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dumplingsjinson · 7 months

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List of “not-so-random suggestive and non-suggestive” prompts

“How was your sleep?” “Mm.. It was good. Better.” “Better how?” “Better because you’re here.” (THE WAY I GOT SO FLUSTERED WTF)

“That’s my girl/boy,” Character B murmurs in a hushed voice, stroking their fingers through Character A’s hair while Character A rests their head on their chest, trying to catch their breath. (THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT INTERNALLY, THE AUDACITY HE AUDACITIED??? WHAT THE FUCK??? EXCUSEEEE MEEEEEE??? BTW, SIR, HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS IN THE MORNING-)

“Fuck, you turn me on so much with the noises you make,” Character B groans, thrusting their hips up into Character A’s and Character A whimpering softly at that. (Okay so I added the fuck at the start because it’s hotter this way bUTTTT WKGKSKFS PLSSSSS I JUST- OH MY GOD, I think I just realised that dialogue to me is SO IMPORTANT LMFAOOO)

“There are two hot things in this room right now: you, and the temperature.” (LET ME BREATHE, DAMNNNN)

“Mmm, I’m gonna hog the bed so you can’t get on,” Character A murmurs, laying sprawled out on the bed. “That’s fine, I can just lay on you,” Character B says, making their way to the bed. “…Are you calling me a bed?” Character A questions as Character B gets on top of them, careful not to crush them under their weight. “Yeah, you're my bed,” Character B murmurs, snuggling close to Character A. (FUCKCKKCKXKDKKSKGKAKD HE’S JUST OUT HERE FLIRTING TO THE MAX WITH ME AND LEAVING ME SPEECHLESS TF)

“I told you my bed’s cozy,” Character B says, chuckling as they make their way over to Character A, who’s snuggled up under the covers. They pull the cover back and climb into the bed next to Character A, wrapping their arms around them. “And now it’s even cozier,” Character B murmurs into Character A’s neck. “Because you’re here?” Character A questions playfully. “Yeah,” Character B answers.

A laughter filled tickling play fight session somehow turning into them making out, turning into Character A straddling Character B, head thrown back in pleasure as they grind their hips against Character B’s while Character B holds onto their hips, thrusts matching the momentum of Character A’s movements.

Spending way too much time tickling each other, peals of laughter coming from them both as they both try to attack each other’s sensitive spots. (His laughter is so cute AND I REALLY MISS HIM PLS WJDSK)

Morning cuddles and kisses as sunlight spills into the room.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good once we get there, yeah?” (MY HONEST REACTION WAS LITERALLY “???” I JUST?? WHAT?? SINCE WHEN WAS HE- AND HIM SWEARING? HOT HOT HOT HOT WKGKAKS)

Character A taking Character B’s hand into theirs while they’re driving. “You can drive with one hand, right?” they ask with a little grin, and Character B chuckles and nods. “Of course I can.” (HIM DRIVING WITH ONE HAND IS SO HOT BYE)

Character B guiding the speed of Character A’s hips as Character A grinds against them. (can he PLEASE manhandle me-)

“Okay, I’ll let you tickle me wherever you want if you give me one kiss.” (He lied a few times AHAHA, dodged my attacks instead after I gave him his kisses bruhhh)

Character B lending their clothes to Character A since Character A’s staying the night. (The way I smelled like him AHHHH)

The soft “yeah?” Character B would mutter in response when they’re messing around with Character A and noises would fall from Character A’s mouth, involuntarily.

Stopping their play fight every now and again to kiss each other.

Character B flirting with Character A and Character A not knowing how to respond other than half groaning and half laughing and calling them insufferable (affectionately). (Like I said, I’m romantically constipated-)

Character B laughing every time Character A calls them annoying and insufferable whenever they flirt with them.

Character A leaning in to kiss Character B… And then using that opportunity to tickle them when Character B’s guards are down.

Them just laughing with each other at the dumbest shit until they’re out of breath; finding comfort and joy in each other’s company.

Character A teasing Character B with how ticklish they are on certain spots.

Character B tugging at the hem of Character A’s top, wanting to take it off, but Character A shakes their head and Character B immediately respects that by backing off a bit. (I’m including this because I don’t think people understand that any signs of no means no. Some people need to take notes for real)

“So… Are you going to stay over tonight?” “…Mm, maybe next time.” “You always say next time, though.” (EWLKNFWELN He really wanted me to stay, and I clearly folded so um pwnfewklnf)

“I’m sorry if I’m like… Slow with all of this? I’m not experienced with any of this, and I don’t know what I’m doing. And I don’t think I’m ready for… You know.” “And that’s fine. Like I said, we’ll take it slow; we’ve got all the time in the world to get comfortable with each other, hm?” (WHEN I SAY I WAS GOING WEKJFNEWJKNEWFLN WHEN HE REASSURED ME, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AHHH)

Character B climbing back into bed after taking their morning shower to get more cuddles in with Character A before they have to go to work.

“You can just change in here if you want.” (WO4HKLWFN THIS FUCKING MAN LMFAOOO, the way I didn’t listen and went to the bathroom to change because I’m still feeling too embarrassed to change in front of him even though he’s kind of seen me topless before)

Hugging each other a little tighter, and Character A mumbling, “God, I really don’t want to leave” before they part ways.

“The way you keep running around in my mind everyday… How dare you?” Character A mumbles. “Well, is there a problem with that?” Character B questions with a chuckle. (I’m bold for this one, praise me LKNEFKLNWG)

The constant check ins from Character B, to make sure Character A’s all good and well. (every prompt list has this because it’s something I’ll always fucking harp on about lmao)

Character B grasping Character A’s wrists so they’d stop attacking their ticklish spots, pulling them in for a kiss instead. (He did this SO MANY TIMES AND FAILED SO MANY TIMES AHAHA, I’m a sneaky menace)

Character A pulling the Spiderman kiss on Character B while Character B’s lying down. (I WANNA KISS HIM MORE FUCKSLKFNES’F)

Character A waking up in Character B’s clothes and in their bed, hair all mussed up and sporting a faint mark on their neck. (I think I uh… I think I like having marks on my neck?? Made by him, specifically, IDK wpeofnew;nf)

Get home safe! Love you lots and lots, Character B texts Character A. (THE WAY I SMILED WHEN I SAW HIS TEXT WHILE HEADING TO THE STATION AHAHA, it wasn’t even ten minutes since we parted and he sent me this and I was fangirling about it to my friends AHAHA)

“Aren’t you going to get up now? You gotta get to work,” Character A says, poking Character B’s side. “Mmm, five more minutes,” Character B murmurs, pulling Character A closer to them. (HE’S SO CLINGY AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH AHDFOEKNF)

Character A realising they might actually be falling in love, slowly but surely, with Character B. (YEAH SO THIS IS A REVELATION AND A HALF AND IDK HOW TO FEEL ABOUT IT)

#long post #based on personal experience 😮‍💨#so sorry for all of the commentary HAHAH #and yes before you say anything i’m living the fanfic life for you all LESNFNLK #cat guy chronicles #writing prompts #prompts #dialogue prompts #writing scenarios #otp prompts #suggestive prompts #smut prompts #fluff prompts #non-suggestive prompts

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delicrieux · 11 months

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—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.3: sweet dreams, chicago

pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—anxiety, (+18) masturbation, mb one (1) allusion to a blowjob, swearing, excessive use of cigarettes word count—3.6k

detailed instructions on how to fuck up your life in 30 seconds

author’s note: tremendously down bad, lonely, and socially inept? not talking abt u LOSER im talking abt carmen. my lil meow meow

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | eyvcte masterlist | < back. next >

important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3

tell them

not white, gray – the exact color of cigarette ash, the red ember a reflected streak of sunlight; these walls box him in, and it’s always a surprise that space can feel so vast and so confining all at once. the plastic chair he sits on is unforgiving on his back. his foot sounds a pattern on the tiled floor to impair the silence.

he’s aware of it, of everything: his pursed lips, trembling lashes, quick blinks, slight sniffle, flitting irises, the light coat of sweat forming by his hairline. the taunt flex of his muscles; twitch of fingers that have nothing to grasp onto but each other. the tapping. pulsing in his jaw and temple. the tapping.

tell them

he tries to stare ahead, keep straight – it’s not expected of him, but he wishes he could do it. wishes he could face the silhouette sat across, too close and too far.

