; purging the seed from his sticky lips. 

“Your housekeepers. Your neighbours. The fishermen by the docks…”

“We could’ve sold tickets,” Elio remarks. “Printed a few programmes…”

My hubris knows no bounds, offers his puckish cohort, and Oliver snickers as he topples them one-eighty. 

“You’re a provocateur, Elio Perlman…”

“Praw-vaw-ka-tœr,” comes the heavily-exaggerated reply. “And it takes one to know one.”

“Touché.” Oliver’s gaze stays riveted to the risqué metal bars embellishing Elio’s nipples. “Can I?”

“Be my guest.”

It’s all the permission he needs, and with the full force of a hurricane Oliver laves the silver balls with his tongue; pinning Elio’s forearms to the mattress when he tosses and squirms. 

“Mon Dieu…  it’s a thing, isn’t it?”

Oliver chuckles. “What gave me away?”

“Beyond your reaction at the berm?” Elio’s spine arches in supplication. “You never used to be this focused on my skinny chest.”

“Nonsense,” Oliver tells him, leaning back in for a tender kiss. “I worshipped your skinny chest. Just as I worshipped every other part of you.” One last peck before he’s reaching down: enthralled by the sodden patch of arousal on Elio’s straining underwear. “And for what it’s worth?” His sentence shakes with conviction. “You, my darling, haven’t seen focused yet.” 

“Bene ora…” Elio squeezes his neck. “Promises, promises…”

“Actions speak louder,” Oliver disputes, casting the navy-blue boxers who-knows-where as Elio’s engorged cock springs free, its heft curving thick and glistening towards his belly button. 

“Oliver, please…”

The unadulterated scent invades his nostrils: the taste overwhelming as he suckles experimentally at the shaft. Long-repressed impulses soon leap to his rescue, and the sound Elio makes is unquantifiable when Oliver growls in unison; swallowing carefully as his mouth forms a ring. Clumsy, maybe, but there’s wisdom in the flesh. What he lacks in experience he recoups in enthusiasm, and it’s only a matter of time before Elio’s testes draw up; a harbinger of his looming orgasm.  

“Oh, fuck you…” he grumbles, fisting the pillow in pent-up frustration when Oliver uses an iron-clad grip to postpone it. 

“Is that a standard expletive or a request?” 

“Consider it a - wait.” Elio’s voice drops at least two octaves as Oliver smears the trickle of opalescence that dribbles from his tip. “Are you serious?”

The mere thought makes him shiver. “Would I suggest it if I weren't?”

“What if you’re too sensitive?”

“What if I am?” Oliver mutters, nursing a mottled hickey into Elio’s untanned thigh. “I trust you.” A beat. “Implicitly.” 

“But -”

“You said you’d take care of me, yeah?”

Utterly debauched, Elio scarce has the wherewithal to nod. “I did.” He heaves a shuddering breath. “I would.”

“So I’m going to let you.” The admission strikes a deliberate chord. “Assuming you’re amenable, that is?”

Elio shrugs. A Botticelli angel with threadbare wings. “Do you honestly think I’d say no to that ass?” he asks, tugging him up by the earlobes. “That I haven’t been ogling it since the train station?”

“Lech.” 

“Tourmenteur.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re blushing,” Elio counters - brasher, more insistent - as Oliver turns his face, kissing the thin knot of veins at his wrist. 

“Do you have…”

“Supplies?” Elio gestures at the nearest side-table. “Check the bottom drawer. With Ollie about, it’s wise to keep it locked,” he explains, lifting the marble Achilles to procure the key, and when Oliver hangs off the bed to jiggle it open he quickly sees why.

There’s several types of lubricant, for starters: silicone and water based. A sealed bottle of patchouli massage oil. Tempo travel-tissues. Three different dildos - something they’ll definitely revisit later - and a half-full packet of cigarettes crumpled in the rear. 

“Condoms are in the bathroom cabinet,” Elio adds, lips paying homage to the birthmark on his slightly sunburnt shoulder. “Should you prefer I use them?” 

They’ve both been tested - a somewhat redundant process on Oliver’s part - and exclusivity is a given. 

“Let’s not put anything else between us,” he decides, relinquishing the small sachet of lube.

His spent cock plumps admirably, but before he can so much as think of palming himself the fwip of torn foil precedes two slick digits sliding behind his balls - gentling his untouched rim - inching inside with possessive familiarity to knead his inner-walls. 