“well?” she prompts – a prim woman with a kind face sunken from all the miseries she had collected over the years, “how are you, carmen?”

a sharp exhale through the nose, like a humorless snort; corner of his lips pinching into a grimace that could resemble a smile, if one was generous enough, “how am i?” he repeats, “how am i?”

tell them

tell them your

“chef?”

storage closet. he keeps his hand firmly on the handle and breathes, jaw tense, head bent, illuminated in the shitty buzzing lights. the containers are organized – did it himself. methodically set cans with no spaces between them, all in neat rows. one’s a bit too close to the edge, sticking out. someone had moved it. he rubs his chin before pushing it back.

his hand falls from the handle and settles on his hip as he sighs, looks up, feels a rush of air tinted with spices and the overwhelming noise of the kitchen pierce the coveted silence of his hiding place when the door cracks open. she pokes her head in and he doesn’t look, can’t look, can’t sleep, can’t–

“you good?”

kindness is always startling, even when it’s the standard. her words hold no weight of deep inquiry, only a shallow question mark. it’s enough. he lives on scraps. “yeah, uh, thanks,” his tips his chin in her direction and his eyes flit over the crown of her head. can’t look for long; he’ll search for thank you and love you despite knowing they’re covered.

“i was just, uh, was just, needed to check,” he vaguely motions behind himself, and the knot in his throat tightens slightly, “something, s-so…” maybe she decides to take him out of his misery. maybe he’s the only one that notices he’s drowning.

“family’s up.” she informs him, offers a small smile that he thinks is pity. can’t be sure.

“yeah, yeah, o-okay, i’ll, uh, i’ll, i’ll join you in a,” the hasty spill of his words slows, quiets. he inhales, brows crinkled and eyes focused on the new streaks on the floor he’ll have to clean, “i’ll join you in a minute.”

“i’ll save you a seat.” not a proposition mentioned aimlessly and left to rot in his subconscious, but a statement. and she’ll always save a seat for him, because he’ll always be late, and in the rare occasions that he won’t, he’ll be too early. she’ll save him a seat by the table and pat the couch next to herself when the staff’ll huddle to watch a Bulls game; she’ll save a slot for him on her free day to come into his office and help sort through papers; she’ll save her hand from others so that he could hold it and she’ll save a pair lace panties the color of her eyes that’ll tear through the flower pattern because he’ll be too rough and because he’ll like the way they look on her.

she’ll save a cup that’ll shatter during one of their arguments, glue it back together. the cracks will show, and it’ll be blotched, but he’ll still use it, even if the edge’ll be chipped and he’ll cut his lip and she’ll be long gone by then.

he’s mostly himself when he joins everyone, if he even knows what that entails. tina’s explaining form to marcus, and sydney’s on her phone, and richie and neil are discussing something with too many theatrics, and the rest of the staff shares idle conversation punctuated by comfortable silence. there’s an empty spot for him, food set in a plastic container and cutlery placed trimly – must’ve been her. too even, she’s borderline about these things. he appreciates them, because he’s like that, too.

a smile eases the tension from his shoulders, if a bit. he pulls the chair back, takes a seat, and her head ticks to the side to acknowledge him. no big speech, no welcome back or you good again, just a slight curiosity that makes her teeth pull on her lip. he dares a glance that doesn’t linger.

"verdict?” he asks the table, feeling the familiar flutter of anxiety squeeze his throat.

sydney: ‘s good. real good richie: too fucking fancy [god] this the type of shit they serve up in yee-whole-fucking-new-of-the-fucking-york? her: wouldn’t expect you to recognize shit from food [fuck you] since your mouth is always full of it richie: oh ha ha [cousin] look at us folks [cousin] we got a fucking comedian with us tina: shut it [so/rry] both of you. not by the table richie: not by the fucking table, kid [fuck you] marcus: i like it

it’s kinda funny, it’s kinda familiar, it’s kinda comforting. he glances at her again, sees her holding up her knife like a sword aimed at richie on the other side of the table. they mimic one another – in movement, in tone, in smiles that are careful not to display too much. friends. carmen watched this happen in his peripherals, sometimes through the haze of cigarette smoke. observed the pointed jabs and nudges that were harder each time as if they were competing who could knock the other off of their feet first. stupid, amusing, the nascence of a friendship.

whatever. it’s not that, it’s just, just that carmen’s the way he is and someone could roll their eyes at him and kill and sydney, well, he got along with sydney instantly – she came at a confusing fucking time, a breath of fresh air, and really, for a while, he only had her to help him navigate the clusterfuck of a dynamic of his brother’s staff. she was new, he was new, and it was natural they stuck together to survive the nuclear winter of a chicagoan kitchen. till he was approved as one of them, and she was, too, but, and it’s nothing, it’s dumb, fucking idiotic, it’s like he’s six again all of a sudden and no one wants to play ball with him in the fucking playground.

he’s not even left out, and he still feels like he’s somehow forbidden to join, even if he doesn’t want to, even if he doesn’t know what to say. as if he’d break some sacred law and inspire a drastic butterfly affect that would ripple into something abhorrent. the other shoe. there’s no first one and he’s already waiting for the drop.

“cousin,” richie calls, “cousin, she’s trying to fucking murk me. pretty sure that violates some sorta fine print.”

“better sleep with one eye open in that case.” carmy mumbles, a faint smile pulling on the corner of his lips as he watches the exchange briefly before he returns to the food. melts in his mouth. holds a sweet, syrupy tang, and, fuck, this is noma, this has fucking noma written all over it, even the cinnamon zest blended with orange peel.

no noma on her resume; dad must’ve taught her, then. how to blend and cook all of this shit to make the chicken taste like butter. probably needed to scour the whole kitchen for leftover ingredients, open a few rusted drawers for pipettes to measure lemon drops. stay up again prepping. filming. not sleeping. don’t look.

needlessly complicated and missing some parsley. coincidentally, they ran out of it this morning.

he looks at her because she’s not looking at him and for a moment he takes in her profile – the slope of her nose and the dip leading to her cupid’s bow. “‘s good.” he says after a short pause, and as soon as she turns in his direction he’s back to his food. the taste, this time, is compounded by added discomfort, “where’d you learn this from, anyway? there are recipe?”

“my dad. sorta,” she explains, “he’s also a chef. and he used to make it for me when i came to visit, soooooo, since it was my first time cooking family ‘n all…i thought, why not? y’know? just to upset richie.”

“heard that, kid.”

he snorts, leaning back into his chair, head dipped and container held in hand. glances at her from under his lashes, and maybe direct eye contact is not as scary when he wants her to be looking back. that small smile of his is pulls on his lips again, “‘s good.” he repeats.

“you like it?” her voice can be soft, and so can her features.

“i like it,” he admits, “thank you, chef.”

she smiles and it’s like a fucking firework.

he tries not to look too hard, scared what he might find there. metronome. dull, almost, like the beating of his heart in his chest, yet it pulses through him, from the back of his head all the way to his feet. the tapping.

tell them

he rubs his faces with his hands, leans forward, as if the words are physically trying to get out. doesn’t want to say it; doesn’t want to admit that he can’t dress for the weather and that he’s wearing a gray woolen sweater which blends into these walls, that he blends in, that he’s invisible.

“i’ve, uh,” pinches the bridge of his nose, wanes the upcoming headache – too many cigarettes and not enough sleep, “i’ve been going through somethin’.”

like her pictures on a late monday night fresh out of the shower. the phone light catches damp hair falling in ringlets. the towel is still slung around his shoulders – white, clean, he’s done his laundry, it’s a fucking miracle. it was a notification that distracted him mid-way putting on a t-shirt, was like a beacon in the dark on his bedside table. bare feet padded to grasp it and here he stands, gaping like a fucking idiot with nothing but boxers on and cold water dripping down his back.

wasn’t supposed to look. made a promise, swore it in the mirror staring into clear blue eyes that held nothing. wasn’t his intention, either, it just happened. everything seems to just happen to him. she just seem to text him at 1 in the morning the recipe from a few days back, and he just seems to find her profile again because he just wants to look. no further reason. she just seems to follow him and he just seems to pretend not to notice because he’s not very good at this, he’s not really good at anything.

and there she is, confined in a little electronic device held in his hand, looking at the camera, looking at him, and he’s not really sure what to do with himself. text back, likely, but he can’t think of a response – thank you? thanks? thumbs up emoji? chef emoji? just to mix it up a bit. the mattress dips when he sits on the bed. where the fuck are his cigarettes?

never too far, and the lighter isn’t, either, so he stands, and his phone is still in his hand like the thing is fucking glued to it, and he cracks the window open to let the summer night in. chicago doesn’t sleep, and neither does she, it seems, but he doesn’t, either, and when his teeth have something to bite onto he feels like he found an anchor.

thank you and love you are objectively interesting detonators, but there are other rare gems. where she’s smiling. look taken off-guard and never by her personally, always by someone else: hugging a bottle in the midnight new york vista, nursing a to-go cappuccino by the bodega too early in the morning, holding up a plastic puka shell necklace in the backdrop of a souvenir shop somewhere in yucatan. hugging her mother wearing a tracksuit while the former’s poised in a neat blazer. they look similar. carmen looks like his mother, too.

she’s more approachable when her eyes crinkle and cheeks apple and lips stretch to reveal a crescent line in the corner. pretty. real pretty. too pretty. maybe that’s why he doesn’t know what to say. maybe she doesn’t expect him to say anything. maybe that’s why she sent the message.

‘s not fair. he knows too much about her. knows her dad’s a renowned chef and her mother’s a business exec with a penthouse in brooklyn; knows she gets her tattoos in-house, on the couch, from some low-key junkie-looking artist that always wears a beanie; knows she worked in an upscale restaurant in wallstreet. chef whites, neat, trimmed, fitting – nothing he can offer in his fucked joint. fuck is she doing in chicago, anyway? spent last summer backpacking across europe with a distinctly new york-looking art school dropouts that wore the latest sneakers and tiffany necklaces. rich kids, rich kid, what she gets now was likely her daily allowance.

all of that just because he’s noisy. just because he’s curious. just because she’s pretty and he’s too scared to actually talk to her.

shouldn’t talk to her about anything anyway. too awkward – can hardly form a coherent sentence without ripping his hair out in the first place. he’s her boss, she’d think he’s a fucking weirdo if she knew how much he had gathered about her already. just from looking. does sydney know? does richie know? that would be fucked. oddly insulting, even. but since carmen hasn’t heard richie calling her a spoiled brat yet, he supposes it’s safe to assume this information hasn’t reached him yet.

parasocial as shit. he feels on the verge of a panic attack by the way his heart is hammering in his chest. maybe it’s the 5th cigarette. maybe it’s because he’s been sleep deprived. maybe it’s because looking at her makes him lonely and this is fucked and just put the fucking phone down, carmen.

she's really hot, though. but he can’t say so, not out loud. not right now. not here. not in front of the bed, where the mattress sags when he sits, or in the window, where the wind rattles the glass ringing of common sense.

‘thanks for the recipe’ is a good start, ‘cool tats by the way’ is definitely a line that has crossed his mind, but can’t text that, either. too personal. too easy. too close. fuck did he look at them anyway, too busy staring at her tits. fuck.

she’d think he’s a creep because somehow, in the divine comedy of his life, he’d let it slip somehow, because he’s stupid. because thank you and love you slap at him on odd hours during the day. because he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

feels like he’s a teen again and a girl from school sent him her homework to copy. only the girl in a hot rich kid from nyc that works in his restaurant and is so far out of his league that she’s in a different fucking orbit.

the mattress dips again. he closes his eyes, exhales slowly, rubs his face with his free hand. can’t stop thinking. can’t stop looking. staring. wanting. get a fucking hold of yourself. doesn’t want to. too tired. too fucked. too alone.

she’s so pretty.

so smart.

so fucking pretty.

what is he doing? what the fuck is he doing?

he tries to swallow, but it feels like there's sand in his throat. can't think straight, every corner leads to her anyway in a comical gotcha moment. can't go back. can't go forward. can't do anything but sit here, stare at the phone, think the last threads of his fizzling mind will conceive a reply.

say something. say something.

she's so fucking pretty and his dick is so fucking hard.

inhales again, this time slowly. feels the first tremors of an erection ignored, the pulse in his neck, in his wrists.

his heart is pounding and he wants her to look at him, wants to look at her, wants to feel her touch him, wants to show her how much he wants her.

"fucking christ," he can hear the breathless crack in his voice. feel it, taste it.

his face burns and his hair falls over his forehead, already drying. there's sweat on his brow and a lump in his throat from the steady rise of panic, anticipation, desperation, whateverthefuck. the blood in his veins pounds through his chest – he can feel the vibration in his bones, and god, god god god, he’s so fucking horny.

can't move. can't breathe. can't think. can't stand being alone. can't stand the silence. can't stand not doing anything and can’t stand being like this because he’s not supposed to. not allowed, breach of contract, jesus, who does this shit in their spare time? a lot of people, probably, but carmen wouldn’t know.

"fuck."

he wants to close his eyes because she’s so cold on the screen but so warm in his mind. can’t do that. can't stop palming dick over his boxers, either – wants to pull them down, but that would mean looking at himself, so he stares at her picture instead.

he feels like a teenager again, vaguely wants to throw up. can't believe how hard he is. he's not supposed to be like this. this isn't going to end well.

he knows he's gonna fuck this up because he's already fucking it up. can't stop staring at her. can't stop touching himself. can't stop thinking about what she'd do if she knew he was sitting here ready to jerk off to her.

she'd probably freak the fuck out, and she'd have every right to. that doesn't stop that wandering hand of his from dipping below the elastic band anyway.

his breath scratches at his throat, stuck there as he feels his hand brush something warm. glances down, sees his middle finger pressing against the swollen tip. looks back at the phone, sees her smile, the hint of her teeth; his cock twitches at the sight of her like some deranged pavlovian response. his fingers curl around his shaft and go down in a nice, long stroke.