“Phénoménal…” Elio whispers, drilling his sweet spot incessantly as he summons a tempest under Oliver’s molten skin. “You’re doing so well, bell’uomo… it’s perfect. You’re perfect...”

“More…” he pleads, a lifetime of suppression coursing to the fore. “I’m ready. Do it. I want -” 

“Oliver -”

“Sweetheart, please!” 

The entire planet shifts off its axis as Elio ceases his ministrations, sitting back on his haunches. “Since you asked so nicely…” he says, clasping Oliver’s thighs to urge him into his lap.

Despite the meticulous prep, the initial breach leaves him gasping, but the heat of Elio above him - the steely press inwards, the obstinate jostle of his pelvis - it’s everything he’s been missing these past twenty years. Memory is more indelible than ink, it seems, and Oliver makes a noise he didn’t know he was capable of. A fevered keen he muffles with the pillow when Elio seats himself fully; prolonging the intimacy with the deepest push imaginable.

It hurts. But it’s a good hurt. Truly. Each twinge like the throb of an overused muscle: exorbitantly satisfying. 

“Cazzo… that’s divine,” Elio mutters, rubbing soothing circles on his stomach, giving him a chance to adjust. 

Oliver hisses when he flexes his hips. The fortuitous nudge to his prostate conjuring fireworks in his brain. He can feel Elio’s pulse inside him. Or perhaps it’s his own? Either way, he slides a curious hand to his twitching scrotum: fingertips skimming the trimmed pubic hair corralling Elio’s erection; the outer edge of his obscenely stretched hole.

“Alright?”

“Yes,” Oliver grunts: understatement of the century. “Yes. Keep going. Move.”  

And Elio does. Retreating slowly. Snapping forward. Making Oliver jolt as he begins to grind: claiming him as surely as he’s being claimed himself. The recurrent motions of being filled are enough to send him to Nirvana, but as each filthy encouragement spurs him onwards, it also feels like his partner’s exacting revenge - deferring his climax intentionally - switching the angle just when he’s in danger of careening into the void. 

“Too much…” Elio groans, crowding in for a sloppy kiss. “I won’t last.” 

Oliver snorts. “Brevity is the soul of efficiency,” he says, licking into his furnace mouth. “Don’t fight it on my account.” 

There’s a knife’s edge they’re riding - something elemental waiting on the other side - and Elio manages a dozen uncoordinated thrusts before withdrawing completely; the fondness of his smile a stark contrast to the wanton manner with which he pumps his slippery length.

“You're going to come, aren't you?” he asks boldly, the three fingers he scissors inside him throwing an accelerant on Oliver’s release. “Sei pronto? You’re close?”

“So close -”

“Fallo, mio caro…”

Another stroke. 

Another crook. 

Another allegro to his long-neglected bundle of nerves.

“You too,” Oliver begs - the atmosphere electric - and with a guttural cry his overtaxed body convulses; a pastiche of white decorating his torso like some lewd Jackson Pollock.

“You’ve made a mess of me, Elio Perlman,” he accuses, minutes, hours, an eternity later.

He’s drenched in sweat - his limbs loose like jello - and the other man tuts as he swirls lanquid patterns in the tacky patina of semen coating Oliver’s sternum; his weight quadrupled in defiance of all known laws of physics.

“Objectively? Yes,” Elio says, smudging a streak to his jugular notch. “Personally?” He nips at his throat. “I think you’re worthy of the Louvre. Une véritable oeuvre d'art,” he declares, balancing on his elbows in preparation to rise, but Oliver’s having none of it.

“Thank you,” he whispers, anchoring him by the biceps. 

There’s tears of atonement on his cheek, and Elio tilts his head to catch them with his tongue. “For what?”

Oliver sighs. “For waiting. For forgiving.” Their Stars of David clink where they’re piled at his breastbone. “For not letting go.”

For always being one step ahead.

For reaching out when he’d thought all hope was lost.

For every time he calls him by his name, when what he really means is I want this. I want you. We’re in this together.

When what he’s really asking is should I? Do you? Are we?

When Oliver’s answer to each is a clear and emphatic yes.