"fuck me," he hisses. eyes squeeze shut and hips push forward and head rolls back to release a small groan.

it's a slow slide of a rough palm, with just enough pressure to cause shivers. he thinks of her lips wrapped around his him. the way her tongue would tease him. the way her hair would tickle his thighs.

"so pretty," he breathes, but the words are lost in the rhythm of his hand, "fuck, sorry."

fingers and palm slide over the sensitive head, each pass adding more pressure until his hips buck and it feels like someone punched him in the gut and he sucks in a breath, the sound coming out more like a moan; squeeze, tighter this time, and he groans louder, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure. teeth clamp down on his lower lip and all the oxygen in his lungs leaves with that.

the hand with the hand pierced by a kitchen knife pumps faster, coating the creases and veins in warm, sticky pre-cum leaking from the tip and leaving a stain on his boxers. he's breathing heavily, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that matches the throbbing of his cock.

he's so close already. so close he feels like he might actually lose his mind if he doesn't come soon.

"hm, fuck," he breathes out, eyes squeezing shut and fist tightening around the shaft as his hips jerk forward to meet the movement.

everything is swimming and spinning in the liquid dark around him, all the sensations coiled up into one chaotic bundle that's threatening to overwhelm him.

"yes," can't be his voice, can it? too raw, too desperate, too loud.

fist tightens even more and the throbbing is too much. feels like something is trying to get out of his body, like it's going to burst through his skin.

"oh fuck. oh fuck, oh fuck—"

everything is happening at once. everything is mounting to a small cry of her name.

he comes. coughs and huffs, head tipping back and hand still pumping. there's a low groan coming from his chest that sounds like it originated from some other person entirely.

then, it stills. his back hits the bed and he tries to gulp down air that stutters down his throat, the phone bouncing on the mattress beside him. the motions ripple in his spine, in tensed muscles that’ve gone lax. calm. outside the window, a siren howls first, then a dog.

he’s spent. feels good. cold air bites skin coated in sweat, like ice melting in the bed of a warm palm. “fuck.”

but the reality of the situation rips through the haze just as quick, and ignited by a sudden fucking unbearable anger, he grabs his phone and throws it across the room, “FUCK.”

ch.4: normal people

tags <3 @rexorangecouny - @astridyoo15 - @elliesbabygirl - @fortisfilia - @diorrfairy - @frequentnosebleeder - @eddiemunsonreader

more notes: sum fun lil gemmie gems for my narrative lovin girlies in chat 1. timeline is worky asf, things flowing in an out perception - imagine it like moving frames of the show 2. carmy says “’s good” whilst he admires her silently - is he referring to her or the food? 3. who text their boss at 1am? rich kid explain 4. the swearing increases the more he’s distressed 5. major virgin alert, can u tell? 6. this is the only chapter so far where ive used caps lock

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmy x reader #the bear imagine #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader #we need the extended version directors cut live commentary with bloopers for the second half of this fic

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sturns4thisbitch · 28 days

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texts w/ flirty bsf!matt

warnings: sexual implications, cursing

Authors Note:

y’all i’m so sorry i haven’t posted recently i went to disney and i’ve been so busy but i love y’all and here’s a little something for now😭

#nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturnphillia #like my post #matt sturniolo smut #smut #sturns4thisbitch #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo texts #viral #social commentary #my post

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chrollohearttags · 4 months

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and if I said I wanted to leave—🧍🏾‍♀️

#this place is literally shifting to Twitter and WattPad 2.0 #which is like the final boss of hellsites #and I’ve been MIA on writing #for many reasons #but mainly because I’m tired of seeing a so called want for long detailed fics and fluff #and then looking at the notes on the ones I do write be ignored #and y’all trying to shame ppl for writing smut #and I really have had my fill of discourse #y’all spend more time arguing than writing and it’s so nauseating #idk man I think I’m just sad but still #cherry chats 🍒#y’all treat writers like content creators #get to unfollowing as soon as we don’t pump out 15 fics per second #it’s always a part 2 instead of meaningful commentary—#need I go on?

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scribespirare · 7 months

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I am still thinking about the new Kane and Feels and how absolutely stunning the voice acting is like??? How were they able to switch accents/speech patterns like that. fucking magic. Also hearing Kane try to mimic Bruce's voice even though he's. already using Bruce's literal voice. but b/c of his own intonation he sounds completely different so he pitches down and tries to copy the accent but it's still all wrong and idk just actors playing a character who's actually a different character is always stunning to me like how do you do that

#xyz #kane and feels #DONT get me started about their running commentary about being in the others body #'its like being on my knees all the time' 'i like the size of the hands' 'i feel like ive had a headache for the past thirty years'#im frothing at the mouth #and also imagining another smut fic

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milogoestogreendale · 3 months

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THIS VIDEO?!

#guys i take back what i said ab the community subreddit #okay not entirely #like it’s still kinda homophobic #and i totally understand why trobed artists don’t wanna post there anymore it’s not for the faint of heart #but im getting a lot of supportive comments too now so ty guys #also someone linked me to this video which?! i have somehow NEVER seen before #i love that this implies that trobed smut writers are doing donalds work #i love finding random trobed shit i haven’t seen before #like i saw the yahoo commentary recently #was equally shocked a year ago at discovering the “you guys are in love or something?!” one #and a few months ago when i saw the outtakes of troy hitting on abed #ofc i come to tumblr bc i haven’t seen this one on here yet and i want to share #trobed #community #community nbc #abed nadir #troy barnes #troy x abed

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buckets-and-trees · 7 months

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haunting thoughts on Silent Screams

read it here: SILENT SCREAMS IN WILDEST DREAMS

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Bucky x Reader, side of Steve Word Count: 8k Content Warnings: dark dark DARK tale, smut, main character death, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, talk of wounds, slight dub/con, elements of somnophilia

RECAP: A dark tale with an unhappy ending. Just when you’ve married the man of your dreams, only just closed the chapter of your honeymoon, happily ever after is wrenched away, and you’re met with a nightmare you never could have imagined.

I published this in late November 2022, but I worked on it on and off between other projects for about six weeks from concept to research to writing. I wrote it for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Hallo-Cream Extravaganza, which was a cool challenge because there was a collection of numbered images you could choose from, and then when my image was confirmed, there was a prompt to go along with it.

It was also my first time participating in a challenge since getting back into writing fanfic. When I thought I was getting the sun alone, I was thinking vampires, but when I got the phrase along with the image, it halted the vampire idea I thought I would go with, and since I was already going to re-evaluate, it got my mind going even more. At the time I was also redefining a lot of pieces in my life and I had signed up to go solo on this 5-day retreat to a cabin in the woods... I ended up talking about some of the research and concept ideas for this fic on the six-hour drive to and from that cabin with a girl I carpooled with (we talked about so many things as you do with a stranger you just met when you're both going to the same retreat and want to save on gas). But I'll put the rest under a cut so as not to spoil for those who haven't read it.

When I realized it wasn't going to be vampires, I really wanted to then get totally outside of the box of things we see all the time. I decided I wanted to look up Scandinavian folklore as I was also trying to throw off some of the USAmerican culture I'd just been sitting in my whole life and explore some of my ancestral heritage. I figured there had to be a ton of stuff I'd just never learned about or heard of before and of course there was. One of the ideas I have buried for another day is to do kind of a Grimm or Phillip Pullman thing and do an anthology retelling of some of Scandinavian folktales because they were fascinating, and there were elements I was familiar with alongside very new pieces. It was so cool to begin to uncover the stories there...

But I was looking for a story that would also fit my prompt and lend itself to Bucky x Reader application.

I found the Gengångare. The lore is that they're a revenant/walker, and particularly in the Swedish tradition they're a corporeal form of a spirit that comes back after death. The spirit would have been murdered or killed and came back for mixes of revenge or unfinished business. That I could give Bucky - going on a mission, being killed, and having both revenge he could seek (against still living HYDRA folks who tormented and used him) and unfinished business in a promise that he makes to you, his reader newlywed bride, to come back to you.

And so the story begins with what I was hoping to be this blissful newlywed haze - the first morning after your honeymoon. Bucky is leaving for a mission - he'd said they were leaving later than he's actually going to leave because he didn't want you to get up hours before you needed to in order to send him off, but he does wake you up to share some kisses and say goodbye, it gets a little more heated, but there's no time for smut since he has to go, but he promises to pick up where you to left off when he returns, and there we have the tie he makes to come back to you.

I listen to music heavily throughout the day, but I wrote this fic with some very specific music through different sections. And for the opening, I was listening to This Love by Taylor Swift because its very romantically evocative for me, but some of the lyrics I knew could also be ripped into the horrific elements of this story, and so I truly loved it for that even more! - this love is good/this love is bad/this love is alive back from the dead

Then there are some other deep musical cues that when I was writing the rest of the fic, I was literally listening to these songs on repeat - a track from Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, two tracks from Netflix's The Empress series, etc - and so I actually embedded the Spotify players for them at particular parts for the particular songs. That's the only fic where I've so heavily "scored" it.

I put into the narrative that they didn't recover a body from Bucky for what I never specifically defined but figure was an explosion or an accident of some sort where not finding a body would be believable - but it's the Gengångare Bucky escaping. His undead soul seeks some revenge first, then he's pulled back to your door, but I wanted/tried to imply that he moves by these motivations and doesn't really remember much until he encounters something. So he shows up back on your doorstep, and it's as he interacts with you that he remembers more and more pieces of himself that are added back into the primal gengångare motivations.

The sex after he returns is frequently more rough and desperate, but since you're just as desperate for him, you don't question that it's the fact that his nature has changed - no longer human, but a creature that needs to leech the energy of another living thing to survive. He doesn't realize it at first either. But the first night he returns, his body is very cold, and he gets warmer the longer he's with you.

His bruises haven't healed, and you notice that, but he brushes it off. There's an inadvertent pinching on your back that's the beginning of the marks he can't help consuming you. He's truly insatiable, but since you were so consumed with grief and so deeply and desperately in love, you don't question it. When you finally do bring up having Bruce examine him or bringing Steve into things, he doesn't want that and presents good reasons - not wanting to be a body poked and prodded, and not wanting to worry Steve until he has more of his memory cleared up.

There's only a little bit of Alpine in this fic, but Alpine can tell that something is wrong with Bucky and so she is not around when he is at all after he comes back. The sex is exhausting, but it's because it's with this creature form of Bucky taking more and more of your life.

And then the spill of the story/the reveal. And it's all discovered when you're basically doomed by your love. And he literally makes love and fucks you to death, and is still so in love with you while doing it. Very sad. And his goodbye is the same goodbye he said to you in the first scenes of the story.

This was the darkest thing I'd written up to this point, and I really just wanted it to feel gothic and doomed, but twisted up in this all-consuming love. As I knew where the story was headed, I sort of just took deep breaths and steadied myself to dive into letting it have its dark ending. And I loved taking it there even though it was kind of scary for my first time. It was very haunting to write and I really tried to convey that feeling and have it bleed through.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

#writer commentary #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #aspen's dark forest fest

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gretagerwigsmuse · 2 years

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sneak peek: and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay

Summary: in which lieutenant bradshaw has a thing for smart girls - and maybe ones who hate his guts on principle. a lie by omission is still a lie after all and bradley never exactly told you what he did for work...

OR you take on the us military industrial complex one hinge date at a time...well sort of

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader

Eventual Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, and slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements), idk basically she’s a bit of a brat? and he likes it?

“So, what’s with the bar?” you asked, looking around, a teasing smile on your face. Bradley cocked his head. “I mean, is it just me or is like every naval officer within a forty mile radius here?”

Maybe he had misjudged picking the Hard Deck. It wasn’t exactly the finest establishment in San Diego County, but the drinks were good and you had mentioned Coronado a couple times over text, so Bradley had thought it would be convenient.

In fact, to offset the location, he had even worn a pale blue oxford, unbuttoned but with a plain white t-shirt underneath, instead of his usual Hawaiian shirt. You looked like the kind of girl who would have appreciated the effort. At least that’s what he had gleaned from your Hinge profile and text messages over the last two weeks.

He shrugged in response. “My friends and I like it. It’s right near the base and we normally come after training. It’s not too fussy, I guess, so I thought it would be good for a first date. Low key and all that?”

“Oh.” That wasn’t a good ‘oh.’ “You’re in the military?”

Bradley chose his next words carefully, mindful that there definitely seemed to be a wrong answer here and he was about to give it.

“Yeah, a naval aviator,” he nodded, trying to sound casual, “is that going to be a problem?”

You shrugged and took a sip of your margarita before licking some of the salt off the rim. Bradley watched, captivated, despite the fact that you had just insulted him indirectly.

“I mean, I understand that we need a military - to a certain extent, at least. But I’m kind of against the whole US Military Industrial Complex thing? Like the US alone spends more on defense than the next nine countries combined. And the cost of one of those planes you fly could feed the entire New York City public school system’s worth of kids three meals a day for at least - well, I’m pretty shit at math, but I’d say at least five years -”

Holy shit. You were - oh, fuck. Before he really thought it through, Bradley went to interrupt you. “- I mean, when you put it -”

“- Plus, the whole imperialism, white man’s burden, manifest destiny bullshit you all like to spout out like Uncle Sam’s got your dick in his mouth.”

Bradley scoffed. He couldn’t help it. In all his years of being in the Navy, he’d never once had this sort of reaction. It was - oddly stirring, actually - finding out the woman he had envisioned every night before he’d fallen asleep for the last two weeks apparently now hated his guts.

“I get what you’re saying - to an extent,” he reiterated once he saw your pleased smile, “but the military still does a lot of good outside of combat zones-”

You laughed, but it lacked any humor. “Sure, taking advantage of and recruiting impressionable kids with the promise of free college - that they probably won’t actually take advantage of because going back to school when you’re older than ninety-nine percent of your classmates isn’t daunting at all - is a great business model?”

He ignored you and nodded towards your margarita. “Want another drink?”

“Only if you put it on Uncle Sam’s dime.”

Oh. Fuck. Him.