Feeding off the past will get them nowhere. There’s nothing, now, that’s fixable by regret. But solace resides in that clean slate - in knowing what’s done is done - and as the distant bells of the duomo herald a brand new day, it’s all he can do to hold on tighter.

Two fragile hearts beating in tandem. 

Two pairs of lungs expanding in an age-old rhythm. 

Two erstwhile lovers united in the real world; no longer adrift in the foreverland of ambiguity.

#cmbyn fanfic #new chapter #elio x oliver #call me by your name #now complete

[messifangirl]

Made by the fabulous @glamorousxoxo1 years ago...

No better time to post it.

Orange is the New Blaugrana is finally finished. 149k. Should have gone for 150 haha. Thanks to everyone, hope you like the long-awaited ending.

#submission #oitnb #football fandom #football rpf #football fanfiction #neymessi #fic #my fic #writing #lionel messi #neymar #prison au #it's been 84 years #literally it's been 2 years #now complete #can you believe

[theghostlycoyote]

a flood of blood (blossoms) to the heart

by me :) aka @coyotecrackers

NOW COMPLETED!

Summary:

Danny Fenton is tasked with investigating a warehouse full of blood blossoms. Jake Long is also tasked with investigating a warehouse full of blood blossoms. What happens when fate (and a warehouse full of blood blossoms) brings these young heroes together?

Tags: crossover, minor injuries, minor violence

WC: 16,453

Chapters: 4/4 (Ch 4 out now!)

———

This is a Danny Phantom and American Dragon: Jake Long crossover fic, all born from the amazing art created by @ryd3rthest4r for Ecto-Implosion 2023

Find their art here:

Tumblr || Instagram || Ch 2 of the fic on AO3

———

Chapter 4 Sneak Peak:

Jake feels like he really knocked it out of the park with this one. By destroying all these flowers, he gets to do his job as the guardian of magical creatures and thwart the Huntsclan all in one fell swoop. He’s still not really sure what they wanted all of this for, but they were obviously hurting Danny, so if he can at least stop them from doing that, he’ll call it a win.

His satisfaction, however, is currently completely overcast with the worry and fear he feels for Spud’s safety. He feels guilty for not keeping track of his friend. Who is he to call himself a protector when he can’t even protect those close to him? Spud could be anywhere, and they’ve already searched a lot of the warehouse.

As he ignites another small pile of the seemingly endless red blossoms — and seriously, Jake’s never seen this many flowers in his whole life — he glances back at the ghost behind him. Danny seems to be doing slightly better. He’s starting to favor his injured side less often, and he even looks like he’s gained some color.

That surprises Jake. He didn’t remember Shackles Jack being this… lively. Danny did say he was different from other ghosts. Jake would have to remember what that meant when this is all over.

Ready to start gathering another pile of flowers, Jake continues forward, taking a sharp turn around a giant stack of boxes. He jumps back immediately, shushing Trixie as she tries to ask a question. Danny just raises an eyebrow at him.

“Huntsclan,” he whispers as quietly as he can. Around the corner are just under a dozen Huntsclan members, all carrying mean looking weapons and looking like they were on the prowl for something. Jake would bet money that he knows what they’re looking for.

His skin tingles at the promise of a fight, but he still feels uneasy about where Spud might be. He wants to find his friend and make sure he’s safe before he gets into an all out brawl with the Huntsclan. With all his friends in one place, including Danny, he’ll be able to keep an eye on all of them easier, and protect them if the Huntsclan tries to start something.

Luckily, it doesn’t seem like the hunters spotted him. He’ll avoid them for now, and come back after he’s found Spud. He at least knows where they are. He motions silently at Trixie and Danny to start moving in the other direction, and they follow his lead in sneaking quietly away.

Jake’s plan goes up in smoke when, in front of them, from around another corner, three more Huntsclan members appear. There’s no time for them to hide or get out of the way, and there’s a brief moment where both groups are frozen, just staring at each other.

Then, unfortunately, the Huntsclan makes the first move. One of them points at Jake and shouts loudly, “It’s the American Dragon! He’s with the ghost!”

“Crud,” Danny groans.

“Aw, man,” Jake says, hearing the larger Huntsclan group behind them rally themselves. They’re surrounded.

#danny phantom #phanart #ectoimplosion2023 #coyote writes #crossover #american dragon jake long #dpxadjl #fanfic #a flood of blood (blossoms) to the heart #chapter 4 #now complete