[Full Work]

A/N: hmu to be on the taglist, i’ll be posting the entire fic soon (hopefully, maybe, probably)

#this is uhhhh yeah this a commentary of sorts #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster imagine #top gun imagine #top gun smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #s/o to sol for going back and forth with me over this...y'all are in for a ride with these two #pls don't exile me from the community this was so fun to write #writing

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dumplingsjinson · 4 months

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List of “stuff that happened between us which will forever live in my mind rent free” prompts

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” (DEWLKLDEWDSWL,SDL, FUCKKK)

Character A repeatedly kissing Character B’s lips, both giggling softly when they pull away from each other. (YUMI’S CELLS SEASON 2 I’M THANKING YOU FOR THIS KSKSKS)

“You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes no matter what,” Character B murmurs after Character A tells them how insecure they are over their body. (Him reassuring me when I was spilling my guts to him and everything was everything I didn’t know I needed until now ajskks 😭 And him saying he doesn't judge lksefnklewn)

“I’m scared you’ll leave me once you see everything,” Character A murmurs, face buried in Character B’s chest. “Why would you think that?” Character B questions, a frown heard in the tone of their voice without Character A needing to look up at them; as if they think it’s ludicrous that Character A would even think they’d leave them for something like that. (NaHH THE WAY HE SOUNDED DISAPPOINTED WHEN I SAID THAT, for even thinking that he’d leave me for that, and then trying to comfort me after, I feel so bad for doubting him omg 😭😭😭)

“Touch yourself for me, yeah?” Character B murmurs into Character A’s ear; watches as a flustered looking Character A slowly does as they’re told. (HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS HELLOOOOOOOOO- IT’S THE FACT THAT HE ADDED THE “FOR ME” PART THAT MADE ME BECOME SO FUCKING FLUSTERED even though I did suggest it when we met last week and he was like “only if you want to” sAURR LIKE… was this invitation on his mind for a whole week LMFAOO. AND WHEN HE KEPT TELLING ME “good girl” or “that’s my baby girl” WHILE I WAS- JWKCKAS AHHHHH)

“You’re doing such a good job. That’s my baby girl/boy.”

Character B slowly undressing Character A, at the request of Character A, because Character A is too shy to undress themselves in front of them. (PLEASE THE WAY HE JUST SLOWLY AJFKAKFK HELPPPPPPPP EVERYTHING ABOUT IT WAS SO TENDER??? LIKE DAMN)

“I don’t like the way my calves look. They’re too bulky, you know?” Character A sighs. “Well, I think it’s fine,” Character B says. “How’s it fine?” Character A whines. Character B chuckles in an abashed manner, then says, “It makes them squishier, after all.” (And then he proceeded to say he doesn’t like how his own calves look just to make me feel better, god I fucking LOVE HIM)

Character A being extremely vulnerable with Character B, and Character B listening attentively and reassuring them as much as they can.

“I’m sorry for ruining the mood,” Character A murmurs, face buried on their chest, and Character B chuckles softly. “It’s fine, don’t apologise,” Character B murmurs, stroking their fingers through their hair. “I’m here for you after all. I’m here to listen.”

“You’re so pretty, you know?” Character B mumbles, brushing a strand of hair behind Character A’s ear. (Him saying that while I was being vulnerable melted my heart TT TT AND ALSOOO WHEN HE WAS SAYING THAT WHILE I WAS ON TOP OF HIM HHWHEWHH)

Character B littering kisses on Character A’s bare chest and saying, “You’re so soft.” (I just.. need a MOMENT)

Sloppy kisses while dry humping. (I mean I enjoyed them, and what of it??)

“I’ve seen everything. And I’ve tasted everything. Literally,” Character B says with a chuckle as they surface from the sheets and from between Character A’s thighs to snuggle with Character A, and Character A groans, hiding their face behind their hands in utter embarrassment. (Yep. He’s seen literally everything AND had a taste by now and I’m SO FUCKING LWKENFLKWEFNLKENWFW—)

“I’m so embarrassed,” Character A groans as Character B holds them to them. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Character B says with a chuckle. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s just you and me, after all.”

“Fuck, I wanna feel you against me,” Character A murmurs. (I said that, sir, yes I did. And what aBOUT IT—)

Character B kissing Character A on the cheek during one of those self-service photo booth sessions, which catches Character A off-guard. (AND WHEN I UPLOAD THE PIC- jk)

Character B pressing kisses against Character A’s forehead while they’re fucking. (We weren’t technically fucking, but it was close lmfao)

Character A clenching Character’s A’s head between their thighs as Character B eats them out, fingers going in and out of them sporadically. (The finger AND TONGUE COMBO PLEASEEE)

Character A repeatedly apologising for dumping their feelings and vulnerabilities on Character B every time they see each other and Character B telling them it’s fine and that they’ll always be here to listen to them. (Please, I love this man so much)

Character B slapping Character A’s ass while they’re using their phone, ass high up in the air. “What was that for?!” Character A whines, turning to glare at Character B. “That’s revenge for you doing that to me,” Character B says with a triumphant grin. (Yes we are at tHAT level of comfort with each other and YES I like slapping his ass. And don’t ask me why I was looking at my phone while in that position, it’s difficult to explain-)

Character B calling Character A cute and adorable while they’re messing around, because apparently Character A will always be adorable to them no matter what they do.

Character B showering Character A with compliments and praises which flusters Character A every single goddamn time, and Character A telling Character B to shut up every time they compliment them because they don’t know how to take compliments.

“God, I’m so wet/hard.” “And I don’t see a problem with that?” “Uhhh, no, there’s no problem but it is your fault that this is happening.” (FUCKING TEASE- IOEWFEKLKEWN)

“Tell me when you want me to stop, okay?” Character B murmurs, glancing up at Character A from between their thighs, and something about that sight will forever remain etched in Character A’s mind.

“As I’ve always said, we have all the time in the world, and I want you to be comfortable.” (HE IS AN ANGEL, PLSSS)

“I’m happy you got out of your comfort zone,” Character B murmurs, cuddling Character A close to their chest. (ThE SWEETEST BOYFRIEND I’M TELLING YOU)

Character B covering Character A with a blanket, knowing that they’re still feeling a little self-conscious over having their body exposed like this. (And him draping the blanket over us both as he cuddled close to me welkfnekwn I’m fiNISHED)

Character B taking their time with Character A, going at a pace that Character A’s comfortable with. (He was so attentive the whole time TT TT)

Character B brushing Character A’s hair behind their ears to unhide their face; just so they could take a better look at them. (It’s even more EWLFKNEWFKN when he does it while we’re messing around, because I’m covering my face with my hair on purpose because I’m self-conscious as fuck, while he wants to see my face lmfaooo)

#there’s more commentary than prompts i’m sorry-#back at it again with another based on personal experience prompt list because i can’t get any of this shit out of my head #and y’all NEED to see it idCCCC #prompts #non suggestive prompts #suggestive prompts #otp prompts #writing prompts #fluff prompts #dialogue prompts #smut prompts #writing scenarios #cat guy chronicles

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queerbting · 6 months

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trying to find regular bts content on tumblr is like wading through the many fiery pits of (jungkook x reader) hell

#bts #bangtan #save me please #i just.... want to see in-fandom text posts about bts and meta and/or satirical commentary from other armys..... pleaseeeekjsklfjlskjdf;lsj #how to let tumblr dot com know that i want to see Funny Jokes on Subject Matter: bangtan sonyeondan #i don't want to fuck them please im begging #so many solos. so many aesthetic gif sets. so many x reader smut fics. Please prayer hands emoji set me FREE #saying this respectfully to all people (except solos i do not like you) who engage in prior mentioned content . you do you and be happy :)#it's just not for me personally (queer and autistic)

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scionshtola · 9 months

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i pray you won't stop looking at me like that

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul summary: When the celebration at the Crystarium becomes too much for Corisande, they seek time alone at the rookery. Y'shtola finds them there, and has a better suggestion for how they might spend their time. word count: 3071 | rating: Explicit | read on ao3 notes: spoilers for ShB. also PLEASE note the rating!!

The stars are still shining bright against the dark night sky when Corisande slips away from the celebration. It is not an easy thing to get away—a few people call out to them as they pass, and though guilt tugs heavily at their conscience, imploring them to turn around, they feign ignorance and continue on their way. The past few hours have been a decidedly loud blur, music and shouting and people coming up to them to shake their hand and thank them effusively. More than one person burst into tears at their feet, and one couple declared they would name their first born child after them.

They only need a moment to themself. A moment for their blossoming headache to subside, to restore their worn down nerves, and then perhaps they can return to the festivities. A party full of people who simply want to thank Corisande for restoring to them the very night sky they celebrate under.

She sighs. The danger, the sleepless nights thinking only of the nigh impossible problems before her, the near deaths experienced by both herself and those closest to her, are far easier to grapple with than the acclaim that follows. She is not likely to ever be comfortable with the recognition that comes with being the Warrior of Light—or Darkness, as it were—particularly when it comes in the form of hours and hours of conversation with strangers.

The rookery is quiet though, and blessedly devoid of other people, just as they hoped. The chocobos and amaros are still roaming their pen, their Zun caretakers likely caught up in the celebration before stabling them for the night, but they do not seem to mind. Corisande forgoes the gate and seats herself on top of the fence, her legs dangling inside the pen. Most of the animals are asleep, though a few still mingle about, plucking at the piles of hay or dipping their beaks into the trough for a drink. A chocobo ambles toward them, poking its beak into the back of her hand.

“My apologies, but I did not come bearing treats,” Corisande says, lifting their hand and stroking the bird’s head. “You will simply have to make do with hay like everyone else.”

But he seems content enough with attention, and the stress of the past few hours begins to ebb away as she pets him. She is just beginning to wonder if she ought to check the stables for a grooming kit when the chocobo’s kweh alerts her to quietly approaching footsteps. Corisande straightens, steeling themself, plastering on their best smile and readying their excuses—I was just on my way back, the Crystarium is so large, I got lost searching for a bathroom, I thought I saw something but it was only an amaro.

“I thought I might find you here,” Y’shtola teases, coming up behind them. Corisande sighs in relief at the sound of her voice, letting their shoulders sag. They glance over their shoulder as she leans against the pen and tilts her head back to meet their eyes, her gaze warm.

The tender feeling between them is as familiar to Corisande as she and Y’shtola are to each other, a feeling shared between them almost as long as their friendship has existed. But it has only been a day since the first kiss they shared in the aftermath of the battle against Hades, and there is a new undercurrent of excitement with every familiar look and touch. One that makes their cheeks warm at the soft affection written in her expression and their heart beat faster as her lips curve into a smile.

“What gave me away?” Corisande jokes, already feeling better for having Y’shtola at their side. The chocobo, likely feeling ignored, butts his head against their arm.

Y’shtola shrugs. “After several hours of celebration, I had grown quite tired of the crowd. I desired more particular company, and suspected you might feel the same. I sought you out but once I realized you had already departed, the rookery was the next logical stop. If there is some kind of stable around, ‘tis usually where I can find you.”

“There were a lot of people,” Corisande murmurs, with considerably less irritation than she might have only moments ago. They turn back to the chocobo, hiding the smile that came with the rush of affection at being so well known, and scratch its chin, the motion soothing for both her and the bird. “And a lot more crying than I was prepared for.”

“Urianger mentioned as much when I came upon him during my search. I am sorry, Corisande. It sounds…overwhelming.” Y’shtola’s soft voice is a balm to the frayed edges of their nerves, as is the gentle touch of her hand to their elbow. She glances at the chocobo they are still petting. “I can leave you with your thoughts, if you prefer. You seem to have found more than acceptable company.”

“You know your presence is always welcome,” Corisande says with a smile. Indeed, perhaps the only thing more perfect than the solitude she sought was sharing that solitude with Y’shtola. She shifts, twisting her body until she faces her. “Please, stay.”

Y’shtola smiles and tips her head back, staring up at the stars that she cannot see, and Corisande’s gaze is drawn down the line of her neck. Across the latticework of laces over her chest, down to the swell of her breasts just above the furred neckline of her dress.

“’Tis a rather pleasant night, is it not?” Y’shtola says. Their gaze snaps to her, only to find her already watching them, the quirk of her lips telling her she knows exactly where their eyes lingered. She reaches for their hand, tangling their fingers together, tugging them back to the ground and reeling them into her space.

A tiny thrill courses through her at the realization that this is the first time they have been truly alone together since their kiss—the first time she can do anything about the pull she feels toward Y’shtola, the desire that has simmered so long beneath her skin. She puts a hand on her waist, thumb gliding over the black fabric that clings to her full curves, pulse racing at her proximity.

“If I may make a suggestion, however?” she continues, touching Corisande’s cheek and guiding them closer, until her words ghost across their lips. “Mayhap our time would be more pleasurably spent in my quarters at the Pendants.”

“I was going to return to the party,” they murmur, surprised they can even muster a thought for the celebration with Y’shtola’s hand on the back of their neck, with the perfect view they have of the hunger in her gaze, with the heat of her body pressed against theirs.

Y’shtola hums. Only a whisper of space between them. Her eyes drop to their lips as she says, “I prefer my idea.”

Corisande closes the gap, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and Y’shtola rises on her toes, pressing herself closer, closer, her fingers twisted in the lace of their lapel. When they part, chests rising and falling rapidly, lips swollen, Corisande says, “I like your idea, too.”

Y’shtola’s soft laugh is sweet to their ears, a familiar sound they never grow tired of hearing. She kisses the back of their hand, and tugs them toward the Pendants. The chocobo kwehs after them and Corisande turns around to wave goodbye to their friend before hurrying after her.

They are hardly through the door of Y’shtola’s quarters before their lips find each other again. They kiss as they tug off boots and socks, pull at laces and buttons, hands slipping under hems and breastbands. In the silver light of the moon pouring through the open balcony doors, Y’shtola’s dress pools at her feet and Corisande pauses, gaze drawn by the expanse of bare skin, the last parts of Y’shtola she has neither seen nor touched before. An excited tremble rolls down her spine—after tonight, there will be no part of each other they do not know.

Y’shtola catches her hand, kisses her knuckles, and leads her to the bed. Corisande follows, pressing parted lips against any bit of Y’shtola’s skin they can reach. The back of her hand, the round of her shoulder, the top of her spine. They do not stop when Y’shtola pushes them firmly onto the bed and climbs into their lap, kissing a line down the side of her neck, across her chest. They wrap their arms around her waist and shift her higher, pressing their lips to the skin between her breasts.

Y’shtola tugs gently at the end of the ribbon holding back their hair, pulling it free and sliding her fingers into the newly loose strands. She tips Corisande’s head back and kisses her, mouth open, warm, inviting. Both of their hands roam, cupping, caressing, pulling each other closer. Each kiss, each touch, each soft gasp elicited only feeds the flame of their long-simmering desire, until it boils over into a desperate need for Y’shtola.

She is not alone in her desperation. Y’shtola pushes at her shoulders, guiding her onto her back, and her breath catches in the brief moment that she hovers above her. Limned in silver moonlight and gold from the low light of the bedside lamp—switched on for Corisande’s benefit, and full glad she is for that—she is so impossibly beautiful that for a moment she thinks she must be dreaming.

They are brought back to reality by Y’shtola lying between their parted legs and pressing searing kisses over their chest that set their skin aflame. Her hand glides over the inside of their thigh, presses against their center in a way that makes their hips jump, desperate for more. They slide a hand into Y’shtola’s hair and try to tug her mouth back to theirs but she resists, devoting her attention to their breasts instead.

They would laugh, were they not otherwise preoccupied. They know this side of Y’shtola well, devoted to the task at hand, unable to be swayed from her purpose until she found what she sought, and curious above all else. They give in to Y’shtola’s questing fingers, the testing touches and kisses as she seeks the spots that make their back arch, their hips chase, their fists curl in the sheets and her name escape their lips in a moan, until their whole body quivers with pleasure.

She trails kisses across Corisande’s belly, over the curve of her hip. She pauses between their thighs, her breath ghosting over them as she holds them apart. They push themself onto their elbow and glance down, thinking Y’shtola seeks permission they are only too happy to give. But the moment their gazes meet, she dips her chin, eyes never leaving theirs.

The firm swirl of her tongue over their clit elicits a low moan, the heat of her mouth almost too much on their already heated skin. Her hands, her tongue, her lips—Corisande cannot keep track of which touch causes which pleasure, her body taut and aching with need. It is not long until Y’shtola pushes her past the precipice, kissing her through the throes of her climax.

Like any competent academic, Y’shtola seeks to replicate her results, mouth still moving over them even as they still. But Corisande guides her away with a gentle hand in her hair, and this time she lets them. With a hand around her waist, they shift them both onto their sides, close enough that their warm breaths mingle.

Y’shtola’s fringe is matted to her forehead, her lips shiny, cheeks rosy and warm under their hand as they brush her hair away from her face. There is a fondness in her gaze—not new, exactly, but different, her feelings laid bare in a way Corisande has not been privy to before.

“I hoped for this for so long,” Y’shtola says between kisses, so softly Corisande is unsure if she is meant to hear. She tucks herself into them, her next words barely more than a whisper against their skin. “I ached for this—for you.”

“How long?” Corisande asks, without really meaning to ask, still caught up in the bliss of the night, of Y’shtola in her arms. They trail the tips of their fingers over her back, enchanted by the way she melts into their embrace.

Y’shtola hums against their neck, silent for so long they think she will not answer, but eventually she says, “Years.”

Her teeth graze their collar bone, and she follows the slight sting of the bite with a gentle kiss. Corisande’s hand stills, their heart skipping a beat. Just how long had they spent ignorant of Y’shtola’s affections?

She cups Y’shtola’s cheek in the palm of her hand, and Y’shtola covers her fingers with her own, soft and warm and gentle. “I am sorry for making you wait,” she whispers. How much longer could they have had, if only Corisande noticed?

“There is no need for apologies, love. There is no blame to be laid at anyone’s feet, except perhaps Fate’s, for it’s continuously horrible timing.” Y’shtola’s smile is gentle, almost wistful. She squeezes their fingers. “We are here now, no matter the arduous course we walked to arrive.”

Corisande kisses her, slow and deep, fingertips pressing into her skin to hold her close. They trail one hand over her chest, her side, cupping her rear and sliding their hand along the underside of her thigh, hitching her leg over their waist. “Are you certain you want no apologies?” she asks, her hand finding its way between Y’shtola’s legs, fingers stroking the small, pale patch of hair before dipping lower.

Her eyelids flutter closed when they brush their fingers featherlight across her sex, a soft gasp escaping her that they catch with a kiss. Her fingers scrabble at their shoulders, her tail flicks frantically over their calves, and her kisses grow desperate, sloppy and wanting, as their hand moves against her, inside her. She moans against their lips, and the new sound delights them equally as much as it quickens their own desire. She wants to hear it again, over and over, the same as her laugh.

Y’shtola breaks the kiss, dropping her forehead against their shoulder, her rapid breaths hot and tickling across their collarbone. Corisande kisses her hair and holds her flush against her, feeling her chest, her soft belly, move against her with the slow roll of her hips seeking their hand, nothing left to separate them but a thin sheen of sweat.

Y’shtola has wanted this for years, but how long has Corisande wanted this? Does she even really know? Can she pinpoint a moment in time when her feelings for Y’shtola had grown into a desperate yearning to know her in all ways, beyond the pale of dedicated friendship? It was not the first time that she had been blind to her own romantic feelings for another and with Y’shtola the lines between platonic and romantic had blurred so quickly, so early in their friendship, it was difficult to say exactly when the feelings had grown.

And how had she gone so long without it? Without Y’shtola’s lips on their skin, without her hands stoking the flames of their desire, without every inch of her body pressed to theirs atop silky sheets? Without knowing the taste of Y’shtola on her lips, without hearing her whimpers and curses as they touched her, without knowing the soft feel of her bare hips beneath their hands? The idea was inconceivable to her now. She wanted to know all of it, every spot that made her toes curl, every twist of her fingers that drew a moan from her lips, where she could kiss and touch that made her tremble and gasp.

They feel her climax roll through her, pressed together as they are, her hips jerking, her fingers digging into their waist. When she comes down, she slides her hand into Corisande’s hair and kisses her sloppily, so unlike the focused way she had drawn out their pleasure. She smiles into the kiss, pleased at the way Y’shtola has come undone under her touch.

“Apology accepted,” Y’shtola mutters against her lips, and Corisande laughs.

They move, straddling Y’shtola’s waist. She looks as gorgeous stretched beneath them as she did leaning over them: skin golden in the low lamplight; wet, parted lips; skin marked where their hands and mouth have touched her; silvered eyes watching them. She pushes herself up when they lean over her, meeting them with a kiss until they guide her gently back onto the bed with a firm but gentle push on her shoulders.

She trails her hands down her body, delighted by the shiver that runs through her at the whisper of a touch, and follows the path with her lips. Y’shtola tries to watch but her eyes fall closed when their tongue flicks across her nipple, their hand cupping and kneading her other breast. They press their smile into her skin as they kiss over her soft stomach, lower, lower.

“I am not quite done apologizing,” Corisande says, and seeks her forgiveness between her thighs.

The stars are fading, the dark night sky giving way to the purple beginnings of dawn, when they collapse into each other’s arms. Corisande folds herself into Y’shtola’s embrace, resting their head on her chest, their long ears laying comfortably flat as she trails her hand gently through their hair.

She has not known this kind of contentment in years, and she basks in the warmth of it, exhausted but satisfied. She tilts her head, resting her chin on Y’shtola’s chest so she can look into her eyes.

“Was it worth the wait?” she teases.

“I have always known you were worth waiting for,” Y’shtola answers, sincere, and they do not hide their smile that follows the love and warmth that tides through them. It seems to Corisande the sort of answer that she would normally be embarrassed to give, uncomfortable with emotional displays as she is. But what room is there for embarrassment between them now?

Corisande reaches over and switches off the lamp, and Y’shtola pulls the quilt over their shoulders. They close their eyes, warm and happy, and let the slow rise and fall of Y’shtola’s chest lull them to sleep.

#kels writes #oc: corisande ymir #corishtola fic #please....be nice to me i am still new to writing smut and i am Afraid sdlkjfgh #i went into a week long fugue state trying to get this out after work only to rewrite half of it today lmao #but i am happy with it i think #i have extensive director's commentary. but i will hold onto it. for now jkdshfgh #shadowbringers spoilers #idk about the title...it makes sense to me thoug hsdkjfgh #okay running away forever now goodbye!!!!#ffxiv fic

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